No Regrets

By Mesa

Post-220, exclusively Brian & Justin, Brian's POV.

Part 1

“Brian.”

He was there, suddenly, beside me, as I unlocked the door of the jeep. Must have been waiting for me; I didn’t see
him before he spoke.

As soon as I heard his voice, I realized I’d been waiting for this for months. Waiting, and bracing myself. I steeled
myself again now, made sure my expression was blank, and turned toward him coolly. “What?”

“Please, may I talk to you for just a minute?”

I finished unlocking the door and opened it. He moved out of the way and we were in the position I wanted – me on
one side of the open door, him on the other. “What for?” I said in the same detached tone.

“Brian, please. There’s some things I need to tell you.”

I looked at him sardonically, leaned my arm on top of the jeep door and waited pointedly.

He took a breath. For the first time, I sort of focused on what he looked like. Same smooth skin, delicate features,
pale blue eyes … but something different in his expression – he looked leaner, tougher, more weathered, like he’d
been around the block a few times in the months since I last saw him. But the calm, level look he was giving me
was the same patented Justin stare.

He said, “Most of all, I want to tell you how sorry I am.”

I grimaced sarcastically, looking away with my contemptuous smile. “Yeah, I heard it didn’t work out with the
fiddler.” Then I stopped. I felt the familiar rush of revulsion run through me, and I knew it wasn’t directed at Justin.
I’d learned, over the last few months, that nothing was worse than riding that wave of self-loathing. These days, I
was doing whatever it took to make it stop before it started. I let my instincts take over, and heard my voice grow
softer before I felt it. “Look, Justin, I didn’t mean to say that. It’s too bad things didn’t work out for you. If there’s
anything I can do to help out, you know you just need to tell me. I’m still your friend.” It didn’t mean anything,
really, other than that I didn’t want to spend another night lying in bed thinking about what a complete asshole I am.
Lately I’ve been finding that the main motivation for much of what I do.

Justin met my gaze evenly and seemed to think about what I said for a second, then shook his head. “That’s not
what I want.”

I stared at him, my expression blanking over again.

“Thank you for your offer. But I don’t want your help right now. Or even your friendship. And I know I don’t
deserve it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Bit late for the guilt routine now, Sunshine. Give it a rest.”

“You’re right, I don’t need to tell you that. It’s not what I mean to say.”

I looked at him again, wondering how long I had to wait this out before I could get the hell out of there. And still
get a good night’s sleep.

“I said I want to tell you how sorry I am, but I can’t … I don’t have the words for it. I know what I did to you,
Brian.”

I looked away impatiently. “Can we drop this shit, Justin? I’m tired of it. I’m fine, I’m well, you can see for
yourself. So can we just get over it?”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that I caused you pain, though I know I did. I meant, that I realize how I repaid you for all
the kind things you’ve done for me.”

I sighed. “OK. Fine. You weren’t very nice. Can I go now?”

“There’s just a couple more things I need to tell you. Please put up with me a little longer.”

I waited grimly.

I swear, he hadn’t looked away from me once. He must have had this little speech rehearsed. Now he was even
giving me a helpful recap. “One, I’m more sorry than I know how to tell you. Two, I was wrong. I thought I’d be
happier with him, even if I didn’t love him, than I was with you, the way things were then. I was wrong. There’s no
one else I can be happy with, at all, ever. There’s only you. Now I know it.”

If he thought that was going to produce a flock of doves flying in to shower us with rose petals as I took him in my
arms and said the magic words he had wanted so much to hear, he was wrong again. I just kept waiting for it to be
over.

But he kept going. “Three: I realize now what I did when I left you. What I lost. I had so much, you gave me so
much, and I walked away from it. I thought it wasn’t enough, when it was more than I could have ever hoped for.
And when I left I told you everything you’d done for me, everything you’d given me, counted for nothing.” He
stopped and we looked at each other evenly. I wasn’t arguing with him now. He was right. He dropped his eyes,
briefly, then raised them again to meet mine unflinchingly. “And I know I’ll never have that again.”

Right again. But I didn’t buy that he knew it. Justin never believed he couldn’t have what he wanted.

I didn’t mean to change my expression, but I guess he saw the cynicism in my eyes. “I do know that," he said. "I
want more than anything to go back to where we were before, but I realize I’ll never have that chance again.
Believe me, Brian, I know.”

I think I looked at him for a long time, before I finally turned my gaze away and looked out over the dusky, deserted
parking lot. “Then why are you standing here talking to me?”

“Because I have to tell you -- even knowing that, knowing that you’ll never give me anything again -- I still can’t
live without you. Brian, I’ll do anything, agree to anything, if I can just be with you again. On any terms you
want.”

He stopped. His words hung in the air. I felt – shocked ... not so much at his words, but that he would say them,
after everything that had passed between us. Of all the things I never expected Justin Taylor to say, I guess that one
had to rank right up there.

He must have been waiting for me to catch up with him, because he didn’t say anything for a while. When he spoke
again, his voice was still calm, sure, forthright. But now it was slower and a little more gentle.

“I told you I don’t want to be friends with you. I don’t deserve it, and I know the last thing you want is to be my
friend right now. But I believe, I’ll always believe, that you might still have some lingering desire to fuck me.”

He looked at me, and I don’t know what he saw in my expression -- I had no idea what I was thinking myself -- but
he must have found something there that he wanted because he gave a tiny laugh and glanced briefly away from me
before looking back with a hint of a smile. “If I was a religious person, I’d thank god every morning and every night
that he gave me a body Brian Kinney is attracted to.”*

I closed my eyes and looked away, not pleased.

The smile was gone by the time I opened my eyes again. “I’m serious, Brian. I want you, I want to be with you, it’s
all I have to hope for now, and I know I’ll never set the conditions for it again. So I’m yours on whatever terms you
want. I don’t care when or how. You want to fuck me in the back room at Babylon, go right ahead. Want me to
blow you in the alley outside, I’m there. Wake up in the morning with a hard on you want to get rid of, just call.
You don’t have to talk to me afterwards, you don’t have to let me stay, you don’t have to do anything at all. I’ll
always be around, and I’ll never ask for anything. There’s no payback. You just tell me what you want and when
you want it, and it’s yours. Day or night, anywhere, anytime, any terms. I’m yours.”

Jesus Christ. I felt shivers running down my spine, and a sudden fear that someone would overhear what he was
saying. What was this, my personal, engraved invitation straight to hell? Exploit this kid’s overwrought guilt and
seal my fate, never sleep again, was that it?

And what exactly was this bullshit about not asking for anything back? No one wants nothing back. Maybe he
believed what he was saying himself, at this moment, but there’s always a price to pay. I’d been willing to pay it
once, for Justin, and back then I’d almost decided it was worth it. But I wasn’t going down that road again. Never
again.

No matter what he says right now, I thought, sometime, somewhere, he’s going to want payback. And he’s not
going to get it, not from me.

I looked at his set, determined face, and thought again about how he looked like he’d been around the block a few
times. But now I suddenly had the feeling that with each trip around that block he’d found himself right back where
he started, and the more trips he made, the more sure he’d become of what he’d suspected in the first place.

And the more I looked at him, the more I knew he was right about one other thing. God did give him a body I’m
attracted to. There was never going to be a day when I didn’t want to fuck Justin Taylor. Maybe I didn’t have those
strange feelings now – the ones I’d felt a lifetime ago, it felt like now, that made me want to hold him, protect him,
keep him safe and sound with me – but I did want to fuck him.

And I wanted to be able to sleep afterwards.

“What do you mean, you won’t ask me for anything?”

He held my gaze. “I mean I’ll expect nothing from you, I’ll ask for nothing.”

I paused, and when I spoke again my voice was so harsh I barely recognized it. “And that’s what you’ll get. Do you
understand that? I’m not playing games here, I’m telling you the truth. Whatever you do, you’ll get nothing from
me.”

He nodded, grim but undeterred. “I understand.” And waited.

I thought about it one more time. It seemed to me I had two choices.

One: I could lean forward, change my tone, and tell Justin honestly, “Look, you don’t need to do this. There’s
plenty of guys out there you can love, and who will love you back. You’ll get over me, it’s just a question of time.
Do yourself a favour and move on with your life. I’ll still be around, and one day we’ll want to be friends again.”

