Chapter: 5
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 6,546
Warnings: strong language, sexual situations, platonic Brian/Mikey kiss, brief mention of past Lindsay/Brian, brief discussion of child abuse
Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter, everyone! The holidays were quite busy, and when I finally had the time to write, Brian wouldn't cooperate and follow my outline. He needed to talk about his insecurities and daddy issues. This was the result. But let us celebrate a couple small progresses here all the same. :) As always, a very big thank you to L for betaing this!
For five o'clock on a Friday, Woody's is fucking packed. After a quick scan of the room, Brian realizes—disappointingly enough—that almost everyone in here ranks somewhere between ogre and troll. He's not feeling generous enough for a pity-fuck, so he heads over to the bar, pays for a beer, and crosses the room to their usual table.
The guys are already here and, by the looks of it, already one round in. As soon as Emmy Lou spots him, he stops nursing his Cosmo and begins waving wildly as if he's just been crowned Miss US-fucking-A. Heads turn because of the gesture, and then heads really turn after seeing Brian. Brian just smirks; it's good to be the hottest fag in Pittsburgh. Even at—shit—thirty-nine.
"You're late," Mikey says when Brian pulls up a stool. "We were worried something happened to you."
"Michaelwas worried," Emmett corrects. "The rest of us just figured you just met some twink between here and your car."
There's a collective laugh, and Brian doesn't bother to contradict the statement. The fact of the matter is that he'd just got tied up with business at Kinnetik. Legitimate business, not the sort ofbusinessthat he occasionally passes off as a mid-afternoon appointment.
Long ago Brian realized—as his interests drifted slightly from nailing as many asses as he possibly could in one night to the growth of his businesses—that his so-called friends ask far fewer questions when they think he's acting the same way he had at twenty. As much as they bemoan his over-the-hill-club-boy routine, Brian knows that they prefer it to any alternative.
So he smiles, listens to Ted and Michael pick up the conversation they'd started just before he arrived. Something boring enough to make Ted an expert on the subject and dorky enough to make Mikey lap it up. Brian only half-listens, deciding to casually cruise some decent looking guy near the pool table that he has no real intention of fucking. At least, not tonight. Tomorrow night, maybe.
"Mmm!" Emmett hums to get Brian's attention before placing a hand on Brian's arm and swallowing his drink. "I just saw the flyer for tonight. And whythe hell didn't you tell me that you got DJ Antoine? I saw him this summer when I went to visit Piper in Philadelphia. He was disc-jockeying at Shampoo. Do you remember? That club I told you about? Anyway, my god, he's fabulous."
"He'd better be for what I'm paying him," Brian mutters, taking a sip of beer.
"How do you know him?" Emmett asks.
Brian smirks. "Biblically."
Emmett shoots him a withering look. Because of his answer or because he fucked the DJ, Brian isn't sure. Maybe both. He doesn't have the heart to tell Emmy Lou that the guy plays music better than he fucks. Much, much better. And that's not necessarily a testament to his profession.
"You'll let me know how it goes, Theodore."
Ted nods to him. "Everything will be taken care of, Bri. I'll have a write-up on your desk first thing Monday morning."
"Wait, you're not coming with us to Babylon tonight?" Michael asks suddenly, hurt-puppy face out in full force.
Brian hates that face. Hates it because it makes him feel fucking guilty, regardless of how he tries not to. And it's because of that very face that Brian had hoped to avoid the conversation that's no doubt about to ensue. Under no uncertain terms is he going to change his plans, but he'll still feel a little shitty about it, especially since usually it's himbegging Michael to get the hell out of Stepford Avenue for a night and have some fun.
"I just have some stuff going on."
"What sort of stuff?" Michael presses, tone suddenly one of a mother hen.
Brian shrugs. "Just some stuff."
What's he expecting? This isn't some sort of dyke bar. Brian's not going to open up about his arrangement with Justin like some lezzie. But that'll no doubt come up if he explains to Michael why he's not going to Babylon tonight. Mikey worries about things, far more than he should. And Brian'slove life post-Justin has been Michael's number one concern. Brian knows he means well, that Michael worries that he'll get lonely or some other bullshit. But he's not lonely, never has been and never will be. He's fine, which is why he shoots Mikey that lookthat tells him to drop it.
