Chapter: 8
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 11,719
Warnings: strong language, explicit sexual situations, discussion of past Brian/Other and past Brian/Lindsay
Author's Note: A big thank you to everyone who patiently waited for this chapter and for those who participated in my Meet & Greet. Given the massive word count for the chapter, it'll be split into two parts again. Major thanks to L for the beta and to C and P for helping me with some spotty characterization in the draft; these girls can never be thanked enough for putting up with me.
Before they manage to get to the Loft, Justin insists that they swing by the Rite Aid on Tremont to fill the urchin's prescriptions. There's a minor queen-out in the Jeep over whether or not Brian's staying in the car with the kid—which he fucking isn'tbecause he needs to grab a couple things while they're here and Justin won't do it for him—but Brian wins out in the end. It's not like the urchin isn't bundled up like some sort of Eskimo anyway; she's not going to feel the cool air. But, as what Brian takes as punishment for his pissy attitude, Justin saddles him with the kid while he heads back to the pharmacy.
That's essentially how Brian winds up in the "family planning" aisle—Brian snorts at the name—with the very much unplanned kid in his arms, perusing his choice of condoms. Since he probably has fifteen minutes to kill before the kid's prescriptions are up, he doesn't bother rushing to find his usual kind.
Her tiny, gloved fingers tickle his collarbone as she plays with the collar of his leather jacket in a daze. He must look like such a fucking hick, wearing sweats and a two thousand dollar Dolce & Gabbana jacket. Glancing down at her blond head resting on his shoulder, Brian wonders if she's worth being caught so close to Liberty in some trailer-trash getup. As she gives a small, miserable sigh, he has his answer. Brian holds her a little tighter, in spite of himself.
Since he started buying rubbers as a teen, it seems like the types have quadrupled in number—ribbed, pulse intimate massager, vibrating ring, intense lubricated, climax control. Jesus fuck. Whatever happened to lubed and non-lubed?
The one that does catch his eye has Brian pausing for a long moment—Bareskin or something like that. Whatever it is, it's purporting to be more than a third thinner than the run-of-the-mill condoms. He picks up the small box and glances it over.
"What do you think, kiddo?" Brian asks as the urchin begins to make this high-pitched squeaking sound that can't be a good sign. "Think your old man would want to give these a try? He's a total slut for the idea of barebacking."
It's the closest they'll ever get to it, that's for sure.
Before now, Brian's never even considered switching up his usual brand. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, as his old man used to say. He's hardly had an incident with his regular kind, just once with Justin a few years ago. And for that very reason, Brian slips the box back where it belongs because he doesn't want to risk it. Even if they're supposed to be safe, Brian won't trust them; not with Justin.
Instead, he grabs three of the largest boxes of the simple lubricated kind, juggling them in his hands. Maybe he should have grabbed the fucking cart like Justin had suggested, or at least one of the baskets. After the second time he drops one, Brian comes up with a plan.
"Here, kid," he says, handing her one of the boxes to hold. "Make yourself useful."
Brian finds out that she's an obedient little shit for the most part. They only have to play the pick-up game—a personal favorite of Gus' for a solid two years—once before they hit the end of the aisle. As Brian stands up from retrieving it, he comes face to face with some young chick who nearly runs into him.
"Oops, sorry!" She laughs a little, doesn't sound sorry at all. Just very interested.
"Yeah, whatever," he mumbles, trying to slip around her and failing.
"It looks like you're going to be busy." She bends over a little—Brian guesses to give him a nice view of her tits in some low cut shirt—and starts making faces at the kid. "Aren't you a sweetie? Yes, you are."
"Do you—"
"I think it's hot. Single fathers taking care of their kids, you know? I can respect that."
Brian wonders how the fuck she's deduced that he's single. Then again, the absence of any sort of wedding band might have given that much away. And why she thinks that her respect would mean anything to him is a goddamn mystery. Is this really how the breeders do it? Obnoxious encounters in the condom aisle? Give him the backroom of Babylon any day.
"She's not my kid," Brian says, tone warning. "And I'm not single."
The bimbo frowns, smacking her gum and glancing down at the condoms in his hand. "Oh. You and your wife or girlfriend or whatever must be very busy then."
"He's insatiable. Now if you don't mind, get the fuck out of my way."
As Brian pushes past, she throws him a dirty look, whether because he rejected her or because he's a fag, Brian has no fucking clue. What he does know is that he's getting tired of this place; there's a reason—which he is conveniently remembering now—why he always hits the CVS on Liberty. At least most of the shoppers there are queers and queens.
He tries to ignore the fact that he'd admitted to being in a relationship. It'd just slipped out. Sure, he'd always been singlein some sense of the word, but mostly that was dependent on how many days Justin would withhold sex or bitch him out if he overstepped any boundaries. The longer he'd hold out, the more Brian felt like a condemned man. But if this three year separation taught him anything, it was that it's far better to be condemned than alone. Justin is something special.
So maybe he isn't exactly single right now, in the Brian-and-Justin-defined sense of the word. Had he just walked off with some twink, Justin wouldn't forgive him for ages, if ever. Right now, with Justin and this kid—currently chewing on a corner of his box of condoms—is where he ought to be. And if that means he's not really single, so fucking what?
Maybe he could be alright with that.
Brian finds Justin down the snack aisle, pondering over a selection of Doritos. Some things never change, and the fact that he'll always know where to find Justin at any store carrying food makes him grateful for that. It's as if there's still a little part of hisJustin locked inside this newer, more unfamiliar one.
"Don't get the Nacho Cheese. If you're going to bring that garbage into my place, at least get the good kind."
"Which do you want then? They're two for four bucks on sale."
Brian leans down, pressing a kiss to Justin's lips. "Still clipping coupons, I see. What a good little housewife."
Justin smirks, rolls his eyes as he flips Brian off with a stifled laugh. He grabs two bags and tosses them into his cart, which Brian notices is filled up with some things—milk, bread, diapers, and a few other staples. As Justin turns back towards him to say something, Brian watches as his brow furrows.
"What's she chewing on?"
"A box of condoms."
"Brian!"
Giving Brian the patented you-are-such-an-irresponsible-shithead look, Justin pries the kid's fingers from the box and tosses it into his cart. Not at all impressed, the urchin's face crumples into a frown, and then she begins wailing, fat tears slipping down her red cheeks.
"Now you've done it," Brian says.
"Do you know how many germs were on that box that you were letting her stick in her mouth?" Justin asks, scathingly.
"She's a kid. That's what they do. Jenny spent all last summer eating dirt, and she lives to tell the tale. Stop being such a twat."
Pissy, Justin reaches for the urchin, but Brian evades him and drops the rest of his condoms in the cart instead. With a few bounces, he has the kid calmed down again. Her nose is running, but he doesn't have anything to wipe it off with and the diaper bag is still in the car. Since he has to grab some lube anyway—thank god he fucking remembered—Brian figures he'll just swing by the bathroom on the way.
"Hey, where are you going with her?" Justin asks as Brian walks away from the cart.
