March

The Ides of March.

Shit.

OK, things had been fairly smooth since the encounter Brian had with his bitch of a mother last month, but they were still getting frigging prayer cards in the mail at least three times a week and Father Tom had told them when they'd seen him at Babylon that Joan was lighting candles every fucking day for the salvation of both their souls.

Brian had just rolled his eyes, but it was pretty clear that it wasn't something he was enjoying. He seemed to take some perverse pleasure of explaining who the various saints were, though, almost speechless with laughter when the one featuring Saint Ann arrived. Evidently she was the patron saint of single women, or some such, Brian telling Justin that the most common prayer to her was something like "Ann, Ann, send me a man!" and they spent a good half hour wondering if Joan had sent it by mistake or on purpose.

Brian was about to retaliate by sending her one with a picture of Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, but was talked out of it at the last second.

They were both busy, more so than even usual. Justin had two major projects coming due on top of the other waiter/busboy breaking a leg, which meant extra shifts at the diner. Brian had told him that he should quit or get something else, but he liked it there. He liked the people and he insisted that he have at least some money of his own so he wouldn't feel like he was completely dependant on Brian for every pack of cigarettes or bottle of beer or new ink cartridge.

Brian actually agreed and was proud of the fact that Justin was determined to be independent. Neither of them was interested in him turning into the little woman or some shit like that. Everyone knew Brian was as Alpha a male as they came, but not as many realized that Justin was, too. Sure, it was hidden under that blond hair and behind those blue eyes and that smile, but he was tough as nails and there wasn't much he'd back down from. He willingly and knowingly ceded the position to Brian—most of the time when they were together, anyway, but when something really mattered to Justin, he'd no more back down than Brian would. They'd butted heads about stuff more than once, but usually, one way or another, managed to resolve things.

Brian was forced to work late almost every night; often going in early and he'd usually have to bring things home on the weekend, too. When Justin asked what the big push was about he was told that Brian was still on damage control from Vance's takeover. Gardner's firing all of Ryder's people may have earned him the loyalty of the new staff, but they were inexperienced and the few who knew what they were doing had no relationship with the old clients. Brian had to do almost all of it.

Even though he was used to years of sixty hour weeks, the added workload and stress was enough that even he was becoming exhausted and the strain was starting to take a toll.

He would generally come home after nine, grab something out of the fridge, nuke it, work for a few more hours, fall into bed, be up at six and out the door by quarter of seven. On weekends he would want to let off steam by clubbing, and would end up with less sleep than he was getting during the week.

If some of Justin's school friends were there when he arrived, he would maintain a generally polite façade, but it was clear that he wanted them gone and Justin was starting to think that it might actually be a good thing that they were uncomfortable around him and usually met elsewhere. It wasn't worth the shit when Brian would bitch about them eating every fucking thing in the house and leaving a Goddamned mess.

Justin was starting to worry about him, but every time he suggested some way to ease the strain—have Cynthia take on more, hire another assistant, bring in some more experienced people, he was shot down.

Brian believed that the buck really did stop with him. Alright, Vance had a say, too, but Brian was the one the client's knew, he was the one who took the calls and made the pitches. He was the one the Ad Execs reported to and the one who took the heat if a client jumped to another agency or they failed to land an account.

Justin tried to be supportive, but he was under the gun with midterms and it was difficult on both of them.

Occasionally Jennifer would drop off a casserole or something, but even when she did, they rarely were together to eat the thing. Jennifer saw the circles under Brian's eyes and the strained look on Justin's face, but said nothing.

The night Brian wasn't home by eleven thirty, Justin became frightened, calling his office, calling his private line and finally calling his cel. He answered the cel on the third try, sounding slightly vague and reluctantly admitting that he was at University hospital ER but that he was fine and was being released. He'd cab home and should be there in half an hour, adamantly refusing to allow Justin to come get him, insisting it was quicker and easier this way and cutting him off when he started to protest.

When he walked in thirty-five minutes later, Justin was frantic. He had a stitched up cut over his right eye in almost the same place he'd been hurt when Craig had smashed the jeep. His nose wasn't quite broken, though it had been a close thing and his right wrist was badly sprained.

There was blood on the collar of his shirt and on the shoulder of his suit jacket.

"Jesus, Brian—what happened?" Justin was at the door the moment he'd heard the elevator motor in the hall. He was afraid to hug Brian or kiss him, not knowing the extent of his injuries.