And drop it he does until Blake comes back from wherever the fuck he's been—and should have fucking stayed—and casually mentions that he hadn't expected Brian to be here before kissing Ted. Five years together and soon-to-be-married and Brian can still barely keep from vomiting a little those two kiss.
"And why would that be, Blake?" he asks, eyebrow arched, more so because he wants to stop this public display of muncherdom than anything else.
"Oh I ran into Justin at the Strip this morning. He said he was picking up some steaks for the two of you. Something about dinner at his place tonight." Blake smiles that boyish smile that makes Brian want to gag. "I think it's really great that the two of you are back together again."
Brian takes a long drink of his beer. "Whoever said we were back together?"
"Oh please, honey," Emmett says, giving him a sidelong glance. "No one needs to sayit. Your little holiday tryst is the worst kept secret since JFK and Marilyn Monroe."
"Let's hope it ends better," Ted adds.
"It's not going to end, ladies," Brian says, sneering. "Because it never started. So fixate your wildest sexual fantasies elsewhere."
He sets his bottle down with a loud thunk, marking the end of this discussion. The looks he's receiving are mutinous at best. They're not buying it apparently. He's not really even sure he'sbuying it at this point, but what-the-fuck-ever. It is what it is, and who is he to argue otherwise? Still, he doesn't want to argue with them, so Brian stands, throws his coat back on, and says a quick goodbye before anyone can get two words in.
.
.
"Brian!"
Shutting his eyes, he bites the inside of his cheek in frustration before turning around to face his best friend. If anyone should know that Brian Kinney just doesn't discuss things like this, it's Mikey.
"What are you doing out here?" Brian asks, pausing just short of his Jeep.
Slightly winded, Michael stops in front of him to catch his breath and then says, "I'm worried about you."
Yeah, Brian probably could have guessed that much. Mikey's always worried about him, despite the fact that he has plenty more to be worrying about. Some things never change, he supposes. And he knows damn well what Michael's going to say for that very reason.
Brian was never blind to the animosity between Michael and Justin; he just mostly chose to ignore it. Let the little women work out their own issues. He's also well aware that eventually they hadworked it out. So well in fact that Justin felt comfortable enough to go to Michael when things turned bad with him. So, Brian knows that jealousy isn't driving Mikey to warn him off Justin. He just really doesn't understand what isand doesn't really give a fuck to find out.
"Is this the part where you tell me that seeing Justin is a mistake?"
"No…well, yes. Maybe. But not for the reasons that you think! You just…you said there wasn't anything going on between you two."
"Save it, Mikey." Brian leans over and kisses Michael quickly and soundly on the lips. "It's just a couple fucks."
"Bullshit! He's going back to New York. You took it really hard last time, and I don't want to see you put yourself through that again."
Brian snorts. "It's not like last time."
"Don't act like this is about sex, Brian."
"Then why don't you tell me what it is about."
Brian sees the challenge met in Michael's eyes, remembers that a few heated words mean nothing to Mikey after all this time. He doesn't know why he still tries to hide this—these feelings for Justin—from everyone. No one is buying it. But just like they don't want to believe he's spending less and less time fucking these days, Brian supposes that he thinks his friends don't want to hear that, yeah, maybe he does miss what he and Justin once had. It's hard enough admitting it to himself.
"This is about you being in love with Justin. Even after all this time. And I honestly believe that you always will be in love with him."
"I was never—"
"Bullshit. You were going to marry him."
"For his sake."
"You never do anything you don't want to." Michael sighs, worries his lip. "Look, I know you. And whether you want to admit it to me or not, you were in love with him for years and you still are. Which is why going over there tonight is a mistake."
He shrugs. "I can't stay away. There, I said it. You happy? You won this one, Mikey."
