Brian's POV
Stumbling back into the ‘bat cave,’ I fumble with my keys until I find what I believe is the spear that blondie gave me. Drunkenly, I fight the key into the lock. Saying I feel like shit would be understatement. With a slew of lousy blow jobs, and a myriad of even lousier fucks, Pittsburgh's fags have definitely lost their touch. Well, okay, actually they weren't as bad as I'm claiming, but they could have been a hell of a lot better. They just weren’t what I wanted, which pissed me off even more, and consequently ruined my mood to fuck. Wait . . . did I just think that? Brian fucking Kinney is always in them mood to fuck! Shit! It’s all blondie's fault. The little fucker is totally messing up my sex life tonight. No . . . this is Michael's fault! He’s the one who talked me into coming back to this fucking nightmare. "Fucking key! Just get the fuck in there." Seeing double, I attempt to focus on the stupid piece of metal in my hand. Fuck. With a shake of my head, I close one eye, squinting at the spear key. "Fuck!" It's my loft key. Figures. Not very surprising considering the fan-fucking-tastic night I'm having. Hastily, I try another key. Why did I even bother with this shit? I don't fucking need any of this. If Michael wants to fuck up his life, let him. I left him four years ago. Four years ago I decided I was . . . . Out of his life . . . Done with Pittsburgh . . . Cutting off all ties . . . He isn't even the same Michael I left. Yet, why the hell do I feel responsible for his life? It's not my problem, not my fucking mess. Not my blonde boy toy for the night. "Fuck..." "Finally," sigh in relief as the present key slips into the lock, fitting perfectly. I twist it, only to have the stubborn thing refuse me. Wrong key again, "FUCK!" Maybe I should just break the door down. It would be quicker, but instead, I grumble some more and continue to rout through the key chain, trying them all until I get to the last key. It always has to be the last one, right? I slip it into the lock and close my eyes, making a silent wish before turning it. I hear a click. Thank, God! Opening the door, I walk in and reach around to retrieve the key, only to have the stupid piece of shit refuse to budge. How the fuck did it get stuck like that? Angrily, I wrestle with it for a second or two until suddenly; it snaps and throws me off balance. I land on the floor yelling every goddamn curse that comes to mind. Fuck . . . I had a fight with a key – a fucking inanimate object – and lost! Good going Kinney. Lying on my stomach, staring at blankly at the remains of the key in my hand, I pound my head against the floor. Taking a deep breath, I close the door with my feet. Gaining my focus, I belatedly register the sounds reverberating off the walls, nearly rocking the fucking house. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Don’t ask me why I didn't hear it before, since they sure as hell aren’t being quiet about it. "Just great. Just fucking great." I try covering my ears with my hands to block out the sounds of the blissful moans my wonderful hosts are making. Damn! No such luck. "Just what I needed." Fuck, I've been gone for almost two hours. Shouldn't they be done and passed out by now? Getting to my feet, I begin heading to my assigned bedroom hoping its sound proof – and not just for the kid's sake. I have half a mind to turn around and leave, but with all the fucking effort I put into getting in this damn house . . . This must be hell. That's it. Joanie was right – I've died, and gone to hell. Though I doubt our definitions of Hell are very similar. Mine version of hell is witnessing Michael grope and fuck the best Twinkie I've seen in a while. What else could this be but hell? My eyes linger across the room to their bedroom door, which is slightly open –just a crack – and before I can stop myself, I get up and head straight to it. I feel like a pervert, and I don't really want to see it. But yet . . . Fuck! What the hell is wrong with me? Their panting and grunts of passion grow louder with every step I take. My heart is beating hard against my chest in fear and excitement of what I'm about to see. I'm swept with horrifying shock at first. I feel my jaw drop and my fists tighten. I want to run in and pull Michael out blondie's bubble butt. I'm not sure which one is more disturbing: The mere fact that Michael is topping Justin, who’s on all fours, or that Justin is allowing Michael to fuck him. Fuck, I'm really in hell. No matter how badly I want to, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to look away from the blinding scene playing before my eyes. And the worst part of about it is that I'm finding myself completely aroused despite my anger. The next thing I know, I'm stoking my hand over the hard bulge of my snug jeans. Then I picture that it’s me inside Justin. My cock is the one being shoved in and out of his tight ass. Him, pushing back against me in a perfect rhythm. I stroke faster, biting my tongue in an attempt to muffle my moans, and breathing heavily through my nose. They climax, with me following only a second or two behind before I erupt into my jeans. Justin collapses with Michael on top of him. I lean up against the wall allowing my gaze to leave the crack in the door for the first time since I laid my eyes upon it. I try to catch my breath, getting it back to normal as quietly as possible. My tongue is coated with the warm liquid of my own blood. Fuck. I bit my tongue a little too hard. Sneaking back into the little runt's room, I crash my sore body onto the bed. The drugs are wearing off, and previously forgotten pain floods into my limbs. From my burning raw cock, to the cut that blondie gave me, I ache. I feel like I've been hit by a fucking bus, and I'm about ready to curl up and die.