"It's nothing. I'm fine, I'll just take a shower and get cleaned up, you'll see. It's not that bad."

"Why the shit didn't you call me? I was fucking worried and then I get through to you and you're in the fucking ER? Jesus!"

Brian gave him a look that stopped any further questions, at least for now. Fine, he'd find out soon enough and right now he was home and in one piece.

Shit.

Justin helped him off with his coat and the suit jacket, removed the already loosened tie and unbuttoned the dress shirt, leading him up to the bathroom. He started the shower and stripped off his own clothes as well as what was left of Brian's, joining him for once not for sex, but just to help.

The water ran down Brian's face and chest as he leaned heavily against the glass, too exhausted to stand upright any longer. Justin gently soaped him and rinsed the lather off, took a washcloth and carefully cleaned the blood off his face, avoiding the stitches and the worst of the bruising. His ribs were black and blue, too, though the x-rays had shown no real damage.

Finally, Brian was as clean as he was going to get, Justin turned off the water, took the bath sheet from the stand and gently dried him off. "Are you hungry?"

"No."

Taking his hand, Justin led him to the bed, settling him and pulling the covers up. He was asleep almost immediately.

The next day Justin didn't wake Brian and skipped his own classes, calling Cynthia to let her know that her boss wouldn't be in that day and possibly not the next day, either. When Brian finally appeared from the bedroom, having been allowed to sleep as long as needed, it was past three in the afternoon.

Putting the plate of eggs and toast in front of Brian, Justin sat across the table and quietly said, "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"...I fell asleep at the wheel and went into a phone pole. I'm pretty sure the corvette is totaled."

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"No."

Justin got up, going over to Brian, carefully putting his arms around him and kissing him gently. "But you're alright."

Brian's arms came up around his waist, holding onto the younger man, his face hidden against Justin's stomach as they held one another. Brian's breath was labored.

"Brian, you have to slow down. Please."

"I know. I will. As soon as I get back from Atlanta I'll take a few days off."

Justin pulled back enough to see Brian's face. "Atlanta?"

"I leave Tuesday, get back Friday. There are seven pitches scheduled to major accounts. Vance is going, too."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Why? You want to go shopping with the other wives?"

"Fuck you. I could help. I interned for you, I know how to do some of that stuff, I could take some of the load off you."

"Cynthia is coming. She'll do that shit. Besides, you have school."

Justin nodded. He knew a 'no' when he heard one.

"I'll just keep the home fires burning." He took Brian's empty plate, handing him some coffee. "Will you really take some time off when you get back? Maybe we could go somewhere and you could just sleep or something."

"I can sleep here."

"The phone rings here and Woody's and Babylon are here. The boys call you and both of our mothers hassle you."

"Justin...just fucking drop it. I have to work now. The agency is trying to reestablish itself after the buyout and it's expanding and I'm the one who..."

"You're the one who has to do everything or it all turns to shit." Justin was getting angry. Brian seemed convinced that if he weren't the one in charge, things would fall apart. The fact was that Vance hired the best people he could find—including Brian.

Too tired and sore to engage, Brian gave Justin a look to melt steel, stood up, shoved his feet in a pair of shoes, grabbed his jacket and walked out. He never told Justin where he went and when he got back around midnight, he had been drinking, but not enough to pass out, just enough to be amorous. Justin did what was asked of him and nothing more, just as Brian was about to climax he abruptly withdrew, saying he wasn't into 'fucking necrophilia'. He went into the bathroom, ran the shower behind the closed door and returned to bed a few minutes later, having jerked himself off. The next morning he left for Atlanta while Justin was in class and without them having really said goodbye. They were both still angry—Brian because Justin had acted like a fucking housewife and a controlling bitch, not understanding the demands and responsibilities he had on him and Justin because Brian was killing himself and refusing to accept any help when he obviously was close to burn out.

On Wednesday, Justin went to Jennifer's for dinner, apologizing that Brian was on a business trip.

After the Lo Mein was eaten, and Molly had gone up to do homework, Jen said, "Alright, tell me what's happened."

Justin told her about Brian's long hours, the skipped meals, the lack of sleep and, finally, about the wrecked car. The insurance would cover it, but he could have been killed and he was resisting slowing down, seemingly convinced that if he did, he would fall behind or lose his job or something.

