Second Year
November
The end of the weekend in San Francisco was strained, at best. The two of them tried to pretend that things were moving along and that Brian hadn't disappointed Justin by showing up late. Justin acted as though he'd been pleasantly surprised, that he completely understood that Brian had to change his flight at the last minute and that he wasn't angry that his second big night had been back burnered again by his husband. They had spent the rest of the night back at the hotel making love, but the spark, the lightning didn't strike and if both of them noticed, neither one said anything. Justin truly was excited that over half of his paintings had sold and he had given out his new business cards to any number of people, all of whom promised to call about him doing commissions. OK, he knew that most of them wouldn't, but it was still great to hear and he was flattered.
Brian tried that weekend. He did. He was proud of Justin, proud f his work and the reactions the paintings received. He was impressed by the way Justin handled himself with the opening crowd, the invited guests and the critics. He charmed them all and Brian wasn't surprised at all. The next couple of days they went and did whatever Justin wanted, they ate whatever he wanted and they made love at Justin's suggestion. Brian even let him top a couple of times and that, more than anything, let Justin know that Brian really was sorry.
They were both trying.
They really were, but they weren't there, yet, not after the last few months.
The flight back home was quiet. They made the obligatory trip to the bathroom to fuck, but it was really just going through the motions.
Brian had waited until they were driving back to the loft to spring his surprise, hoping that it might help.
"I was thinking." He had a look on his face, that of a cat and a canary.
"Oh?" Justin was watching the traffic go by.
"I think it would be a good idea to move."
Justin turned and gave him a hard look. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I think we should sell the loft and get a place that's better designed for the two of us. Haven't you ever thought about it?"
"…The loft is your home, you love it…"
They pulled into the usual parking space. "Exactly. It's mine. Well, technically it's both of ours, but it was my turf first and that's sort of hung on. Besides, it's not really big enough for you to work in."
"I have the studio." He was talking about the studio space he shared with a couple of PIFA students. It was cramped, poorly lit, badly heated and way the Hell over on the campus. It had worked when he was going to school but now it was impractical and they both knew it.
"How would you feel about asking your mother to start looking for a place for us? One big enough for you to paint in and Gus should have a room. I could use an office—you know, a real house."
They were back in the loft, dumping their bags up in the bedroom. Justin hadn't said anything, he was still digesting.
"Do you think this is a good time for us to be thinking about something like that?"
They both knew what he meant. "…I think it might be a good idea." He had that look on his face, the scared one, the one he'd had after he'd ruined the work Justin and Michael had done on Rage and he knew that he'd gone too far. "You don't agree?"
"I'd love it, I'm just not sure that this is the best time. It's sort of, you know, I'm not sure, that's all."
"I thought you might enjoy it."
He exhaled. Shit. They'd been dancing around one another for months now and Justin was tired of it. For better or worse, they had always been honest, if nothing else. "I would, but Brian—shit—this is just a fucking band aid to take our attention off everything else. You know that as well as I do."
Brian gave a sort of an I know but I'm trying' gesture that was somewhere between a shrug and a plea.
Justin knew that was cruel, but they had to get it into the open. He continued, trying to not cause hurt. "I'd love a house, and I'd love to have our house, wake up in our bedroom and eat in our kitchen and all of that. Someday we'll do that, but not as a, a change of subject so we're not dealing with what's really going on."
Brian seemed defeated, deflated. He crossed up to the bedroom. Justin heard the bathroom door close and a couple of minutes later the shower started. He left Brian alone, remembering something that he'd been told once, a long time ago.
Brian had told him, when Justin had asked how he had stood it when he was a kid, when he was beaten. He had asked how he had stayed in the house, knowing that his parents were just down the hall. Brian had told him that after he was around nine he never let them see him cry, no matter how much it hurt, he never would let them know that they had gotten to him, that they had caused him pain.
How?
He would go into the bathroom and take a shower—sometimes he wouldn't even get in the water, he'd just turn it on and let it run, fell blast. He knew they couldn't hear him over the water. If it were very bad he'd turn on the water in the sink, too. They never found out.
But Justin knew.
Almost forty-five minutes later Brian came out, toweling his hair dry.
"I ordered Chinese, is that OK?"
"That's great."
"It should be here any minute."
"Good."
"…I was thinking, maybe that's a good idea, buying a house."
Brian looked at him with mild interest, the way he would look at a new intern he had to sign off on. "You said this isn't a good time."
"I know I did, but I've been thinking about it and it might be what we need to get things straightened out."
"You don't have to go along with this because you think I want it."
"I'm not. I was going to, you're right, but I was thinking about it and it makes sense." Brian raised an eyebrow. He'd love to hear the rationale the twat had come up with. "You're right, the loft is your turf and I do feel that way about it. We can't help it; it's so identified with you and what you were before we got together. I feel like I can't even move a chair because you'll get upset. And we don't have enough room for both of us to do what we want."
"Really." It was a statement, not a question. He was letting Justin play this out.
"Well, yes—and you're right about my needing a studio. I have a lot of work to do and I need a place I can really do it without worrying about getting paint on the floor."
"Uh-huh."
