Second Year

March

It was chaos, the entire month, for both of them.

Brian was swamped with trying to get his new agency, BK and Co., and organized, trying to keep the clients who had moved with him happy, find new accounts and attempt to balance the newly opened book and actually see his husband every day for at least some time together.

Justin was coming to the realization that getting a one-man show ready, and making sure that the product he was producing was acceptable, made his attending classes impossible.

After some hard thinking and with some reservations, he applied for and was granted a leave of absence with his return open for review in six months. If the show in New York were a success there would be no reason for him to go back to school. If he flopped, he would have to submit new examples of his work for jury by the faculty to consider whether or not he was still PIFA material.

They were both under the gun and they both knew it. Many of their friends and family, however, did not and couldn't understand why the invitations to dinner or the movies or Babylon were refused, usually politely, but refused never the less.

Debbie was pissed that Justin had to pull back on his diner shifts and Linds was pissed that Brian couldn't take Gus for the weekend so that she and Mel cold get away for a couple of days. Claire was more annoyed than usual because her brother wouldn't lend her money, claiming—rightly—that his funds were tied up with the business start up and Jenn was angry that Justin couldn't pick up his sister at the ski place two hours away that she had gone to with friends, then had to leave early because of a forgotten History project.

All in all, they were just pissing off everyone, including each other.

Fred at the gallery was demanding slides of some finished pieces so that he could get some post cards and advance PR work done and Gardner Vance was breathing down Brian's neck to finish out a couple of lingering commitments that had been part of his buy out before he could completely walk away and be done with Vanguard.

And then to make things perfect, Justin got a call from some guy who'd been pursuing him for a few months now. Well, OK. He was the guy whose cherry Justin had popped at Daph's party a while ago, the one who showed up the next day to proclaim his love. Justin had seen him around and lately they'd started chatting and having an occasional cup of coffee together. Brian didn't know. Justin had been out on a food run when Brian actually picked up the phone, took the message and gave it to Justin when he walked in twenty minutes later.

"You had a call. Eric said you left your gloves at his place and he'll give them to you when he stops in at your studio tomorrow." That was all Brian said, but the look he had on his face was enough to curl Justin's toes.

"I went over to get a couple of blank canvas's he made up for me, that's all."

"He couldn't drop them in your studio or the office for you?"

"He could have, but I was in the area and it seemed easier and quicker to just get the things myself."

"He seemed friendly for the hired help, Sunshine."

"Piss off, Brian." The door slammed behind him.

Brian didn't see any reason to tell Justin that he'd pushed a dinner meeting with Marvin Telson off onto his only ad exec so that he wouldn't have to deal with the horny old bastard. Somehow Brian didn't think that Ben was Marv's type. Ben was slightly older than Brian, married and had four kids, all under the age of five.

Fuck em.

Throwing Justin one last glare, he crossed over to his desk, flipped open his lap top and started back to work. He had three pitches lined up for the week and if he nailed even one of them he might have a shot of thinking about hitting the black inside of the first six months of opening his shop. He also knew that Gardner would move heaven and earth to make sure that didn't happen. Oh, he wouldn't play dirty—there was honor amongst thieves—but he wouldn't be laying out any silver platters for him to be feasting off of, either.

Whatever he won would be hard fought and if he could pull this off he figured that in a few years, five at the outside, he would be able to either pull up and make a move to either New York or San Francisco, get the hell out of Pittsburgh and live the way he had wanted to since he was about twenty. OK, he hadn't talked this part of the plan over with Justin, but, shit—how could he not want to see more than he could see where they were now? He had to like the idea when it finally came up. He'd fucking have to.

Maybe, when the dust settled from the agency opening and Justin's big show, maybe they could take some time and get away together, just the two of them the way Justin always liked.

He would love that—maybe London would be good. Justin would love all those museums. They could go pub crawling, do some shopping, get some decent clothing—well, maybe they'd have to go over to Paris for that, but it wasn't like it would be far if they were in London. Maybe they could take a boat over. The new one, the Queen Mary 2 had started her trans Atlantic crossings and he's heard that they had some deal where if you sailed one way they threw in the airfare for the return trip. That might be fun, Justin would like that—just the two of them in a cabin on a top of the line ship sailing the Atlantic for five days. The food would be fabulous, they had gyms and pools and all kinds of shit. Maybe they'd do that.

After everything calmed down a little.

