And the movement in your brain Sends you out into the rain. Nick Drake Things Behind the Sun “Working late I see, boss man. Makes a citizen feel all protected to know the mayor is too dedicated to punch a time clock.” “Where the hell have you been?” Stockwell asked, pulling Dutton by the arm into the stairwell and out of sight of the City Hall parking garage entrance, even though the building was deserted at this time of night, save for the two men facing one other. “Hey, watch the threads, this here’s a new suit…that you’re paying for.” “I don’t give a fuck about your suit,” Stockwell gritted through his teeth. “You were supposed to be here over an hour ago!” “Is that any way to talk to your partner?” “What are you talking about?” “I did that little errand you sent me on alright. Told a certain someone not to stick his nose where it don’t belong ‘less he wants it, and the rest of his pretty personage, messed up in a decidedly permanent way.” “Good. That concludes our…association then. You take the rest of your payment and we’ll be done with this business.” “Oh, hold your horses there, my friend. We have a few more things to discuss. See, I was thinking it might me nice to be on payroll, regular-like,” Dutton smiled, his reptilian face twisted up in a nasty smile. Stockwell laughed. “Are you trying to blackmail me, Dutton? Don’t bother. You’ve got nothing on me.” “I wouldn’t be so sure, boss man. ‘Ol Dutton’s real good at puttin’ two and two together…seems to me it was a good idea to hang on to that piece you hired me to dispose of. You know, the one you shot one Brian Kinney with.” “You bastard. What do you mean you held on to the gun?” “Just what I said. Didn’t run it through the same rigorous process as I do for my usual clients. Figured, what with you being such an important man and all, might be interesting to find out what I was helping to cover up before I got in too deep.” “What makes you think I won’t kill you?” Stockwell asked, dropping any pretense of civility or innocence. “I’m more good to you alive…as a partner in crime, so to speak. You don’t know for sure the Taylor kid won’t ignore the warning and need to be handled more firmly. Got your lily white hands dirty enough already, don’tcha, Mr. Mayor? Seems sensible to uh, keep me on retainer for any more little jobs that should arise in the future. Oh, by the way, your boy Taylor’s found himself a new playmate. Don’t know exactly what went down, but the other kid had a real hungry look about him…seemed to be in possession of some information that made him real uncomfortable. Information Taylor was more than happy to pay for. You might want to be looking into that.” Dammit! Inwardly, Stockwell fumed but he tapped down his fury before he spoke. “I know him. He worked in the precinct mailroom. He stole some sealed records. Name’s Matthew Larner. He’s a student at Pittsburgh University. Take care of it, Dutton. Find him. Get rid of him.” “You got it, boss. Guess this means we got ourselves a business deal.” Stockwell hated the idea of being in league with this scum but already he saw the advantage to having someone to handle the hands on aspect of the job that must be done. He didn’t make the mistake of actually trusting the man in front of him, but he felt safe enough with the pull he now had as mayor. “Yes, we have a deal.” “Good. Now, us being honorable men and all, how about we shake on it?” Dutton held out his right hand. “It seems we’ve inadvertently reached an understanding,” Stockwell said as he gripped Dutton’s hand to seal the deal. “You keep your trap shut and make yourself available to me for any jobs that crop up in the future, and I won’t alert the new Police Chief, who happens to be a close, personal friend of mine, to the chop shop you operate down in the old warehouse district.” Now it was Dutton’s turn to laugh. “You think your comrades don’t know my business? Let me tell you something, Stockwell…you may have refused a bribe or two on your way to the top, but the new Chief is more that willing to, shall we say, look the other way, has been for quite some time. For the right price of course. We all have our price, even you, huh, boss man?” “What’s yours, Dutton? How much is this partnership going to cost me?” * The rain was relentless. It poured from the sky in cold, icy torrents and plastered Brian’s hair to his skull. He turned the corner and headed east towards Liberty Avenue. The Crow who had been flying high above him suddenly swooped down and landed on a railing in front of Brian. You must not go there. “Why?” He must not see