God, she'd done this with Craig, ten years ago but at least they hadn't been newlyweds. "He probably does feel that if he slows down he'll fall behind, sweetie. Advertising is as competitive and cutthroat as it gets. He's doing well, and he's young to have the position he does, but you know as well as I do that there are a hundred people who would kill for his job and he knows that, too."

"I know, but..."

"What else, Justin? Are you two having other problems?" She didn't know if he'd answer.

"No, not really. It's just that I guess I thought that—I don't know, that after we were married it would be different."

Oh, God. Not this already. "You thought that having a ring and a license would make all the problems go away?"

He shrugged, a little sheepishly. "I know, that's stupid."

"Well, a little naïve, maybe. The problems don't go away, Justin. They might get better if you both work on them."

"But he won't cut back on his work and that's killing him."

"You know that his work is a very large part of his life and how he sees himself. It validates him."

"I thought that I validated him."

She gave him a sad smile. "You do, sweetie, but you're not the only thing in his life, any more than he's the only thing in yours."

"But we're married."

Jennifer couldn't think of an answer to that that Justin would listen to, not right at that moment. "Sweetie, Justin—Brian is doing this to lay the groundwork for both of your lives. In a few months or a year or two he should be in a position to step back a little. By then you'll be finished with school and probably working—things will look different."

"Did it look different for you and Dad when he made Vice President?"

That was when Craig had an affair and she had the miscarriage, neither of the kids knew. "Yes, sweetie, it did."

He kissed her cheek, smiled at her as he headed home. It had gotten better for them for a few years, but they were still divorced.

On Friday Justin came home from class to find a small vase of orchids, three sprays of small yellow oncidiums, sitting on the desk by his computer. He could hear the shower running. Brian's bag was on the bed. Going upstairs, stripping off, he opened the glass door, their arms going around one another.

Brian was still bruised from the car wreck, but he would heal.

They kissed without saying anything, gently at first, but within seconds, Brian's tongue was in his mouth and Justin's hard on matched his husband's. Still saying nothing, Brian took a handful of liquid soap into his hand and used it to caress Justin's body—up his spine to his neck, drawing a path around his shoulder to his chest. He trailed down to his naval, across his groin to hold both hips in turn, back to his round butt, down the pale legs as far as Brian could reach without kneeling, all the while their mouths were joined.

Justin's hands held Brian's back, open palmed, holding them pressed together, but allowing space between them. His mouth slid from Brian's, moving down to his chin, his jaw, sliding down the long column of his throat to his shoulders while Brian's hands continued to stroked over his skin.

They moved back to where they were both under the water, feeling it hit, warm, sting with its heat and course down them, between them. It made it seem slightly unreal, somehow, as though the water were almost an intruder, as though it was trying to become a third party to what they were doing.

Almost roughly, Brian turned him around, his mouth on his neck, his shoulder, his hand reaching for the ever-present condom in the wall niche. Using soap as a lube, he opened Justin, pressing quickly inside, pausing as he adjusted to the familiar feeling and knowing when the smaller man was ready for him. They had developed a private language for sex, for lovemaking and Brian knew that when he inhaled deeply, he was ready to go on.

One arm around Justin's belly and chest, the other moving on his cock to the same rhythm he was thrusting they both knew at once that this wouldn't last long. They had been away from one another for almost four days and that was simply too long for them both.

Groaning, Brian came first, Justin starting his orgasm before Brian had finished his.

Leaning against the glass, Brian pressed against Justin's back, using the wall to support them both; the only sounds were their own breathing and the water still splashing onto them, hitting the floor.

Their arms were around one another, Brian's around Justin's waist, Justin's hands holding them there.

After a couple of minutes they separated, disposed of the used condom, Justin turning around to embrace Brian, holding him as the water rinsed them off. Reaching up, Justin kissed his husband. "Thank you for the flowers."

"You're welcome." He smiled as he said it. Taking Justin's hand, he opened the shower door, took a towel and dried Justin off, then himself.

A few minutes later, dressed in jeans and sweaters and with their hair still damp, Justin starting dinner, they talked quietly.

"Was the trip alright?"

"We landed five of the accounts we pitched and I'm supposed to go back in a few weeks to follow up with Coca-Cola. They want to try a different spin in a couple of their markets."

"Coke? That's really the major leagues." Justin kissed him. "I'm proud of you. Can you take a little time to rest after that, maybe a long weekend?"

Brian got them each a beer. "Maybe in a couple of months, not right now."

"Brian, you said that when you got back..."

"Maybe in a few months."