Speechless, Brian leaned against the doorframe, contemplating the younger man staring defiantly back at him.  It was the same look Justin wore after they first met, repeatedly appearing at the loft, determined to become a part of Brian's existence.  It was the same look he saw on Justin when he entered Brian's office at Vanguard, intent on winning Brian back.  It was the same look he gave Brian when Brian found him in his kitchen, cooking chicken soup and refusing to let Brian throw him out.  No one had perfected the don't-fuck-with-me look quite as well as Justin.

Brian finally stood back, gesturing for Justin to enter.  The loft was still dark, but Justin seemed to know where he wanted to go.  He walked directly to the bedroom where the picture was still lit by the soft spotlight overhead.  Brian watched him for a minute, but when Justin did not move, he slammed the door shut and went to stand beside him.  They stared at the painting for a while in an uneasy silence.

"I painted that after you stopped returning my calls and messages."

"I know."  Brian could still remember the first time he had seen it in the gallery where Justin displayed his early works.  That day, a small piece of him had died.

"I hated New York at first.  I was lonely, and I needed you.  But you didn't come."

Brian dropped his gaze to the floor.  The blood in the picture always seemed so accusing, so judgmental.

"I was so tired of fighting you, of fighting for you.  I thought, if he still doesn't believe me, even after all these years, then he never will.  I did the one thing I swore to myself I would never do.  I gave up."

"You did what you had to do to move on."

The bitter laugh echoed through the darkness, cutting it like a knife.

"I did the wrong thing.  I should have come back to Pittsburgh, slapped you in the face, and tied you to the bed.  I should have fucked you endlessly until you finally believed you were worthy.  I should have dragged you to New York and fucked you there too . . . so you would know that no matter where we were, together or separate, it doesn't matter."

Hot.  The room was suffocating, and Brian wanted to slam his fist into the wall.  He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, willing the tremors in his arms to stop.  When he felt Justin's hand on his arm, he jerked away as if Justin were the source of the heat . . . as if his touch would burn, bringing all the buried pain to the surface.

"I tried!  I wanted you to see what you were capable of, without me around to distract you from your work."  He took a step back, away from Justin and away from the damned painting, the blood he could not erase from his vision.  "I hoped you would find someone who shared your dream of marriage, and you did!  But I ruined that also, didn't I?  At least the memory of me did."

Justin grabbed the front of his jeans and shoved him hard against the bed, forcing Brian's knees to buckle.  

"Fuck, Brian, I've only ever wanted you since I was seventeen!"  Justin's face glistened wetly in the dim light.  "How many years does it take to convince you?  How many times do we both have to hurt before you believe?  'Cause I'm not walking away again.  You can deny it all you want, but I know you love me.  I see it hanging on your walls.  I see it in the way your hands shake when you fuck me.  I see it in your eyes, Brian!"

Fuck.  Brian fell back on the bed, covering his eyes with both hands, furious at their betrayal.  Even then, he could still see the blood, flowing everywhere.

The bed dipped, and fingers wrapped around his wrists, tugging them away.  He fought then, struggling against all the fire, blood, and anguish of the past eleven years.  He thought he even howled, screaming out his pain, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat, racing to flee.  They wrestled, panting and grunting as they rolled across the bed, Justin fighting Brian, and Brian fighting himself.

It was over fast.  Brian lay on his side shivering, Justin straddling his waist and holding his hands together in front of his chest.  Just as suddenly as it came, the fire died, leaving him cold and empty.  Brian could not remember the last time he had ever surrendered to anything, but it was a relief.  Justin leaned forward, draping himself over Brian's torso, burying his face against Brian's sweaty skin.  One hand continued to hold both of Brian's while the other rubbed small circles on his back, soothing and warm.

They lay there for a long time, until the sheet under Brian's face was more than a little damp.  He let out a deep, cleansing sigh and freed his hands, reaching up to stroke the blond hair tickling his side.  Slowly, the emptiness began to fill with the sweetness of absolution.  He wanted time to stop, to freeze forever in this moment where nothing existed but the two of them.