you. You agreed. “He’s at the loft?” Yes. He lives there now. The thought pleased Brian. He had fully intended to ask Justin to move back in…eventually. His pride, his ego, whatever stupid thing he chose to call it, had still been smarting over the fiddler fiasco. A niggling fear of a repeat had been the only obstacle to making their living arrangements official again. “I need to see him.” Not a good idea. “Because you say so?” A battle of wills occurred between Brian and the bird. Hazel eyes locked with shiny black ones. Finally, the bird squawked in anger and flew a short way away in defeat. Brian covered the distance to the loft in no time. He stood on the street and looked up at the lit windows, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that he refused to name. With a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, Brian jumped up, straight up with his newfound preternatural strength, to the tiny ledge outside his window and crouched down. To anyone passing, the shadowy figure perched high above the ground might appear to be contemplating death. However, people in cities rarely look up, and certainly never in the driving rain. The interior of the loft was dimly lit but Brian could see Justin sitting at the desk in the corner, his blonde head bent over a drawing on the table. Brian’s fingertips touched the cold glass. He wiped away the beading rain and wished it was soft skin under his hand. Ten minutes passed and nothing moved save Justin’s furiously moving hand. It flew over sheet after sheet of paper with a fluid movement that belied the speed of the art pouring out. Brian wondered what was so important to record, what thoughts possessed his lover to the single-mindedness he now displayed. Another ten minutes passed before Justin threw down the pen and carefully stretched his obviously cramping fingers while he massaged his elbow and forearm. Brian’s fingers itched to do the job for him, the way he would when Justin came home exhausted from pushing himself too hard in still life class, or after staying up all night with Michael working on panels for Rage. Justin pushed away from the desk and stood with slow, careful movements. He wrapped his left arm around his middle as he made his way to the bedroom. Brian frowned. Justin grabbed the hem of the white tee shirt he wore over a pair of Brian’s sweats and yanked it over his head, a grimace of pain contorting his beautiful face. Brian sucked in a breath at the sight of Justin’s bare torso covered in red and purple bruises. “Shit,” he whispered as Justin turned to climb into bed and he caught sight of his back. More marks mottled the creamy white skin. Brian knew from his own run in with Craig Taylor’s foot, once upon a time, that the marks came from being repeatedly kicked. A red haze filled his vision and he smiled savagely as he thought about what he would do to Stockwell when he got his hands on the man. Have you seen enough? Brian closed his eyes and swallowed back his rage. The truth, sharper than any knife, more piercing than a bullet, slammed into him with a resounding thud in the region of his heart. He would never see enough of Justin. The emotion he had always refused to name, refused to believe in, was as crystal clear as the rain drops falling from the say. Now that it no longer mattered, now, when he couldn’t do anything about it, he could say it. He could feel it. I love you… he whispered brokenly. Justin shifted and turned toward the window. Brian gasped and drew back, out of sight. The heart that shouldn’t be beating at all was racing. He couldn’t have heard me. Brian. You need to come away now. The Crow’s wings flapped impatiently. “No. Not yet.” It is time. “I’m dead. I have all the time in the world,” Brian said as he jumped from the ledge to the street below in a single, fluid movement. “I just want a quick look at something, then I’ll go.” He turned the corner and went to the door of the building. A quick jiggle of the handle and the locked door swung open. It wasn’t by force of the supernatural, but rather the quirk of an extremely old lock. The Crow cawed his displeasure from outside the door but Brian ignored it. He bounded up the stairs and automatically reached for the spare key hidden above the door. It was still there. He held the key in his palm and thought about the life he no longer had. He would never pass through this door again after tonight. Would never come home with Justin, or to Justin, again. Of all the nevers- never again hearing Gus call him ‘Dada,’ never teasing Mikey for being such a geek, never