Brian looks at him, shrugs. "I thought I'd head over to automotive. Let her lick some antifreeze while we're waiting."
He doesn't have to glance back at Justin to know that there must be a very unamused expression on his face. While Brian always knew Sunshine was a fucking spazz at times, he never figured it'd ever get this bad. Drama princess.
Brian looks over at the kid, who is sucking on her index finger. "How the hell do you put up with him?"
.
.
"Oh my god, Brian," Justin moans.
He smirks, leans down to kiss Justin long and hard on the mouth—the taste of chili pepper on Justin's mouth heating up his lips. Sunshine tries to bat Brian away since he's still chewing, but Brian doesn't let him. His tongue slips out to swipe a long path across his lips, begging Justin to let him in. He doesn't though, pushing him away with a strangled laugh.
"Christ, can I chew my food without you shoving your tongue down my throat?" Justin asks, wiping his mouth off with a napkin. "That's disgusting."
Brian smirks. "I took your moaning to mean you wanted something other than Szechuan Beef in your mouth."
Tugging him closer by the collar of his shirt, Justin kisses him properly this time, tongue and all. Brian can't keep his hands off him, slipping them over shoulders and arms, abs and hips. He tastes spicy, his pale skin warm from so much hot food. Suddenly, Brian's at a complete loss as to why he hadn't invited Justin over for dinner sooner.
"No," Justin says, peppering him with a few more kisses before turning back to his food. "I just forgot how much I love Chang's."
"You probably get far better Chinese in New York."
"True, but Chinese in New York doesn't come with a hot stud willing to feed me with his chopsticks in his very glamorous loft apartment. So, Chang's is definitely better."
"Where'd you learn to sweet-talk a guy like that?" Brian asks, teasing note in his voice.
"The two years I spent peddling my ass on New York City street corners?" Justin offers.
Brian chokes on a piece of Sesame Chicken mid-swallow. What the fuck? After a giant gulp of water, he turns to stare at Justin wide-eyed while Justin gives him a few firm smacks on the back to loosen his cough.
"It was a joke, Brian," he says, laughing.
"That's not fucking funny."
"I'm sorry."
As if to make it up to him, Justin's lips drift across his jaw as his fingers skim along his chest to tease his nipples. Brian's eyes shut tightly, his breath catching as Justin pinches just hard enough to send a jolt racing towards his lower belly. Sunshine has had him half-hard all night, and it's driving him into a slow frenzy.
He leans closer to Justin's ear, whispering, "Let me suck you off."
"Not yet."
"Why the hell not?" Brian's hand slips down to grab Justin through his jeans.
"One, because Elise is still up."
Glancing over to the kid, Brian confirms that she's still awake, blue eyes transfixed on Finding Nemowhile she drinks juice from her bottle on her blanket. He groans inwardly and shifts his gaze back to Justin. Well, that shut down that possibility for a while, but that doesn't mean that they can't do a little flirting until then. If Justin thinks he's off the hook, he's out of his fucking mind.
"She's busy with the fish."
"Granted, she's usually entranced by the movie, I think she'd still notice if my dick was in your mouth," Justin says in a low voice.
"We could move to the bed."
"It's been all of fifteen hours since you've gotten off. Are you really that desperate?" Justin asks with a laugh, pushing Brian back as Brian leans in to suck on his neck.
"Fifteen hours is a long time."
"The answer is still no, and besides—"
Justin's abruptly cut off by the sound of someone buzzing from the downstairs door. Getting up quickly, Sunshine walks over to buzz whoever-the-hell-it-is up.
"And that," Justin says, "is the other reason why we can't."
As soon as there's a knock, Justin slides the door open and in pops Daphne, laden with a duffle bag and two plastic bags from some take-out place. Brian scowls, unamused.
"What? You're at my place for all of four hours and you're already inviting people over?" Brian asks.
"Nice to see you too, Brian," Daphne says, rolling her eyes and scrunching up her nose in that infuriatingly Daphne way. She turns back to Justin. "I picked up your stuff. Your mom was already home from getting Molly, so she packed your bag. If you're missing anything, bite herhead off."
Justin takes the duffle and then hugs her. "Thanks, Daph."
"So where is she? I can't wait to see her. I bet she's like twice as big since I saw her last."
Not wasting any time, Daphne tears through the room as soon as Justin points her in the general direction of the TV. She drops the two take-out bags on the coffee table to free up her hands so that she can pick up the kid. The urchin makes a surprised sound before looking up at Daphne and giving her a wide, sleepy smile.
"Oh my god, she's so cute. How is it possible for her to be any cuter than she was a couple months ago?"
Justin joins them in front of the coffee table, checking the kid's temperature with the back of his hand while smiling with Daphne. Christ, they both look so grown up now; Brian remembers some of the first nights he ever saw these two on Liberty Avenue. That'd been almost ten fucking years ago. Still, there's something about the way they are together that reminds Brian of the old Daphne and Justin, who used to camp out on his couch and watch MTV on school nights, who used to talk about cute boys and fall asleep in a tangled heap by the time that Brian got home from the clubs.
"You did good, Dad," she teases, smiling up at Justin with a sort of bright affection that Brian had always assumed was puppy-love.
"I didn't do much. Just made the deposit," Justin says with a laugh.
Daphne wrinkles her nose again. "Gross! There are ladies in the room, ya know."
"Sorry, Brian."
At that remark, Brian flips him off and returns to his dinner, the whole mood of the evening now ruined. Not that he can really fault Justin too much for inviting Daphne over, despite how much he might bitch and moan about it later. Having been friends since fucking preschool or some shit, Brian supposes that the distance and time constraints keeping Justin and Daphne apart are probably killing them. If it were him and Michael, Brian would feel that way.
"I brought you some Primanti Brothers since it was on my way. Steak & Cheese with onion and a side of Street Fries—your fav," Daphne says, not bothering to look up from where she's playing with the kid on the floor. "You can tell me I'm the most incredible friend in the whole wide world later."
Justin starts digging around in one of the bags. "Thanks, Daph."
"You're eating again?" Brian asks, lifting an eyebrow.
"What? Why do you say it like that?" Justin's expression falls. "Are you trying to say something? Brian?"
As much as he'd like to mess with Justin, Brian understands what it's like to be a self-conscious fag pushing thirty. There's nothing wrong with Sunshine; he's still hot, still baby-faced and insufferably naïve in a lot of ways. A little older? Sure. But maturity is a good look on him—a verygood look. So biting back any remarks, Brian settles on tossing a throw pillow at Justin's head and stealing the rest of the Szechuan Beef.
Justin and Daphne settle in by the coffee table, their worlds immediately shifting to revolve around the urchin. After the third or fourth fit of giggles and second round of baby talk, Brian's had enough and heads over to his computer. He almost feels sorry for abandoning the urchin with this pair of lunatics. But, she doesn't seem to mind so much when Brian checks on her as he walks away, her fingers tangled in Daphne's hair and eyes wide in awe of this new person.
