Second Year

December

The party had, from the perspective of any one of the eighty or so guests, been a complete success.

The food was fabulous. The shrimp and the crab claws had to keep being refilled, the Jell-O molds that Justin has sort of hidden in the back because he didn't want anyone to see them, but he didn't want to hurt Em's feelings were actually eaten—Emmett had outdone himself—the house itself was a showplace, even if they had just moved in a month ago. The mix of people was interesting and Justin's PIFA friends mingled with the various advertising people and company executives Brian had invited. There had been good music and good wine. Everyone had behaved, even the ones who had decided to jump into the Jacuzzi wore bathing suits, and it was actually a classy affair.

Brian was, no surprise, wearing new Prada and Justin was in decent cords and a good sweater Jennifer had given him for Christmas.

Craig had shown up, briefly, been polite, complimented the house, taken the tour and looked chagrined when he saw the master bedroom with the king-sized bed and the shower large enough for entertainment purposes. He had avoided Brian, who returned the compliment, and kissed Jenn and Molly on the cheek. He had even gone so far as to tell Justin that he hoped that he was happy. Justin just nodded and saw him to the door.

Debbie had walked through, proclaimed the place a fucking palace and wanted to know where the vino was. She talked to everyone, telling them all that she had known Brian since he was fourteen and had always known he'd end up in a place like this—or a fucking jail cell and she hoped that he knew what he had in Justin because he was a Goddamned saint as far as she was concerned and dared anyone to say otherwise.

No one did, though Michael looked tempted.

Cynthia has asked Brian if she'd sleep with him, could she live in a place like this, too and since he was doing so well, could she have a raise, please?

Vance worked the crowd, charmingly.

Vic and Rodney kissed in the Jacuzzi.

Some of the guests seemed to think that it was an Anniversary party and though their anniversary was next week, no it hadn't been planned as one. They politely thanked people for the few presents and put them in another room for later.

Brian was a congenial host, making sure everyone had a drink or a plate or knew where the bathrooms were. Justin did the same and somehow the two of them managed to spend most of the evening apart, too busy with the crowd, with their friends and assorted family to speak to one another or to stand together talking or to dance. They were simply too busy—anyone could see that.

Jennifer saw it for what it was though, and Lindsay, that they were avoiding one another.

Vance only noticed that Brian seemed to be getting along well with the head of Pittsburgh Glass and his wife and Ben noticed that Brian seemed to be schmoozing Jim Stockwell and his PTA wife as though bygones were bygones and for the life of himself, couldn't figure out why.

Daphne was just happy for Justin and Brian. She knew they were still having some rough spots that would need some work, but they seemed like they were pretty happy tonight—which was good since her own boyfriend had moved into her place and she didn't have room if Justin's panties got into another knot.

Ted was still in rehab.

The guests stayed til almost three, or the stragglers did, anyway. It was a good party.

Upstairs, around four, they were in bed, Brian was horny and Justin was both tired and not in the mood.

"What's the problem now, princess?"

"…I fucking hate it when you call me that."

"What's the problem now, Sunshine?"

"You know Goddamned well what." For being as angry as he was you'd have thought that he'd have been shouting, but he was just talking, almost conversationally. "You treated our party—OK, MY party—like a Goddamned business meeting."

"It was both, you knew that."

"Sure I did, as soon as I saw who you invited."

"So, what's the problem? I think I might have landed Pittsburgh Glass tonight."

"Big fucking deal."

"Sweetheart." Justin hated it when Brian was sarcastic and he was sarcastic so frigging often. "The signing bonus alone will pay the mortgage on this place for two years."

"Fucking whoop for you. Every Goddamned thing is business with you—every fucking thing. We have a housewarming and you turn it into a chance to score an account."

"Justin, stop." He was tired and not in the mood.

"Fine, and get your hand off of my ass."

"Not a problem."

Brian was in the Jacuzzi the next morning before lunch, relaxing, enjoying the heat and the water and the view—Christ, did he actually think that?—waiting for Justin to finish whatever he was doing so they could have some lunch and maybe some make up sex. Maybe they could have the makeup sex in the Jacuzzi, which would have the double advantage of sex in the Jacuzzi and Brian not having to move.

He waited a while.

After an hour or so—and he knew he wasn't supposed to stay in more than like half an hour—he climbed out, wrinkled, and went looking.

The note was on the kitchen counter.

He had gone to his mother's to get some space and he'd call.

Fucking twat.

The wind was cold, the leaves swirling along the path in Schenley Park and Gus was screaming and laughing at being dizzy and falling down from spinning as fast as he could in one place. He'd spin, spin then stop and stagger a bit then spin and spin again. He'd probably end up tossing the hamburger he'd had, but what the Hell. He was having a good time.