When lips brushed lightly along his shoulder, a new fire began to build.  Rolling to his back, he captured Justin's lips with his own, anger morphing to need.  He tasted Justin's desire, and it fueled his own, igniting the passion that always simmered between them.

Justin reared back, yanking at Brian's jeans, tossing them aside before hastily pulling off his shirt.  He got no further, as Brian swiftly sat up, grabbing his arm and pulling Justin on top of him.  Teeth clicked as their mouths came together, seeking the connection lying just beneath the surface, the connection Brian had spent so many years trying to forget.  He never wanted to lose it again.

It was not until he entered Justin, slow and gentle, that he finally met the other man's gaze.  There was no blame, no bitterness.  Only hope and something so intense it made Brian's chest ache.  He dropped his forehead to Justin's, holding himself still inside the only man who had ever broken all his rules.

"I forgive you," Justin whispered, his breath tickling Brian' lips.  "I forgive you, you arrogant prick."

A violent shudder wracked Brian's body.  He shook his head rapidly, hair sticking to the sweat trickling from his temples.  His eyes squeezed tight, unable to look at Justin, but the man beneath him yanked sharply at his hair.

"I forgive you."

He opened his eyes then, wanting to protest, wanting to deny, but he could not speak.  Justin very deliberately clenched his ass, and Brian gasped, unable even to pull away.  They surged together, no longer holding back, fingers clutching and scratching for purchase as they crashed together gracelessly.  Brian could not have stopped if he wanted to.  This was Justin, the boy who would never leave him alone . . . the man who saw past all his bullshit.

He wanted it to last, could not bear to see it end, could not endure watching Justin leave again, but his body wanted something else.  The edge loomed, driving him into a frenzy as he clutched Justin's hips, thrusting desperately while his lover curled around him.  So close, fuck, so close, and . . . .

He could not move.  Justin had grabbed his hips firmly, holding him back, refusing the last push that would let him finish.  Confused, he stopped . . . panting, needing, please . . . .

"Justin?"

"Promise me.  Never again."  Justin was panting also, pupils wide and dark, but determined.  "Never again, Brian."

He understood.  Claiming Justin's mouth, he kissed him deeply, ignoring his own need to fulfill Justin's.

"Never again," he whispered as their lips broke apart.  "I promise."

It was exactly what Justin needed and he arched, crying out wordlessly as Brian slammed forward.  Brian came too, moaning into Justin's chest, releasing every last doubt and holding them together as they flew apart.

###

It took two more fucks to work out the remaining tension between them, but they finally fell asleep just before dawn, limbs sprawled artlessly across each other.  Brian woke first, squinting into the sunshine pouring through the loft's windows.  It was the first time in years he had opened his eyes to find another man pressed against him.  He had never realized how badly he missed it.

"What time is it?”  Justin mumbled, his breath tickling Brian's nipple mercilessly.

"Afternoon, at least."

He rolled away reluctantly, heading to the bathroom to relieve himself.  When he returned, Justin took his place.  While he was gone, Brian sat on the edge of the bed, staring intently at the bottom drawer of his bedside table.  When he heard the flush, he quickly opened it, withdrawing a small box and placing it under his pillow before lying back on the sheets.  Justin emerged, pausing to run his eyes over Brian's body before deliberately crawling back on the bed.  His hair stuck up around his ears and along with the saucy grin on his face, gave him an impish look.  He nipped at Brian's lower lip playfully, his eyes clear and happy for the first time since Brian had seen him at The Playroom.  Running his fingers through Justin's hair, he smiled gently.

"You seem happy."  He ran his tongue along the ridge of Justin's collarbone, enjoying the feel of the slim body hovering over his.

"Mmmm,” Justin murmured, closing his eyes.  "I had almost forgotten how satisfying Brian Kinney-sex is."