He opens up his work email, effectively having tuned the childrenout for the most part. There's too many emails in his inbox, most of which are marked urgent. Brian snorts. Stupid dickwads can't even manage to handle their accounts without bothering him; he ought to just fire them all already and start fresh again. How can so many people have so many work-related crises over the fucking weekend? Useless twats.
For the most part, Brian ignores the fact that his people are the best in their field; sometimes it just doesn't fucking seem like it.
After answering a few emails—he's going to send around a goddamn memo about what does and does not constitute urgent—Brian's attention drifts back to Justin and Company. Daphne has the kid in her lap, tickling her with that insufferable hedgehog-y thing while Justin lies on his stomach and watches. His face lights up whenever the urchin smiles at her toy—a sight that tears Brian apart as much as it builds him up.
He has no idea what the hell he's going to do with Justin. He brought him here for what? To have him around, maybe. To figure out if, after all this time, Justin's presence still belongs in this too-empty loft. And besides a mentally scarring torture session that involved force-feeding three rounds of medicine into a miserable baby, it was a good afternoon. Too fucking good, even if it was tragically domestic in just about every sense of the word.
"You can tell me, you know," Daphne whispers just a little too loudly, grabbing Brian's attention not only with her voice but with brief eye contact too.
"Daphne," Justin growls, seemingly doing everything in his power to avoid looking at Brian.
Brian's eyebrow arches in response, and Daphne quickly avoids his gaze altogether, tell-tale blush on her cheeks. So they're talking about him? If it weren't for the fact that everything is so fucking confusing between him and Justin, Brian would probably pry—embarrassing Justin and Daphne in the process—to figure out what his once-upon-a-time fan club was saying.
Now though, he'd rather not know. His own feelings on the matter are hard enough for sort the hell out as it is. He doesn't need to know Justin's too, especially since he worries that Sunshine isn't fairing much better than him with the terms of their arrangement. Namely, keeping their fucking emotions out of it.
Maybe out of fear, Brian gets up from his desk and walks up the stairs to the bathroom without so much as a word. He doesn't want to risk it, even though he knows he wouldn't actively eavesdrop. If there's one thing he doesn't need, it's this shit fucking up what would have been a perfectly amenable agreement. Sometimes Brian really hates this person that he's become—a man too soft and vulnerable in comparison to the guarded wall he'd been when he and Justin first met.
.
.
"So we're staying with Uncle Mikey for two days and then spending all of Christmas at Gramma Deb's. I don't know where we're going after Christmas yet. Mom told Ma that we might visit Nan, if she's not being a bitch—"
"Language, Sonny Boy," Brian says in his best muncher-approved, stern-father voice, trying to stifle a laugh in the process.
"Sorry, Dad."
"Just don't let your mothers catch you saying shit like that. Anyway, continue."
"Mom doesn't want to go if Aunt Lynette's going to be there. Oh, and Mom told me to tell you that you can come visit Nan too, if we decide to go. I don't know why because Nan doesn't even talk to you. She just looks at you all funny, like you tracked mud on her nice carpets. Why does she do that, Dad?"
Brian can't very well explain that the Petersons started loathing his existence the moment he shifted from becoming the man who was going to straighten out their carpet-munching daughter to the man who fucked said daughter in their bed over summer break. He has his parenting fuck-ups, sure, but he knows better than to open that can of worms. The last thing anyone needs is his son playing mediator at Christmas dinner at the Petersons', explaining to his grandparents that it's not nice to hold grudges or that his daddy loves his mommy in a very special way. And he definitely wouldn't put such a thing past Gus, especially since he's done this sort of thing before.
Many times.
"I don't know, son. Ask your mother."
Okay, so maybe that's not a fair response. But it's not like he shoves off all parental responsibilities to Mel and Lindsay too fucking often. It's just nice to be able to pull the not-my-kid card—even though he loves Gus and Gus is his, whether he has his goddamn rights or not—when his son is being infuriatingly curious about topics that are too fucking awkward to discuss with a kid.
"You always say that, and then whenever I ask Mom, she makes that face. You know, like that time you bought me ice cream way after dinner even when she told you not to. Like that. And then she says she'll call you later. What do you guys talk about? Does she yell at you a lot? Because when she makes that face, she looks like she really wants to yell at you. I don't want to get you in trouble."
"It'll be fine. Just ask her."
"Okay. And I'm supposed to ask you if you need me on Christmas to go to Grandma Joanie's."
"Do you want to go to Grandma Joanie's?"
Normally, the only thing that can get him to go to his mother's is a gun pointed directly at his head or Claire threatening to leave their mother in his care, which is practically the same thing. However, Gus has taken a bizarre-as-fuck liking to the old bat over the past couple years, and Joanie is surprisingly attentive in a way that she'd never been with Brian as a child. Not that Brian would ever leave Gus alone with her. Fuck that. Again, he's made some questionable calls as a father, but there's no way in hell he'd ever leave his son alone in that house with her.
The fact that Joanie likes Gus at all confuses the hell out of him. Brian had assumed that her fucking stellarparenting skills coupled with her holier-than-thou-art bigotry would have her turning her back on her grandson without a second thought. But Brian thinks she loves Gus in a way that she could never love him, even if she hates that Gus' parents are queer and condemns both he and Lindsay to hell every chance she gets. Lindsay thinks it's important that Gus gets to know his grandparents, even if they are shitty excuses for human beings. Brian's not sure what he thinks; he just hopes that Lindsay isn't making a bad call on this one.
"I like Grandma Joanie's. She has a nice tree, and she promised to put red and white lights on it this year, remember?"
"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up, Sonny Boy. Sometimes grown-ups disappoint. Especially your Grandma Joanie. Tell Mom or Ma that we might go. I don't know what my plans are yet."
"But I'm still spending some time with you, right?"
The insecurity of Gus' voice cuts through him. "Of course you are. I'll pick you up at Gramma Deb's on Thursday."
"Are we going to put up that stupid Charlie Brown looking Christmas tree again this year?" Gus asks, disapproval evident.
"What's wrong with my tree?"
"It's small and fake! And if you put two bulbs on it, it falls over, Dad. It's the worst." Gus huffs. "Oliver and his family go and cut down their own tree every year."
Just as Brian's about to bitch about this Oliver kid—who, as far as Gus is concerned, is the only thing that keeps the world turning—he hears the shower turn off, signaling that Justin's about done. Rather than Gus overhearing someone else in the Loft and asking questions, Brian decides to cut their call short tonight.
"Well good for Oliver," he says, sarcastically. "What is he, your new best friend, Sonny Boy?"
"I like him a lot. He's really nice and lets me play with his toys."
Brian takes a sip of beer, grins to himself. All the best boys do.
"Except, Dad, he kinda kissed funny."
At that, Brian nearly spits out his drink. Kissed funny? What the fuck? He tries to swallow his beer, but it's hard to do that and wrap his mind around the fact that his son is kissing boys. Holy fuck.
"You kissed this Owen kid?"
"His name is Oliver!" Gus says, indignant.
"Right, Oliver, sorry."
"And Mom and Ma say that kissing boys is just as good as kissing girls. That it's okay."