Or two: I could throw him over the front seat of the jeep and fuck him.

I compromised. “All right,” I said, with another brief glance around the empty parking lot and a voice almost as
even as his. “You can get down behind the jeep and blow me.”

Part 2

When I got home, there was a message from him on my voicemail already. “Hi Brian,” he said quickly, “I just
wanted to thank you again for listening to me – and … for indulging me. And I wanted to leave you my number,
just in case you ever want to reach me. It’s … “ The number he left was new; he must have moved, out of Debbie’s
house, and out of Ethan’s place. “And in case you don’t remember my cell.” He left that too. “Thanks again. I’ll
be seeing you.”

I had some work to do and it was still pretty early so I sat down at the computer and put the whole Justin thing out of
my mind. It wasn’t hard. I’d been numb for so long that blanking my mind was like second nature. I got the work
done, spoke to Michael – who still checks in on me almost every day by phone -- ate an apple, took a shower.

Not till I was lying in bed with the light off did I turn my mind back to that encounter by the jeep. I’d left him there,
standing in the parking lot; even though it was late, it hadn’t occurred to me to offer him a ride anywhere, and he
hadn’t seemed to expect me to.

I wondered what I was feeling now, and let my thoughts range a little, exploratively. I braced myself for that
creeping self-doubt and revulsion I’d started to recognize periodically, but it didn’t come. My feelings seemed to be
about the same now as they had been back in the parking lot. Justin was a big boy. He’d been very explicit about
what he was offering. Even if I didn’t believe he could pull if off, I’d made my position perfectly clear. No one
could say I misled him. He was entitled to make his choices like any other adult. And he was free to change his
mind when he realized things weren’t going to work out like he hoped.

I found myself wondering why I had done it, why I had taken him up on his offer. Anger? Revenge? Bitterness?
Lust? None of those rang any bells.

Eventually I decided that I’d taken the offer up because it was there, on terms I could accept. He was asking for
nothing, and that was what I was prepared to give. It was a deal I could live with. I wasn’t going to worry about
what his motives were, or analyze mine. For once, things just seemed simple. Maybe they would stay that way.

I shut my eyes and fell asleep.

***************************

Life went on. Like it had for the last 9 months, since the day Justin left me at the Rage party. I went to work. I
went out, I hung with my friends, I picked up tricks, I worked out at the gym. Michael was spending more time with
Ben these days, staying in more, and Ted and Emmett were still wrapped up in each other. So the feeling of the old
“gang” was kind of gone, but that was okay, I didn’t miss it. There was always someone around when I wanted to
be with someone, Michael still looked after me, and I had more time for Gus and Lindsay. I had the feeling, at the
beginning, that the guys were watching out for me, taking turns, keeping an eye on me. Maybe they thought I was
going to do something stupid, at first. Or turn into a drug-addled, sex-crazed automaton, like I had that other time,
after Justin got bashed. I think they were all a little surprised when I just picked myself up and carried on. Maybe
they were disappointed. Or maybe they could see how far away I was, how little was going on inside my head.
Frankly, whatever they were thinking, or wondering, or telling me, or trying to do to rescue me, I hardly noticed. I
didn’t need the drugs anymore, I was numb enough already, and I didn’t really care what anyone else thought about
it.

OK, I admit I didn’t get there right away. There’d been feelings once, way back, in the first few hours, maybe days,
after the party. If I let myself, I could recall those waves of scorching pain, vicious rage, bitterness, betrayal, loss,
defeat … thank god I’d been able to shut it all down, close up and let myself blank out while I waited for it to pass.

And I slept pretty well at night. No apologies, no regrets. Would I do the same things again, all those compromises
I’d made back then for Justin? Of course not. But I didn’t blame myself for trying once.

Except that there were some things I did blame myself for. Not much, definitely not everything, but every once in a
while there was that crushing wall of self-revulsion. I came to know it well, that wall and the nausea and
sleeplessness that went with it. Some trigger would stir a memory of something I’d done that I wasn’t proud of – a
word, a tone, a look, some pain I’d caused for no good reason – and I’d be swamped again. So this was what it was
like to have regrets. Fuck, never again. If there was one thing I was going to do, it was make sure I never
experienced those particular feelings again.

I want my pain unadulterated. If there’s no way to get through life without it, I want it clean, clear, unambiguous. I
want to know who to blame. And it better not be me.

So maybe that was why I was so amazed that even with this newfound, nauseating terror of self-reproach, I still had
no doubts about the deal I’d made with Justin. In fact, I did it again.

***************************

Not right away though. It took a few weeks – maybe three weeks or a month after that first time in the parking lot.
Meanwhile, he was right, I did see him later. I started to notice him at my usual spots – Babylon, Woody’s, even the
gym. It was nothing like the way he had turned up everywhere when I first met him – like a stalker. No, this time
he was just there, quietly, in the background. He never tried to approach me or talk to me or even look at me, as a
matter of fact. He’d just be there one minute and gone another; or maybe he was always there and I just became
aware of him on and off. Whatever, eventually I got used to seeing him around and stopped noticing, not surprised
when I saw him, not looking for him when I didn’t, vaguely assuming that he was never too far away.

It did take some getting used to, seeing him so often, because after the day he’d left with Ethan I’d barely set eyes on
him. He’d picked up his things, we’d had an awkward conversation, and I’d left no opening for him to keep in
touch. I saw him at a distance when I went to the diner – so I knew he still worked there – but other than that, I
knew nothing about his life or what he was doing. Maybe five months ago someone – was it Michael? – had told
me that Ethan left town without him but by that time it had no longer mattered, and I’d barely registered the
information.

For the first time, it occurred to me now to wonder briefly if he was still at school and what his financial situation
was. But that was a passing thought, and I didn’t spend any time on it. If he wanted something from me, he’d let
me know.

And finally, one day, I happened to be leaving Babylon with Ted and Emmett, and they stopped behind me for one
more drink or dance or something, and I continued on outside to clear my head. As I leaned against the wall near
the front of the alley, where it was relatively quiet, and lit a cigarette, I saw Justin across the street, lingering hazily
in the background, not catching my eye.

I smoked, and thought about it. Ted and Emmett were likely going to be another five minutes at least. No one had
pique’d my interest at the club, I hadn’t been to the back room. I guess I had a vague plan to prowl the net when I
got home. But that took effort, and this was right here, ready and willing across the street, just waiting. I rolled my
eyes, thinking about it, and finally let my gaze settle on Justin, who was carefully looking away. But I didn’t doubt
that he’d see the tiny nod I gave him, just before I headed into the back alley, and I was right. He was beside me in
a second, and it took the briefest of downward looks from me before he was kneeling in front of me again.

As always, he was good – better than good, fucking amazing – and he was fast, too. By the time Ted and Emmett
came out of the club he’d finished, whispered, “thank you”, and melted away back into the darkness.

I slept well that night too.

And a few weeks later, I realized when I was fucking my latest trick that I missed fucking Justin.

It hadn’t occurred to me to think that before. At least not consciously. Who knows what was going on back there in
my numbed-out shell of a mind for all these months. But this time I was aware of it. And it occurred to me how
easy it would be to do something about it.

I finished with the trick and forgot about it for a couple of days. The next time it occurred to me I was at home,
finishing up some work and thinking about going to bed. Trying to decide whether it was worth the effort to find
someone. And I thought of Justin.

His phone number. Had I saved it? I glanced at the notebook where I write down phone messages, and found an
unfamiliar number scribbled a few pages back. It looked promising. I stopped for a minute and thought about it.
What was I going to say? Was this a capitulation? A promise? An obligation incurred?

I heard his voice in my head saying “any time, any where, any terms”. And I heard my own voice, telling him there
would be no payback. What the hell, if he couldn’t live up to his end of the deal he only had to say so, and the
sooner he did the sooner he’d find out that there was nothing else coming from me. At least I’d get a good fuck
tonight. And a sound sleep afterwards.

I called. It didn’t occur to me that he’d have call display until I heard him answering, “Brian.” It was the voice of
someone who’s been waiting, who’s not surprised at all, and who doesn’t really need to be told anything else.

