First Year
July
The cookout was scheduled to start at three and Justin and Brian had, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, agreed to help. The day before Justin had stopped by Jennifer's condo to make sure the grill was working only to be infuriated to learn that his father had claimed it in the divorce. "He doesn't even like stuff cooked on a fucking grill!"
His mother had just shrugged—she'd been concerned about bigger matters at the time and hadn't paid any attention.
When Brian heard the story, he had looked at Justin, pronounced Craig an asshole, yet again, and said not to worry about it.
The next morning Jen called the loft at eight AM, thanking Brian and saying she couldn't possibly accept it. Being Brian, he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer and so the new top of the line grill was allowed to be unloaded from the delivery truck and installed. In half an hour it was ready to go.
An hour and a half after that, the two men arrived with several bags of groceries for the party—a bag of various meats, steak, chicken, burgers and hot dogs—another bag of salads and a third one of condiments and rolls. They left the soda and beer to Jen to provide. Deb and Em would bring the desserts. The others could be counted on to bring plates of this and that. Lindsay was always good for some shrimp salad.
They were expecting the usual family members along with a few of Molly's friends and a couple of the neighbors. A few of the old friends from before the divorce might stop by, too, but they seemed to view Jen as a threat since she was now single.
That hurt Justin, knowing that his mother was seen as femme fatale by some of her old friends, but shit, she was still beautiful and she was smart and strong and he was lucky she was his mother. She'd gotten the short end of things and he wished, with all his heart that he could do something to help her, but Brian insisted that everyone was responsible for their own pain and their own problems. Well, yes, OK he was usually right, but sometimes you just get the shaft—like when he'd been bashed.
And then his fucking father had taken up with his latest girlfriend, some blonde piece of arm candy he could never remember the name of, but always thought of as 'Bambi'. That time they had all ended up in the same restaurant by accident he could have punched Craig after he saw the look on his Mom's face. She had that look when she knew that if anyone said anything or touched her arm or something, she'd cry. Shit, it was even her fucking birthday.
Luckily no one did set her off, but Justin had gone over to tell his father exactly what he thought and it was only Brian taking his arm that had stopped a full out scream fest right by the salad bar.
Of course, the fact that it was Brian who ended up as peacemaker didn't go all that far to calm Craig, but there you go. His parting shot had been something about how he wasn't surprised to see that the damn perv had taken his place in the family and could he expect an announcement of Molly's engagement to Brian's brother—or sister—anytime soon? There had also been some crack that at least he knew Molly would probably be safe from the man himself, so that was at least some relief.
Brian had, for once, refused to engage and the incident was defused, if not forgotten.
The longer this shit went on, the more Justin wondered if his father had always been this big a prick or had it happened since the whole gay/marriage break up/bashing happened? It was disconcerting to think that he'd been living with this all his life and had simply never noticed and he didn't like what it said about his mother, either.
Well, screw it. Water under the bridge and all that.
He went back to the kitchen to get the bags of ice for the big washtub they always used for drinks. He found them, filled the tub and started loading in the drinks. Then he felt the hands on his waist and the mouth on the back of his neck. He was being held too tightly to turn around, but he could feel Brian starting to really go to town with his tongue on his neck and his hands were coming up to begin on his nipples and he just hoped that his mother or Molly weren't watching out of one of the windows.
"Brian..."
"Hmmmm?"
"The others will be here in like two minutes."
"You give a shit?"
"My Mom will be pissed if the guests arrive and you're humping me by the hammock."
"I can hump you up in your old room if you'd prefer."
"You can hump me when we get home."
His fingers still busy on Justin's breasts, his tongue and lips still on his neck, Justin knew that if he tried to stand up it would be obvious how much he wanted to finish what Brian had started.
Shit.
"Justin?" Christ. His mother was calling him. "Justin? Are you in the garage? I need the grill set."
Brian called into the kitchen. "There's a new one that came with the new grill, Jennifer."
"OK. The downstairs bathroom. Now." Justin's breath was getting faster and a lot shallower.
Brian's reply was a leer coupled with a dirty laugh. "You're such a princess."
"Shit, Brian." He was whispering, panicked. "I can't fucking walk."
"I take pride in my work."
