How it is


After the cab dropped him off, Justin went to the kitchen instead of straight up the stairs. Thanks to the ride, it wasn’t that late and he wanted to think before going to sleep. He started cleaning up, as quietly as possible. The mess wasn’t bad, because he had cleaned up the pots and pans before leaving for the club and it was only the few plates and glasses that had been used by his roommates who had had a late dinner, plus the dish they had baked the Lasagna in.

It was amazing how things had changed since Friday night. These few days had been one giant reality check, which really was a very good thing.

Justin had painted again on Saturday afternoon. He had started an oil portrait, something he had never done before except as part of a class but that’s what he had needed to paint and that’s what he did. It had been hard on his hand, the preparatory sketch alone taking enough time and effort to send it into spasm.

So he had painted the background, in broad swatches of colors, he and Lilah laughing when he borrowed her cadmium yet again. It was weird. He’d never used that color before and now couldn’t seem to get enough. He had been excited at the end of the day, with the progress he had made, and also really pleased for Lilah who seemed to like what she was painting for a change.

Max had been back in town for a few days, and he was not on call that night, so she was happy as a lark at the prospect of their first evening together in a long while. They really got on well.

Justin had been looking forward to seeing Brian, wanting to share with him how excited he was about his new painting and for some reason he had not even thought that Brian might not show up at Essengy after he got there. It wasn’t until eleven-thirty, when he had been there, waiting for an hour and a half, that the thought actually occurred to him. He held up hope for another half an hour, and then disappointed (and a little hurt), reminded himself that Brian was not interested in him so much as in his ass.

He had never even asked about Justin's contract negotiations. Why should he care about Justin being excited about his new painting? He wasn't his boyfriend. And now that Justin had confirmed for him that Thursday night was a sure thing, why should he bother coming to Essengy?

Justin decided to remind himself that he didn’t need Brian to have a good time. He went and found a guy on the dance floor who had been cruising him all night and had already made a thinly veiled offer to him. The guy, Todd, was very pleased Justin seemed to have finally caught on and they danced for a while grinding against each other, having a good time. Todd was a great dancer, very sexy, and he knew it.

They went to the lounge, pushing and shoving each other on the way, laughing. They started making out, and jerked each other off. It was good, clean fun. They went back and danced some more, making out off and on. When Justin left, Todd gave him his number and Justin put it in his pocket on the way out. He read a book on oil portraits on the way home, and went to bed, telling himself that there was more to life than Brian Kinney.

He went back to the studio Sunday, and painted all day, alternating the fine detail of the portrait with a bold abstract 4X6 he’d just started. He had planned that one on his computer and it was turning out even better than he’d hoped.

That night, before going to the club, he did the clean up from the enormous brunch they always had on Sundays. He also washed the floor, and cleaned out the fridge, throwing away many very suspicious science experiments.

He called Todd, who was really glad to hear from him. He couldn’t go to Essengy that night but they ended up talking for quite a while.

He was a physical therapist and worked with recent quadriplegics. He had been born and raised in the Bronx, and his parents and siblings still lived there. He was at his older sister’s right now, babysitting her two kids while she and her husband were out celebrating their anniversary. He couldn’t really afford to go to Essengy too often. He was saving for a down payment on an apartment, and Essengy was expensive.

Justin had forgotten that. He never paid, obviously, and neither did Lilah or Daphne when they came along, and Brian was a VIP member. He didn’t mention his own lifetime membership to Todd but just agreed.

Before hanging up, Todd asked for his number and Justin was glad to give it. He had explained he was leaving town for the holidays and they agreed to get together after he got back. Justin felt good about it. It was nice to meet someone who wanted more from him than his ass, who enjoyed talking to him on the phone. Getting together with Todd was something to look forward to, in case… Not in case. Something to look forward to, period.

He left for the club and when he got there asked Jeremy to please not call Brian. Jeremy just shrugged. “No problem, Justin.”

It was good to be there just to dance. After an hour, he’d taken his shirt off, just loving the beat and the rhythm, enjoying the feeling of freedom he got dancing alone, his eyes closed. Once in a while, he’d share a dance or two with someone, or go to get water, but mostly he lost himself in the music. Around one-thirty, as he was ready to call it a night, an older guy offered him a blowjob.