)=(
The sound of someone moving around pulls me out of my light slumber. I barely slept at all the whole fucking night. I get to my feet and slowly but surely make my way out of the bedroom to find Mikey fixing coffee in the kitchen, like the good little housewife he is. The scent of freshly brewed coffee sends a pleasing sensation through my body and I eagerly move towards it. "Mornin'" "Shit!" Michael yelps. "Brian, you . . . Brian, what happened to you? Did you get in a fight? Were you mugged? Oh my God, does it have to do with Justin's bruises?" He rushes over to me. I pinch the bridge of my nose. His rendition of the Spanish Inquisition would have given me a headache, only I already had one. Mikey surely wasn't helping it though. "I'm fine, really Mikey. Well, I'll live. Bruises . . . Justin has bruises?" "Yeah, quite a few." "Good." I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one who is black and blue. "What?" "Nothing. So what did he say happened?" "He . . . I . . . Well, he said he fell and then we . . . kinda got off the subject." "I see." "Brian, what hell happened last night when I left?" His eyes narrow as he folds his arms across his chest. "Well, besides you getting my boyfriend drunk, stoned, black and blue, and whatever the fuck else! Shit, mom was right. I should never have left him with you." Whoa, since when did I become the bad guy in Michael's eyes? This is un-fucking-believable. "You are assuming it is my fault? Why the hell is it my fault?" "Because Justin drinks but he never gets drunk. He knows his limit. He doesn't take drugs that aren't over the corner or from a doctor, and some of his bruises look really bad. Plus, he doesn't go onto the roof unless something is bothering him. So yeah, what the hell did you do to him?" You for got horny. I made him horny too. God, sounds like blondie is a perfect angel. Yeah, right. We know that is far from the truth, don't we? "I want answers, Kinney, and I want them NOW!" "Shh . . . Didn’t your mother ever teach you to use your indoor voice? Lower your voice a few notches because my head is going to fucking explode." "BRIAN!" "For-fucks-sake, calm down before you awake your boy toy." "HE'S NOT . . . he's not my boy toy! He’s my boyfriend, my lover, my fiancé, and soon to be husband. He’s my partner, Brian. And his name is Justin." "Whatever. The little fucking twat is still the one who messed up my face. He's got one hell of a right hook." "What do you mean?" "He fucking punched me, Mikey. He tore up my face with that stupid big ass ring on his finger." Michael glares at me, shaking his head. "You probably fucking deserved it." "Deserve it? He fucking scared me for life." "Well, yeah, but Justin isn't a violent person. So you must have pissed him off." "Are we not in Kansas anymore?" "What?" "Look, I didn't come all this way, across states to get beaten up, and I sure as hell didn’t expect to crawl out bed only to be yelled at by you first thing in the mornin'. Fuck, Michael, I thought I was your best friend." "You were . . . are. It's just . . . Well; I guess I'm a little mad at you." "A little? For what?" "Leaving me . . .” he mumbles, not meeting my gaze. "Michael . . ." I sigh. "Brian, I don't blame you for needing to get away, but still it . . ." "Hurt . . ." "Yeah . . . And not knowing where you were . . . If you were okay . . . or if you were . . . dead. I didn't know. I hated not knowing." "I didn't mean to hurt you, Mikey." "I know. You never do. I was really thinking that I'd never see or hear from you again." A few tears roll down his cheeks. "Come here." I wrap Michael in my