"Goddamnit, Brian. It's not funny. My mother will be here any second."
Brian was openly laughing now. "She's seen a boner before."
"Jesus. Brian."
Still laughing, Brian picked him up in his arms, carrying him, protesting, into the house, past Molly and her friends who laughed as they walked by into the bathroom, the door firmly closing and audibly locking.
The two men made quick work of one another, Justin's jeans were pulled down, Brian was lubed, they forego the condom, as they had the last few months. Leaning against the sink, Brian behind, the penetration was quick, the thrusting driven by passion and the climaxes powerful. Grasping one another, breathing in gulps of air, Brian looked at the mess Justin had made of Jennifer's clean mirror.
"Is there any Windex in here?" They both began laughing. Yes, under the sink, there it was.
Ten minutes later, both the bathroom and the two men were presentable. They walked out to the kitchen to the loud and embarrassed giggles of four adolescent girls. There was nothing for it—they joined in.
"Jesus, Molly, you little shit—were you listening?"
Barely able to speak—"Like I've never heard you two before."
"Your turn will come."
"God, Brian—you're the one who just came!"
Jennifer opened the glass door from the small patio. "What's so funny? Did I miss something?"
"Molly was just saying she was glad that we could come today. Do you need help with anything else, Mom?"
Realizing immediately what she had walked in on, she gave Brian a dirty look. The adult was supposed to know better than that, for the love of God. "How about making sure that all the plates and silverware is out and that we have enough glasses."
The two men wandered out to check while the girls disappeared upstairs to laugh and speculate some more.
Within half an hour all the guests had arrived, Debbie had a huge salad and a couple of pies, Vic had baked a cake and the girls had brought cupcakes, explaining that they were Gus' favorite and that he had helped ice them. He instantly grabbed one, solemnly and carefully handing it to Brian insisting, "Dada, eat."
Sighing at the carbs and white sugar, Brian obliged, praising his efforts and thanking him. From then on til everyone left, the child wouldn't be separated from Brian's lap.
"Jesus, Brian. If someone had told me ten years ago that you'd spend a family picnic at your mother-in-laws house, holding your sleeping baby and actually let him stuff a piece of junk food in your mouth, I'd have said they were full of shit."
"You just never saw the softer side of me, that's all."
"I've seen every side of you at there is, and that's the one I never thought would see daylight." She gave his cheek a kiss. "I'm proud of you, kiddo." She looked over to where Molly and her friends were still kidding Justin about the bathroom encounter. "You two doing OK?"
"Yes, we're fine."
"Don't you try to bullshit me, asshole. I've seen the look on his face the last couple of months when he thinks no one's looking. What the fuck's the problem?"
Shit. This had started out to be a nice day and here we go again. "You're always looking for Goddamned problems, Deb. I told you, we're fine." He was speaking conversationally. He and Deb had known each other too long to buy into one another's dramatics.
"You're a fucking liar, but I'm letting it go for now, but I'm telling you—if he doesn't start sunshining pretty damn soon, we're going to have this conversation again and next time I won't drop it."
"Oh, good. Something to look forward to."
A few hours later the food was largely eaten, the fireworks, visible over the trees were oohed and aahed over, Gus having watched from Brian's arms with Justin sitting beside them and most of the mess had been cleaned up.
It was on the way home that the argument began.
Brian brought up an incident that had happened earlier in the day, before the others had arrived but after the bathroom sex.
As Justin had been outside looking at the grill, he muttered something under his breath.
"What did you say?"
"When? What re you talking about?"
"That conversation that was interrupted when Michael and Ben arrived."
"I said that if you want to show up my father, you could have done it for less than three thousand dollars."
"The grill? You know I don't buy crap."
"Yes, the grill and that's bullshit. You just want to be one up on him. The old grill was from the Big Q and cost like three hundred dollars."
"This one is better."
"So what? They both cook fucking hamburgers."
"And this one does it better and will do it for longer."
"You just won't let up, will you?"
They were pulling onto Tremont, almost at Brian's regular parking space. "You want to tell me what crawled up your butt?"
"You and your Goddamned money. You throw it at people."
"I like to live well and I'm generous to the people I care about."
"You try to fucking buy people."
"You're full of shit."
