"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Brian thinks he is hallucinating at first, that the events of last night have percolated too long in his subconscious, leaving a wishful residue behind.  Then he blinks hard, but Justin is still there on his bed, as if he had never left all those years ago.  It hurts enough to catapult him back to reality, where a new Justin sits on new sheets.  This Justin wears glasses, has darker hair, and sports a scruff of pale brown along his jaw.

He throws his briefcase on the kitchen counter, slowly undoing his tie while Justin descends the steps to his bedroom.  He stops there, several yards from Brian, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.  Brian reciprocates with his own defensive posture, crossing his arms over his chest.  The seconds tick by while they eye each other, neither wanting to yield by speaking first. 

This was Brian's loft, however, and he had asked a question.

"I came to see you, but you weren't home."  Justin’s voice breaks the tension.

"Who let you in?"

Justin holds up a key.  "I still have it.  Apparently, you haven't bothered to change your locks over the years."

"My mistake."  Brian runs his fingers through his hair, staring out the window.  "So, what do you want?"

"What do I want?"  Justin chokes out a laugh full of barbs.  "I want to know why . . . why you suddenly show up after all this time.  What do you want, Brian?"

He presses his lips together to hold in the vitriol threatening to spill.  "I want what I've always wanted.  For you to be successful."  Well, Brian Kinney, don't you sound noble.  He needed a drink.  Badly.

"Funny way you have of showing it.  By disappearing from my life almost as soon as I went to New York.  Were you that anxious to move on?  Find some other ass to fuck?"

Brian pinches the bridge of his nose to hide the fury.  "Well, no one knows me like you."  He looks up with a sneer only to find Justin studying him intently.

"Yeah, I do know you."  Justin allows his gaze to wander the room, deliberately pausing at each picture, and Brian suddenly wonders how long he has been here, how much he has seen.  "You never really disappeared did you?  Just let me think you did."

This is not how it is supposed to go, Justin driving him into a corner.  He says nothing, returning Justin's stare with total blankness.

"I know these paintings, Brian."  Justin walks toward one.  "This was one of my first, and it shouldn't have sold as quickly as it did.  No one knew who I was."

Brian does not move, and Justin gestures to another.

"Same with this one.  Even the gallery owner was surprised.  Said I had a lot of luck."

He approaches Brian, stopping only a foot away.  "It wasn't luck though, was it?  It was you.  Making sure I survived."

"Hardly.  You did that on your own.  I liked those paintings . . . I always liked your stuff."  Weak, Kinney, very weak.

"And the one over the bed?  That wasn't even supposed to sell.  I intended to keep it, so I listed it at a ridiculous price.  It sold anyway."  Brian looks away, but Justin takes another step, backing him against the kitchen counter.  "So tell me . . . do you like that painting?"

So many thorns, just like in the picture.  Every word pierces Brian's skin, leaving holes in his self-control.  This is unravelling very fast, and he can no longer avoid the penetrating gaze boring into him.  So he deflects, as he always does.

"Is that how you saw yourself then, Justin?  Bleeding for me?"  There it is, a flinch.  "I love that picture.  I look at it every night before I go to bed to remind me that pain is necessary."  Justin's eyes narrow, his breathing heavy, but Brian cannot stop.  Not now.  "No achievement comes without sweat and blood.  I did what I did to teach you that, Sunshine.  I did it to make sure you didn't turn around and come back here, to the fucking Pitts.  I did it to make you strong!"

"Did you?  Are you sure about that?"  Justin leans close, face-to-face, voice dropping to a whisper.  "Or were you afraid, once I was gone, that love would make you weak?  That it was better to cut your ties than take that chance?"

Everything goes white-hot.  Brian grabs a fistful of Justin's shirt, shoves him forcefully backward to the bedroom.  He moves fast, not even pausing when Justin stumbles over the steps.  At the edge of the bed, he pushes Justin down hard, following on his hands and knees and gripping Justin's wrists to hold him down.

"You little fucker.  Have you learned nothing?"  Justin glares back, not fighting, but not retreating.  "I was giving you a chance to grow without me hovering over you, influencing your every decision.  To find someone who wanted what you wanted.  To be yourself, apart from what I made you."  He is hissing now, so much venom spilling everywhere.