arms. "Brian. . ." he sniffs. "What?" "Will you stay for the wedding?" No, tell him there's no fucking way you'll be caught at a wedding little alone his hetro charade. I groan a sigh. If only it were that easy. "Weddings aren't my thing." Ah shit. He’s giving me his puppy dog eyes. Don't give in, Kinney. Be strong, damn it! "I . . .” He smiles and cuts me off. "And since you'll be there, will you be my best man?" Fuck! "Mikey . . ." Oh, why I didn't I just say no? Just look what you got yourself into, Kinney. You fucking weak idiot. "Please . . ." Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I close my eyes tightly and nod in defeat. Fuck, I should have stayed in bed; no, I should have stayed in New York. "Oh, thank you," Mikey all but squeals and kisses my cheek. The fucking mauled one, I might add. "Ow . . . Fuck, Michael," I hiss in pain. "Oh, shit! Sorry, Brian,” he mumbles apologetically. We grow a silent. "Hmm . . . Well, I've got to open the store, but if Justin isn't up in the next twenty minutes, will you wake him up? I don't want him to be late for class. He sometimes sleeps through the alarm." I nod. "Oh, and I told Mom you'd have lunch we us at the diner today at noon. So be there, or there’ll be hell to pay." I chuckle wryly. Aren't I already paying? "I wouldn’t except anything less." "And if anything else happens to Justin, I am going to kick your ass." I smirk, "You mean hire someone to kick my ass. I hate to break it to you, but you don't have Zephyr's strength or powers, whatever they may be." "Yeah, wait . . . you know about the comic?" "It's kinda hard to miss, with the giant cut outs down stairs." "Oh yeah . . . Justin is truly a gifted artist, isn't he? Did he show you the comics then?" I shake my head ‘no’. "Are they selling well?" "You won’t believe how well. We practically sell out every time a new issue comes out. We sell more on the internet than everything else. Oh, Brian, you've got to check out our web site. Justin designed it too. It’s so cool . . . I'm working on the storyline for ninth issue now." He grins proudly; his smile is sort of goofy, in a kind of endearing way. "It’s going to be about Zephyr and JT's wedding." Of course, it is. "I see. Life reflecting art, Mikey?" "Yeah . . .” He blushes. "Oh, I saved a copy of each issue for you." "Really? You shouldn't have." Really he shouldn't have. What the fuck am I going to do with them? "Hey, the first issue is already worth something. I have them boxed downstairs, in the back. I'll bring them up after lunch." "Fine." Another moment of silence fills the room. "Okay, well, I've got to go get the store ready to open." "Don't let me keep you." He walks towards me and hugs me tightly. "I'm glad you're back for all this. Don't forget the diner at noon, and don't let Justin miss his alarm." "I got it. Later, Mikey." "Okay, later, Brian." With one more look back at me, Mikey disappears out the door. Fuck! I want to scream. I rake my hand through my hair. My eyes drift over to their bedroom again. Opening the door, I peek in to find Justin, in his birthday suit, sprawled on the bed, his legs spread eagle. He’s lying on his stomach in the middle of the bed with only his right leg wrapped in a single baby blue bed sheet. The rest of his lithe body is exposed, which does have quite a few dark ugly bruises. Blondie must bruise like a peach. No wonder why Michael was kind of upset. My eyes trail down his body and focus on his plump, pale, and unobtainable ass. Can we say, fucking off limits? I grumble, "Fuck!" If this isn't hell . . . You've got me fooled.
***Edited by The Slash Faerie***