It's the truth. He can't. Brian isn't sure if he'd even want to if he had a choice in the matter. Being with Justin feels as natural as breathing, to the point where it's hard to adjust when he's not around. And yeah, maybe he did have a hard time of it. And maybe it did take him a while to adjust. So maybe being with Justin over the holidays is throwing all that progress out the fucking window. But the chance to be with Sunshine again—to talk with him, touch him, fuck him—outweighs all the potential suffering to come in the new year.
"Promise me you won't get in over your head?" Mikey pleads, sealing the request with a lazy kiss.
"When have I ever gotten in over my head?"
A knowing glance and then, "About ten years ago, one night under a street light."
.
.
Before Brian gets his second knock in, Justin's opening the door and pulling him inside. Brian catches him around the waist, pressing him against the entryway wall. The door shuts with a swift kick from Brian's boot. Then, tongues tangle with a desperate need, as if they hadn't just kissed yesterday. Justin hums, arches against him. At the sound of it, Brian can't help but smile.
"You're early," Justin mumbles between kisses.
"I hope that won't be a problem, Mr. Taylor."
He pulls back, runs his fingers through Brian's immaculately put together hair. "No, not a problem. But I haven't put the steaks on yet. You'll have to wait at least half an hour to eat."
"I can think of a lot of things to do with thirty minutes," Brian says, tone loaded with suggestion.
The statement is punctuated with a firm hold on Justin's ass. Sunshine throws him a you're incorrigiblelook but doesn't bother to outright deny Brian. And Brian knows that Justin enjoys a little foreplay in the kitchen. In all their years together, they've probably used the kitchen more for fucking than for cooking. Maybe tonight they'll even have a chance to break Jennifer's in for her.
"Hold that thought." Justin gives him a swift peck on the lips. "Let me get Eli fed and into her pajamas. Then we'll talk while I take care of dinner."
For what must be the first time to date, Brian doesn't feel that immediate bitterness towards the urchin's cockblocking tendencies. Maybe it's because the whole evening is planned and sex has been guaranteed. Maybe it's because he'd broke said plans by showing up an hour early. Maybe because he just comes to fucking expect it now. Whatever it is, it takes him by momentary surprise. Tonight she's just a minor annoyance to deal with. She'll go to bed, and he'll have his Sunshine all to himself.
Interlinking their fingers, Justin pulls him towards living room, strips him of his coat while he toes off his shoes. And despite a need to take care of the food and the kid, Justin still winds himself around Brian for another kiss—searing and deep. Brian wonders what's gotten into him but decides not to ask. It feels like he has the old Justin back—the seventeen year old twink with a libido to match, the boy who couldn't keep his hands off him.
But Justin does manage to wrestle himself into some semblance of control after a few heated moments. He signals for Brian to follow him, and Brian does. He's a little hard from all this touching and doesn't have the mind to question it even if he wanted to.
When they round the corner, Justin drops Brian's hand and moves towards the urchin in the middle of the room. Her attention half-held by Finding Nemo—and Brian will never understand a kid's need to watch the same thing over and over again—and half-concentrated on a bulky Fisher Price miniature piano, she doesn't notice Justin coming up behind her.
"Come here, you!" Justin says, scooping her up into his arms as she squeals excitedly.
Sunshine places a wet kiss on her chubby baby cheeks, and Brian's not sure how he feels about it. After yesterday and the Blackwell fiasco, he's slowly becoming resigned to the fact that she's part of this package deal for the holidays. He's going to have to deal with her attention-stealing ways if he wants Justin.
And he wants Justin.
Badly.
Just as he's begrudgingly beginning to make his peace with it for tonight, the kid sets her sights on him. His stomach rolls a bit because this would all be a hell of a lot easier if she didn't like him, didn't light up whenever she sees him. Like her daddy used to do. Still does. Sometimes. If she didn't look so much like Justin. If she weren't a part of him.
The urchin waves her small hand, says a tiny, giggled, "Hi!"