"Because I see what you're doing?"
"I never heard you complain about your new computer or the software or the clothes and food and shit I bring home." The car was at the curb, the motor off. They both got out; both slammed the doors and went inside without saying anything until they got upstairs.
"I fucking hate that you have all the money. I feel like your fucking housewife twat."
They ended up in the bedroom, standing on opposite side of the bed.
"I never asked you to do the laundry and the cooking and all that crap. We have a fucking cleaning lady twice a week. She'll do laundry. You don't have to do that shit."
"And then I feel like I don't contribute anything. Don't you fucking get it? I'm not your Goddamned little woman and that's how I feel. You have all the money and you call all the Goddamned shots. You have your fucking job and your fucking car and your fucking Armani everything and I'm little Justin with his little drawings. Goddamnit."
"That's a simple fact right now. You know that. You're a student, I'm a decade past that. Of course I have the money. In a couple of years when you get a real job, you'll have ..."
"I'll have what? A tenth of what you're making? Shit—by the time I have a real paycheck, you'll be a fucking agency president and I'll be in some fucking entry level position at some damn place." He had pulled off his tee shirt. "Screw this. I need a shower." The door banging shut was a good hint to Brian that there wouldn't be any shower sex just yet.
He went down to the kitchen, got himself a beer and ended up sitting on the couch while he waited for Justin to finish with his shower and his tantrum.
OK, fine, he knew it was all understandable. Justin was twenty, He wanted to be independent and all of that, but Brian did make the money. He did pay for the loft and the food and their clothes and Justin's tuition and school supplies and all of that. Justin's diner tips barely kept him in lunch money and cigarettes.
And, yeah—he was probably right. By the time he had a real job, Brian might well be head of his own place. He sure as Hell was busting his hump to get there.
Shit.
And, yeah, he could—as much as he hated to admit it—see this from Justin's side.
This wasn't all that different from Mikey and Doctor Dave.
Shit. Like he ever thought that would cross the street and hit him in the ass.
David had decided where they would live, what car Mikey would drive, where they ate, who their friends were, where they went on vacation, what Mikey would wear.
He and Justin lived in his loft; he paid the bills, bought the food, paid for tuition and the trip to Vermont. He paid for their wedding and the wedding rings. He paid for Christmas and birthday presents. He usually decided what position they would use for that night's or mornings sex. Brian's friends were the ones they spent the most time with.
He did set the pace of their lives and he had assumed (much as he didn't like to acknowledge what this said about him) that when—if—his own agency were ready, Justin would pick up and follow him to wherever the fuck he ended up.
It hadn't really occurred to him that it would be a problem.
He hadn't thought that it would be a problem.
He simply hadn't thought.
He was another David. Fuck me.
The water stopped, the door opened and Justin appeared at the top of the stairs with a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Come here." He came down, sitting on the far end of the couch, feet up, arms around his knees.
Brian reached out, taking his hand. "So, what are we going to do about this? What would make it better?"
Justin didn't say anything.
"Justin, talk to me. Do you want to stay here with me?"
"Yes."
"You know that I'll probably always make more money than you do. We work in different jobs. What I do pays better than what you do. That's just a fact."
"I know."
Justin was looking down in his lap, avoiding Brian's eyes.
"Are you that unhappy?" Brian rubbed his fingers. "I thought—I knew that there were some things, but are you that unhappy?"
"I want us to be equal and we're not. I know about the money and it only matters because it gives you the power..."
"It doesn't. It allows us to do some of the things we ..."
"Fucking can it. It's like with my parents. My Mom thought that they were partners and then he walked out and she was screwed. I don't want to be in the position she allowed herself to be in."
"I've already put your name on the deed for the loft. You know you're on almost all my accounts. You're the one named on my insurance, along with Gus."
Justin looked up at him, startled. He hadn't known about the loft or the insurance. Shit.
"Do you want to stay?" Brian looked as scared as he had the day he had told him about the bashing, afraid that he would lose him all over again.
"Yes."
"What are we going to do?"
"I don't know."
"But we'll work on it?"
"Yes."
"Justin?"
He looked up again. Brian pulled him into an embrace, holding him.
"Brian, are we going to be alright?"
He didn't answer, he just tightened his grip.