Brian had him for a couple of days so the Moms could have a break and it had been going great, just the two of them together. They'd been having fun—they'd seen the latest Disney flick, they'd eaten junk food, they'd stayed up late together and they had just exhausted the entertainment possibilities of the play ground. Brian would drop him off at the girl's when they left the park and though he would miss the kid, he would welcome the quiet.

Well, no. That wasn't true. He wouldn't, not really. In fact, he was starting to dread it.

Since Justin had left a couple of days ago the house had been quiet and Gus noise, while fun in its way, wasn't what he wanted.

After what had happened Justin had packed enough of his shit to tide him over for a few days or a week and had carried through with his threat. He was staying with Jennifer and Molly at the condo. They were both miserable and Jen wasn't all that happy with the turn of events, either. She felt caught in the middle and it was starting to annoy the Hell out of her, truth be known. She knew that Justin was unhappy and she'd seen enough of them to know that Brian wasn't any more pleased with how things were going between them. She understood how both men felt and thought that they both had good points but that each was taking his side too far and that was the main problem.

Justin has told her that Brian had told him not to be a twat, to fucking grow up, to cut the drama queening and just deal with it. If he didn't want to stay in the same bed, they did have two empty guest rooms he could use. He didn't want that. If they were going to be in the same house they would be in the same bed. If they weren't going to be in the same bed, he would leave the damn house.

Yes, Brian should try to cut back on his work and his hours, both for his own health and the health of his marriage. Yes, of course Justin wanted them to spend more time together and he needed Brian to be there to support him at his openings and such.

On the other hand, Brian's business was building and he was needed to make it all run smoothly plus he was the one most of the clients wanted to deal with—and he made a ton of money. No, money wasn't the be-all and end-all, but it did matter, especially with the kind of bills he was paying now.

And Justin needed Brian to be around and she wasn't just thinking about the business trips and that sort of thing. Justin could understand them—it was Brian's not being there when they were in the same room that he couldn't tolerate. His mind was always on the next layout, the next thirty second spot, the next ad spread.

And no marriage could survive with the sort of unequal relationship they had going…she knew how that was and she also knew that if they didn't break the patterns they were falling into soon, they would be so firmly set that they likely wouldn't be able to break them, ever. Brian was the dominant partner, that had been more than obvious since day one to most people, but Jenn had seen how Justin could manipulate him, sway him, bring him around to another point of view. As far as that sort of thing, and intelligence too, went they were, as Debbie had once told her, pretty evenly matched.

It was the other stuff where Justin was in Brian's shadow.

The money, of course, but that was just the most visible part. Brian's business was moving into the major markets and he would want to move with it. Justin would have to either tag along or stay behind in any manner of the word you chose to use.

They were uneven in terms of their day-to-day lives, too, and what had started as just common sense had grown into assumption of division of labor and being taken for granted.

Brian didn't like to cook, Justin did. Brian would prefer to pay someone to do his cleaning and his laundry and all of that. Justin wouldn't waste the money, especially if he was home anyway. Her son could well become a housewife with his studio and his art to keep him sane.

Luckily he seemed to have enough talent that he was starting to make a dent of his own, but there were no guarantees. He might just be a flash in the pan; his work might fall out of favor.

What Justin did, his painting, was every bit as important as Brian's work was to him and she believed that they both completely understood that, but somehow the money seemed to tip the power toward Brian—along with his age and simply his sheer size. There was no way it couldn't make a difference when he stood more than six inches taller than Justin did.

His age. Their ages. Brian had twelve years on Justin. They all knew that. Brian had decades on him as far as experience went and she wasn't just talking about sex. Brian had been raised in a dysfunctional household, Justin in a supportive and loving one. Brian had been abused, physically, mentally and sexually from the time he was a child. Justin had—well, he hadn't.

Brian had been forced to learn survival skills that had stood him well in every aspect of his life, except in dealing with someone in a loving relationship. He was tough as nails and would lash out at the first hint of a threat even if he were all wrapped up in Armani and Prada.

Justin was open and giving. Brian was a closed book.

Justin wore his heart on his sleeve, Brian kept his hidden behind stonewalls and under lock and key.

They loved one another, they both knew that, but…

They were at loggerheads.

They would talk every night for hours on the phone and they saw one another everyday, meeting at the diner for breakfast, but Justin refused to move back until Brian agreed to scale back. Brian insisted hat he had, as much as he could right now, and Justin had to understand that his business was important to him.

More important than their marriage?

Apples and oranges. The two weren't the same. They were different parts of his life and there wouldn't be an equal balance. That was impossible. There was give and take. Right now he needed to concentrate on his work. Eventually he would be able to settle back a little. He wanted to, he just couldn't yet.

What about passing out from exhaustion? What about wrecking the car because he'd fallen asleep at the wheel last year? What would it take to make him understand?

He did, he did understand, he just needed a few more months.

Come back home.

No. Not until you slow down and take care of yourself.