"And if Gus is going to come over you're right, he needs a room, or at least a place where he can go and have some privacy." The door buzzer went off, he got up to answer, pressing the button for the delivery guy. "I'll call my Mom after we eat—OK?"
"Sure." Hell, it could work, it might help.
"Brian? Mrs. Taylor is here." Jennifer had been looking for a couple of weeks, knowing Brian would have no patience with being dragged from place to place. She and Justin were weeding through the possibilities then showing him the ones with the most promise. She had a few she wanted him to look at and took a chance that he was free. He wasn't, really, but it wouldn't take long. He opened his office door and let her in.
"Well, first of all, the loft already had two offers on it at six hundred and fifty and two more are interested. I think you should just sit tight and let them start a bidding war. With any luck it will go over seven hundred, maybe even a little higher."
"That sounds good, if we're looking starting in the one million range, that will give me a decent down payment." She handed him a folder with pictures of houses. Sitting at his desk he leafed through them.
Yes, they were starting in the one million dollar ballpark, but it was quickly becoming apparent that to get what he and Justin wanted would be almost twice that, or it could well end up being a tear down that they would have to put time and more money in. The odds that Brian would be willing to live through that were pretty small. He'd done it with the loft, living in his old place until every detail was perfect, but he wasn't going through that again. He wouldn't. He slit his wrists first.
"Justin thought that you might like this one—it has twenty foot ceilings in the living room and the great room, three bedrooms and another one that could be an office. It s in move in condition, but the drawback is that it would be a forty minute commute for you."
"No."
"Alright. This one is charming and Justin just fell in love with it." It was a new log cabin on about three acres, pretending to be old and with all the amenities including a Jacuzzi. "It even has a pond that you can see from the windows on this whole side of the house."
A little too Little House on the Prairie for Brian. He didn't say that, but she saw his face. She moved on to the next.
"This one is lovely—it has that big porch and the views are wonderful…"
She went on, talking about ten or so houses. They were all nice, they were all around a million dollars or slightly more, they would all be fine and in all truth he didn't care. This was for Justin. It wouldn't be his loft—their loft, he corrected himself—it would be Justin's and he would make of it what he could. Brian was sure that whatever they ended up with would be beautiful and in good taste, knowing Justin and it would have a slight twist to make it somehow unique and different than anything else anyone had seen.
Just about any of them would be fine.
"Which one did Justin like the best?"
"Well, he liked the cabin the best. He just loved it."
"Why don't we all go out and look at in tomorrow, I'm free after about two and I don't think Justin is busy."
"…Of course. That should be fine. Shall I meet you at the loft or pick you up here?"
The arrangements were made. He would buy the thing if it were feasible. Justin would like it, it would make him happy and it would show Justin that Brian cared enough to get him what he liked.
Yes, obviously he knew that Justin didn't see it as a house. He wanted a home, a place to come back to and make their own. Brian knew that. He'd felt that way about the loft. It had been the first real thing he'd ever had that was all his—the first big thing, the first adult thing and he had ever bought and made his own.
It was OK; he knew it was time to move on.
"Really? Brian, really? Oh, God, I love you, I love you, I love you!" He had thrown his arms around Brian, hugging and kissing and happy, kissing his neck and his cheeks and laughing and hugging and…God, he was so damn happy!
Jennifer was smiling a few feet away. The cabin was beautiful.
Cabin—shit, it had a dozen rooms, all of them big and light. It had three fireplaces and a three car garage. Justin would have a studio and a decent kitchen and he could make an office for himself where he'd be able to work. The place was in move in condition, the owners had vacated two months ago, retiring to Boca and as soon as they agreed on a price and signed the papers it would be theirs.
"The asking price is one and three quarters, but I'm pretty sure they'll come down. They want to get it sold and have it done."
"Offer one and a quarter and come up to one and a half if you have to."
"Oh, God, Brian—that fireplace in the living room and the pond—we can lie in bed and look at the stars through the skylight. It's so perfect!" He was talking in exclamation points.
The owners accepted an offer of one million and two hundred thousand dollars—Jenn had lo-balled them— and Brian knew that he was getting a deal. If the owners had waited until spring they would have gotten their full asking price or more.
They would be clear to move in when all the paperwork was done, probably in a few weeks, maybe mid December or so. The loft had gone for seven and a half and Brian had cleared over five hundred in profit, thanks to the gentrification of the area and his own good taste in his renovation of the space.
Justin was beside himself, not worrying about practicalities like yard work or plowing the three hundred yard long driveway, ignoring the look of horror on Brian's face when he blithely suggested they could get a snow blade for the jeep. They had politely listened to Emmett's suggestions regarding décor and thanked Debbie for her ideas.
Brian was, again, burying himself in work. With a new mortgage he had to make more money and that meant more clients and more and bigger bonuses. Justin would run his ideas past Brian every evening—colors, furniture placement and all of that. Brian would tell him that he trusted his taste completely—a lie of there ever was one since he trusted no one's taste completely except his own, not even Justin's—and that he should make it look the way he wanted. Brian would do his thing in his office and they would call it square.
The transfer papers were signed, the keys handed over with no complications and surprisingly little fanfare. Arriving from a meeting, Brian was half an hour late for the closing.