"Yeah, of course it is, Gus, but—"
"You kiss boys. You kiss Trevor like…a lot," he accuses.
"But we're not kids! And, look, you know that Trevor and I don't kiss anymore."
Except for the other night at Ted's party. And one night last month. And…shit. Well, it's not as if they kiss like they used to, and that's what's fucking important right now. They're not like that anymore.
"I know, but I still like him a lot. You should just tell him you're sorry, Dad. Ma tells Mom she's sorry sometimes even when she's not. It's okay because it makes the other person feel not so bad anymore."
"We didn't get into a fight, Gus. Listen…"
He doesn't know where to start. Jesus fucking Christ, his life is a mess. Gus really likes Trevor, which makes sitting down and explaining the whole situation—as in its overbetween them, for the most part—too damn difficult. His son finds a way to hit every nerve in his barrage of questioning, so Brian's been putting it off. And it's not as if he can have the discussion now, over the phone, with Justin getting out of the shower.
And Justin. Brian has no fucking clue how to explain him to Gus. They don't talk about Justin much with him, so he could have completely faded from Gus' memory by now. Or not. Who fucking knows? And regardless of whether he does or doesn't remember Justin, Brian still worries about whether or not he'll approve. Gus means everything to him. Shit, he's not fucking doing this right now. He'll sort both the Justin and Trevor mess out when Gus comes to visit.
"You're all quiet now. Is something wrong?"
"No, son."
"Did I make you sad because I said stuff about Trevor? I'm really sorry I hurt your feelings."
"No, it's not that, Gus. Trevor and I are still friends, and you can still talk about him. I just…" he trails off, sighing.
"You have a lot of grown-up stuff on your mind?"
Brian smiles. "Yeah, something like that. I should go. I don't want to keep you up, bedtime looming and all."
"Do you promise that you're not mad at me for kissing Oliver at the park?"
His son is kissing boys. Holy shit.
"I promise."
"On Judy Garland's grave?"
"Yes," he says with a laugh. "Christ, remind me to never let you go anywhere with Emmett ever again. He's obviously a bad influence."
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, Sonny Boy. Sleep tight."
Just like he does every night, Brian waits for Gus to hang up first. When Gus does, he taps the endbutton on his phone and sets it down very carefully on the coffee table, almost in a daze. He barely registers Justin sliding the bathroom door open, and even then he doesn't really care.
Gus is kissing boys. His son is kissing boys. No, his son kissed a boy. Singular, as in one boy one time.
At least that's all Gus is confessing to right now, but it's not as if his son is the type to keep secrets. Gus is too open for shit like that right now. Still, Brian plans on calling Lindsay tomorrow to see if she's heard about this. While there's some things he won't share with the munchers out of confidence, he doesn't think his son's emergent sexuality should be one of those things.
Sitting back into the sofa, Brian stares out the window and wonders what the fuck this means. He has a gay son? No, it's not that simple. There's nothing simple about sexuality, just sex. Gus likes girls. Well, he likes girls too.
He's pined after this little freckle-faced one on his soccer team all season, and Brian had the sneaking suspicion that the kid—Abby? Amy? No, Alice—liked Gus back. And then there's the matter of one Molly Taylor, who Gus has been crushing on for two years and counting. Come to think of it, she has freckles too. What, his son has a thing for freckles? Gus has a freckle fetish? Who the fuck has a frecklefetish? Maybe this Oliver kid has freckles too. Maybe it has nothing to do with boys or girls just…freckles.
"Are you finished with Gus?" Justin calls from the kitchen.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah."
"How is he?" He rounds the couch, bottle of water in hand, to sit next to Brian. "Do you two always talk this long?"
"Usually. And he's good. Straight As on his report card and his soccer team won their kiddie league. He got some stupid plastic trophy or something that I'm sure the munchers have proudly displayed on the mantel."
"He sounds like such a great kid. I'm looking forward to seeing him again, but I'm afraid I won't recognize him. They grow up so fast."
"Yeah, they do."
Too fucking fast. Brian remembers the days when Gus was five and a total ball of uncontrollable and endless energy. Back then, he couldn't wait until his son matured. But now? He'd give anything to have that kid back. Not that he doesn't love Gus for who he is now; it's just that he's starting to do and say things that are grown up. Brian's not sure he's ready for high school or first dates or graduation or…fucking prom.
"What's wrong? You seem out of it." Justin rests his hand on Brian's forearm. "There's nothing wrong with him, is there?"
Brian shrugs. "Depends on who you ask, I guess."
"Brian?"
The concern in Justin's tone has Brian turning to look at him. He doesn't mean to scare Justin, but it's the truth. If Joan finds out…if the kids at school find out or some of the parents in his kiddie soccer league, maybe they'd see him differently. The thought of that makes him sick.
"Gus kissed a boy," he explains, the words feeling weird on his tongue.
Justin laughs. "And you're not on Liberty Avenue, screaming at the top of your lungs that you have a gay son with your chest puffed out in paternal pride?"
"I'm not—"
Not what? Not proud? Of course he's proud of Gus. He loves Gus. He never, ever wants him to experience a hard day in his life. But if Gus is gay or if he's bi and decides to date a guy, Brian knows that it'll happen. The world's a fucking shitty place filled with shitty people who do and say shitty things, and his son will suffer because of that. His gut knots up at the thought. He doesn't want that for Gus; he wants to protect him from that.
"You're not what?"
Brian shakes his head. "One same-sex peck does not a queer make, Sunshine."
"He likes girls too then?"
"I think. Fuck, I don't know."
"You're just…not acting like I expected you to act. You're sure you're okay with this?" Justin asks softly, blue eyes worried.
"I'm not my father. I'm not yourfather. I love my son."
"But?" Justin prompts, seemingly sensing it lingering there.
"I'm proud of him, no matter what."
He can't say it. Maybe can't isn't the right word. Maybe it's won't. He won't admit to his insecurities, his worry. He won't admit that maybe he would feel a bit better if Gus liked Alice a little more than Oliver. But not because he's against Gus being with a guy—he doesn't give a shit where Gus is sticking his dick so long as he's doing it safely—it's just that he'd sleep easier. Brian wouldn't have to worry about whether or not some homophobic assholes, sometime down the road, would decide to hang out on Church Street to teach some queer kid a lesson. And that that queer kid would be his son. He doesn't ever want to get the call that Jennifer Taylor got ten years ago.
Fuck.
He'll love Gus no matter what, if being with a guy is what Gus chooses someday then he'll do whatever he can to make sure his son knows how to be safe in all the ways that matter. He'd sacrifice the sleep, the time, all the money on plane tickets because Gus would need him then more than ever. That would never be an issue. But Brian's not blind to the fact that being a gay teen isn't easy—been there, done that—and that he would rather Gus never had to experience everything that he had.
"You're worried," Justin says, thoughtfully.
"I guess that makes me a shitty father, huh?"
"No, it makes you a good father. You're only a horrible person if you want to change him, and I believe that not a day has gone by that you haven't loved and been proud of your son for who he is." He slips his fingers through Brian's hair. "If he is gay, you'll teach him how to be unapologetic but smart about it."