Justin goes very still, his breathing suddenly calm.

"We are the people we love, Brian.  Everyone who touches your heart, whether you acknowledge it or not, becomes a part of you.  I'm a part of you.  You're a part of me.  You can't just tear yourself from my skin, and you never will.  You know what I really think?  I think you were scared, not of falling in love . . . you already had.  You were afraid I would find a new life in New York and leave you behind.  You wanted to end it before I did, crush your own heart before I could."

The words hang in the air, and Brian wants to rip them to shreds.  At that moment, he hates Justin, for knowing Brian so well, and he loves him just as much, for being Justin.  His lungs burn, and he realizes he is holding his breath, struggling for control over his rage.

"Think you still have me all figured out, Sunshine?  Is that why you're here?  Even your painting at the gallery said it all.  What we had . . . it’s gone, Justin.  Nothing left but ghosts."  Brian sits back on his knees, releasing Justin.  "You don't need Pittsburgh anymore; you've moved beyond it.  Beyond even me."

The bed shifts, and Justin rises to face him, propping himself on his hands.  His whisper is a caress, soft against Brian's lips.

"Until a year ago, I thought so too.  Now I'm not so sure."

Justin's tongue flicks out, pressing briefly to the pulse beating wildly at Brian's neck.  It is worse than the thorns, because Brian can protect himself from pain, but not from gentleness and certainly not from arousal.  He meets Justin's gaze, recognizes the challenge there amidst the blue, and knows already that he has lost this match.

Fingers fumble over buttons and zippers, pulling frantically and casting aside the clothes.  Only when they are skin to skin does Brian allow himself to match Justin's kisses with his own, overpowering the younger man swiftly and choosing to devour rather than reciprocate.  Justin relinquishes control, letting Brian drive the kiss even as he strains upward, seeking contact with Brian's body.

Brian stops, placing a hand flat on Justin's chest and gently pushing him down.  Last night had been rushed and violent, at his own desire.  This is different; this is not forgiveness but understanding.  This time, he wants to go slow, reacquaint himself with a body he has not claimed in over a decade.

Justin allows it, threading his fingers through Brian's hair as he starts at Justin's neck, licking and sucking until he reaches the nipples.  Until this point, Justin has been semi-hard, but once Brian twirls his tongue around those sensitive nubs of flesh, his erection enlarges, a soft gasp falling from relaxed lips.

Brian eyes it eagerly but resists, continuing his exploration of Justin's chest and abdomen.  The last softness of baby flesh has disappeared; the skin beneath Brian's mouth is very much a man's, hard yet smooth.  Justin has stayed in shape, lines of musculature appearing with every twitch as Brian strokes all his sensitive, ticklish spots.  He marvels at the changes and rejoices to find he still knows exactly where and how Justin likes to be touched.

God, how he has missed this:  the sounds Justin makes as he writhes beneath Brian, the way he bites his lower lip to keep himself in control, the tightness with which he holds the sheets to keep from flying apart.  Every time Brian looks up, Justin is watching him intently, pupils dilated with desire.  He knows he must look the same.

He ignores Justin's erection, reaching behind his knees instead, and lifting his legs to expose his ass.  Still utterly perfect, the tiny pucker is just begging for attention.  From the very first night, Justin has been a complete sucker for rimming, sometimes coming from that alone.  Brian gives the other man a slow smirk, watches as Justin licks his lips with anticipation, already panting at the suggestion.  Then he places his tongue right there, and Justin is lost.

Throwing his arms above his head, Justin braces himself against the headboard as his body arches.  His head falls back, mouth open, and his sphincter relaxes, then contracts with pleasure as Brian caresses it with his tongue.  Justin murmurs something, a curse perhaps, but Brian is too far gone to pay attention, lost in the taste and the increasing pressure in his balls from watching Justin's erection ooze a small amount of clear fluid.

This is not what Brian wants, however, or even what he needs.  The darkness hovers, cloying in its heaviness, and Brian needs relief, if only for a moment.  Rising to his knees, he reaches over to the nightstand, grabs a condom and tube of lube before a sudden thought beings him to a halt.

His eyes meet Justin's, an entire conversation ensuing in that single look.  Justin lifts his chin, not in defiance but in agreement, and deliberately raises his legs back.