Justin beams at her, then at him. Expects something. Brian can tell by that look in his eyes. And why does he have to fucking do this? In all their years, Brian has never once wished Sunshine would belesstolerant of his acting like an asshole. If Justin weren't waiting for him to come around to the damn kid, everything would be better. Brian hates having the choice. And by having the choice, Brian somehow feels like he's disappointing Justin if he doesn't make some sort of move towards getting along. It's fucking unfair. It's a guilt trip in disguise.
"Hi," Brian grumbles back at her.
He tells himself he does it because it makes Justin happy, and a happy Justin makes for good sex. And he could almost accept that if it weren't for the fact that his little greeting has her reaching for him. Now what the fuck is he supposed to do?
"Here," Justin says, offering her to him.
Before Brian realizes it, he's fumbling the urchin around in his arms. Justin smirks—knowing goddamn well what he's done—and leaves him for the kitchen.
At some point, the urchin stops squirming and Brian overcomes the urge to drop her on the floor. They just look at one another for a long while, Brian wary and the kid curious. Her arms find their way around his neck like they had just yesterday when he was playing daddy dearest, but he doesn't tense and recoil like he expects.
He only tenseswhen she leans over and kisses his cheek, which is really nothing more than squishing her nose against his skin and smacking her lips. Brian grimaces, takes a deep breath, and tries to repress what just happened.
"She definitely hasn't inherited the Taylor gene for kissing," Brian calls as he heads towards the kitchen.
Justin laughs. "She's still learning. Give her some time. She'll be a knockout."
Brian doesn't really doubt that; she looks enough like Justin, and her mother isn't exactly ugly. But Brian doesn't want to think about her mother right now. Or her, for that matter. As quickly as he can cross the kitchen, he dumps the urchin in her highchair, locking the tray in place. She knows she's trapped because her brow furrows and bottom lip juts out. Brian thinks she's going to have a queen out of epic proportions, but the kid is apparently satisfied with just scowling.
"It's progress," Justin says, smirking.
"What is?"
He shrugs. "You, being in the same room with her without staring her down."
"Twat."
"Do you want to give her dinner while I finish ours?"
The look he throws Justin ought to make things pretty clear. No, he doesn't want to feed her. Hell, he doesn't really want to be near her. His quota of niceness has been officially used up for the night, especially for veggie-headed urchins.
"Alright, guess we'll just have to wait that much longer to fuck," Justin says lightly. "I don't mind."
Well, shit.
When Sunshine puts it like that, Brian seriously begins to consider whether giving into his blond boy ass is worth the loss of pride. Sex or pride? Sex or pride? There's got to be a special place in hell for people who pull this sort of bullshit.
In the end, Justin's ass wins because well…it's Justin's ass, and when has Brian ever really put something before scoring it? He takes the small plate of food from Justin and pulls up a chair in front of the kid's highchair. Since she seems to have a particular interest in what looks to be yam, he shoves a spoonful of that towards her. And with very little coordination, she eats it, a dab of it smearing at the corner of her mouth.
"Mmm!" she hums, apparently approving.
Justin looks over at them as he preps the steaks, smiling. "Is it good, Eli?"
"Apparently five star dining," Brian says, feeding her another spoonful, which is immediately followed by another "mmmm!" from the kid.
"I'm a good cook."
"But a better fuck."
"Do you have to make everything about sex?"
Brian recalls the last time Justin asked him something very similar, though back then it had been said with much more criticism than now. He remembers it perfectly. The carnival. The fiddler. His gut always knots up whenever a stray thought about Paganini Jr. comes to mind. Even after all these years, it hasn't gotten any easier. Those months without Justin are forever burned into his mind, haunting him. And it isn't just because he'd suddenly been rejected, unwanted by at least one man on Liberty Avenue.
That's what they all think, all joke about whenever the awkward conversation comes up. But it's got nothing to do with that and everything to do with the fact that for the first time since he was some bruised teenager, he had felt inadequate. Brian had spent more than a decade bleaching away his imperfections until he was the most wanted fag in Pittsburgh. He could almost look Jack in the eye then, could be around his old man and know that he was everything every man wanted or wanted to be.
Until Justin Taylor proved him wrong with some pathetic, greasy haired kid who probably jerked off to concertos and symphonies.