"Such faith."
"I turned out alright, didn't I? The best homosexual I could possibly be?"
Brian ducks his head to hide a sad smile. It took them both so long to get there—wading through bullshit and their own stubbornness—but they both made it relatively in one piece. He hopes it's easier for Gus. Maybe this is all needless worry on his part, but Gus is always on his mind. Brian really can't help it. For tonight, though, he ought to stop, ought to think about anything else. Let this sink in, and he'll talk with Gus about it when he comes for Christmas. Hell, it'll just be one more thing to add to the list of uncomfortable conversations.
"I guess you're okay." Brian glances up. "You give one hell of a blowjob."
Justin shoves him playfully before pouncing on him. Brian lies back on the couch, a pile of Justin pressing him into the cushions. Justin's all sharp edges at first—knees and elbows digging into his side and stomach—before he softens out. Brian's lips find their way to Justin's, and he tastes cool mint. The warmth, the familiarity—it relaxes him in a way that nothing else might have if Justin hadn't been here. Brian considers fucking his worries away, but the way Justin settles against him, tucked closely against him on a too-small couch, tells him that it probably won't happen tonight. Sunshine just wants to relax. And as long as Brian can touch him—his fingers, neck, hair, hips—he might be able to settle for that too.
"Did you have fun with Daphne?" Brian asks, threading their hands together.
Justin nods against his shoulder. "I miss her so much. She comes to visit when she can, but it's not the same, you know? After James left, she stayed for two weeks, and I swear that it was the best two weeks I'd had in a long time. She helped with Elise and everything. Even got up in the middle of the night to feed her."
"Sounds like you had fun playing house."
"We used to when we were little. We'd spend hours in her Fisher Price playhouse. Somehow I always got stuck being the stay at home dad to our, like, five kids, and she worked at NASA or something." Justin laughs, and then his expression softens. "She's going to be a good mom. I can just see it when she looks at Elise."
"So why didn't you do it?" Brian asks.
He feels weird asking, but it's a question that's been bothering him for a while, especially since finding out what a lousy mother the kid has. Knowing how close Justin and Daphne are—having lived through 4AM break up calls and inopportune visits—Brian had always assumed that Daphne would be the one to have Justin's kid. She intelligent—fuck, she's almost done with her residency—and beautiful. She and Justin would make incredible kids, so why pass up that opportunity?
"I can't have a baby with Daphne. She's my best friend," Justin explains, idly drawing some design on Brian's chest with his finger. "It'd be like you having a baby with Michael."
"I had a kid with Lindsay. She's a friend."
"That's not the same, and you know it." Justin stops tracing and sighs. "Daphne has her own life to live right now. Kids aren't in the picture for her, and even if she'd offered, there would have been no way that it would have worked out. Daphne would've wanted to be a mother to our kid, and I…that's just not how I wanted things to go. I could have never asked her to sign away her parental rights."
"So you just picked the first snatch that met your requirements?"
Justin lifts his head. "That's not fair. You weren't there, Brian."
"I may not have been there, but I know from the way you talk that your baby mama doesn't give a shit about her kid. At least my mom cared enough to get up off her drunk ass and feed me before my dad came home to beat the shit out of me."
Blue eyes fix him with a stare, one Brian knows to mean that he's walking a very narrow line and that he's also hit a nerve. Sometimes the truth fucking hurts, and he's not afraid to point out the obvious if Justin's too blind to see it.
"I'm tired of this conversation, Brian. I honestly don't get why you hate Delaney so much. You don't even know her, and I won't let you talk about the mother of my daughter that way. She loves Elise."
Brian snorts, and Justin's back to glaring at him. To soothe away any rising argument, he runs his hand up and down Justin's back just like he used to do when Justin would wake up from a nightmare. Sunshine softens to him, all threat of bitching him out seemingly fading.
"She was abused, Brian. Her parents…I can't even begin to explain to you what they subjected her and her brother for years. The State finally took them when they were fourteen after there was evidence of…fuck."
For a minute, Justin stills in his arms. Then he rubs his hands over his face like he does when his allergies start bothering him. Only this time Brian suspects that it has nothing to do with pollen. Watching Justin like this, he feels like a total asshole. Maybe he should. Except, Brian's always lived by the idea that you fight tooth and nail to give your kid all the things that you never had. Christ knows hetries.
"The point is that she spent her whole fucking life being told that she'll never amount to anything, first by her parents and then by the system and society at large. But she did fucking make it, Brian. Maybe just to piss all those people off. I really admire her for that, and I'm proud that she's Elise's mother. That's the kind of attitude I want my daughter to have.
"So she doesn't want to be a full-time mother? Can you honestly blame her for having issues after everything she went through? Still, there is this part of her that wants children. But, she's worried that she'll hurt Elise like her parents hurt her. It would never happen, but you can't convince her of that. Eventually, I stopped trying."
"And?" Brian asks, sensing something lingering there.
Justin looks up at him. "I'll never be able to have kids like straight people. I'll never be able to conceive a baby with the man that I love or look into my child's face and see…and see him."
Sunshine's fingers skim across Brian's neck before curling behind it and pulling him down. Justin's lips are warm, pliant. Maybe more importantly, moving painstakingly slow against Brian's mouth. At the moment, Brian wonders what's gotten into him because Justin only kisses like this when there's something going on in that blond little head. But, he's too fucking scared to ask.
Pulling away, Justin thumbs Brian's scratchy jaw. Brian moves his arm around Justin's waist and pulls him a little closer. It's obvious to him that Sunshine isn't done talking, but it's several long moments before Justin works through whatever is on his mind enough to speak.
"Delaney will never be able to be a mother like everyone else. She has no more control over that than I have over biology, so we're both different from most people, I guess. Neither of us should be punished for that though, for things that were way beyond our control. That's why this arrangement worked out best for the both of us, Brian. I can be a father, and she can be a mother the only way she feels she can be."
There's still so much about the whole scenario that Brian just doesn't get. Maybe he understands the whole situation with the kid's mother a little better, but everything else? It wasn't too surprising that Justin wanted a kid, but why now? He's not even thirty yet, and he has his whole fucking career ahead of him. Not to mention the fact that he has no one to support him, no partner to parent the kid with. It seems so fucking stupid to him, but Brian's sure that somewhere in Sunshine's head it made perfect sense. And while he wouldn't mind knowing, he's sure as hell not going to ask.
Instead, he lies with Justin, exchanges looks and feather-light touches every now and then. Brian will never understand Justin's attraction to damaged goods, to kids who were always at the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd say it's not healthy and that Justin should get over it so that he has a chance of having a normal life, but Brian's not sure he's ready for Justin to let go.
.
.
He can't sleep. Not that he hasn't fucking tried for at least an hour, tossing and turning in a now cramped bed with an urchin foot kicking his kidney every fifteen minutes or so. That's finally what drives him out and over to the windows, the city aglow in pinpricks of whites and blues.