It felt wickedly good and the trick finished it by asking Justin to fuck his mouth, which Justin did enthusiastically, holding the guy’s head. Justin shot so far down his throat, he was pretty sure the guy never even tasted it. The trick walked away with a “see you” as Justin was putting himself to right. A maximum of pleasure with a minimum of bullshit. Sometimes, that’s all you could ask for.

***

At work, on Monday, things were a little more under control than the previous week, no doubt due to everyone having given up their Saturday to make headway. At ten to five, Sam came and told Justin to go home. Since he was almost done anyway, Justin did not argue. He was actually out at five, for once.

He went home, ate dinner, cleaned up, put away his laundry, called Daphne, who was preparing for exams, and ordered supplies (including two tubes of cadmium), over the Internet. It was still only eight o’clock. He decided to go to the club early. It did occur to him that Brian had also worked all Saturday. Maybe he had gotten home early as well. Maybe he would come to the club. Maybe.

He was disappointed when Jeremy told him the call went to voicemail. Perhaps Brian was still at work. He might have had a dinner with a client. Maybe he was at Gillian’s, in that orgy room, fucking who knows who and his phone was in his locker. Fuck. Why did he let himself think about shit like this if it was going to bother him?

Brian Kinney fucked. A lot. He knew this. That wasn’t going to change for anybody. He only saw Brian as often as he did (and it wasn’t even that often), because they worked together and he was “on hold”. He should know by now that what was going on between them was nothing but some kind of prolonged foreplay. Telling himself it was something else (damn Daphne), was just asking for disappointment.

He needed to make peace with it. He wanted Brian, was infatuated with him. He would get his one evening (of that, he had no doubt after that conversation in the subway), and then it would be over. Thank god he was leaving for Pittsburgh the next day. That would help.

He danced for a while, but his heart really wasn’t in it. After an hour and a half, he wrote Brian off. Just like last Saturday, he just wasn’t coming. Justin would get some water and go home, go to bed early.

He noticed that Mark, the second floor bartender, was collecting the beer screw-top capsules in a box instead of throwing them away and asked about it.

“I have this idea for an art project for my kids. I’m going to make holes in the caps, and string them up and have the kids draw Christmas trees. I’ll laminate the trees, and make holes at the bottom and then attach the strings to make Christmas chimes. They’ll love it.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of work.”

“Not so much. I only have eight kids, private school, you know. They love to draw.”

“I think it’s great you make the effort. I remember how much I loved drawing in preschool. Our teacher really encouraged it. I think it really influenced me. Do you paint with them, too?”

Justin took a drink from his bottle, just in time to see Brian step out of the fucking VIP room and was surprised by the sharpness of the pain in his gut. He smiled in welcome, not sure he was quite pulling it off.

“Yeah,” answered Mark , oblivious to Justin’s predicament. “They love finger painting. It’s messy, but it’s fun.”

They talked for a few more minutes about other art projects Mark had done with his class. Justin thought he was probably a great teacher. Mark got busy, and Justin asked Brian, who had joined him at the bar, if he wanted to dance a bit before he had to leave. Justin had meant to go, right after drinking his water, and he really didn’t feel all that much like dancing with Brian right now, but neither did he want to act all pissy.

Hadn’t he just been telling himself that Brian Kinney was who he was and not to be stupid about him? They started dancing. As he thought more about it, Justin realized that he didn’t mind so much that Brian fucked as much as he pleased. After all, he himself certainly did. But that Brian actually came and did it here, a Essengy, when he could go to so many other places, knowing Justin was there, was just thoughtless at best and willfully antagonistic at worst. Essengy was where they put the rules on hold and could be together. Was Brian just making a point? Making sure Justin knew where he stood? Well, fuck him.

Just then, Brian stepped closer, and pressed their bodies together. Justin cursed the tightness in his throat. It felt so damn good, so right. Why didn’t Brian feel it too? Then he realized Brian was getting hard, quick.

He did feel it.

No he didn’t.