Brian bit his shoulder, pulling Justin flush against him.  "As good as New York sex?"

"Better."  Justin sighed as Brian trailed his tongue further up his neck.  "I think you spoiled me for anyone else.  I'm only tuned to the Kinney radio station."

Brian chuckled softly and pulled Justin into a deep kiss, caressing Justin's lips and tongue until Justin began rutting slowly against Brian's hip.  Warmth flushed Brian's skin, Justin's mere presence the only aphrodisiac he needed.  He grabbed Justin and rolled them over, still face-to-face.  Before he could continue, however, Justin stopped him, settling his hands firmly on Brian's shoulders.

"I need to know where we're going with this, Brian.  I can't . . . I can't just do the occasional meet-ups to fuck."

Brian touched his forehead to Justin's.  "Tell me what you want."

"I want us.  Together.  It's what I always wanted, Brian."

Brian traced Justin's jawline with the tip of his nose.  "So tell me where I can find a nice place in New York."

"I don't want you there."

Brian raised his head, squinting in puzzlement.  "You said you wanted to be together."

"Not there.  Here.  I want to come home, Brian."

"But your work . . . ."

". . . . is well established.  I've accomplished what I set out to do, Brian.  My works are still emerging, but I have a successful comic strip and a toehold in the art world.  I can live wherever I want, and I want to be here."

"Justin, you can't just give up your life there."

"What life?  I have a few friends, but I can still visit New York whenever I want.  There's nothing else there I can't have here."  Justin placed a hand on Brian's cheek.  "Haven't we wasted enough time apart?"

More than enough.  Brian bit his lip, but could not hide the smile struggling to surface.

"Just tell me what I can do to help, Sunshine."

Instead of answering, Justin drew him into a blistering kiss, blocking all thoughts for a good minute until Brian finally pulled back, intent on completing his plan before lust took over his brain.

Reaching under his pillow, he withdrew the small box he had placed there earlier.  Opening it, he upended the contents into Justin's hand.  There was a long silence as Justin gaped at the two rings lying in his palm.

"You still have them . . . ."

"You knew I didn't take them back."

"Yeah, but I figured by now . . . ."  Justin looked at him curiously.  "Wait.  You aren't going to propose again, are you?"

Brian could not help but laugh.  "Been there, done that.  I thought we agreed we were beyond marriage, that our relationship wasn't confined by conventional rules?"

"Then what's this about?"

Brian picked up the rings and held them side by side, the sunlight casting a linked two-circle shadow on the wall behind him.

"I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.  Never again."  Brian rubbed the rings between his fingers.  "We don't need a ceremony or a document.  But these rings . . . they're token of my promise."

He looked at Justin expectantly, and the other man slowly held out his hand.  Brian gently slipped a ring on before putting the other on himself.  Then he leaned forward to capture Justin's lips in a chaste kiss, his face somber but his eyes twinkling.

"Brian, I . . . ."

Brian shook his head and covered Justin's mouth with his hand.  "Later.  I happen to be very horny right now, and I haven't had my morning fuck."

Justin laughed as Brian pushed him back on the bed.  "It's not morning anymore, and shouldn't we make some kind of vow or something?"

Brian laved the side of Justin's neck with a hot tongue.  "We already did.  And four hours without giving attention to my cock is far too long."

If Justin intended to say more, he did not get the chance.  Brian caught his wrists, flinging Justin's arms above his head and devouring him as if his very life depended on the connection they shared.  It probably did.

###

Brian detested waiting.

He never waited for anything.  If he was going to a nice restaurant, he always made a reservation.  He called ahead to the gym to make sure there was no wait.  He hired someone to do his shopping simply because he could not bear to wait in lines.  At the airport, he timed his arrival by limo perfectly, slipping through security at the last minute and boarding just as they called for first class.  Even at the diner, there was always a spot for Brian Kinney.  If there was not, pity the poor fool at the counter who had to move or suffer a death stare worse than Debbie's.