He's glad Jack was a maggot feast by the time Justin ditched him.
Fuck.
"Brian?" Justin calls lightly. "Are you okay?"
Blinking himself free of all those unwanted memories, Brian moves the suspended spoon towards the kid. As she hums her "mmmm!", he tries to look at her properly, maybe for the first time. When he was her age, his old man already hated him. Brian doesn't know how anyone could hate someone so small. Then, he thinks about all the things he's been thinking about her lately—his shit attitude, his blaming her for all his problems.
He's no fucking better than his old man.
Brian always knew it would happen, that no matter how hard he tried, he would never escape Jack or the legacy of horrible fathers that the Kinney men turned out to be.
The knot in his stomach unravels in a wave of nausea.
It's moments like these that he thanks Joanie's god that his son is being raised by a pair of dykes about five hours away. It's moments like these that Brian thinks any more access to his son would leave Gus damaged.
"Brian?"
"Do you ever worry you're going to fuck it up, Sunshine?" he asks, nodding in the kid's direction.
A clatter of some sort of utensil fills the void along with the sizzle of cooking meat. There's footsteps, then Brian feels Justin's arms sliding across his shoulders and over his collarbone from behind. He rests against Justin, tilts his head back so that Justin's mouth is at his ear. The steady rhythm of Sunshine's breaths eases the nausea but does little to settle his nerves.
"Every day," Justin admits, reaching out to ruffle the kid's hair affectionately as she eats. "But I think that's normal."
Justin's lips press against his temple tenderly, and Brian wants to fuck him. Not because he hasn't got off in the past seven hours or anything like that. It's a different sort of itch—more unbearable, more aching. Brian can't open himself up like normal people, can't tell Justin that he just realized he's no better than Jack. That all these years he's been running from the only inheritance Jack had ever left him, and he's succumbed to it without even knowing. That he doesn't mean to dislike her—it's not a choice—but he's fucked up and doesn't understand how people can share affection with someone else.
He wants to tell Sunshine that he's sorry.
But he can't.
So Brian stands up and passes the spoon off to Justin without word. Maybe for good measure—maybe because he wantsJustin to figure it out—he kisses Sunshine on the lips with a sort of desperation that words fail to describe. When Justin pulls back hesitantly, Brian thinks his message got across loud and clear; the question is written all over Sunshine's face.
"I need to go smoke."
"Sure."
"I, uh, don't suppose…"
"I quit, but thanks."
Brian nods. "Suit yourself."
.
.
By the time Justin is finished feeding the urchin—he can hear her giggles tearing across the entryway from kitchen to living room—Brian's already sucked down three cigarettes. The nicotine settles into his nerves, soothes the tension that's all but seized him. But what he could really use right now is some goddamn weed to blur his thoughts until they're little more than a nuisance.
For the first time since seeing Justin again, Brian is almost grateful that the visit is going to come to an end around New Year's. The last thing he wants to do is hurt Justin anymore than he already has. Brian drudges up memories from his childhood, of Jack and Joan and how miserable they were with each other. He never wants to make Justin miserable like that, anymore than he already has.
His only saving grace—the one thing that does separate him and Justin from his parents—is that he actually loves Sunshine. Yeah, he can say it. Love. Capital l-o-v-e. Well, maybe not say it, but he can sure as hell think it.
But, well, sometimes love isn't enough.
His love for his old man sure as hell didn't stop his pop from using him as a punching bag every time he had one too many beers. Lindsay's love couldn't make him straight, not even in those rare moments that he sort of wanted it to. And it's pretty fucking obvious that love wasn't enough to keep Sunshine from walking out one too many times.
Still, it somehow makes a difference, even if it can't change a damn thing.
Behind him, the screen door opens with barely a sound. As Brian turns, Justin glances back into the house to check on the urchin and then looks at him. The expression on his face must be telling because Sunshine's turns soft.
"Dinner's just about ready."
"Thanks."
A pause, and then, "Brian."