A hard-on proved nothing. After all, fifteen minutes ago, Brian had ‘felt it’ with someone else, getting sucked, or even fucking someone else in the lounge. His body was just a well-oiled fucking machine. Justin decided to play it cool and make a joke of it. Better laugh than cry about it.

“Such impressive power of recuperation,” he said smiling the best smile he could.

Brian’s answer was to lean down and kiss him. Had he kissed the trick in the back room? Did kissing anyone feel the same to him? Was it only special to Justin? The kiss was nice, tasting of J&B, and Brian’s tongue was as sweet as ever, but the thrill was gone. Justin realized it was just like kissing anyone else. Maybe he had just needed a reality check to see it.

Then all of a sudden, Brian stopped kissing him, stopped dancing and looked at him, combing Justin’s hair back with his fingers, cradling his head, and fuck, he looked… strange. A little wild, almost… afraid?

“Fuck, Justin, kiss me. Just kiss me, OK?”

There was raw need in his voice, in his eyes. Justin’s heart did a little flip. Brian had felt a difference. The difference between a really good kiss, and their kiss. And Justin remembered his painting, how Brian had said it was a painting of their kiss. Not just of any kiss, but theirs.

Justin rose on his toes and pressed their lips together. He felt Brian’s hand on the back of his neck, the other on his back, and Brian started kissing him again, hard and deep and it meant something. It did. Justin just let himself feel, letting go of everything else. It was oh, so good.

And if this kiss was a lie, then nothing in the world was real. His whole body was pulsing with it, the pleasure of it, the amazing feeling of being cherished, wanted, the heady power of surrender. Brian was holding him close and it was just the two of them and their kiss, out of place, out of time. He felt his balls tighten and his body tremble but he didn’t want to come like that. Not again. No matter what he knew he felt in Brian’s kiss, Brian had fucked someone else tonight. Brought someone else to orgasm. It was OK. But he would not have Justin’s.

Justin had to save something of himself, protect himself somehow. Coming now, in Brian’s arms, would be too much. He couldn’t do it.

He stepped away and savagely bit the inside of his cheek. Ouch. That really hurt! But it worked. He could feel his orgasm, which had been so close, recede, his cock deflate a little.

“Justin!”

It sounded like it made no sense at all to Brian. But it made sense to Justin, and right now, that mattered more. Justin took a deep breath and said he needed to get home.

He knew he was going to have to fight Brian over refusing a ride home but he stood firm. When Brian stopped him as he was starting for the subway, he explained and even made sure Brian knew it had nothing to do with what had happened in the lounge.

But then he saw something again in Brian’s eyes, something that said that for Brian it had everything to do with what had happened in the lounge. He needed Justin to let him do this for him and though it made no sense to Justin, remembering how his refusing to come had made no sense to Brian, he gave in.

He loved the feeling of Brian’s arms around him and when Brian took off his glove, apparently just to feel the heat of Justin’s body, he couldn’t help but snuggle closer. Fuck. His body just loved Brian’s body, just sang when they were like this, touching.

When he left the cab he remembered, this time, to thank Brian for the ride, not to take it for granted. Looking at Brian, he realized he must have given him whatever he needed, because he looked… content. And Justin couldn’t help but smile, his first real smile of the night.

He was done in the kitchen. Whatever had happened at the club made no more sense upon review than it had at the time.

Why would Brian come to ‘their’ club when Justin was there and take someone else to the back room? If he had tried to make a point, why then act so strangely when his point was well taken?

Justin didn’t even need to call Daphne to know what she would say: that Brian was falling for him, that he was scared of the power that gave Justin over him, that he had made a point of showing Justin he could fuck whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted, as a defense mechanism, and that when he had realized he might have alienated Justin for good, he had panicked.

It would make sense and totally feed into Justin’s deepest desire. And it would be total bullshit. Only Brian Kinney knew what the fuck he was doing. Come Thursday, he would fuck Justin cross-eyed and come Friday, go on with his life, Justin only another notch on his bedpost.

And Justin, knowing this, would still go to him on Thursday, because a little Brian Kinney was better than no Brian Kinney at all . Then he would go to Pittsburgh, lick his wounds, and in time, maybe, like in a hundred years or so, get over it.