The urge to curb his nicotine craving hits him not long after he gets up, and Brian nearly lights up before he remembers that Justin has a strict no smoking policy around the kid. With an irritated snort, he shoves the cigarette back into the package and tosses it somewhere in the general vicinity of the coffee table. Christ, he's turning into some hen-pecked breeder.
For ten minutes of relative silence, he sits on the sofa and examines one of Justin's late night doodles on the corner of Friday's Pittsburgh Post Gazette. Some art schmuck in New York would probably drop a hundred bucks to have it—especially considering the going rate of Justin's work—and all Brian is going to do is toss it in the trash for the cleaning lady to take care of. Not that he think so little of Justin's art. Actually, he's a fan and not solely for personal reasons. The collection that he has in storage from Justin's show early last year—waiting to be hanged in the Boston office of Kinnetik—is evidence enough of that.
While he doesn't know how or when, Brian does believe that things have to change for Justin. Brian's never sat back and let circumstances keep Justin from what he was born to do, and this really isn't any different. Sunshine needs to get back to his art full-time, the sooner the better.
Despite appearances, there's an obvious solution to the whole fucking shitstorm. Maybe if Justin had a little help, maybe if he felt that he could leave the kid with someone he could trust…well, Justin might agree to go back to work then. Brian's always wanted to take Kinnetik to New York someday—it's not like he'd be relocating his fucking life for personalreasons—and if he could secure the Blackwell account, a New York office would be far more practical and fundable than it is right now. Yeah, maybe he'd talk it over with Theodore, get an accountant's perspective on this risky venture.
Any other thoughts about the matter are cut short when he hears the urchin begin to fuss. Fussing turns into full on crying in no more than ten seconds, and Justin's up with her not long after that. Brian stands up from the couch and ends up meeting Justin halfway to the bedroom. He has visions of the night before—hospital trips too early in the morning and dickwad nurses who don't know what the fuck they're doing. Rather than subject the kid to that again—and themselves—Brian hopes she's just crying from a nightmare or something.
"What do you think—"
"She's still warm," Justin says, smoothing her hair. "It might be her teeth. Her ear medicine should take care of her earache for a few more hours at least. I don't know."
"Should I grab her Orajel?"
"No, I think I'm going to try to give her a bottle first. She hardly ate anything at dinner, so maybe she's just hungry." He moves a little closer to pass off the urchin. "Would you mind while I heat up her milk?"
Brian takes her easily and settles her against his chest. He's almost getting used to this whole holding the kid thing. While he won't say that it doesn't terrify the shit out of him, this childcare thing is part of Justin needing his help. Alright, maybe not needing—Brian doesn't think Justin's neededhim for a long time—but making things easier for everyone involved.
After sitting back down on the couch, Brian shifts her around in his arms until she looks at least a little comfortable. It's pretty hard to tell with her sniffling and crying all over the place. Since no amount of bouncing or awkwardly rocking her is helping, he leans over and grabs her pacifier from the coffee table, popping it in her mouth. She begins to suck on it, and Brian thinks that maybe food is her issue after all, thank the fucking Lord.
While he wipes off her cheeks with his thumb, the kid stares up at him, eyes wide and trusting. And honestly, he can't help but look back. She looks so much like Justin that it's still hard to get over. It's been a few years since he's been forcibly subjected to Justin's baby pictures—moments when he's grateful that his own mother is an emotionless alcoholic bitch who never loved him—but from what he vaguely remembers they're a lot alike.
Maybe part of Brian always knew this day would come—that Justin would have a kid. He never envisioned it for the both of them—no fucking way—but he figured it would come down to this. He also figured that the kid, whatever it was, would be cute because Justin can (obliviously) command the attention of a whole room. He just never imagined the kid to be quite thiscute. It may be a cause for concern.
"Here," Justin says, reaching for her as he walks around the side of the couch with a bottle in hand. "Thanks, Brian."
Brian hands her over as soon as Justin sits down next to him, and she begins to suck on her bottle. He chances a look at them—Justin grinning sleepily at her while she eats—before reaching for the TV remote. Sitting back, he feels as if he ought to say something to Justin or turn on the TV for some distraction from the whole thing. It ends up not mattering though because Justin catches his eye, his expression soft in a way that Brian finds unbearable.
"You know, once upon a time when I was a stupid little twink who didn't know any better, I thought this might be you and me someday."
Brian cocks an eyebrow. "Playing Mommy and Daddy?"
"I was thinking more Daddy and Daddy," Justin clarifies, nose scrunched up in distaste. "But yeah, I guess. I thought…" He leans his head against the back of the couch and laughs. "I thought that one day you'd wake up and realize that you were madly, deeply in love with me, and you'd ask me to marry you, vowing off all other men forever. We'd buy a house and a few years down the line find a surrogate to carry our baby. We'd raise a beautiful family and grow old together."
"Wow, Sunshine, that's some fairy tale."
"I know, right?"
Warm fingers slip up his wrist, into his palm before threading with his cold ones. Brian looks over at Justin, into familiar blue made dark in the low light, and sees how tired and worn he is. But beneath that, there's still a flicker of something—happiness, maybe, or affection.
"One out of seven isn't bad," Justin jokes, cracking a smile. "At least where you're concerned. It may have taken me four years, but I finally got you to say it."
"Three out of seven," he corrects. "I did ask you to marry me—twice—and we did buy a house."
"True, but we never went through with either."
"Not for a lack of trying."
Justin pauses. "I'm sorry about how things fell apart at the end."
"We both knew it was never going to work out."
"Yeah, maybe. That doesn't mean it was any easier to let it all go, though. I still wanted you, Brian. I wanted you and the house in the country and…"
When blue eyes fall to the kid, Brian doesn't have to hear the rest of his sentence to know what else Justin wanted. Of course he would have still wanted a family. Sure, it's not why they split. And maybe if they'd been able to hold out for each other instead of throwing in the towel, Brian would have finally succumbed to the idea of a mini-Sunshine. Never happily, of course. Justin would have had to drag him kicking and screaming to the maternity ward to collect their death sentence, that's for fucking sure. But, in theory, he might have been alright with it eventually.
"It doesn't matter now," Brian says quickly. "It's over."
"I guess you're right."
He tries to ignore the less-than-convincing tone of Justin's voice in favor of turning on the TV and surfing through the guide. It is over, he reminds himself. After Christmas, things between them will go back to normal. Justin in New York, him in the Pitts. Anything else that he's considering—Kinnetik, relocating, maybe even rekindling—is just that, consideration. The only thing Brian knows for certain from where he stands now is that nothing's going to change.
"Hey, look. It's that shitty ghost hunting show you used to subject me to," Brian says, selecting the channel.
"It's two in the freakin' morning, Brian! I can't watch—wait, is this the one about the TB sanatorium in Kentucky? Oh god, it is."
Maybe unconsciously, Justin curls up against him, the urchin still in his arms sucking on an almost empty bottle. Brian slips an arm around Justin and pulls him in a little closer as Justin rests his head against Brian's shoulder. The familiarity of the situation—minus one kid—warms him, as lesbianic as it sounds.