In this unfortunate circumstance, however, he did wait.  He supposed he could have sent someone to the airport instead of coming himself, but that would have meant waiting even longer to meet Justin.  He would not stand for that, so here he was, pacing back and forth in front of a Starbucks near the security checkpoint, unable to go further unless he was a passenger.

What if he changed his mind?

It was not an impossibility.  Justin owed him nothing and had a full life in New York.  He could probably date anyone he wanted, and Brian knew he was a lousy candidate.  Who would want to be with someone as emotionally stunted as he was?  Years ago, he would have said that Justin needed him.  Now, he was smart enough to know he needed Justin.  What would he do if Justin decided not to come?

He was about to demand that security let him through when he saw a familiar face approaching from the checkpoint.  He tried very hard to maintain an air of nonchalance, but failed miserably when he saw Justin's entire face light up.  His heart was pounding as he stepped away from the wall just as Justin, still a few yards away, dropped his duffle bag and ran into Brian's arms, nearly clawing his way up Brian's newest Armani suit.  Brian fell back against the wall, one hand digging deep into the dark-blond hair, the other clutching Justin's perfect ass as close as clothes would allow.  If anyone was offended by their passionate display, the two men never saw and certainly did not care.

Brian would have happily continued kissing his lover for an hour, but a discreet cough behind Justin finally won his attention.  Without letting Justin move away even an inch, he glared at the pretty brunette dressed in a blue security outfit.

"Is it an issue for two men to kiss in an airport?"

Looking puzzled, she gestured behind her to Justin's bag.  "Certainly not, sir.  I just wanted to remind you that no bags are to be left unattended while in the airport."

Justin gave her a sheepish grin and shouldered his bag.  The security officer flashed Brian a wink.

"You can resume your scorching display of affection now."

Brian flashed her a wide smile and did just that.

###

Three months later . . . .

The large canvas swayed dangerously as Justin removed it from its hooks, saved only by the fact that Daphne had a firm grip on the other side.

"Sheesh, Justin!  You trying to dump it on my foot?"  She scowled down at her sock-clad feet, sinking into Brian's plush duvet.

Together, they lowered it to the bed and laid it face-up.  Grabbing her beer from the bedside table, she leaned against the wall, watching while Justin wrapped the picture for storage.

"So, what are you going to do with it?"  She admired the nude bodies twisted together among the roses.

Justin paused to take a last look at The Pain of Love.  He could still feel the sharp ache of loss, but it was muted now, replaced with understanding.

"Sell it.  If no one wants it, I'll let the gallery keep it for free."

"But Brian was the one who bought it.  Shouldn't you ask him before you get rid of it?"

"I don't want it here, Daph.  Every time he looks at it, he feels guilty."

"Brian Kinney?  Feel guilty?"

He chuckled ruefully.  "He would never admit it, of course, but I see it in his face whenever he looks at this painting.  There's still a lot of pain there, and we need to heal.  Besides, he'll like its replacement better."

Daphne set down her bottle and helped Justin carry the canvas to the large crate near the kitchen.  After settling it inside, she followed him back to the bedroom where another large picture rested against the closet, still covered in tissue paper.  She sat on the edge of the bed while Justin removed the wrapping, leaning forward in her eagerness to see the new painting.

"Ahh," she breathed, when Justin stepped away, giving her a full view.  "Justin, you're amazing.  It's perfect!"  She clapped her hands, wishing she could see Brian's face when he saw it.

"I know."  He grinned, happy with the result.  "Now help me hang it up before he gets home."

###

Brian slid the steel door closed with a resounding clang.  He was in an extremely good mood.  Kinnetik had acquired two lucrative accounts today, and Ted was suggesting they seriously consider expanding.  If he opened an office in New York, it would give him an excuse to buy a condominium in the city, another home for him and Justin for the times when they needed to be there.  For now, Justin usually stayed at a hotel when he had a meeting with his agent or a showing.  It was time for something more permanent.

"Sunshine?"