I paused. “Hey.”

“Thanks for calling,” he said quietly.

There was another pause. I was wondering, given his tone, if I actually needed to spell it out for him. Then I
remembered that he wasn’t going to ask me for anything, so I’d have to invite him. “Feel like getting fucked?”

“Yes. Please. I can be there in 15 minutes.”

He was, too. I realized I didn’t know where he lives, but it couldn’t be too far. I buzzed him up and opened the
door of the loft, then headed for the bedroom, pulling off my clothes as I went.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed when he arrived. I heard him slide the door shut and lock it, slip off his shoes,
pad across the room to the bedroom steps. He hesitated as I watched, then continued towards me when I didn’t say
anything.

He slipped down onto the bed beside me. For the first time since our parking lot encounter, I saw uncertainty in his
expression.

“Brian, do you want me to just … “

“Get undressed,” I ordered.

And in a second he was. God. I couldn’t stop myself from drinking it all in again. For a moment it all came back to
me, how many times we’d been like this before, the sight of his body when I was so used to it, it was like a second
skin to me. I remembered that I’d never tired of it.

He stood before me, waiting, until I slid over on the bed and made room for him.

He was as good as I remembered. But different. He took no chances now, just followed my lead, did what I was
directing him to and that’s all. Oh, he moaned a little – okay, a lot – he left me with no doubts about how much he
was enjoying it. But he didn’t say anything out loud. And that was fine with me. I took him selfishly, refusing to
wonder about what he wanted or needed or desired. I wasn’t cruel – I made sure he was ready before I went in –
and god, I swear, he was ready even before I was – but that was about the extent of my concern for his feelings.

When I finished, and collapsed on the bed beside him, he made no move to touch me, just lay where I left him,
unmoving, not speaking. Eventually I stirred, starting to wonder what was going to happen next, and he sat up
immediately.

“Thanks again for calling me,” he said, and I felt his lips brush against my shoulder. I started to look at him but
already he was out of the bed and reaching for his clothes.

“I’ll let myself out,” he whispered, fastening his jeans and grabbing his shirt. He paused to glance back at me.
“Later.”

I didn’t answer him. No promises. A moment later, he was gone.

Part 3

After that, things seemed a lot easier in general. Oh, I was still pretty removed, and I was still, distantly, waiting for
the other shoe to drop with Justin, but meanwhile, the routine I was falling into suited me just fine. Nothing
changed in my life, except that when I wanted to have sex with Justin, I did. Other than that, things went on more or
less as before.

I wasn’t asking myself a lot of questions, seeing as I wasn’t having any trouble sleeping at night. In the back of my
mind, I continued to assume that, sooner or later, Justin and I would have it out over “payback” and the terms of our
arrangement. But I wasn’t worried about it. I knew I’d made my position clear before we started. So I figured I
was ready, whenever it came.

And for now, Justin wasn’t complaining about anything. In fact, he was barely talking. I mean, he was polite and
responsive, and he never failed to say thank you afterwards, like the good country-club son he was. But other than
that, he didn’t speak except when he was spoken to, and I wasn’t making a lot of small talk.

It was awhile before it occurred to me that I was avoiding letting the boys know anything about my little deal with
the devil. I realized it one night at Babylon, when I saw Justin out of the corner of my eye as I slipped into the back
room. I knew it would only take a glance and a nod to have him back there with me – maybe he’d round out a
threeway, who knew – but I didn’t. And thinking about it afterwards, I realized why – because people would see us.
Word would get around. And that didn’t appeal to me.

Later that night, as I smoked a cigarette before turning off the light, I spent a couple of minutes wondering why I
didn’t want anyone to know about me and Justin. Was it shame? Fear that people would see me as abusive or, at
best, exploitive? Dread of a new tirade from Debbie? Or aversion to the idea of all the fucking explanations that
would be required?

I imagined myself telling someone … say, Michael … and immediately shuddered at the thought of all the questions
I’d be facing. And the look I saw on Michael’s face in my mind’s eye when he heard I was fucking Justin again …
was it concern? pity? alarm? Whatever; I didn’t need it. Why complicate things, just when they were pleasantly
simple?

That was a good enough answer for me.

Life went on. Other things happened, but this is the story of Brian and Justin. So it’s enough to say that things were
going okay for me. And slowly, I found myself thawing out. I mean, I didn’t feel so permanently drained all the
time, and when I talked to people I didn’t always feel like I was watching them from a cloud thirty thousand feet up.
At times I found myself actually engaged in a conversation, or interested in what someone was telling me, or
wondering how a particular event had turned out. I stopped brushing off Michael every time he raised a serious
subject. Now and again I even caught myself laughing -- and meaning it. But no one ever asked me about Justin.

The upshot of it all was that I was in a better mood when I was with him, too. I started thinking of my encounters
with him as a little treat to myself, rather than as pulling the pin on a hand grenade and waiting for it to go off. Let’s
say I started to relax a bit. I even introduced a few little pleasantries into our exchanges – saying hello, offering to
call a cab for him when he left, asking if I’d woken him when I called in the middle of the night. But I still didn’t
ask any questions that I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers to. Questions like “how are you?”, say, or “keeping busy
these days?” … or “do you have to be somewhere later?” Things I was just as happy not to know.

***************************

One morning – looking back on it now, it must have been in September – I called him over to take care of my
morning hard-on, just like he’d originally proposed. Nothing unusual about that; I’d figured out pretty early what a
handy option this was. Attention in the morning, without having to share my bed all night – why hadn’t I thought of
this before?

Generally, once we were done, he’d slip into the kitchen to start the coffee and fetch me my glass of guava juice
before pulling on his clothes and taking off. I don’t know exactly where we picked up that little routine, but I wasn’t
complaining about it.

This morning, he brought me my juice and then hesitated for a minute. I was about to get into the shower but the
way he paused made me stop and glance back at him. My eyebrows went up, and I looked at him sardonically,
wondering, Is this it? Is this where he starts making demands?

“Brian … “ he said tentatively, and I could feel myself bracing, growing colder and harder as I waited.

“I don’t want to ask you for any favours,” he went on, still hesitant. “But … I’m already 15 minutes late for class.
I was just thinking that I’d save some time if I could shower here, instead of going home.” He could barely meet my
eyes.

Something clicked in my brain. “Not with ME,” I responded abruptly, turning back towards the bathroom.

“That’s not what I meant. I thought after you … I’d just be ten minutes.”

I felt tired suddenly. “Fine. When I’m done.”

When I got out of the shower, he had the bed made and a cup of coffee poured out for me – god, he knew my
routines so well. He ducked his head and said quietly, “Is it okay if I go in now?”

I nodded, accepting the coffee and looking in my closet for something to wear. When he got out of the bathroom –
he wasn’t even 10 minutes – I was putting the finishing touches on my look for the day, and ready to go. I called
him from the front door and he came over, already in his jeans. I handed him the extra door key.

“Slide it under the door when you’re done.”

“OK. Thank you.”

“And don’t forget to set the alarm!”

“I won’t.”

“You remember how it works?”

“Yes sir.”

“I changed the code. It’s 2729 now.”

“Got it.”

I walked down the stairs, thinking about how much had changed. But I still trusted him alone in the loft, and there
weren’t many other tricks I could say that about.

***************************

After that he’d often take a shower before leaving when I had him over in the morning. I deduced, of course, that he
was back in school, but I didn’t ask him about it. I did, though, ask Cynthia one day whether I’d received a bill for
Justin’s tuition lately and she told me no, with a funny look that said she hadn’t seen one since the Rage party.
When he’d come to pick up his things the next day, I’d made a point of telling him I’d continue to pay his tuition but
it hadn’t occurred to me until now to follow up on it.

So he was being independent now. Or maybe he had worked out a deal with his folks; his mom, anyway. I thought
about asking him about it, but decided it was too complicated. I’d made the offer. His choice if he didn’t want to
take me up on it.