"I'm never going to sleep tonight," Justin mumbles, eyes glued on the TV.
Brian lets his lips skim across Justin's forehead before kissing him soundly on blond hair. "It's not like she was going to let you in the first place."
.
.
He's missed this.
Yeah, it's painful to admit, but he has. Waking up, seeing Justin standing in the kitchen as he scans the newspaper and sloppily stirs his coffee, trying to avoid Justin's shit as he crosses the room to join him—it's stupid and sentimental and something he never imagined he'd ever feel. But, he does, and Brian wonders how waking up to an empty loft last month could have ever felt normal.
"Morning," Brian says, lips ghosting across the back of Justin's neck as he comes up behind him.
Justin sighs, content, but doesn't bother to acknowledge Brian further than placing his hand over Brian's as Brian slips it across Justin's waist. Nudging Sunshine a bit with his hips, Brian dips his hand into Justin's pajama pants, teasingly running fingers through coarse, wiry hair.
"Don't kill me," Justin whispers, bringing his lips to Brian's in a light, over-the-shoulder kiss.
"What'd you do?" Brian asks, not really caring much as this point since he's very preoccupied with Justin's very hard cock.
Justin winces. "I may have broken the coffeemaker just a little bit."
"Why do you do this every time you visit?"
"If you'd just use the one I bought for you three Christmases ago…"
With a nip at Justin's ear, Brian says, "Why are you still nagging me when my hand is on your dick?"
"Maybe you're not as good as you used to be," Justin teases.
Just for that, Brian spins Justin around and pushes the pajamas off Justin's hips as he drops to his knees. His mouth is on Sunshine before Sunshine can make a sound—good, bad, or otherwise—taking him in deep. Brian relishes the taste, the smell—thick and salty on his tongue.
"B-Brian, hey, stop it." Justin gasps. "We can't."
He moans around Justin, sending Justin's fingers scrambling to fist into brown hair. Like hell they can't do this. They're doingit already, and from the way Justin's legs are quivering, he's not going to fucking last long anyway.
"I'm serious. Eli is—shit, Brian, fuck—um…she'll be awake any…goddamn…minute."
So he's working on a time schedule? Big deal. It's not as if he hasn't learned a thing or two about Justin in the seven years—give or take—they've been together. With no more than a few well-placed fingers and a couple long strokes with his tongue, Justin shoots into his mouth with a whimper. Brian swallows, licks him clean, and stands to press Justin into the kitchen counter.
"What was that about not being good anymore?"
Justin cards his fingers through Brian's hair, trying to smooth it out. "I'm glad you reminded me."
Sunshine pushes his neck down to bring him in for a kiss, Justin's tongue dipping into his mouth to taste himself. Grabbing his ass, Brian pulls him closer, relishing the feel of Justin's tongue tangling with his, the feel of Justin's skin—hot and slick—against his own.
As Justin draws him out of his boxer-briefs, Brian fights with one of the kitchen drawers, the feel of Justin's hands on him making it impossible to concentrate on anything but the mind-numbing spasms contracting in his lower belly. He finally manages to get it open, his hand seeking out one of the several condoms stashed there.
"You keep condoms in with the cutlery now?" Justin asks, eyebrow raised in obvious disapproval. "That's totally not sanitary."
Brian shoves the condom into Justin's hand. "Put it on me."
Justin does, but not without one more disapproving look. Condom on, Brian lifts Justin up, Justin's legs wrapping tightly around his waist. One arm securing Justin, he lines himself up, but his thrust is interrupted by a sharp cry.
Groaning, he rests his head on Justin's shoulder for a minute, trying to suppress the urge to scream or cry out of mother fucking frustration because he's not gotten off for more than twenty-four hours and he's sleep deprived on top of that. Is this really what parenthood entails? Mid-fuck interruptions, 24-7? Because fuckthat shit.
When Justin kisses his temple a few seconds later, Brian eases him back to the floor. They both fumble to get their cocks back where they belong before Justin winds his arms around Brian.
"To be continued?"
Brian snorts. "Yeah, maybe when she's in college."
Justin swats his ass. "I didn't figure you'd be hanging around that long."
With a squeeze of the hand, Justin goes to retrieve his urchin. Briefly, Brian stands in the kitchen, wondering what the fuck he's going to do—with his life, his business, Justin, fucking everything—before deciding that the first order of business is getting off. Stalking off to the bathroom, Brian passes Justin sitting on the bed changing the kid, Justin shooting him a small smile as he walks by. It makes his chest hurt.
.
.
"How is she?"
Justin looks up from the thermometer to Brian as Brian emerges from the bathroom, sated. He shrugs, lays the thermometer down on the table with the rest of the kid's shit that's slowly taken over his dining room.
"Her fever is a little higher than it was last night. It's not dangerously high, but it doesn't look like it's going to break anytime soon. I'll call her pediatrician later to see if there's anything else I can do."
"Do you think she's going to need to go to the hospital again?"
Brian glances down at the urchin, sitting in her carseat on the tabletop so that Justin can manage feeding her better. There's a bowl of some sort of baby cereal next to her that Brian remembers feeding Gus when he was little. She seems a little more alert today, blue eyes wandering around the room, but her cheeks are flush.
"I doubt it." Justin picks up her cereal, tests it, and then gives her a spoonful. "Brian, you don't have to worry about us. You're going to be late for work if you don't leave soon, and I'm sure that you've got a lot of important things to take care of today."
Yeah, he does. But the thing is, Brian knows—whether he wants to admit to it or not—that there are more important things outside the office that require more immediate attention. Lying with Justin last as he dozed off, Brian was reminded of another time when it'd been painful to leave Justin for fear that Justin would need him. It's not the same now; Sunshine's told him that he doesn't need rescuing. Maybe he doesn't, but that doesn't mean that Brian can curb his desire to look out for Justin. He knows he can't; he's tried for years.
"I'm not going into the office for a couple days," he says, picking up an empty coffee cup that Justin no doubt set out and staring at it idly.
Justin lets the spoon fall short of the kid's mouth. "What?"
He sets the cup down on the counter. "You heard me."
After dragging one tired, blond twink and one sleeping urchin to bed at four fucking AM, he'd sent an email to Cynthia explaining that he wouldn't be in until the middle of the week and to reschedule any meetings. As most of them are meetings within the company, Brian doesn't feel so on edge about missing a couple days. He can work from home easily enough, and should crisis plague the masses, he's just a short drive away.
It sounds good enough in his head, anyway. Kinnetik's run by the best in the field as far as Brian is concerned; they should be able to handle it. And any nervousness he may or may not be feeling likely has nothing to do with the state of his company at all and more to do with the fact he's putting his personal life before his business. That's not happened in a very long time.
"Why?" Justin asks, tone not accusatory yet but threatening to be if Brian doesn't watch himself.
"I have a new campaign to start for the Heinz account, and I'll never get anything done if I make myself available to the incompetent twats-for-brains I call my employees."