picking up another trick, never tasting Deb’s lasagna- of all things he would never again experience, the one that tore at him most was never again coming through this door to find Justin waiting for him…never again seeing his Sunshine smile. Pushing the maudlin thoughts away, Brian carefully put the key in the lock and opened the door. He pushed the heavy steel only far enough to squeeze through, not wanting to risk making enough noise to wake Justin. A wave of homecoming washed over him. He stood still, his eyes seeking out the form of his lover tangled in the dark sheets. Brian didn’t dare breathe as he took a step closer to the bedroom. Justin didn’t move. He stopped himself from taking another step in that direction. It was too tempting. Instead, he moved silently to the desk where Justin had sat earlier. The lamp was still on, illuminating the numerous pages of hastily drawn sketches. Brian picked up one of the pages for a better look and had to cover his mouth to keep the laughter from bubbling out. He scanned the rest, sure enough, all were the same. At least in theme. Stockwell. Each and every one depicted Stockwell dead or dying in some imaginative way. Decapitated, disemboweled, flayed, dismembered, and a variety of other even more gruesome demises covered the sheets of paper. “A little too gory for the ‘art house’ crowd, but you’ve really nailed the blood splatter, very realistic,” Brian said, looking up into the blue eyes he was never meant to see again. “What the fuck?! Brian! This can’t be happening…” Justin said right before he fainted. “Hell,” Brian said under his breath as he dashed over and scooped Justin up into his arms and carried the unconscious body over to the bed, gently laying him down and checking for any new injuries. He ran his fingers through Justin’s hair, over his ear and along the side of his face, then across his parted lips. Brian inhaled the scent that haunted his dreams, even in death, and leaned over to place a light kiss on the lips of his lover. He knew he should get up and get out before Justin came to, he certainly didn’t want to freak him out any more than he already had, however, he found he couldn’t force his limbs to move away from the oh-so-familiar body beneath him. He slid a fraction of an inch closer, close enough to feel the heat of Justin’s flesh. He cupped his hand around Justin’s bare shoulder and then ran the tip of his index finger over Justin’s Technicolor chest and ribcage. When the pink nipples beaded under his feather light touch, Brian knew it was time to leave. But he had waited too long. With a soft moan of confusion, Justin opened his eyes. “Brian.” “Sunshine.” “What happened? I don’t understand…how is this possible” You’re…you’re dead.” “Yep.” Justin shook his head against the soft pillow and rubbed a hand over his disbelieving eyes. “So how are you here?” “Wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Sunshine. Hell, I don’t believe it myself.” “Is this real, are you real?” “Honestly, I don’t fucking know anymore.” “Are you a ghost?” “Boo,” Brian whispered. “Can I touch you?” “I really, really wish you would.” Justin licked his lips and scooted up on his elbows. He reached a tentative hand out and stopped a few inches shy of Brian’s face. He took a deep breath while Brian waited patiently, saying nothing. Justin rubbed his fingertips together and brushed them against Brian’s jaw. Brian’s eyelids fluttered. He turned his face into Justin’s palm and covered Justin’s hand with his own. “You’re warm.” “Downright on fire,” Brian smiled. “I thought your skin might be…cold.” “I’m not a vampire.” “What are you?” “Fuck if I know. But I’m here, right now, and I’m flesh and blood…more or less.” Justin slid his hand down to Brian’s chest and over his heart. He could feel the steady beat against his palm through the material of Brian’s tee shirt. He smiled and moved down to rest his ear against the same spot. The beautiful th-thump, th-thump sound sped up. He laid back and looked up into Brian’s eyes while he reached for Brian’s hand and placed it over his own heart. The rapid tattoo was in sync with Brian’s. Brian looked at his hand on Justin’s skin. His palm partially covered a purple contusion in the shape of a steel-toed boot. “I’m so sorry,” Brian told him, unable to explain that the apology was for so much more than the beating he had received. He was sorry for so many things he didn’t know how to articulate, so many missed opportunities and shattered moments. “Don’t be. Just touch me,” Justin said just before he covered Brian’s lips with his own. The kiss deepened. For a split second as Justin’s tongue ran across Brian’s teeth, he swore he tasted dirt, then the sensation was gone, there was nothing but Brian’s smoky taste and the slick heat he knew so well. “Are you sure about this?” Brian pulled away to ask. He had to do it now or he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. “You’re not too sore?