"Just take it easy, okay?  I haven't bottomed in many years."

The words are electrifying, perking Brian's curiosity as well as satisfying his desire.  Later, he will ruminate over those words, but not now.  He needs Justin, the connection they used to have.  He slips the condom on himself, drizzling lube over it and Justin's ass.  He starts to insert his fingers, to prepare Justin, but the other man shakes his head.

"I'm ready.  Please."

He goes slowly, even though his dick is screaming move, sinking into Justin's warmth.  Justin is breathing shallowly, eyes closed, lips tight.  Deeper and deeper yet, and Brian is on fire from the heat that spirals out from his center.  Only when he is seated entirely does he pause, burying his face in Justin's shoulder to hide the emotion that is overwhelming him.

Justin.  God, Justin.

Did he speak those words aloud?  He has no idea but feels Justin's fingers in his hair, scraping his scalp and tugging gently.  He moves, brushing his cheek against the stubble on Justin's jaw, reveling in the roughness.  Justin pulls harder, and he reluctantly meets the blue eyes gazing back, glittering brightly in the corners.

It is too much, and he withdraws, ignoring Justin's confused look.

"Roll over."

Justin obeys, surprisingly, and Brian relaxes.  This position is better, less revealing for both of them.  There is only so much he can process at one time.

He enters again, draping himself over Justin's back.  They have always fit so perfectly, Justin exactly the right height to press completely against Brian, their thighs, torso, and arms touching.  Brian loves fucking Justin like this, close enough to feel his every reaction, close enough to become one.

They fall into an old rhythm, as if the years have never come between them.  Justin pushes back against every penetration, arching his back to maintain contact.  Brian doesn't even think, merely intertwines his fingers with Justin's, his lips teasing the vertebral bumps on the back of Justin's neck, always a sensitive spot for the younger man.

Sweat beads on their skin, decreasing the friction, and they glide smoothly together.  Brian leans to one side without stopping, watching avidly as Justin's cock bobs with every movement.  Justin reaches up briefly to grab a pillow, pressing it under his chest for support as Brian lets loose, pushing Justin into the mattress with the force of his thrusts.  Brian lowers his head, whispering in Justin's ear.

"Fuck, you're hot.  Haven't changed a bit."

Justin is too far gone to reply, just moans in response.  It is one of the things Brian loves about him, his complete immersion in the sexual act, responsive to every touch.  At times he talks dirty, but usually, like now, he simply loses himself to Brian, and Brian takes Justin's trust very seriously.

The lean body below shivers, and Brian realizes Justin is very close.  He changes his angle, driving in hard, knocking Justin almost flat against the bed.  Justin grips the sheets, knuckles white, and just holds on.  Two more thrusts into the most amazing heat, and Brian cries out, coming and pinning Justin to the bed, grinding wildly.  Justin tenses, pushes back hard onto Brian's length, grunting as he comes.

Thump thump.  It is like the beat of disco music, the rhythm of their hearts as they fall through the ecstasy.  Brian collapses on Justin, bending his knees to keep the pressure off the man below.  For a long time, he simply lies there, listening to Justin's breath, the life flowing from him into Brian.  It is the most awake he has felt in ages.

Then he plummets, from the highest high to the lowest low, as Justin tenses below, disentangling his fingers from Brian's.  Justin pulls away, a little too sharply, rolling on his back on the other side of the bed.  Brian sees his eyes drift upward, staring at the painting over the bed, and he too stiffens.  Does Justin feel like the blond in the picture, bleeding over the sheets?

Brian rises, retreating to the bathroom to get a dampened washcloth.  When he returns, Justin is still gazing at the painting, but he accepts the towel with a quiet thank-you.  Brian cleans himself off with a tissue, then digs in his drawer for the stash of weed he still keeps.  He lights a joint, lying back on the bed next to Justin, who has rolled on his side facing Brian.  After taking a deep inhalation, Brian offers it to Justin, who takes it without hesitation.  They release twin curls of smoke from their lips, eyes guarded.

"I haven't had one of these in probably two years," says Justin.  "Sam shared some with me when she visited one night while Adam was out."  He passes the joint back to Brian.