***************************

Oh, and what about that little “yes sir”? I didn’t think much about it at the time. He seemed to slip into it naturally.
Often at the Diner – and yes, I still went to the Diner occasionally, I could hardly completely avoid it – when it
happened to be his turn to wait on me, he’d call me that. “And for you, sir?” “Can I get you anything else, sir?” I
noticed that the others took it as a sign of distance between us. The next time it happened, it occurred to me what it
really was. Submission.

Part 4

Then there was the day when the dam broke. My dam. And I didn’t see it coming.

It was a bad day all around, stress at work, sniping with the boys at Woody’s, no one worth making the effort to pick
up. And no sign of Justin. Where the fuck is he when I want him, I thought with annoyance when I realized I
hadn’t seen him all night. It was early in the week so no one was planning to head to Babylon, which was just as
well since we were barely talking by then anyway. I brushed them all off – didn’t even offer anyone a ride home –
and called Justin when I got back to the loft.

“Where were you tonight?” I snapped.

“I had a late class,” he answered quickly. And I thought, fuck, yeah, right, probably busy fucking your classmate.

“Get over here,” I ordered. I heard my unpleasant, angry command and wondered why he put up with me.

Guilt, I answered myself, as I poured a Jim Beam and tossed it back. That’s why he puts up with it. Working off
the guilt. Everything was flashing back to me suddenly, things I hadn’t thought of for months. Those weeks of
watching Justin fall for someone else, when he hadn’t even had the guts to tell me. I gave him a fucking chance. I
gave him many chances to come clean. And he never did. Took my money and shared my home, shared my bed,
pretended … pretended! Even now I think that was what outraged me the most. Pretended he still wanted me.

I downed another Jim Beam. By the time I heard him slide open the door I was on my third. And I was mean.

He didn’t see me at first, sitting on the sofa in the dark watching him slip inside the loft. Usually I waited for him in
bed. He kicked off his shoes and started to head toward the bedroom.

“Going somewhere?” I asked out of the darkness, my voice cool and menacing.

He knew immediately he was in trouble. He froze and stared at me.

“I don’t think we’re going into the bedroom tonight.” I stood up and walked slowly toward him. He took a step
backward, then stopped and tried to meet my icy gaze. I was having no trouble looking at him. The growing fear in
his eyes appealed to me.

“Brian, I’m sorry, what did I do?” he asked tentatively.

“You know what you did.” The Beam was making things blur in my mind. Images of Justin trying to slip past me
to the shower. Ethan. The Rage party. Memories I’d resisted for months were back. The things I did for him.
Things I’d never done for anyone. His demands. His dissatisfaction. His rejection.

Suddenly I saw it in my head, that moment at the Rage party where he’d walked out with Ethan. I didn’t even know
I had that memory, I guess I’d completely repressed it. I knew, intellectually, what happened that night; I didn’t
even need someone to tell me the next morning. I woke up knowing. But I’d never replayed the memory. Maybe it
was something like Justin’s bashing – for something that traumatic, our brains just shut down and reject the whole
experience.

I could see why. My god. I practically reeled with the force of the image. Complete public humiliation. As if
breaking my heart, betraying me, telling me everything I’d done for him counted for nothing … as if that wasn’t
enough, he had to make sure everyone I knew saw him walk out of my life. At the party I threw for him.

I leaned against a chair to hold myself up. For a moment I thought I might pass out. Justin was staring. He’d
backed up some more and was pressed against the wall now. He must have been able to see what was going on in
my head.

“You couldn’t just fucking leave me, could you, Justin.” My voice was so low I wasn’t sure he caught my words.
But I heard him take in his breath so I guess he did. “You couldn’t just tell me you fell for someone else. You were
allowed to do that. I wouldn’t have blamed you for that.”

“I … “

”Hell, I would have given you my blessing.” My voice was getting stronger now. “Told you to give it a try, and let
me know if it didn’t work.”

“GOD I wish I’d done that,” he breathed suddenly.

“Instead of … what? You broke every rule in the book. You wanted it both ways. You took my support, my
money, my bed, even when you knew you were halfway out the door. You broke every one of your OWN rules.”

I took a step toward him. And now he had reason to be afraid. I felt like I was capable of doing anything to him just
then. His eyes grew wider as he watched me approach him ominously, but he didn’t move away.

“You wanna know something? I never fucking did. I never broke one of your precious rules. I followed them all,
every day. Yeah, I know I fucked up on a lot of things, but not that. I did what you told me to. It was you who
didn’t.”

He couldn’t hold my gaze. His eyes dropped for a second, but he lifted them again. Wet. They were watering.

The thought of him crying now only made me more enraged. “DON’T you start that bullshit with me, I don’t want
to see your fucking tears. You made your choices. And your choice was to walk out on me in public. Do you think
I’m going to forget that?”

He took a ragged breath, blinked his eyes and shook his head, just barely. “I don’t know how you could,” he
whispered.

“And now you think I’m going to fuck you?” I stared at him. At that moment, I really couldn’t believe I ever had. I
felt like beating the shit out of him. “I ought to be kicking your ass, not fucking it.”

He took another breath, with a faint nod. “I know.”

“Then get the fuck out of here.”

There was a pause. Justin didn’t move. He locked his eyes on mine.

Was he trying to read if I meant it? Or plead with me to change my mind? I didn’t care. I just couldn’t believe he
was daring to disobey me. Now, of all times.

My rage boiled over. I lifted my hand – open, not closed, but I could feel the force that it was going to connect with.
I saw the fear in his eyes – the way he started to flinch and pull back – and then suddenly he stopped and held
himself still. Waiting.

Maybe it was my surprise that saved me. Whatever it was, I stopped. Dropped my hand, took a step back. “Get out
of here, Justin.”

This time he dropped his head in submission, pushed himself away from the wall, and crossed back to the door. He
barely stopped for his shoes, just grabbed them and pulled open the door and walked out.

I stayed where I was for a second, catching my breath. Then I poured another drink, walked over to the bedroom,
and dropped onto the bed.

***************************

By morning my rage had dissipated, but the dour mood lasted much longer. I thanked god there’d been no violence.
Once again, I’d avoided that wave of self-loathing. But the long-repressed memories were staying this time, and
they were hard to ignore.

I let them run, a few times, lying awake in the dark. Hoping that maybe I could dispel some of their power that way.
Kind of like pressing down on an open wound as hard as you can until the pain goes away. I don’t know, maybe
that would work eventually but it was going to take more time than I was prepared to spend right now. Still, it
occurred to me that it was probably a good thing my brain wasn’t shutting down completely this time.

Not surprisingly, I had no urge to call Justin for a while after that. A couple of nights later I started to see him
around again, in the distance, looking nervous. I noticed, when I happened to turn my eyes in his direction, that he
always dropped his gaze. He wasn't doing that before.

It was probably three weeks later – I’d still made no effort to contact him – when he called me.

“Brian,” he said when I picked up, his voice trembling.

I looked at the phone wryly. “What do you want?”

He took a raspy breath. “Please don’t hang up. I’ll only be a minute.”

“Then go.”

Another ragged breath. “Brian, I’m so sorry. I deserve everything you said. I know I do. I won’t defend myself, I
have nothing to say. I’m just … please, Brian, I swear, I’m begging, just PLEASE don’t stop what you’ve been
doing. You’ve got every right to be angry, I know it, but please don’t let that stop you from taking me when you
want to. If ever you want to again. Please don’t let it stop you. Please.”

I laughed a little harshly. “I don’t know if I want to again.”

“I know.” His voice dropped, and suddenly he sounded calmer, less desperate. “I don’t know why you would.
You’re right, you should be kicking my ass.” He grew hesitant again. “And you know you can, if you want to. Any
time. I won’t put up a fight.”

He paused. I put my fingers up to my eyes, shaking my head. What the fuck had I done? What was I doing?

“Just please don’t feel like you can’t fuck me, just because you’re angry with me. You know you can. Like I told
you, any time, any where. Any mood. You don’t have to be nice about it.”

Despite myself, I grinned a little. He actually made it sound sort of appealing.

My silence must have been making him nervous though. He stopped himself. “I’m sorry, I won’t keep you any
longer. I just wanted to say that … to beg you – don’t stop. Please. No matter what. If you ever feel like it again,
take it. Take me.” Pause. “OK?”

