Februay

Their day-to-day life settled into a pattern of school, work, dinner, Woody's or Babylon if Justin didn't have a lot of schoolwork to do or if Brian wasn't trying to finish work he'd brought home.

Some days. If he had time, Justin would make their dinner since Brian didn't like to cook, some days they'd either go out or order in.

They would shower together almost every morning and make love almost every night.

After the first couple of weeks they were no longer the latest topic at the water coolers or the bar and were mostly left alone. Justin's friends at school seemed to find thet fact that he was married slightly embarrassing—not because he was married to a man, but because he was married to someone in his thirties. It was somehow inhibiting for them to be around Brian—first of all because his looks tended to intimidate people and secondly because he wouldn't suffer fools and he made them feel like a bunch of college kids.

The fact that's exactly what they were seemed to make no difference. They felt like kids around him and weren't comfortable. He never said anything and was usually reasonably polite, but the result was the same—they would be sitting around the loft, Brian would come home from work wearing one of his expensive suits and carrying a briefcase, looking like a better looking version of their father's and the conversation would be come stilted and forced. Now Justin's school friends preferred to meet elsewhere. The only contemporary who was relatively at ease around the two of them was Daphne, but she was busy with her pre-med studies and couldn't get out as often as she would have liked.

Justin noticed that they treated him differently, too. Before the wedding he had just been one of a group of second year graphic design students, now he was 'married' and it set him apart.

Justin's father was trying to reestablish their relationship, though he still wasn't ready to sit down to dinner with Brian. Craig had called a couple of times and they'd managed to have civil conversations, mostly about small talk, but it was a start. If the talk veered into anything personal or if Brian's name entered the conversation, Craig's voice would become strained and he would change the subject. Justin didn't push, not yet, but he always made a point to mention his husband to make the point that he was in the picture.

Jennifer was doing better with the whole relationship, though and the two men would drop in with a pizza or Chinese now and then. Molly was always happy to see them come through the door, always claiming the seat next to Brian, hanging on whatever he said and making sure that his glass was full or his jacket hung up.

Jennifer didn't seem to mind, in fact she seemed to actually like having Brian around now and then just to have another adult to talk to. Of course she knew that Justin was older than his years and more mature than almost any twenty year old she'd met, but Brian was an adult in almost every sense of the word, and she liked the give and take of conversation with him.

All in all, they were adjusting to being married with little stress and not too many problems—or at least none that really impacted them. Justin was happy enough with Brian that he could ignore the odd looks and occasional comments he got from his classmates, and Brian never had let anything people said about him make any difference.

All in all, he found that their everyday lives didn't really change all that much. They still ate their meals and went to work or class. They still slept and saw friends and had quiet evenings in. They still did laundry and got gas for the car. The day-to-day things stayed the same.

It was when he'd be in a lecture and glance down, seeing his ring that he'd feel the difference or when he'd reach across the bed and know that Brian was there, that he wasn't out tricking or when he'd be in a store and see something that he simply had to get because he knew that Brian would love it that the difference was felt.

Then there was the day that Justin came in around seven with a couple of bags of groceries to find Brian drunk on the couch, depressed and angry. In response to anything Justin said all he would offer was sarcasm or remarks startling in their nastiness, even for him.

Finally, after kindness and concern failed to make a dent, Justin had tried reason and anger himself at Brian's foul mood, but nothing would make the older man tell him what had so upset him other than it was nothing he'd done.

When Justin tried once more, only to be told to "leave me the flying fuck alone and get the hell away from me", he gave up, going to take a shower. By the time he came out and had put the food away, Brian was passed out on the couch, bottle of JB beside him on the coffee table. It was more than half empty.

Removing Brian's shoes, throwing a blanket over him, putting the liquor away and turning out some of the lights that were burning, Justin tried to figure out what had happened.

Brian had been cutting back on his drinking lately, this was the first time this had happened in at least six months and Justin knew that there weren't too many things that could upset Brian this much. His father's death had done it, and threats to his job would do it. Almost any contact with his mother and, to a lesser degree, with his sister was always good for either an outburst or silence. An argument with Michael would do it. Maybe he'd had another talk with Craig, maybe Jennifer had said something or Debbie. Debbie was another one who could push Brian's buttons if she got angry enough with him.

Shit, something was going on.

Restless, he got up; walking into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich since his dinner plans had obviously changed.

Fifteen minutes later he was done eating. Getting himself a can of coke, he went over to his computer to try to get something done on that frigging 'conflict' project for design concepts. Dumbass assignment.