He shifts to face Justin, hadn't really realized how close they are and ends up with only a few spare inches between them. Justin—as tall as him with the slight step advantage—leans in for a kiss. The brush of Sunshine's lips is a bare whisper. Need bubbles up inside him, but Brian fights it; he doesn't want this to turn into the bruising kisses they've shared for so much of their non-relationship.
But it becomes a struggle when Justin's fingers wind through his hair. Every time their lips meet, it feels like Justin is telling him I love you, I want you, I need youand maybe something more. Something that Brian can't place but doesn't even know if he wants to. All he really wants is to drown in it.
"You're a good man."
He barely hears it. Because Justin says it so softly or because he's too wrapped up in kissing, Brian will never know. Just like he'll never know why Justin thinks it. Why, after everything, Justin still believes in some innate goodness that Brian isn't even sure he possesses. All he's sure of—as he flicks his tongue against Justin's warm and inviting lips—is that he wants to try to be a better man because of it.
"Mmm, where's this coming from?" Brian mumbles between a fumbled kiss.
As soon as Justin opens his mouth—to answer him or to deepen the kiss, Brian will never fucking know—his tongue delves into wet, glorious heat. Urgency forces him to moan, almost pained by the intensity of it all. Christ. Justin kisses better than most guys fuck.
A gasp for air and then, "I know you."
Left breathless, they break, foreheads meetings. Justin toys with the ends of his hair, and Brian tries to settle his hands on Justin's waist but finds them wandering up his sides, across his stomach. He presses against Justin, moves them into the house because it's too cold outside to be without a coat for very long.
"Don't think too much, okay?" Justin asks, straightening Brian's collar.
"I'm not." And Brian is surprised at how easily the lie comes.
"You are. I can tell, Brian. You only ever look this miserable—"
"—I'm notmiserable—"
"—when you're thinking about your dad."
The comment makes whatever witty retort he has prepared die on his tongue. All these years, and it still amazes him how Sunshine understands him better than he does himself sometimes. Brian doesn't think he's an easy person to read, but somehow Justin manages.
"I'm not going to ask you to tell me what's going on because I know you won't. Just…I told you this before. You're not your father. So if that's what's bothering you, don't let it."
He isn't sure how he's supposed to respond to that. Part of him thinks that Justin is a biased little shit who's blinded by his feelings. Then he remembers how easily Justin sees his flaws, how quick Justin has always been to call him on his bullshit. Brian wants to trust Sunshine on this, but he can't help but question it.
"Okay?" Justin asks, shaking him lightly by his shirt. A quick kiss and then, "Not another word."
With the way Sunshine is looking at him, Brian doesn't have much of a choice. He zips his lips with his fingers. "Not another word."
"Good, now let's eat. And with any luck, Elise will fall asleep watching Finding Nemo and then…"
Justin wiggles his eyebrows and has the stupidest grin on his face that Brian has ever seen. It also happens to be one of the most adorable too. This whole kid thing has a hell of a lot of drawbacks, but the one perk of the whole situation is that there's a definite anticipation building between them. Like the longest game of foreplay he's ever played. Not that it would take much, mostly because Brian Kinney doesn't do foreplay. But it's there, keeping him alert to every move Justin makes. And when the kid does go to sleep, Brian has no doubt that Justin will pounce.
.
.
Dinner goes smoothly enough and Justin is still as good a cook as Brian remembers him to be. As much as he hates to admit it, there wassomething nice about Justin's home cooked meals. Even if it does make him feel like a fucking Stepford Fag.
But he tells Justin as much all the same, mostly just to see him smile, to hear the sheepish thank you, Brian. Maybe just to earn a few more brownie points to cash in later tonight, Brian finds himself carrying some dishes to the sink while Justin cleans and preps them for the dishwasher. It feels so damn domestic that Brian briefly thinks he's going to be sick.
Then Justin's hand is on his cock, stroking him through his jeans, and suddenly sick is the last thing he's feeling.
Slipping his hand over Justin's, Brian increases the pressure on his dick until his hips are twitching for more contact. Justin moves against him, pushing him against the sink and assaulting his neck with perfect Sunshine-y lips. His head rolls back, eyes fluttering shut as Justin works his fuckinggloriousmagic on him.