Maybe he would even treat Jenn and Molly, in a different cabin, obviously. Jenn would like that and Justin would like that he'd thought of it. Maybe they could be put on a different deck. It wasn't like they would have to spend every minute together.

Well, maybe they'd include the family another time, now that he thought about it. This would be a trip just for the two of them to get away and reconnect. Justin would like that.

He always liked shit like that, all that romantic shit.

He had loved the time they had spent on Nevis and St. Kitts but the warm glow or whatever it was had barely survived the trip back from the airport and when he'd looked at Justin next to him in the plane as they lifted off to come home he looked as sad as he had ever seen him. He hadn't wanted to leave, begging for another week but it was impossible. They both had to get back, they both had obligations.

Justin was supposed to be working in his studio, but his hand was hurting like a son of a bitch and after screwing up a couple of sketches he had decided that it was pointless to continue so walked over to Daphne's place, knowing she'd probably be home studying.

She was.

Their sex life was in the toilet. That was what he had been complaining about for the last twenty minutes and she was ready to tell him that he should go back to the damn loft and throw Brian in the bed or in the shower or on the couch and just rape the hell out of him. Well, maybe not rape' exactly, but have at him, anyway. That's what she would do if that was the problem, but Justin was going on about how Brian was working harder than he'd ever seen him and he had to get his paintings ready to ship to New York and they were both going on adrenalin and were tired and stressed and they'd started snapping at each other and—it all just sucked right now.

He knew he had to get the paintings done but all the pressure of what was going on with Brian and his new agency and the hours he was working—the hours they were both working—and knowing that the stuff he produced would be looked at by the hot shot critics and that if he messed up he'd be fucked—God, who could think about sex?

But, God, he was horny.

Did Brian have any idea how he felt?

Brian was too fucking busy to fuck…and that was a first.

So he and Daph smoked a joint, a small one, just enough to chill them both a bit—she was dealing with pre med and that was no walk in the park, either, he decided that she was right, that what Brian needed was a good ravishing and he was just the one to give it to him, Damnit.

OK.

Getting his coat he kissed Daph on the cheek, thanked her for the ear and headed out to the jeep. When he got there Eric was leaning against it.

"I thought this was yours." Justin gave a look a what the fuck are you doing here, you asshole' kind of look. "I live across the street. I just thought that if you want to get those canvas's we could go now."

Shit, he wanted to get home to screw Brian, but he needed the damn things and it could be a couple of days before they might be able to hook up again. Shit.

"Sure, great. Let's go." They drove over to the garage Eric used as his studio. He told Justin it belonged to a friend and was cheaper and bigger with fewer distractions than the spaces supplied by the school. The canvases were stacked by the door, ready to load out. They looked good, just what Justin was looking for.

"You want a beer or something?"

"Thanks, no. I sort of have to get home. These look great, though. Is it alright if I pay you tomorrow? I swear I'm good for it. I just don't have any money on me tonight."

"It's fine. Your—what is he? Your husband? He waiting for you?"

"Yeah, Brian. He's back home."

"I guess you found one guy to be with."

"…I was lucky."

Eric gave him a look, a blatant one. "I'd say he was."

The moment went on a few seconds too long. "I have to go. Do you need a ride back?" The mood wasn't broken, just put off and they both knew it. Justin couldn't just let it go. "…Look, I'm married, OK? This isn't going to happen."

Eric looked like he might cry or run away or something. "I know. It's OK. I just sort of hoped that, maybe we could hang out or something. Nothing else, I swear. I wouldn't, you know. I know you're married—that ring is pretty obvious. I know that you're with… I mean, everyone knows." He was babbling.

Shit. Justin knew this was coming. He'd known it since that day at the diner when he'd come looking for him and Justin had felt like total crap for being cruel t him, even if it was sort of for both their own good. "Forget it. It's OK. You need a ride?"

"No, I'm just going to—no."

"…I'll drop the money off at the office for you in the morning, that's OK?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll see you around."

"Yeah."

"Hey, Justin? Good luck with the show."

"…Thanks."

When he got back to the loft Brian had turned his computer off. The lights were largely off with just pools of light here and there—by the couch, the ambers were on over the bed. The jazz was playing low. There was a bottle of good champagne on the coffee table with two glasses. The Steuben bowl had perfect strawberries in it. Brian was wearing his silk robe, waiting.

"I thought I'd take the rest of the night off. That alright with you?"

Justin gave him a small smile. It was fine. At least for now, it was fine. In fact it was overdue.