“OK?” I repeated. “I don’t think it’s okay. I don’t know if it’ll ever be okay.”

He capitulated quickly. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I know it’s not okay. Just, um, I hope you don’t mind
my calling.”

“Yeah. Time’s up.”

I hung up.

Part 5

I did, of course. Eventually. I took him outside Woody’s one night, and then we fell right back into the old routine.
The potency of the memories dissipated eventually. So did my anger. In fact, I seemed to end up feeling a lot more
peaceful in the long run. Back on my road to recovery.

Justin was wary at first, but the wariness turned to obvious relief once he saw me slip back into my previous
detached but civil manner. And as it happened, we not only returned to our earlier, comfortable routine but soon
surpassed it. It was right around this time that the breakthroughs started coming thick and fast.

The first breakthrough was my abrupt realization that I might occasionally want to fuck him more than once a night.
Don’t know why it took me so long to remember that, back in the old days, I’d often taken him two or three times in
one evening. I guess it was because now he was always so careful to get going immediately after I finished. It
hadn’t occurred to me to stop him. But suddenly, one night, as he was out of the bed and reaching for his clothes, I
grabbed his hand and pulled him. “Wait.”

He stopped and looked at me in surprise.

And I think I was almost as surprised as he was. My movement had been so abrupt, I didn’t know why I’d done it
myself, at first. Then I realized. I cocked my head to one side and gave him the little Kinney grin. “I might want to
do this again before you go.”

It was funny to watch his double-take. “Really?” he said, almost like a gasp.

I couldn’t resist grinning. “Maybe. No guarantees. Sit down and wait for a minute.”

He dropped the jeans he’d picked up and stared down at me. “Can I … um … can I help you … “

I lifted an eyebrow and waited expectantly.

He flushed, and gave me a bashful smile. Talk about potent memories … that shy smile took me right back to the
first night I ever brought him back to the loft. Breakthrough # 2 -- I actually felt my mood soften, like some small
corner of the glacier inside me had melted away back into the ocean. I lit a cigarette to cover up.

“I just wondered if you wanted me to do anything to … maybe help you decide if you, um, might want me to stay a
little longer … “

Yes, it’s true, what you’re wondering. Up till now, in all our encounters, he’d never once taken the lead on
anything. I mean, he’d kissed me, and he always responded to whatever I was doing to him, but he’d never initiated
anything, not so much as a blow job, without obvious direction from me. So this was breakthrough # 3 – Justin
daring to suggest something without waiting for me to order it first.

I thought about it for a second – maybe I should be pissed off? But it was too appealing to let him loose, and way
too much effort to be annoyed. Still, I figured I might as well have fun with it. Lying back in the bed, I cocked an
eyebrow and asked him, “Why, now, how would you do that, Justin?”

Funny thing about Justin, he never used to get embarrassed about anything; he’d do and say the filthiest things and
not blush a shade. And propositioning me in a deserted parking lot, begging me to fuck him at any cost – he didn’t
so much as blink. But now he’s totally tongue-tied, can’t meet my gaze, doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
Until finally he lowers himself back down to the bed and forces his eyes up to mine to ask permission, in a helpless,
unspeaking look, to which I can’t help but grin my approval, and then slides down, his mouth all over my body until
it finally settles where it was meant to be. I’m still smoking my cigarette, and I’m thinking how that long trip down
the length of my body was almost as good as the destination itself, and wondering how come I haven’t experienced
that lately. That’s when it occurs to me it’s because I’ve been keeping him on such a short leash and, yeah, it hits
me that there might be advantages to giving him a little more room to play in future. So I guess that was
breakthrough #4.

See what I mean? They just kept coming that night. And so did we.

***************************

From there it was a short step to having him over earlier in the evening, when I wasn’t going out. Work was a lot
busier since I’d been made partner, and for whatever reason, the club scene wasn’t really doing it for me these days,
so I found myself spending more evenings at home with my computer, catching up on work. At some point after the
breakthrough night I decided it was a simple matter of efficiency to call Justin earlier on – we could fuck, then I
could get a bit of work done, we could fuck again, a bit more work, maybe some dinner, one more for the road, and

Justin would be off and I’d be in bed at a reasonable time, resulting in much more sleep than my previous system of
clubbing all night and then fucking Justin repeatedly through the early morning.

And it worked like a charm. He wasn’t especially surprised when I called him around 8 one evening – by then he
was used to being summoned at any time, and he probably just assumed I was looking for a little quick relief before
heading out for the night. When he arrived I was already at the computer, downloading what I needed to work on
from the office network. He paused in the doorway, not sure what to do, and I looked over at him. As always, he
looked great – hot and sexy in that completely unconscious, unstudied way. The lean weathered look I’d noticed the
first time he approached me was less noticeable now – he just looked a little older, a little less innocent. I liked it on
him. Nice to think of Sunshine growing up.

I leaned back casually in my chair. “Got anything you need to do tonight?”

He shook his head, a little surprised. Even that question was more interest than I usually took in his life. “Not
really. I was going to do some school work, but … nothing that can’t be done later.”

I glanced at the backpack he always carried with him. “Did you bring a sketchbook or something with you?”

That startled him. He had to think for a minute, then said, “Yes, I think I have one … “

I could see how much he wanted to add “Why?” to his response, but he stopped himself and just kept looking at me.

I spread my legs and began to stroke myself a little, seductively. “I just thought … we might want to do this more
than once tonight … “

He was already obeying my unspoken command and crossing over to me – I’m not sure he even caught the meaning
of my words, so intent he was on what was coming next. He dropped to his knees in front of me and started to bend
his head down but I abruptly caught his chin with my hand and pulled him up towards me. Again I think I shocked
us both when I leaned in for a kiss; I could see his eyes widen in amazement but he didn’t hesitate to respond,
meeting my lips forcefully and opening up to let my tongue inside. It’s not like we hadn’t kissed before, but until
now it had always been while we were fucking – not like this, as a prelude to a blow job – or – even more amazingly
– almost as a way of saying hello. The kiss of greeting hadn’t been part of our repertoire since before the Rage
party. I don’t know what brought it on this night but I think it had something to do with my feeling that we were
just getting started on a long, pleasure-filled evening and a quick, efficient blow job was not what I had in mind.

After the kiss I pulled back a bit and grinned at him, then slipped the back pack off his shoulder – he hadn’t even
dropped it yet – and pushed it out of the way. “No rush, Sunshine … take your jacket off, get comfortable, take your
time. We’re gonna be here for a while tonight.”

He raised his eyebrows at me quizzically but didn’t say anything. He slid his jacket off his shoulders slowly, and I
could see the wheels turning in his mind as he leaned away to drop it on his backpack. I could imagine him putting
together what I’d said so far and starting to figure things out. When he turned back to me it was with a softer, more
languid expression and less focused movements. He leaned up again tentatively, seeking another kiss, and I
accommodated him indulgently. He didn’t hold it long this time but slid his lips away and along my jaw, then down
my throat and to my chest. He buried himself there, working my shirt open as much as he could, licking and
nuzzling the bare skin he could reach. My spread legs gave him room to slip up close to me and nestle inside; his
hands settled on the arms of the chair and pulled it forward to improve his access to me yet further. When we
couldn’t get any closer he slid his hands under my shirt, pushed it up so he could kiss my stomach, and ran his
fingers all over my arms, my chest, my thighs. I let my own hands drape around his back, and this time, as he
worked his way gradually downwards, I didn’t stop him. He unbuttoned my jeans and bent down to my dick, but
moved up again after a couple of moments for more nuzzling and kissing … then back down again, and this time the
serious work began. But he took his time, made it long and slow and artful, bringing me close and backing off a few
times, until I let him know I was ready and, obedient as always, he promptly finished me off like the expert he is.

Afterwards, as I recovered, I felt him glance up at me before turning his attention back to my cock, cleaning me up
and re-buttoning my jeans. Then he sat back on his heels and looked at me, waiting for further direction.

I couldn’t help but stroke his hair and smile with pleasure. “Very nice, Justin,” I whispered.

He beamed at me happily and dropped a quick kiss on my arm. “Thank you.” After a moment, not getting any
instructions, he asked, “What can I do for you now, Brian?”