"Suck me off," he says, strained, as if his throat is about to give way to a moan.
Justin kisses him carelessly on the mouth. "Yeah. Fuck. Just hold that thought."
It's physically painful for Brian to untangle himself from Sunshine, to feel the heat leave him. Christ, he just wants to get off already. His own hand replaces Justin's, teasing himself through the denim of his jeans as he waits for Justin to come back from checking on the urchin.
Images of Sunshine's mouth wrapped around his cock, taking him in deep, torture him. Memories of heat and wetness and the best fucking tongue known to mankind running along his cock. Sucking. The gentle humming that sends a rush up his dick and to his balls. He's fucking aching.
"Sunshine!" he calls, voice thick with arousal and demand.
"We have a small problem."
"Yeah, well I have one giant one."
"Come here."
It's hell to move, almost unbearable. Brian walks a bit stiffly towards Justin, turns the corner and nearly runs into him. Arms slip across Justin's middle, pulling his pert little ass right up against Brian's cock. Without hesitating, Brian rocks easily into Justin's ass as his lips find that spot on Justin's neck that drives him up the fucking wall.
"Brian, please."
"Gladly."
"Not that!" Justin swats at his head. "Elise is still up."
Hazel eyes snap to the scene in front of him—the kid sitting on the couch wide awake, eyes glued to the tv as she chews on the ear of her stuffed hedgehog.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit!
"I thought you said she'd fall asleep?"
Justin shrugs, apparently equally as disappointed. "I thought she would! She usually never makes it to the turtles."
"Well what the hell are we going to do?" Brian asks, voice edging on desperation. "Jesus fuck, Justin. I know I have a reputation of fucking any time, any place, any circumstance, but I'm not fucking you when the kid is still awake!"
"No, I know. Let me think."
"Think quickly."
When Justin brings his thumb to his lips and chews on his nail out of nervous habit, Brian nearly cums against blond boy ass. Sunshine has no idea just how hot he can be sometimes. And Brian, well…Brian never realized that something like nail biting could be sexy enough to make him cum in his pants. But it is, and Brian doesn't question it for a moment. He just tries to suppress the urge long enough.
"Alright."
"Alright?"
"She always falls asleep in her stroller. So we'll just bundle her up, walk up the street, take a loop around the park, and then put her to bed. Simple."
The idea of going outside in the not-quite-freezing-but-still-unpleasant weather sounds really fucking terrible. But the idea of waiting until talking fish lull the urchin to sleep sounds even worse. Frustrated, he rests his cheek against the top of Sunshine's head and takes a deep breath.
"Let's get this fucking over with."
.
.
"How's Gus?"
Brian glances over at Justin pushing the kid in her stroller. He's never been much for small talk, and this whole ordeal feels far too domestic. But they're going to have to pass the time somehow—the urchin sure as hell isn't sleeping, just babbling away as they approach the park—and he likes to talk about his son.
"He's fine. Really smart. A good kid." Brian huffs a laugh, holds back a smirk. "He's a lot like Lindsay."
"I haven't seen him in ages. Shit, the last time was when he was…six? Yeah, he'd just turned six and we took him to Centre Island and the AGO."
Fishing around in his pocket, Brian pulls out his phone and brings up an image of Gus from their visit last month. In it, Gus is standing in front of a giant dinosaur replica at the Carnegie Science Center. No matter how many times Brian had asked him to take a serious picture, Gus kept making faces. And this one features him sticking out his tongue and tugging on his ears. He passes the phone off to Justin without so much as a look.
"Oh my god, he's you in miniature," Justin says with a laugh, his eyes feasting on the picture.
Brian nods. "Except he's got better manners."
"He's so tall." Justin stares at the phone for a minute or so longer and then hands it back. "Does he still like art?"
"He's still enrolled in art classes. Lindsay thinks it's good for his development. I guess he likes it well enough, but he's been talking non-stop about soccer lately. He's in some kiddie league."
"Taking after his old man, then."