He removed his suit jacket and tossed it on the sofa.  There was another reason he was in such a good mood.  Today was the three-month anniversary of Justin coming home.  Of course, an anniversary of any kind was nothing he had ever felt worth celebrating, but it gave him an excuse to enact an idea he had had for a while, an idea involving the chilled bottle of wine under his arm and a CD in his pocket.

"You home?" he called.  The lights were out, but the bedroom was dimly lit with the spotlights he had hung over the painting.

"In the bedroom!"

Smiling, Brian retrieved two wine glasses from the cupboard and poured the chardonnay into both.  Then he went over to the stereo, inserting the CD before retrieving the two glasses and heading into the bedroom.

"Wearing nothing, I hope . . . ."

He froze, recognizing the difference in the room immediately.  Justin lay on the bed, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, his feet bare and arms folded behind his head.  His lips curled in a soft smile, one reserved for when they were alone and Justin was feeling especially sentimental.  Brian figured the new painting above the bed was the reason why.

He simply stared, taking in the picture piece by piece, just as he had the first time he had seen it.  It still invoked strong feelings, but not the ones that had torn his heart apart in the gallery at PIFA.

Broken had been repainted.  For the most part, it was still the same . . . the same hazy scenes filled the background, muted behind a window streaked with rain.  But the hands in the middle, sharper even than before, had changed.  The older hands, clearly male, cupped the upturned hands of the younger man, on which rested the two rings.  No longer broken, they were linked together, solid and whole.  The scarf draped over the wrists was washed clean, without a trace of blood.

Brian carefully set the glasses of wine on the side table and moved closer to the painting.  In the lower left-hand corner was the name of the picture, Promise.  In the other bottom corner was a small inscription, Never again, never apart.

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.  When he reopened them, Justin had moved to the edge of the bed, his smile gone, eyes anxious.

"Too much?"

Never enough.  Unable to speak, he took Justin's hand and pulled him off the bed.  He took a moment simply to look into the eyes of the man who had taught him that love could be real, sincere, and encompassing.  And for Brian Kinney, that was no small thing.

Without looking away, he reached for a glass of wine, handing it to Justin and then taking his own.

"Never again," he said softly, tapping his glass to Justin's.

Justin's lips curled slightly.  "You better not."

They drank, smiling at each other, and then Brian took both glasses and set them down again.

"Come here."

He pulled Justin into the main room, and let go of his hand, leaving Justin standing in the center of the spacious hardwood floor while he went to the stereo and picked up its remote.

"What are you doing?"  Justin lifted one eyebrow in amusement.

Brian walked back to him, trying but failing to hide his smile.

"We both know I'm not the romantic type."

"Not even close."

"And yet, I can, on occasion, be somewhat sentimental."

"You can?"

"I can."  Brian chewed on his lower lip for a moment, the smile fading.  "We haven't yet celebrated the fact that you finally regained your memory of a very special night."

Justin went very still.  "Brian . . . ."

"A night that for me, became marred when you were attacked.  Ever since, I've wished I could forget, but of course, I couldn't."  He took Justin's hands and gripped them tightly.  "Your blood has followed me everywhere."

"Oh God, Brian . . . ."

Brian shook his head sharply, stopping Justin from speaking further.

"Because of that, I forgot what happened before . . . how we danced, the way they watched us, the way you looked at me.  Well, I think it's time we remembered together, don't you?"

Justin squeezed his hands, his eyes bright, his grip strong.

"I agree."

Brian aimed the remote at the stereo, pushed play, then tossed the remote on the sofa.  As the first strains of music filled the loft, he took Justin in his arms exactly as he had sixteen years ago.

You can dance, every dance with the guy

Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight . . . .

Their feet found the rhythm, moving them in endless circles around the loft, and they remembered.  For the first time since that fateful night, there was no pain and no blood, no guilt and no regret.  They had moved beyond it, and needed no words to express how they felt.  The past eleven years did not even matter.

It was only time.