Two weeks later they had both settled back into some kind of routine. They would usually get up around six-thirty or seven. Shower, breakfast and Brian would be out to his new office, walking in there no later than eight. Justin would wait until he was gone then move over to the studio space he'd set up for himself by the big windows. Being on leave from PIFA had forced him to relinquish his studio space, always in short supply. In the middle of everything he had been forced to make a move. Pain in the ass. Luckily the family had helped and they had gotten it done in a long morning, including the new set up. Brian had only insisted that tarps and plastic be taped down to protect the hardwood flooring. Justin had conceded without a fight. The paintings were coming along, he had twenty finished and he was pleased with how they were turning out. There were also sketches that he was considering including, but Fred was unsure about that, thinking they smacked of student class work, but had agreed to hold off a final decision until he saw everything together.

Eric had been given his money the next day and with the hand off—he had been hanging around the office waiting for Justin to come by with it—he had apologized, promising that it would never happen again and hoping that they could still be friends. Committing to nothing, Justin thanked him again for making up the canvas's for him and said that maybe he'd see him around. Eric seemed to hang on his words.

As he had left it occurred to him, not for the first time that if things had been different, if they had met in high school, say, they might well have hooked up. There had been a time when Justin had wanted the same thing. He had wanted a boyfriend to hold hands with and make love. They would be together and talk about their days and would see movies together and all of that. They would give one another small gifts and flowers. They would spend evenings curled together under a throw watching TV or reading. Once that was what he wanted and now he just thought of that as the Harlequin Romance version of things and one that wasn't real and would be almost impossible to maintain simply because life is more complicated than that.

Life and whom you fall in love with wasn't always convenient and it wasn't neat or polite or considerate. It was a bitch and it was hard and you didn't always win. In fact, there were more minuses than pluses and so you had to fight to hold onto the good stuff and sometimes you still lost and had to move on and try again.

And sometimes, rarely, you got a second chance and if you were really lucky you'd see it for what it was and grab it and make it happen the second time around.

Like him and Brian.

Sometimes.

The paintings were due to be shipped out in ten days. There would be a two day set up which he would be at, along with Fred and an assistant or two. He was going to rent a room, but Fred had told him that if he wanted, he was welcomed on the pull out couch at his place in the Village, he could save the money. He would get to New York on a Wednesday, they'd have Thursday and Friday to set up and the opening would be Friday evening. Brian would come in that afternoon and they would all be there to for the meet and greet scheduled for seven thirty.

Justin was insane with the stress he felt himself under and the least thing would set him off. That morning he had been close to tears on learning that they were out of tea. The night before he had bitched out the delivery guy because he'd brought chicken fried rice instead of pork. He was building to an explosion and Brian was trying to come up with some way to chill him out.

Maybe they could take that trip if he could clear a couple of weeks.

Fat fucking chance.

Brian's new agency was getting it's toe in at some of the bigger presentations that were coming up and it was based on the reputation he'd built at Ryder and Vanguard. The agency in New York, the one that had decided not to hire him a couple pf years ago, had sent some feelers his way about a possible merger or flat out buy out, depending on their performance over the first year of operation. Yes, it was premature, but they wanted Brian to know that they hoped there were no hard feelings and they had the deepest of respect for him and his abilities.

Knowing bullshit when he heard it, Brian wondered what that was about but kept his mouth shut. He'd find out sooner or later.

He kept Marvin Telson at arm's length, fobbing him off to Cynthia when he called. The contracts were signed; he wouldn't play anymore and if it cost them the renewal, then fuck it. He knew that was a mistake, but hadn't cared enough then—no, he did care, but even he had limits, even back when he had first walked out on the man. He'd made a mistake when he reversed himself and it wouldn't happen again. Justin had been right. It was shoddy and he could do better.

It wouldn't happen again. He knew how the whole fidelity thing mattered to Justin and while he didn't completely buy it, he had made an agreement when they'd gotten married and he would keep it. He would. No more back sliding or stoking clients the wrong way.

They saw Deb and the family for one of her dinners and they all commented that they both seemed to working themselves into the ground and Deb almost took him aside for one of her heart to hearts but he saw Vic waylay her, thank God.

Jenn had shown up one night to take them out for Italian and they had gone, resenting the time taken away from their work and cutting the evening short.

Molly had asked him to come to her school for some kind of career day and he told her that he'd have to get back to her then, seeing the disappointment had relented and agreed to show on the day he'd been penciled in for. Justin had thanked him later for her.

Sometimes he felt like he was on a treadmill and it was going too fast.