Justin expression softens considerably, and he feeds the urchin another spoonful of cereal. Brian feels as if he's dodged a bullet on that one; Justin no doubt would have a fit if Brian implied that he thought Justin needed taken care of.
"I'll call Mom in an hour and see if she can pick us up before her afternoon showing."
"What the hell for?"
"Brian." Justin pauses, rolls his eyes and smiles. "If you're worried about getting distracted in a place full of adults then I can promise you that you'll definitely be distracted by an eleven-month-old baby."
"I don't mind her."
A few days ago, Brian thinks he would have been lying. But now? Maybe not so much. Against his will, he's gotten used to her, and when she's not being a cockblock, he guesses she's alright to have around. Not fun. Not enjoyable. But maybealright.
He watches as Justin reaches for his hand, threads their fingers together and pulls him forward. Deftly evading a heaping spoonful of that nasty cereal shit, Brian slips a hand across Sunshine's neck and leans down to suck on his lower lip. Sunshine hums appreciatively, and Brian can taste the smile on his lips before he can ever feel it.
"Yes," Justin says, breaking their kiss, "you do."
"Alright, you fucking have me. But if it makes it any better, she's a little more tolerable now that I've been subjected to her constant presence."
"I understand that's practically a compliment coming from you—" The kid gives an indignant grunt, cutting him off, and Justin gives her another spoonful of cereal. "But, this is still no place for her. She needs her things, Brian. I mean, I love the Loft and everything…"
"But it's a fuckpad."
Justin winces. "Yeah, it's a fuckpad."
It's not as if he's an idiot. Experience has taught him that this place isn't exactly kid-friendly. Hell, it's barely Mikey-or-Justin-friendly with the number of times they've nearly spilled something on his furniture. The Loft has never and will never be a home. And it's not as if practically hearing that from Justin hurts. It doesn't. This place was never intended to be anything more than a space to sleep between fucks. Brian's okay with that—the house that Kinney built.
"Listen, we'll still see each other." Justin tugs softly on Brian's shirt as if to punctuate the statement. "I might be able to sneak out once or twice before I have to go back to New York, if Elise is feeling better and Mom is up for it. We'll hit Babylon or something. And maybe I'll see you on Christmas at Deb's."
He reacts to Justin's words as if they're some sort of threat, but that's not how Justin intended them. Stiffening, he directs his eyes anywhere that isn't close to Sunshine. Brian tries to remember that this arrangement is just about hooking up when it's convenient, that there was no fine print about take-out, goddamn crime dramas on TV, or midnight fights over blanket hogging. That's not in the cards for them, probably never will be. Still, he's disappointed. If not about spending their days together, then simply for not seeing each other on fucking Christmas.
He jams his tongue into his cheek. "Maybe?"
"I have a giant list of people I need to visit, and I can't drag Elise around too much with this ear infection."
"We're your fucking family."
"I know that, Brian," Justin says softly.
Fuck this. He walks from the dining room to the coffee table and reaches for his pack of cigarettes, nervous twitch to his hands. It's been too fucking long since he's had a nicotine fix. Just as Brian has the cigarette between his lips, he pauses and remembers present company. Slipping it between his fingers, he pauses before slowly slipping the cigarette back into the pack.
"I'm going to the house."
"The house?" Justin asks, wiping the urchin's mouth off.
"Our house."
As Brian turns a little more to get a better look at Justin, he finds that Justin appears more shocked than anything, his lips parted and eyes a little wider than normal. Tossing the pack of cigarettes on the couch, Brian waits for Justin to say something. It seems to take Sunshine a minute or two to form coherent thoughts.
"You…still have it?"
"Do you know how hard it is to sell a country manor in this economy?"
Alright, he never tried to sell it. As if he fucking could. While they never actually got to live there for anything more than a weekend once or twice a year—sometimes less—there were too many memories made to just sell them off like they didn't mean a goddamn thing.
"Why are you going there?"
Brian shrugs. "It's quiet."
"Oh."
Oh? Brian resists the urge to snort. His little, articulate princess—oh, he says. Still, the disappointment in Justin's tone is evident, and Brian's really not sure why. Maybe because going clear to West Virginia will make seeing each other more difficult, if not impossible. With a sick kid, even less than thirty minute drives can be hellish.
"It doesn't have to be."
"Brian…"
"You could come with me."
"But Elise—"
"Fucking bring her, Sunshine."
"We don't have anything at the house for a baby. I can't take her there."
"Then we'll buy her whatever the hell she needs on the way."
Justin's brow raises. "Do you know how much that will cost?"
"Do I look hard up to you?"
"Brian, while I really do appreciate the offer, I can't let you do that."
"You're being a stubborn shit," Brian says, matter-of-factly.
Justin picks the kid up from her carseat and says, easily, "That's some newsflash."
Watching Justin throw a few things into the kid's bag guts him like so few things have the power to do. No matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, Justin always walks. Most men would take it as a sign to move on—and he's fucking tried—but somehow Brian can't. At least, not like this. Not when he has to see Justin packing up, little by little.
"What do I have to do to convince you to stick around?" Brian asks, putting himself out there for once in his pathetic life.
"Why's it so important to you, Brian?" Justin looks thoughtful. "Our arrangement—"
"Fuck the arrangement. I…like spending time with you. Last time I checked that wasn't a crime in the State of Pennsylvania. And why the hell are you so hesitant about this? If you're worried about getting too involved, I'd say we fucking passed that point about five miles back."
As soon as Sunshine refuses to meet his eyes, Brian knows he guessed right. He can't fucking blame Justin; he doesn't like it either. Hell, he'd give anything to stop this before it all started. Maybe. Shit, maybe not. Who the fuck knows? They're both well beyond keeping what's happening between them as a simple fuck.
"It's just complicated," Justin says finally.
"When's it ever been simple?"
He nods. "Point—Kinney."
"If it'll help change your mind, I'd be willing to have Christmas at the house so that you don't have to drag the kid around."
"Really?" Justin seems so surprised. "But Brian, you didn't want anyoneto see the house before we finished it."
"This may be as finished as it ever gets. So what do you say?" Brian picks up the phone on his desk and holds it up. "Do you want to call your mommy and tell her you're running away with me again?"
Justin pauses, huffs a little, and then smiles. As he walks across the room to Brian, he shakes his head, exasperated yet obviously so fucking pleased. Brian's a little proud of himself for taking a risk and exposing himself like that. He'd been hurt so many times by doing it that he forgot it could actually feel really fucking good.
"For the record," Justin says before taking the phone, looking at Brian pointedly, "I didn't run awaywith you the first time."
He shrugs. "Semantics."
As soon as Justin presses the talk button, Brian grabs him around the waist and pulls him in close, urchin wedged between their chests. He lowers his lips to Justin's ear.
"One more thing. If I'm inviting our entire fucking family over for Christmas, I expect you to be veryattentive, Mr. Taylor."
"Attentive to them?" Justin asks, nuzzling his neck as the urchin makes weird-as-fuck gurgling noises between them. "Or to you?"
"Two guesses."
"I bet I only need one."