God, they were both so damn stubborn. This had gone too far. She picked up the phone. She thought she might know who could talk some sense into Brian, at least—if anyone could.

Debbie had called them together on Wednesday night, just the two of them and her. She had called each one and ordered them to both show up at her place for a pasta dinner and a heart to heart and they had both shown up. They'd do that for Deb, no matter what they may have been thinking privately.

Sitting at her kitchen table, plates full of baked ziti, she looked at both of them. They had greeted one another with a kiss and obviously wanted to say something, but neither one did.

They were both looking at their plates, not speaking.

"You two look like shit."

Brian gave her a mild look; Justin glanced at his husband then over to Deb.

"Jennifer told me that you moved out after the party. You want to tell me why?"

Eyes on his food. "Not really."

She didn't press—yet. "What about you? You have anything to say?"

Brian speared a couple of pieces of pasta. "No."

"Christ, the two of you…you two love each other. You get through all that shit with the bashing and Stockwell and your idiot families. You fucking get married, you and now you sit there like a couple of teenage girls at a dance afraid to talk."

"Deb, I know what you're trying to do and…"

"You do, huh? Then Mr. Big Shot Makes So Much Money, you tell me what I have to do to get you two assholes talking to each other again."

Justin put his hand on Brian's before he said something that would hurt Debbie's feelings. "We need to work this out ourselves."

"What you need to do is realize that you two should be together and believe you me that it's taken me three fucking years to think that—no, you let me finish." The two men glanced at one another. There was no point in trying to stop her. "You." Justin. "You fell hard for him the first time you laid eyes on him, right? And you never fucking let go. You followed him around like a Goddamned puppy until you made him sit up and take notice and then you learned how to pull his chain and make him jump."

"Deb, this isn't any of your…"

"None of my business? Brian Kinney, you've been my business since the day Michael brought you home from school when you were fourteen, so don't you tell me that…and you. You fought tooth and nail to keep Justin at arms distance and you almost did it—until he got hit in the head and you fell apart at the hospital."

"You did?" Justin looked at him, Brian shrugged a so?'

"And you"—she turned to Justin—"When you walked off with that kid, that Ethan, I was ready to tie your nuts in a knot if that shithead hadn't done it for you—and I know all about how you walked out when you found out he was screwing around."

"Debbie—just leave it, will you?" Brian saw the look on Justin's face. They never talked about this. It still hurt too much.

"See—that's what I meant. You two take care of each other, don't you?" Brian was rolling his eyes; Deb gave him a glare that would have done a Kinney proud. "You love each other, right?"

Yes, they did, but that wasn't the problem. "Deb…"

"You two go home—your own home, and you talk. You, Brian, you learn how to fucking delegate. You have an office full of people to tell what to do. Go tell them to take some of the crap off of you. And you, Justin, stop acting like a twat and tell your husband to get his shit together."

"Christ—if it was that easy, don't you think we would have done it by now? Debbie, shit—we've been going around this same block for two years." The ziti was cold. No one cared.

"You think I don't fucking know that? So what? You want to be together. Cut the crap and deal with it—after all the shit you two have been through, it shouldn't be that hard, assholes."

The conversation went on for another half hour—more of the same. Debbie telling them to get their acts together and cut the bullshit and Justin telling her that they were trying and it was complicated. Without warning Brian got up.

"I've had enough of this shit. Justin, you coming?" The other two just looked at him put his coat on.

"Uh—sure. Deb, thanks."

"You go take your husband to bed and screw some sense into him, you hear me? You call me, Sunshine, you hear me?"

They were in Brian's car, the motor off, still at the curb. "You bought the house for me, didn't you."

"I thought that it would be a good idea to have something that was ours instead of mine. We needed to be on a more equal footing."

"I was going to find out what would have been involved in getting a divorce if this had gone on much longer."

"I know that." Brian seemed like he was waiting for the damn shoe to drop—that Justin had called Melanie or something and he'd be getting the papers next week or whenever.

"Can you cut back a little—you're losing weight again."

Justin could see him roll his lips in. "…Yes."

"I hate fighting with you."

"Yeah, well, I got enough of it when I was growing up myself."

"I want us together, Brian."

"I know that. I—do, too." He looked at Justin. He caught a movement in the house. Debbie was watching through the curtain. "You want to go home?"

"Yeah, I do…you know, Deb will take credit for it."

"Let her."

"Are we finished arguing?" He paused. "I mean, for now, anyway."

"For now, I think so." He started the car. "I'll try to make your openings."

"Try?"

"I'll make your openings."

"I won't bitch if you work late two nights a week, if you take weekends off."

"Four nights a week."

"Three. And you're home by ten."

"Done." They were headed back to the cabin. "Is the Jacuzzi hot?"

"Um-hmm."

"Good…"

"I think that would be a good place to start."

"…Makes me wonder where we'll finish." Brian glanced over at him. Good question.