Shit.

He saw the flashing. The answering machine was blinking. He pushed the button. The first message was a salesman. The second was a reminder about a dentist appointment the next day. The third was from Michael wanting to know why Brian hadn't shown up at the shop like he said he would. The fourth call was pay dirt.

"Brian? This is your mother. I heard something today down at the market and I'd like you to call me about it. In fact, on second thought, I think I'd rather talk to you about it in person. I'll be home all day. Come over when you get this message."

It wasn't a request, it was a direct order. If it had come from anyone else, Brian would have blown it off, this one, he had likely actually given in to.

Shit.

The message had come in at one thirty seven, PM. If Brian had taken off early this afternoon, and he had mentioned that he might, he would have heard this and might have gone to see what bug had crawled up his mother's butt this time.

Let's see—could it possibly be about his being gay? Hmmm, you think? Could she somehow have gotten wind that there was an addition to the Kinney clan? Hmmm? Maybe?

God, she was a complete bitch.

The answering machine was still blinking. The last call was Michael again.

"Brian? Are you there? Pick up if you are...Brian?...Fine, shit...Look, asshole, you said that you'd be here at three and it's now almost four thirty. I've tried your cel and there's no answer and no one knows where you are...If you're there fucking your perma-twink, call me when you're done—if you're ever done and get your ass over here....Asshole."

With any luck Brian hadn't heard that one. Justin hit the delete key, the machine resetting at zero.

Brian was still out on the couch. He'd probably be there til morning.

Well, fuck it.

Booting up the computer, he hit 'driving directions' and print. It wouldn't take him more than half an hour to get there.

Leaving a note on the kitchen counter in the unlikely event that Brian got up, he took his jacket and the car keys and headed out.

It was a smallish brick house on a nondescript street in a middle class neighborhood.

It was Brian's childhood home.

There was a light on in what was probably the kitchen, the outside lights were dark. Walking up to the front door, he rang the bell, saw more lights snap on, heard footsteps. The front door light came on. The door opened a few inches.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Kinney?"

"Yes, may I help you?"

"My name is Justin Taylor, I'm a friend of Brian's. May I come in? I'd like to speak with you if I could."

She hesitated.

"Please?"

Relenting, she opened the door, turning away before he'd even gotten inside.

She walked into the living room. It was neat, nothing out of place. Evidently, at least that part of his mother had rubbed off on Brian, whether he liked it or not. She sat on a stiff, upright Victorian looking chair, her back not touching the upholstery. Indicating the couch, she invited him to join her. Removing his jacket, he did. There were almost no personal touches in the living, no family photos, no hand embroidered pillows, no books or magazines to indicate the interests of the people who live there.

She resembled Brian; or rather he resembled her in some ways. He had her eyes and the same sort of features. They had the same reserve, aloofness, the same ability to distance themselves from others. He suspected that she drank a lot, maybe even more than he'd picked up from Brian and overheard conversations.

There was nothing soft about her. Her hair resembled a gunmetal helmet, her posture rigid, her expression a close copy of Brian's glare.

"You wished to speak with me? I assume this concerns my son?"

"Did you see him today?"

She gave him an appraising look. "I can't think why that would be any of your business, young man."

He met here stare for stare. "You know who I am, don't you?"

"Of course I do. You're the boy my son told me he married last month." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Married. Dear God."

"That's why you asked him to come here to meet you, isn't it?"

"A friend called me today and said that she'd heard somehow. She didn't believe it, of course, but with Brian, I thought it better if I asked him."

Justin stopped. What the fuck could he say to this woman that would matter? God, she was a frozen wall.

She softened slightly as he wilted. "Justin, is it?" He nodded. "I know that Brian thinks that I don't love him. He's believed that for years, since he was a child, but he's wrong. I asked to see him today because I do love him. I worry for him, I have for years."

"Have you ever told him that?"

"You're 'married' to him, you obviously know him fairly well. You know how he is. He can't abide sentiment; he never wanted the affection most children crave. Claire always did, but they were as different as night and day. Even when he was a child, he would pull away from me, fuss to be put down if he was held, disappear up to his room for hours on end."

"So you stopped trying with him." It wasn't an accusation, just a quiet statement of fact.

"Brian has never been easy, he's always been so independent, so sure of himself, so quick to lash out." She turned her attention back to Justin looking at him for the first time. Her eyes went to the ring on his hand. "I can understand why you two would have an affair, but I cannot fathom why you would actually marry. You know, Brian made a point of telling me that it's a legal marriage...well, be that as it may, it will never be honored in the eyes of the Lord."