"A pity."  Brian takes another drag.  "Sometimes you need a hit.  Life gets too boring otherwise."  He holds it to Justin's lips, watches as Justin breathes it in.  "Adam?"

"The one you wanted me to find, who wanted what I did."  Justin meets his gaze squarely.  "But in the end, you ruined that too . . . in a way."

"How is that?"

Justin laughs, bitterly.  "Of all the times you tried to help me remember prom night, how ironic that I remembered when you weren't around.  It was a trigger, just like with Gus and the baseball bat.  I heard the song, and bam.  There you are, right in front of me, holding me like I'm the most precious thing on Earth."

Brian says nothing, his own memories too strong for words.  You were.

"Except that it was supposed to be Adam holding me, not you.  He left because he didn't believe I was truly over you."

He wants to ask, is dying to ask, but he cannot.  He has not earned it and certainly does not deserve it.

"Fuck, I shouldn't have come here."  Justin returns to his back, hand over his eyes.  "I just didn't . . . I didn't want to leave things where they were last night.  I thought if I came here, spoke my mind . . . ."  He sighs.  "I've made it worse, haven't I?"

"You wanted an explanation.  Understandable.  If you want to punch me, if it would help, go ahead."

Justin snorts.  "JT tries to punch Rage.  Yeah, right."  He tries to keep a straight face but bursts into giggles, the weed taking effect.

Brian smiles back.  "I might even still have that Rage costume somewhere."

"Forget it."  Justin waves his hand.  "Punching you wouldn't help."

They finish the joint, and Brian sets the roach on the bedside table.  Silence ensues as they sink into the mellowness, and Brian is grateful the thorns have disappeared for the moment.

"You didn't have to help me in New York.  I would have been fine on my own."

Brian had never doubted it; Justin was a survivor.  However, buying those paintings had been a way to hang on, even if by a thread.

"Well, I could have let you become a hustler."  Brian grins.  "I'm sure you would have made a fine living that way."

Justin turns his head, tries to glower, but chuckles instead.  Thank God for pot . . . it makes even the worst situation bearable.  Maybe now would be the best time to ask.

"You said you haven't bottomed for years.  Why not?"

"Of course, you would remember that."  Justin falls silent, rubbing the sheet between his fingers.  Just as Brian starts to think he will not answer, he does.  "Adam wasn't a comfortable top.  Didn't really enjoy it as much as bottoming.  I didn't mind either way, so I topped.  It's how he preferred it."

Adam again.  Brian hates that he can still feel jealousy after so many years.  But then, he could not deny the satisfaction of knowing Adam had never claimed Justin.  Not in that way.

Justin sits up and begins to dress.  "I need to go.  I have another show tonight."

"I'll take you home.  You staying with Daphne or your mom?"

"I don't need you to take me."  Justin wobbles, falling against the bed as he struggles with his jeans.

"You're high, Justin.  I'll take you home."

"You're high too.  Forget it.  I'll call Daphne."

Shit, he does not want Justin to go, to end this new connection.  Unfortunately, he cannot think of another reason for him to stay.

He sits up and moves to the foot of the bed, watching Justin step into his sneakers.  His hair is mussed, and Brian longs to run his fingers through it, but does nothing.  The air has gone cold and stale, even the hint of a promise long since dormant.

Justin dons his jacket, looking toward the door, and Brian wishes desperately for something to say, anything that will make Justin stay one more minute.  As if sensing this, Justin hesitates, jamming his hands into his pockets.  Biting his lip, he turns back.

"I'm sorry.  For barging in."

"No need.  I did give you a key to use."  Brian smiles, knowing he looks wishful when he is trying to appear nonchalant.

Justin chuckles.  "Yeah, you did."

He drags his eyes from the floor, meeting Brian's gaze head-on.  The moment drifts, dragging its feet.  It's only time.  It hurts, but Brian does not look away.  He owes Justin that much.

Justin leans down, brushing his lips along Brian's cheek.  Forgiveness?  Consolation?  Whatever it is, Brian accepts it, a light in his dark.  He watches as Justin walks away, shutting the door behind him.  Flopping back onto the bed, he wonders at the sudden, curious buoyancy he feels, the warmth tingling just under his skin.  It has been so terribly long since he felt it.

Hope.