I kept smiling. “Nothing yet … I need a little recovery time, you know. Anyway, I have a lot of work to do tonight
… Maybe you can get out your sketchbook and see if you can amuse yourself while I work for a bit, what do you
think?”

He looked at me evenly. “There’s lots of ways I could amuse myself … can I make you some dinner? Have you
eaten yet?”

I shook my head. “I’m just going to order in.”

He hesitated. “Are you sure? You know I’d love to cook for you.”

My eyes narrowed as I looked at him. Why did I feel so uneasy? He was still kneeling between my feet, the picture
of submission, so why did I feel like I was walking into a trap?

He could see my suspicion. Immediately, he dropped his gaze and said, “I’m sorry, Brian, I didn’t mean to argue
with you. I’ll just grab my sketchbook and get out of your way.” He stood up, picking up his knapsack, and went
over to the sofa. My eyes followed him; I was still lost in thought.

Glancing back at me, he shrank from my gaze. “Please, Brian, I didn’t mean anything. What about a drink, can I
get you a drink?”

I shook my head, then stopped when I realized I was actually thirsty. “Yeah, you can get me a beer. And get one
for yourself too.”

He went to the fridge, handed me a beer in silence and then parked himself back on the sofa with his own drink and
his sketchbook. We both went to work for a while; I remember that I got a lot done that night. Must be something
about being relaxed and having your physical needs satisfied; that and knowing there’s more to come, whenever
you’re ready.

When I felt myself getting hungry I picked up the phone and dialled my favourite Thai place. I didn’t bother to ask
Justin what he wanted, I remembered his tastes well enough. The food arrived; Justin answered the door and I
handed him a couple of bills to pay with. He spooned everything onto plates and brought one to me with cutlery and
another beer. “Are you going to eat here?” he murmured, and when I nodded, he set it all on the desk beside me. It
wasn’t till I paused in my work a couple of minutes later and turned to the food that I realized he’d loaded my plate
not only with all of my dishes but also with most of his.

I glanced over at him sharply. He was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, eating off the coffee table and staring
at his sketchpad. He did have a plate, but it was almost empty already.

“Justin? What the fuck are you doing?”

He jumped and looked at me guiltily. “What?”

I gestured at my plate. “Why did you give me all of your food?”

“Oh.” He looked down. “I just wasn’t sure … “

I put down my fork and shoved the plate in his direction. “Get your stuff. I don’t want it, and there’s no way you
can live on what you gave yourself.”

He came over and scooped his dishes on to his own plate, then handed mine back to me with an uncertain smile. I
reached for the plate without looking away from my work. “Go. Eat. You need to keep your strength up.”

The words were enough to get a little sheepish grin out of him and he returned to the sofa and his sketchbook.

We went back to work, me taking bites between bouts at the computer. I actually hate eating at my desk, but it
seemed like the best way to avoid any possibility of conversation. And it worked well enough till after dinner when
Justin, good wife that he is, cleared the dishes and brought me a glass of Beam. I grinned and gave him a look that
told him round two wasn’t far away. Then I knocked the Beam all over the damn keyboard.

“Fuck!”

Justin leapt heroically for a cloth and we managed to prevent any major damage. And after all that excitement, we
launched immediately into round two, over on the sofa. I have to admit, I didn’t much feel like working again after
that but I forced myself back to the desk and finished up what I had planned to get done for the night. And then I
leaned back and looked at the back of Justin’s head until he felt my gaze and turned around to me. “Meet me in the
bedroom,” I purred, getting up. “Let’s make this one last.”

He beat me there. Surprise.

Afterwards, we lay for a while together. I didn’t push him out of bed immediately, but on the other hand I knew I
was going to fall asleep soon. And letting Justin stay overnight was still not an option I was willing to consider.

He figured it out for himself after a few minutes. He leaned up to kiss my shoulder and give me a tentative glance.
“You look tired,” he whispered.

I nodded, shutting my eyes. “Going to sleep now.”

He kissed me again. “Thanks for a wonderful night.” I felt him slip out of the bed and let myself drift off,
wondering, for the first time, what it would be like if he stayed.

Part 6

Ever considerate, the next time I planned an evening of working at home I called Justin in the afternoon to give him
some advance notice. I even suggested that if he wanted to cook dinner this time, he might want to stop and pick up
some groceries on the way, since my fridge rarely holds more than guava juice and poppers these days.

I had thought a bit about why I got so tense when he wanted to cook the last time, and concluded that I really didn’t
have anything against it in principle. My hackles were raised by the feeling that I was being talking into something
– persuaded against my will. And our whole arrangement was supposed to be about avoiding that. No demands,
that was the deal. Funny how something that you have no objection to can feel like a huge burden when someone
asks you for it. When I considered inviting Justin to cook for me, it didn’t seem like a big deal at all.

Probably confused the fuck out of him, though. Bonus.

He responded excitedly on the phone and showed up exactly at 8, laden with groceries. Coming through the door,
he shot me a quick glance to get an advance reading on my mood – a habit he’d picked up after our Jim Beam-
fuelled encounter. I guess he liked what he saw, because he flashed me a smile, then apologized quickly for the
amount he’d brought with him. I shrugged and told him to give me the bill. He looked even more sheepish as he
handed it over. “I didn’t … you don’t have to re-pay me for everything if I got more than you wanted.”

I already had my wallet open, and managed to repress a double-take as I caught the total on the bill. “Whatever,” I
said, heading back to my desk. “I’m sure you’ll use it all up eventually.”

It was only when I heard his quick intake of breath that I realized what I’d said. An assumption of future contact
between us. No wonder he was shocked.

We skipped the first round this time. I went to work at my desk, and he went to work in the kitchen. It’s hard to
deny the pleasure of hearing someone cook dinner for you in the next room. Especially someone who knows
exactly what you like.

I was looking forward to eating, but when he brought a tray over to my desk I sighed and pushed my chair away.
“Not here. Not after that mess last time. I don’t need to lose all my work.”

I steered him over to the dining table and sat down. He set everything up for me silently and returned to the kitchen
for his own plate. I poured the wine, then watched him from across the table as he walked back uncertainly. He
hesitated mid-way between the sofa and the table, and when I didn’t say anything, he aimed toward the sofa.

I rolled my eyes and pointed to the chair across from me. “You too. I don’t need jambalaya all over my new sofa.”

He laughed. “It’s not jambalaya. I do know how to cook other things.”

I looked down. My plate seemed to involve a complicated arrangement of some kind of fish with vegetables and
greens.

’Oh yeah. What is this?”

“Smoked salmon with cookstown greens, shallot rillettes, and chive beurre Blanc.”

I stared at him and lifted an eyebrow. “A little more sophisticated than jambalaya. When did you learn to cook like
this?”

He smiled shyly. “I’ve been teaching myself. I figured knowing how to cook well would always be a useful skill.”

“Hm.” I started eating and he followed suit.

So now we were sitting across from each other eating dinner and it was going to be pretty difficult to avoid talking,
as I’d already realized. Justin ate quietly, looking down at his plate and carefully not making any assumptions,
while I pondered the situation and eventually concluded it was absurd.

“So,” I announced. Okay, it wasn’t much but it was the best I could think of at the time.

He shot me a quick glance and another tentative smile, and waited for a second. For the life of me, I couldn’t think
of where to go next. I’d spent so long avoiding the possibility of hearing anything at all about his life that it seemed
completely alien to actually invite him to tell me something.

As always, Justin was the one who did something about the situation. After a minute he responded quietly, “So.
How have you been, Brian?”

It was a bit of a gamble on his part, and on another day it might not have paid off. But at that particular moment I
just found myself admiring his directness.

So I smiled, despite myself. “I’m doing okay, Justin. How about you?”

I could see his expression change, right in front of my eyes. It went from shy and uncertain to deeply contented. So
easy, I thought to myself.

“I’m doing great, thanks,” he said.

“How’s school?”

He brightened again. “It’s great. I’m … you know I’m in third year now … “

“And I hear I’m not paying for it anymore.” I hadn’t really planned to raise that, it just came out. I guess that’s the
problem with talking; you never know what’s going to come out.

He looked at me, like he wasn’t sure whether to be guilty, scared or proud. “Yes … but thank you for offering.”

