A cough and the solid clank of metal on metal, of a flashlight against a holstered gun. "You aren't supposed to be here."
"You aren't supposed to be here." This time a shove and a hiss. Mikey. But that hadn't happened yet.
Not until an hour after Justin's "juiciest" revelation about him and Brian: "So yeah, Brian hasn't tricked since we started dating."
Justin expected Brian to deny it. He still didn't know much about the man, but he was observant.
Brian was a predator. Justin could have guessed that just from his first glimpse of Brian on the train. Brian was god-like. No, not like. Brian was a God. And Gods might walk amongst mortals, but those mortals' lives and souls … they were Gods' playthings.
The intuitive leap Justin had made at first glance was confirmed the moment they met. The intensity of Brian's eyes … his easy drawl … the confidence flowing with the fluid movement of his body … his feline grace. Yes, Brian was a predator. Justin was almost embarrassed at his body's response to the simplest of things: a word, a touch, a look. Almost.
Whatever Justin had said or done, he wasn't blind. For example, when Cynthia had come to inform Brian that Brown Athletics wanted to go "in a different direction" … and had described what Brian and Justin were doing as a "date" … Brian had actually winced. Twice. And Justin had observed with increasing unease Brian's drinking on the plane here.
Yes, Justin expected Brian to deny it.
But he didn't.
Justin could have laughed.
The room was suddenly a tomb. No voices. No movement. No breathing.
The seconds trudged by. And still Brian said nothing.
One. Mikey underwent a grotesque petrifaction. Justin looked on in horror as Mikey's face twisted and froze. A grimaugh. It was a slaughter.
Two. Emmett tried to cough. It curdled. Crawled back down his throat.
Three. Ted itched his nose. He bumped, prodded, and squeezed. Nothing worked.
Four. Mikey's left eye. A shiver.
Five. Mel's mouth, ever a drawn bow, slackened.
Six. Debbie's wig slid down on a slick of sweat.
Seven. Lindsay jumped. She spouted, "I'm awake. I'm awake!" Her eyes darted. From Gus (happily playing with blocks on the floor) to Mel to Deb to Mikey to Ted to Emmett and finally to Brian. Justin held back a giggle. She looked like that shifty-eyed cat clock. Except for the wagging tail.
Breathless, Lindsay asked, "What happened?"
Her question forced comprehension. One needs to fully absorb something before telling it.
Brian bristled. Sighed. Again?
Oddly, it was Mel who spoke. "Brian's in a monogamous relationship." Smiling mouth. Glittering, but angry eyes. It's a trap!
Lindsay nodded a glance at Justin and Brian. Brian's arms were still around Justin. Justin's smile purred. And rubbed up against the furniture. But secrets? He was all out. Of the good kind, anyway.
Lindsay's eyes were lasers. Moving up, down, and sideways. Scanning Brian. His posture, his muscles (were they tight), his "lazy" smile, his eyes … Was Mel's assertion true? If so, how did Brian feel about it?
Various read outs appeared … one directly in front of her (overlaying Brian's face) … one up above his head … one down below his chin… … one to the right of his arms… one to the left of his feet …
Straight ahead
Face—so handsome. Sigh-smile. (Not lost on Mel).
Strong Jaw
Symmetrical features.
Perfect specimen for breeding.
Tight muscles!
Eyes—Swimmable.
Current status: Brown dusted with gold.
Sparkling …
Pupils dilated!
Up
Three hairs whispered down.
Forehead. Broad.
Slightly fluted!
Three beads of sweat at the temples!
Artificial bed head. Source: LA Looks Gel.
Crunchy (98% probability).
Sticky (5% probability).
Red (18%) and gold (23%) highlights = (100%) boyish charm
Down
Lips.
Strong. Firm.
Curved up slightly …
Chin
Not dimpled. Still … well formed.
Slight sheen … sweat? (62% probability)
Right
Arms. Stronger than they looked. Current status: wrapped TIGHTLY around the blond kid …
Mmmm (the mmm in her head translated into a soft moan in "the world," which, unbeknownst to Lindsay, Mel heard).
Memory file 222. Lying in Brian's bed in his dorm room. Nestled snuggly in his arms. "The way it was supposed to be."
Left
Legs. Current status: Loose. Almost relaxed …
Feet. Memory file 223. So high. Brian … feet rubbing against feet.
Current status: No relevant information.
Letters in red bold spiraled out until that's all Lindsay could see.
They flashed.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Discomfort level: 2 (of 5). Probability of Happiness: 72% Game over? Probability …
The display warbled. Rippled in. Forming a flat line. Which then whirred to a point and disappeared.
Out of order.
A spot up and to the right of her right eye throbbed a staccato. Her left cheek twitched an accompaniment.