He took Justin and Jennifer, along with Molly out for a celebratory dinner and Molly was allowed her first taste of champagne.
Somehow it seemed to help.
They seemed to be making a start with reconnecting and the damn house was the glue. As they got used to the whole idea of having a house and that place in particular, they found a few of the things that had drawn them together in the first place.
The new house seemed like it might actually be the new start they had both known, consciously or otherwise, that they needed. They fought less and they were happier together. Justin was excited and challenged by the idea and the reality of making a home for the two of them and though he had no desire to become a housewife any more than Brian wanted him to, they found that he was good at making the house welcoming, mixing the clean style that Brian favored with his own ideas. In fact they did work on the house together when they could but it was usually Justin who did the lion's share. He happened to have a work lull just then and Brian happened to be swamped.
And if Justin's endless talk about the shades of white and natural fabrics versus synthetic got on Brian's nerves, the house was large enough that he could go elsewhere and close a door. Equally, if Brian's absences or silences annoyed Justin, he could call a friend or have someone over without worrying that Brian would be disturbed by their talk or music.
Having the extra space and the ability to get away from one another seemed to be the cabin's biggest plus.
Brian would come home from the office, eat whatever was put in front of him, look at whatever fabric samples or paint chips Justin showed him and make comments.
Justin would spend a good part of his day sanding and painting and arranging drawers and cabinets and closets until he couldn't stand it but then preen when Brian would mention whatever progress had been made.
They had plans to spend Thanksgiving with Jennifer and that side of Justin's family at the condo. Some aunts and uncles and a few cousins plus the grandparents would be there and Brian wasn't looking forward to the annual lecture on his health and how what he did affected the twat, but he could smile and deal with it—so long as it was only once a year.
Things were running smoother between them right now, thank God—privately he was afraid that once the chaos and upheaval of the move and Justin's art commitments and his schedule calmed down—which it would in a couple of months—they would find that nothing had changed other than their mailing address, but he was hopeful and he knew Justin felt the same.
Their sex life had improved a bit, too, finally. They were back up to almost every night and a goodly number of mornings. And it was good.
Brian liked Jacuzzis.
"Brian? I've been thinking." His attention was pulled back from where it was going.
"I thought you told me you'd given that up two months ago"
"Fuck you."
"…Fine, sorry. About...?"
"The house is coming together and Gardner said you'd get some time off for Christmas. We could have a party—sort of a house warming and holiday thing. No one has seen the place since the furniture arrived and we haven't had time to see anyone in weeks. Would that be OK?"
Parties were good. Parties he organized were better but he knew Justin wouldn't go along with that. Not this time. He'd make up for it later. In the Jacuzzi. "When were you planning on doing this?"
"The last Saturday in December, a couple of days after Christmas."
"…Are you sure you wouldn't rather go somewhere for the break?" He hadn't thought about it until this minute, but it would get him out of dealing with the damn party. Besides, it would probably cost about the same either way.
That was something Justin hadn't considered. With all the money they'd been spending on the house, he thought that they would be cutting back a little. On the other hand, this was Brian he was dealing with. He went with the truth, usually a good choice with Brian.
"I'd rather stay around here and get the house really put together—do you mind?"
He was going to snark but restrained himself. "It's fine—I should stay close anyway. We'll do it another time." Probably. Besides, this party thing could work. "There's still a lot to do around here and if I'm off I can help you more for a while." Well, he wouldn't really be off, but he would be around more than he had been. He could probably take a long weekend.
Justin called Emmett to help, begged that the theme be understated and insisted that he wanted hot mulled cider to go along with everything else and got the house—with Brian's help when he was around, presentable. He even managed to get his studio set up and begin work on a new series he'd had an idea for which Fred was excited about. Things were going well.
Well, yeah, Brian was still working a lot of extra hours, but Justin knew the house had been expensive and…shit, he was still working himself to exhaustion, he was just, well, he was—still Brian and Justin had even told him once that he didn't expect him to change, that he didn't want him to.
He just wanted him to be around for a long time.
Thanksgiving weekend Brian gave Justin his half of the guest list. Obviously they'd have the family, but Justin wanted to add some of his PIFA friends, some local gallery owners, a few old high school friends, Daphne. He was even sending an invitation to his father, not that he expected him to show up.
When he saw Brian's list he didn't bother saying anything—there would be no point—but he understood why he had given in so easily to the idea of the party. Almost every single one of Brian's guests was business, up to and including Jim Stockwell and his frigging wife.
It was just another day at the office, another chance to make contacts. Fine, Damnit, he'd have his party, Brian could have his—there was room in the house for both.
"Justin? You coming?" Brian called him from what they called the sunroom; the Jacuzzi was in there.
"I'll be right there." Whatever.
It was Brian. It was business as usual.
Note: Real Estate prices in Pittsburgh...I've no idea. I live in an area where the prices are very inflated and so I'm going to pretend—even though we all know better—that the prices would be about the same as where I am. Be amused and happy that you aren't paying them. And yes, I know that it takes longer than this to buy a house and move into it…hey, it's my story. It moves on my time frame