“How are you covering the tuition then?” It was none of my business. But then, nothing to do with him was my
business anymore, and what did that leave us to talk about? Maybe I should have tried movies or something.

“My father agreed to pay for it, like we originally planned.”

“Oh.” I wondered if it was just coincidence that his father changed his mind right when I was out of Justin’s life.
Fortunately, in this case I restrained the thought before it came out.

“How’s your hand?” I asked. “How’s the drawing going? Are you still using the computer?” Suddenly I realized
how many things I was curious about.

He shook his head. “No … my hand’s doing really well. I’ve been drawing free-hand again. I still use the
computer some times of course – " He glanced at me anxiously, as if afraid I’d be offended. “But not always.”

“And … where are you living?” I looked away, over his shoulder, thinking that this might be more detail than I
wanted to know.

His voice, when he answered, was even more gentle. “Over on Freemore Street. Not too far from here.”

What I was really wondering was whether he was living by himself or with someone else. I know, it was crazy to
even consider the possibility that he could have a new boyfriend while he was making himself so completely
available to me. No one would have stood for it. But I realized, as I listened to him answer me, that this was what I
was afraid of hearing. All that effort to avoid conversation because I had some insane idea that he might have
moved on from Ethan to someone else – someone who apparently didn’t notice that Justin disappeared at random
moments in the middle of the night or for the entire evening on a regular basis, not to mention spent nights staking
out clubs and bars just in case he might have the opportunity to provide sexual favours to a man who was not his
boyfriend. Yes, that was a reasonable thing for me to be worrying about. What was I, traumatized or something?

I realized I was still staring off into space and I shook my head a little as I glanced back at Justin. He was watching
me with the same gentle expression.

“It’s a tiny little bachelor,” he said, “Just room enough for me and my art stuff. But it’ll do while I’m at school.”

Fuck, just like I thought. He does read my mind.

“Doesn’t it take up too much of your time, hanging around bars waiting for me, and coming over here whenever I
call? How do you get your work done? Do you have any social life at all?”

He smiled. “I’m not doing so many hours at the diner now that my dad came through and I only need a little
spending cash. And as for my social life ..." He gave me an impish grin. “My friends just think I’m very

mysterious. Always getting cell phone calls at random moments and disappearing for the next few hours. They ask
… but I tell them nothing.”

I laughed. But what I really noticed was the change in his tone of voice. Suddenly it was playful and charming, a
big change from the hesitant, acquiescent tenor I’d become used to over the last little while. Don’t get me wrong, I
liked the new attitude. It just occurred to me for the first time that I might also miss the old one.

In the end, we got through dinner okay, and I coped with the concept of learning things about Justin’s life that
weren’t immediately related to his availability for sex. Which continued to be well-established over the course of
the evening. That night, I drifted off to sleep wondering whether salmon is an aphrodisiac.

Part 7

For a while after this I found myself in unusually good spirits. I strolled around the office smiling at people, being
polite to Cynthia and co-operative with Gardner. My banter with the boys outside of work was more light-hearted
than vicious, I passed up a night at Babylon to look after Gus without complaining, and I put up with Mel's sniping
serenely. I even found myself smiling at Justin in the diner one morning. The look he gave me back made me
suddenly remember those pre-Rage days, when he could look at me from across a crowded room and tell me exactly
what pleasures were awaiting me that night. I felt like I'd been a very good boy.

And then I found myself back in the loft that evening, wondering whether it was too soon to call Justin and cash in
on my good credit. Which was when it finally occurred to me to wonder what the fuck was going on.

What had happened? How had things turned around so completely, from the no-obligation/no-strings deal Justin
had originally offered me, to this deja-vu feeling of wanting to be on my best behaviour so as not to upset the little
princess? When did things change, and why was I letting them?

Moodily, I trawled the net for company. It helped – to remind myself that Justin was not the only fish in the sea, and
to avoid the questions I was asking myself, at least for a time. It didn’t take long to reel in a hot, dark, older guy –
about as far removed from Justin as possible physically – who showed up at my place within twenty minutes.

As always, the brief encounter revived my mood – there’s nothing, I thought, like the efficiency and exhilaration of
high-quality, anonymous, one-time-only sex. And it turned out that the guy was a catch. The best ones always act
as if they’re auditioning for a part, and even though I know I’m never going to announce a winner, it’s entertaining
to let them try. As I walked him to the door an hour or so later, I found myself wondering idly which was better –
someone who knows he only has one chance with you and pours out everything he’s got, or someone who’s been
with you so many times that he knows exactly what you want and how you want it. Something to be said for both, I
had to admit.

Later, after he left, I lay in bed and let my mind drift back to the Justin issue. Having just reminded myself of all the
other options that were open to me, I felt a sense of relief. Whatever Justin might threaten, I knew I could live
without him.

That thought made my eyes fly open in the dark. What was I thinking? Why was I expecting threats from him?
Didn’t we have a deal? Why was I so wary now? What did I expect him to do?

And then suddenly I knew. I expected him to start making demands. As soon as he realized how much I was
enjoying his company, he was bound to start having expectations. Isn’t that what happened the first time? He might
have started off making himself available without conditions, but that didn’t last once he knew what my feelings
were. Yeah, sure, this time he’d told me no payback. But I’d never believed that. I’d just expected him to give up
before we got to the point where he thought he’d have a chance. But now we’d reached it. I’d grown accustomed to
him, again – and he knew it. He could start bargaining. And he would. Because no one would put up with what he
had without wanting something back.

***************************

I called him on his cell the next afternoon while I figured he’d be in class. Sure enough I got his voicemail. “Come
by tonight at 8,” I said obliquely, keeping the message too short for him to guess anything from my tone. The last
thing I wanted was to put him on his guard.

He arrived at the loft smiling but it only took one look at me to change that. He shot me his usual mood-detecting
glance and flinched visibly at what he saw.

“Sit down.” I was already at the dining table, well prepared with a glass, a bottle, and an ashtray in front of me.

He nodded quickly but said in a low voice, “Can I just put this stuff away first?” He had a few more groceries with
him, which apparently needed to be refrigerated. He took my silence as a yes. I realized that all he really wanted
was the few extra moments to compose himself and brace for the onslaught he could see was coming.

I waited. Justin quietly put the groceries away, kicked off his shoes, and crossed the room to take his place across
from me. His expression was oddly calm – trepidatious, perhaps; a bit sad – but not fearful. If anything, he had an
open air, as though he wanted to tell me he had nothing to hide, nothing to run away from. He sat down and looked
at me and waited.

“I want to know what’s going on,” I said evenly.

He stared at me. “What do you mean, what’s going on?”

I looked at him pointedly and lit a cigarette without replying.

“I’m sorry, Brian, I don’t know what you mean.” He shook his head. “I want to answer you but I don’t know what
you’re referring to.”

“I want to know what your plan is. What game you’re playing.”

Justin looked down for a moment, then back up at me squarely. “I’m not planning anything. And this isn’t a game
to me.”

“Bullshit.” I threw my lighter onto the table. “Don’t give me that, Justin. I’ve gone along with things for too long
now. It’s time for you to tell me the truth.”

Was that frustration I saw behind his eyes? Now, finally? “What is it you think I’m not being truthful about,
Brian?”

“About what you want.”

He paused, turning his head slightly away, then back to me. “What did I say I wanted?”

“Nothing!” I shouted. His calmness was making me lose mine. “You said you wanted nothing. I have news for
you, Justin. No one wants nothing. I don’t buy that, never did. It’s time for you to tell me what your real agenda
is.”

Justin looked at me for a long time. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know what to say. But I could see his expression
soften as I waited.

Finally he said gently, “I didn’t say that, Brian. I never said that. You’re right, I do want things. Lots of things. I’d
never deny that.”

Now it was my turn to stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? That’s exactly what you said.”

He shook his head, his expression, for the first time, slightly apologetic. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not what I said. I said I
wouldn’t ask you for anything. I never said I didn’t want anything.”

