Justin's bruises healed, completely, a week after Curt's funeral.  Benton never really did seem to mind - in fact, he found them quite alluring ... thought that all that pretty pale flesh should be marked up more often.  Justin was reminded of his first meeting with Benton and that strange sense that came over him, like he was cattle come to the stock.  Benton only grins when Justin asks about branding. 

As for his illustrious benefactor, the older man was in California by now.  He had received an emergency call early that morning letting him know that a long-known firm was ripe for the picking.  Benton smelled opportunity.  And when he kissed Justin goodbye on his way out, the younger man felt it was ridiculously domestic; an unknown hatred quickly blossomed at the sentiment, and just as quickly vanished. 

Benton has been gone long enough to be just a distant memory for Justin and the blond can't stop his thoughts from flying to the events of last night.  He's never seeked anyone out in his life but he finds himself stepping away from his phone, and closer to look out his floor-to-ceiling windows.  The blinding sunlight bouncing of the snow hits him like a death trap and that's all he can comprehend at first before his eyes become adjusted.

It's been snowing on and off for at least a week.  Justin hasn't noticed, not at the funeral, and not when Benton pushed him to his knees outside the expensive restaurant they just left, knees planted in slush and he couldn't feel a fucking thing.   He remembers how <i>numb</i> it all was when Gabriel grabbed him, right off the fucking street and begged Justin to fuck him, take him against a cold and dirty brick wall.  It was the first time that Gabriel had worn some bruises and Justin wonders why he takes such a sick satisfaction in that.  
   
Justin finally closes his eyes against the harsh light of the day, his retinas feeling so goddamned seared that he can barely stand it.  Behind closed eyes he sees flashes of various body parts, and he remembers that some were rough and some where so soft that he could barely stand it.  He can still feel the ghost of hands all over his body and he aches to have the night envelop him again.    

He steps away from the windows, away from the city milling below him and wraps himself in a caccoon of his own making.  

He doesn't know, and maybe he really doesn't ever want to know, that it takes Brian Kinney three long hours on the phone with Benton, two promises of phone sex and another rendezvous at the prestigious hotel to get Justin's private phone number.  Ever since the "incident" - because he really can't call it anything else - with Curt he always answers his phone, whether he feels like it or not.

Only when he picks up the receiver and hears what feels like silk slide over his body does he realize it's Brian.  Justin feels a tingle that he never really felt before (and he's not trying to be honest with himself right now, because if he was, he'd realize he did feel it, once, a million miles from here).  He tries to convince himself in the span of two minutes while Brian pours liquid sex over the phone, that this is actually what it's all about: sex...two guys getting their rocks off quickly and efficiently.  Justin remembers himself, only for a second, before he turned so cold but the memories are getting harder to reach him nowadays.  

"I thought I'd wine and dine you first, we wouldn't want anyone to think you were too easy."  Justin laughs and he's surprised to hear it come from his own lips, especially with him sober, and he makes it a point not to remain sober for continuous amounts of time.  Especially with this potential ... customer?  It's never felt that wrong to think of someone that way and Justin realizes that maybe he's stepping into something that could possibly destroy what little of himself he has left.  He remembers Brian, remembers that he's like them.  All those cold-hearted bastards that Justin hated growing up with, because they were all epitomized by his father.  And how, ironically, he’s one of them now. He wonders when his life got so completely and utterly fucked up because when he was a kid, all he ever wanted to do was paint.  Justin hasn't even drawn in ten months.    

"Really." He can't help but be sarcastic because that's what he has always known, and that's not something he can change.  He shifts his focus entirely back to Brian and congratulates himself for holding a conversation in his head as well as one with a man he desperately wants in his bed again.

"Uh-huh,"  Brian assures him over the line and Justin doesn't think he's ever just been melted by a voice before.  Smooth and silken and Jesus, Justin thinks he can come just from hearing the man talk to him.

"I'll meet you at your hotel at ten, all right?"  He offers first for reasons he can't quite explain to himself at that time.  He doesn't want to see Brian in his apartment, leaning against door frames and splaying that lanky frame all over his furniture.  Something inside him tenses, already seeing it.

"I think you're missing the whole point of this wine and dine thing."  Brian laughs over the phone and as cliché as it is, it feels so wonderful to have that sound envelop him.  

"I never did follow a plan very well," he whispers over the phone and he thinks for a slight second that he's won until Brian speaks again.  

"Looks like that's about to get remedied."

All in all it doesn't take very much to get Justin's address, and Justin damns himself for giving in so easily, and when they do finally hang up Justin feels an entirely unexpected euphoria come over him.  He bites his knuckles and prays to every deity that Brian Kinney won't hurt him, and that he doesn't do the same.

Justin takes his time getting ready, because really he's never rushed, ever.  He's surprised Gabriel arrives at his apartment at eight.  He's wearing the leather jacket that still has some of Curt's blood on it, and he's got on the ring that Curt gave him two weeks before his death.  He's drunk and Justin knows he's high on more than pissant drugs.  Justin can taste the residual bitterness of cocaine in Gabriel's mouth and he can feel the other drugs that are running through Gabriel's system when the man grabs him and pushes him into the apartment.  

"Gabriel - Gabriel, please."  Justin wants to quiet himself, wants to make his mouth close and his voice just float away into darkness.  But there is a panic that lines his veins and a creeping fear that takes hold of his heart when he sees Gabriel's dark, dark eyes.  "Please."  Justin makes one final plea and hates himself for it.

Gabriel has never really been soft with him, never compassionate and Justin's never thought of him as a lover, or a crazy boyfriend, or even a friend at that.  Gabriel is a means to an end, and as cold as that makes him sound, Justin is just trying to seek absolution for the mere memory of Curt.  Gabriel is a forgiveness that he seeks so terribly, a forgiveness that seems to be just out of his reach. 

"You fucking whore!  I hate you!  I fucking hate you!  You took him away!  You goddamn slut, you took him away and you never fucking gave him back!"  Gabriel is so close to Justin's face, already so close to biting his head off.  Gabriel's mantra never changes, his bitterness that Curt still had those feelings for Justin, still held him close to his heart.  But, it's easy for Justin to ignore it, even with all that worry winding itself around him.  Of course, it's become a natural reaction for him to just space off when this goes on, Curt had his spells of course, and Benton never did have a halo, Justin doesn't either for that matter. 

In Justin's head he's untouched and unworried and everything is warm and numb.  So, it takes him awhile to realize that Gabriel hasn't stopped yelling, hasn't stopped slamming him against the wall, and when he finally takes a huge gasp for air it hurts so goddamn much.  He panics, at last, thinking that something's wrong, something is finally really fucking wrong.  He feels himself break and Justin sobs and starts crying like a child.

Gabriel doesn't stop.

Justin is thrown face down on the floor and this ending was scripted twenty paces away.  He thanks everyone he can think of when he hears a condom package being torn open.  Gabriel really is too fucking soft because he can't bring himself to hurt Justin in that way.  He feels Gabriel stretch him, trying to rush this into something easy and fast.  Justin feels Gabriel's tears fall onto his bare back and in that moment prays for a final forgiveness this boy, this torn little child that's fallen into his lap, will never be able to give him.  

His prayers, he feels, will always go unanswered.