Mel bit her tongue. Figuratively. What she bit in actuality was her cheek. A curling nausea she hadn't experienced in two years rose up then. Lindsay's birthday dinner. Lindsay's favorite restaurant. Lindsay had the Chicken French. As she did every year. She'd "gotten silly." Again, normal for her birthday. She giggled and smiled … brushed her lips against Mel's cheek, right by her ear, and whispered, "I love you." Love and want rushed through Mel's body like a river. Cold and hot. So many years in … still terrifying and wonderful. Then … then … Sue, SUE (even in Mel's mind, the word was spit, hissed, poison), an old friend of Lindsay's Mel had never met before from Lindsay's uber-feminist days whom Lindsay had invited simply because she had told Lindsay about some freelance writing job… part time… decent money … Sue giggled and said, in front of fifteen people, most of whom she didn't know, "Remember that time we all stripped and touched each other's breasts." Eyes trained on Mel now. A simpering smile. "It wasn't sexual. It was empowering." Later that night, Mel had interrogated Lindsay. Like she was a hostile witness. "It was empowering." Burning eyes, though she shrugged lightly. Her voice filled with seeming calm. "Okay. Explain how." "I … I don't know. I barely remember it. It was kind of weird … I don't know why I did it. We'd been drinking. It … it didn't mean anything …" "Six women had their hands on you, and it didn't mean anything? How's that empowering? All it proves is women, too, can reduce women to body parts." Lindsay had cried. And apologized. They hadn't even known each other then. Mel had ruined her lover's birthday. Forced her to describe the lead up to the "incident," the "incident" itself, and the aftermath. Had inserted cutting remarks throughout and had held her accountable. For something Sue had suggested. For something that had happened many years ago. Before Mel had even met Lindsay. She saw everything then. Everything. Her own vulnerability (she was so desperately in love with Lindsay). The ugliness of her jealousy (which truly knew no bounds). The damage it could do. She'd decided that night, when she lay awake holding a sleeping Lindsay, tears staining Lindsay's cheeks. Mel had to leave Lindsay or stay and pretend (or try very hard to pretend) it was all okay. Sue. The five former lovers Lindsay still spoke to (who sent her cards, invited her to lunch, phoned periodically …). And Brian.
Mel clapped her hands and plastered a fake smile on her face. "So, where are the presents?"
Deb smiled in relief and ran to get the gifts (off of a small folding table in the kitchen). She was carrying them all … fell to juggling halfway to the couch. Brian and Mel both dove to help her. When Mel's eyes met Brian's, he jumped a little, dropping one of the boxes he'd rescued. Mel had made no sound, but Brian thought he heard growling. What the fuck?
Justin was oblivious to the Lindsay-Mel-Brian subplot. He'd been focusing on two people, and two people alone. Brian and Mikey. Justin smiled beatifically watching Brian's now comic attempt to catch and transport half the gifts to Mikey. Then his eyes flashed with a naughty glint. Mikey's face was still frozen into a monstrous mask, all except his left eye, which continued to shiver.
Justin's revelation (and Brian's lack of explanation, qualification, or denial) … eventually led Mikey, red-faced, his eyebrows and mouth forming angry lines, to shove Justin. Justin should have been scared. He should have flashed back to the parking garage. After that night, all violence, and even biting tones, sent him back there. But all he could see was Brian, behind Mikey (a room away), smirking, eyes dancing. He shrugged and then unaccountably looked up. At Justin. Brian's face cleared of all emotion. He blinked slowly. Then he smiled. A whisper of a smile. Justin beamed. The whisper grew into a murmur. And nothing else existed.
Back to the cough and the clank.
Justin was humiliated. And afraid.
But after the cop's first threat, he stopped talking. He stopped moving. He was staring at Brian. Justin glanced back at Brian. Brian had tilted his head. Was shrugging. Smirking.
Justin looked back at the cop. Saw for the first time what Brian saw. Bulging muscles. Super tan. Very likely packing a huge dick (his feet were huge). And when he smiled, which, much to Justin's horror, he was now doing, he had dimpled cheeks and bright white teeth.
"He's cute. If you like the brawny type. "Which I do not," Justin thought, conveniently forgetting the fantasies he'd had before his first foray on Liberty Avenue.
Brian ran his hand down Justin's back, from his neck to his ass, and then started fucking him again. This time slow. But hard. Justin exhaled a moan. He couldn't help it. The cop raised an eyebrow and ran a finger lightly down the shaft of the flashlight. Justin shut his eyes tight (Brian had fisted Justin's hair and was now fucking him deeper, if that were possible, but still slowly, cruelly so). Justin felt an invisible hand closing around his heart.
TBC…