…or too freaked out?” “Don’t let me think about either one, make me forget the pain…all of it,” Justin whispered, wrapping his arms around Brian’s neck and pulling his head down. He was beyond caring how or why this was happening, being in Brian’s arms again overrode all other conscious thought. It felt good, it felt safe…it felt right. That was all that mattered to Justin. Brian shrugged out of his coat between kisses. Justin pulled the tee shirt over Brian’s head and tossed it aside. They made the work of shedding the rest of their clothes a teasing game- licking and nibbling, and sucking at the skin they revealed. Breathless, Justin rolled onto his side and reached for lube and a condom. He handed the tube to Brian, but held the little square packet between his thumb and index finger, looking from it to Brian. “Do we need this?” he asked in bewilderment. “I mean, you’re…” he couldn’t finish the sentence; it was too surreal and a shade creepy. “Um,” Brian was at a loss for words. He had no idea what, if anything, he could pass on to Justin in this state. Is death communicable?, he wondered briefly, then stopped thinking about it because it made the whole fact of his existence that much more bizarre. He followed the innate instinct to protect Justin he always had and reached for the condom. “It can never hurt to be on the safe side,” he said as he ripped open the corner of the packet with his teeth and sheathed his cock. The lube was cold, Brian’s fingers warm, as he worked them inside Justin’s body. Once Justin’s tight hole was sufficiently wet, Brian positioned the head of his cock at the entrance and pushed in slowly. Both men moaned. Justin had jerked off numerous times, and had even been sucked off in the alley behind Babylon twice since Brian’s death, but no one else had fucked him. It was a strange sensation at first, uncomfortable but not painful like the first time. Brian gave them both time to adjust to the sensations of filling and being filled before he slid his dick out until he felt the contracting muscles clenching at his knob and sank back in to the hilt. He couldn’t maintain the slow rhythm for more than a few minutes; it had been too long since he had been engulfed by Justin’s familiar heat, since he had tasted the salty sweat of skin, thrilled to the sweet little moans he knew exactly how to elicit. As he increased the tempo, his hand snaked around and closed over Justin’s fingers, already stroking his engorged cock. Brian kissed the back of Justin’s neck, licked his shoulder, and whispered words of lusty encouragement in his ear. Justin reciprocated by reaching back and threading his fingers through Brian’s hair and turning his mouth to Brian’s seeking tongue. With a final series of deep thrusts, Brian came hard and fast, his orgasm triggering Justin’s. They lay, unmoving and spent, Brian careful not to put any weight on Justin’s battered body. When their racing hearts had a chance to slow down, Brian pulled out of Justin and discarded the used condom. Justin turned to him and ran his hands through his hair…noticing for the first time the small pink, puckered scar in the middle of Brian’s forehead. “Does it still hurt?” Justin asked in child-like awe, concern and fascination mingled with horror. “No. At least, not physically,” Brian answered with a sad smile. “Don’t cry, Sunshine, please don’t cry,” he whispered as big, round tears fell down Justin’s cheeks. “Dammit, Brian, I just wish…why didn’t you tell me what you were up to? Why the fuck did you have to go alone?” The hurt was more than evident in his voice. “Justin…Stockwell surprised me. I honestly didn’t think he had it in him to kill me. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.” He shrugged. “ And maybe part of me knew what could happen…I also didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to risk you getting hurt.” “But I did hurt, Brian. Part of me died when you did.” “I know. It’s the part that brought me back.” Brian licked his lips and fought the same old barriers that made opening up, being vulnerable, so hard. “Justin…I never deserved your love…but I’m damn grateful for it.” Justin choked back a sob and pulled Brian down to him.