"Maybe," he says, shrugging.
Half expecting Justin to keep going on about Gus, he's surprised when the conversation dies off. Not because they don't have anything to say—Brian could, in theory, talk about Sonnyboy for hours—but because there's a sudden tension in the air. And when he looks at Justin, Brian can see the tightness on his face, the white-knuckled grip he has on the stroller.
"Brian, um…what did you tell him when we…when we broke-up."
Eyes meet, and Brian had no fucking clue that something like that would bother Justin so much. But it's written all over his face, the way his eyes are slightly narrowed and bottom lip is puffed up from worrying at it. Brian isn't sure how to tell Justin; that conversation hadn't been an easy one, especially considering that Sunshine had, literally, been a part of Gus' life from the moment Gus had been born. The memory of the sheer dread Brian had felt two and a half years ago suddenly surfaces, and he's reaching for a cigarette to quell it.
"I told him that Daddy and Jus weren't together anymore," Brian explains, taking a much-needed drag.
"How did he take it?" Justin asks, but Brian can tell that he's afraid of the answer.
How did Gus take it? Gus was crushed when he learned that he wasn't going to see his daddy Jus anymore. He didn't understand why—he was only six years old—and ended up crying hysterically for a good half an hour. Then Lindsay was in tears because Gus was in tears, trying to calm him down and only making matters worse. And before the whole fucking fiasco was over, Brianwas close to tears because of all the damn questions that he didn't have answers for and the fact that his kid was so choked up and inconsolable that he'd stop breathing for a second or two.
Fuck.
"It was hard, Sunshine. He was, uh, really fucking attached."
Brian doesn't like thinking about that day at the loft with Gus and Linds. It still tears at him, still gets him overly emotional. He's never seen Gus like that; there aren't fucking words to express it. God help him, if he ever sees his son like that again, it'll be too damn soon. And it will kill him. If he'd known fatherhood would do this to him—turn him into an emotional queen at the drop of a pin—he would have never agreed to it. It's too fucking much and it's everything.
"I'm sorry." Justin reaches for his bicep. "Brian."
"It was our decision, Sunshine."
"I know, but I never wanted to hurt Gus."
"He's fine now. As perfectly well-adjusted as a kid his age can be."
"Does he—"
"I'm going to go grab a coffee." Brian says, nodding to the Starbucks across the street from this area of the park. "Do you want one?"
"Um, sure," Justin replies, disappointment in his tone likely from Brian shutting down on him.
But what other choice does Brian have? As he walks across the street, he tries to clear his muddled thoughts. He can't talk to Justin about Gus, not like this. He can't relive that period of time when Gus would ask about Justin or would say how much he misses him or would look at pictures of the three of them together. Despite their break-up being for the best, it fucking hurt. Seven years with a blond ball-and-chain would get to even the toughest of purported ice queens.
He's no exception.
.
.
Brian takes his time picking up the lattes and getting back to Justin. He doesn't come close to unraveling often, but when he does, it's always difficult to put himself back together. Tonight isn't supposed to be about this—about self-discovery and drudging up the past. It's supposed to be about an honest and easy lay.
Alright, more than a lay. And more than honest. Fucking incredible is more like it, and it's not going to be easy. At least, not at first. Maybe the sex will help; it can't fucking hurtat this point.
Jogging across the busy intersection, Brian curses the slush from their latest cold-warm spell that splashes onto his designer jeans. Just as he reaches the sidewalk, Brian spots Sunshine and the urchin. And then, he spots something else.
Someoneelse.
He's fucking seeing things, going crazy in his olderage. Or maybe this is some fucked up, twisted-as-hell nightmare that he's dreaming. If it weren't for the fact that he's holding two steaming lattes, he'd pinch himself.
Because the guy kneeling in front of the stroller and talking to Justin looks a hell of a lot like the fucking Fiddler. Same greasy hair. Same questionable taste in clothing. Same shitty violin case. And same tiny dick, Brian figures.
Same fucking Ian.
No doubt laying it on thick with hispartner.
And cooing at his urchin.