He spread his hands in a gesture almost of pleading. "If you love him, can't you accept him, be happy for him?" Flashes of his own father were in his head, the same phrases, the same attitude.

"It's because I love him that I know he's damned, as am I." She sipped from the wine glass on the table beside her. "If I'd known sooner, when he was younger, I could have done something."

"Stopped him from being queer?" She glanced at him, nodding. "You wouldn't have made any difference."

"So people have told me, but I don't believe that. A mother has influence over a child."

"Mrs. Kinney, Brian is smart and honest and talented and handsome and amazing. We love each other and we're happy together. Can't you just take him as he is?"

"Young man..."

"He's amazing and he's wonderful."

The phone rang, startling both of them and destroying whatever rapport had tentatively been established. She went to the kitchen to answer it. "Hello?...I want you to tell me when you knew...No, I want to know...Fifteen? You've known this for fifteen years and it never occurred to you that I would want to know?...You're as bad as he is...Yes, you are...Fine....Don't come by tomorrow...I don't need you, either, darling."

Whatever softening of her attitude Justin had managed had just turned back into steel. "That was Brian's sister, she just informed me that she's known about her brother for fifteen years." She drained her wine in one swallow, refilled it, drained it a second time. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to lie down."

"Mrs. Kinney, please..."

"You're really not what I had in mind for a daughter-in-law." She went up the stairs, leaving him alone. Taking his jacket, he let himself out.

When he got back to the loft half an hour later, sliding the door open, the lights were on low and Michael was sitting on the couch watching X-Men on the DVD. It was turned down low. Looking upstairs, he saw Brian asleep or passed out on the bed.

"Is he alright?"

Michael turned to look at him as he sat on the chair on the other side of the coffee table.

"When I got here he was looking for you, but I guess he was too drunk to find your note. I just told him you had an errand to do and got him back up to bed."

"But is he OK?"

"He'll have a bitch of a hangover in the morning, but he'll be fine." He clicked off the movie. "Look, you have to understand that Brian's parents really did a number on him. It got so bad for a while that when he was around fourteen my Mom even had his father arrested to stop the beatings. He's still fucked up from that shit."

"He saw his Mom today. She found out about us from some gossip and I guess she reamed him pretty badly. He was pretty out of it when I got home."

"And how is old Joanie?"

Justin managed a smile. "Swell."

"I'll bet." Michael got up, going over to the fridge, bringing a couple of beers back with him, handing one of the bottles over. "I guess you're getting a little more than you bargained for."

"I don't care about this shit, not really. Families are always screwed up. It's just part of the package."

"If you can take on his mother, you could take on the Ayatollah."

Justin drained half of his bottle. "Are you still pissed about us not telling you—I mean about Brian not telling you before hand?"

"Yeah, I'll get over it."

"Are you still pissed that he's with me?" Ah, the sixty-four dollar question.

Michael finished his own beer, placing the empty on the table. "...I want Brian to be happy. He hasn't been for most of his life and he deserves to be."

"He's happy with me. We're happy with each other."

"When you walked out with Ethan you broke his heart. I know you're sorry about that and you two think you've worked it all out..."

"And you don't think so?"

He got up, reached for his coat. "I think that right now you're fine, but I think in a couple of months or a couple of years you'll go down the same road again, Boy Wonder and when you do, I'll still be here to take care of him."

"You're full of shit."

"Whatever. Don't give him aspirin in the morning, it upsets his stomach. Give him Advil."

Turning off the lights, setting the alarm, Justin was about to go up to join Brian in bed when, on impulse he booted up his computer. The desk was positioned so that he could see the bed from where he was sitting. Picking up the stylus, he began drawing. When he was finished, when he finally put the pen down it was after three.

Yes, this was it. It was good.

He hit 'print'

It was another portrait of Brian. There was nothing unusual about that; he'd drawn dozens in the last couple of years.

This was similar to the first nude of the man he'd done, the one that had been displayed at the GLC Center, the first piece he'd ever sold.

Similar, but different.

This one was more sophisticated, technically better. He'd improved, he was more refined in his style, his technique more advanced, but those alone didn't account for the impact of the image. There was another difference, other than the obvious one of media and the addition of color.

This drawing was done through the eyes of a mature and experienced lover, not a youngster unsure of himself going through his first crush.

This drawing was sure, confident, powerful and imparted the fact that the man in the drawing was loved.

Justin turned off the machines and went up to bed. He put the picture on the nightstand.

Brian would see it in the morning.

He'd know.