I shut my eyes, momentarily at a loss, my mind whirling. I had to think. I cast my mind back to that day in the
parking lot, and the little speeches Justin had made. It was true, I realized after a moment. He’d said he would
expect nothing, would ask for nothing. That there was no payback, that he wouldn’t set any terms. But nothing
about what he wanted.

I opened my eyes. “You said you wouldn’t expect anything.”

He almost smiled. “I don’t. Everything you do is a surprise to me.”

I gave him a sardonic glare. “You said you wouldn’t ask for anything.”

“I won’t.” He stretched his hands out to me across the table and gave me a searching look. “Have I, Brian? Have I
ever asked you for anything, since we started this? Aside from … “ – he looked a little embarrassed – “ … asking to
cook you dinner?”

“Not yet,” I said pointedly.

He stared at me. “You think I will?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I demanded. “As soon as you think you can get away with it. As soon as you think I’ll be
willing to bargain.”

“No,” he said forcefully.

“I don’t think so,” I said angrily. “Look at you, already … you’re … you’re … “

He frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. “I’m what? What have I done?”

I set my jaw. “You’ve made yourself at home here.”

He was still uncomprehending. “In the loft?”

“In my life.”

This time I could see he knew what I meant. He hesitated, then spoke softly. “It’s true, you’ve let me come so far
already. More quickly than I ever … “

When he paused again, I finished his sentence for him, “ … than you ever expected.”

He shook his head. “Than I hoped.”

“So you were hoping for more all along.”

He sighed. “Of course. Brian, of course I hoped for more. I told you I wouldn’t expect anything, but you could
never stop me from hoping.”

I ground my cigarette into the ashtray grimly. “So you did have a plan.”

“Brian, no.” For a moment he looked at me like I was an exasperating child. “How can you call it a plan? Do you
really think I’m plotting against you, just because I didn’t want you to hate me forever?”

“But you offered something you weren’t willing to give. You said you’d live with nothing from me, but you always
planned to get more than that.”

This time Justin looked away and didn’t respond for a long time. He must have been collecting his thoughts. When
he finally spoke, his words were very careful. “I was willing to live with what I offered: no conditions, nothing
required from you. I did live with it. I could have lived with it for longer, if I’d had to. But … you’re probably
right. I couldn’t have gone on like that forever.” He held my gaze steadily, and seemed to gather his thoughts

again. “But it was you who said you’d give me nothing. What I said was that I’d never ask. And I haven’t. It’s
you who’s chosen to give.”

There was a pause, while I let that sink in. After a moment he went on softly. “Brian, you’ve already given me so
much. You didn’t have to. All I asked for was to be with you. Everything else you’ve given me is a gift.”

I closed my eyes, trying to block out what he said, and we sat for a moment in silence. Finally he asked me, “Do
you think I don’t appreciate it?”

I turned away, frowning. “No. I don’t think that. But how do I know … “

“Know what?”

“That you won’t try to use it against me.”

When I looked back he was staring at me again. “Is that what you think I’m going to do?”

I shrugged a little, sullenly.

He still looked amazed. “But why would I do that? I know where that would get me.”

“Where?”

He almost laughed. “Out of here! Out on my ass. Back out of your life. Do you think I doubt that?”

Was I supposed to tell him I wasn’t so sure myself? I didn’t answer.

He cocked his head and gave me a little smile. “Come on. You let me go once already. We both know you
wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. I’m not that stupid. I know there won’t be any more chances if I fuck this up.”

“All right, fine,” I said at last. There didn’t seem to be anywhere else to go on that topic. “You still haven’t told me
what it is you want from me.”

This time, I knew I’d hit home. I saw the sudden wistful longing come into his gaze and heard it in his voice. “It’s
all the things I’ve ever wanted,” he said simply. “I’ve never stopped wanting the same things.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “All the same things? Hearts and flowers, romance, picnics on the floor, is that what
you want?”

He shook his head abruptly. “No, not those things. I never cared about that, I only thought I did.”

“Monogamy? No more tricks? The rules?”

He almost shuddered. His tone, when he answered, was dismissive. “No, those things don’t matter either.”

I sighed heavily. “So, what is it that you’ve always wanted, exactly?” I poured another drink while I waited for his
response. By the time I set the bottle down, I realized it wasn’t going to come. I took a drink and looked at him
over the glass. He was having a hard time meeting my eyes and I could see him struggling for words.

“Brian … “ he breathed finally, appealing to me.

He was right. I knew; he didn’t have to tell me. I knew what he’d always wanted: to be loved back. To know he
was different from everyone else, to be the most important part of my life. Not to doubt my feelings for him.

“Justin. You had those things once. I don’t know if I can give them to you again.”

He nodded. “I know. I understand that.”

I shook my head. “I told you, I’m not making any promises. I’m not even sure I’m … trying. You could wait a
long time, and never get what you want.”

Now he was holding my gaze unwaveringly. “But I might. And you might be trying.” He made it sound almost
like a challenge.

I looked away from him, not answering.

He took my hand in his. “That’s all I need right now.”

Part 8

I sent him home that night without fucking him. Not because I was angry, and not because I was uninterested, but
because I needed time to think. Then, of course, I went out to Babylon and the baths and fucked myself silly for a
few days to avoid having to think about anything at all. I was tired of nights of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling
and questioning myself about what I was doing with Justin. Whatever happened to the idea of keeping things
pleasantly simple?

So I managed to avoid thinking about it for a while. But I knew I wasn’t going to take him again until I’d figured
out what that last conversation meant, and eventually I decided to get it over with. I stopped at the diner on my way
to work one morning; maybe seeing him was the incentive I needed to resolve my indecision. His eyes were on me
the instant I walked in and I could see his expression grow clouded, though he didn’t try to catch my eye. I had
planned to stay for breakfast but suddenly, seeing his troubled look was enough for me. I might as well figure things
out myself before he got on the phone and started cajoling me again. I ordered a coffee to take out – from Deb – and
left without looking at Justin. But I saw him from the corner of my eye as I walked away, standing still with the
coffee pot in his hand, gazing out the window after me.

After work that day I sat down with the dinner I’d picked up on my way home and deliberately turned my mind to
Justin. And the first thing I realized was that the meals he cooked for me were a hell of a lot better than the take-out
I was eating tonight. I smiled ruefully for a moment – if I did stop seeing him I’d better get him to teach me a few
things in the kitchen first – then frowned and let myself follow the train of thought.

What was different since we’d talked? I knew now that he wanted things from me, but had I ever doubted that? He
always had, always would. Why should I be surprised that he admitted it? What did that change?

From the beginning, I’d expected him to start making demands when he thought he’d get away with it. And I’d
figured that time had come because he knew I was starting to like having him around.

No. I knew I was starting to like having him around. I was the one who assumed that made things different. I
thought about what Justin had said, that I’d given him more than he had asked for. He said I chose to do it. Did I
really? Was I doing what I wanted, or what I thought I had to?

I pushed my plate away and lit a cigarette. I could call him right now to come over, and be as nice or as nasty to him
as I wanted. Either way, I knew he’d take it. Maybe he was right, I was making my own choices.

And yes, maybe eventually I was going to have to face a bigger choice about what to do with Justin. But not yet.
There was no more reason for me to decide anything now than there had been last week. He was right, I could put
an end to things if I wanted to – I’d done it before and I could do it again. Yes, I realized now that Justin was
waiting and hoping. But I didn’t tell him to do that. I still hadn’t made any promises. He knew I was free to walk
away. If I wanted to.

I picked up the phone and called him.

***************************

He let himself in cautiously, but brightened when he shot me his early-warning glance and saw only an obvious
interest in the fuck we’d skipped the other day. I thought about being nasty and I thought about being nice, but
mostly I didn’t feel like being anything at all. I just wanted to be inside him.

Seeing I was in no mood to chat, he kept quiet while I put him into position and got down to business. Afterward, I
thought about how fucking Justin could be just as efficient as picking up a trick, when that was what I wanted.

We were done before I’d decided whether to keep him around for another stint. After a few minutes, he asked me
softly whether he should stay or go.

I motioned for my cigarettes and he reached for them, lit one for me and handed it over.* I looked at him and
considered my options. I could send him home and go out myself; it wasn’t late. Or I could try out the being nasty
option; I had to admit, there was something appealing about that. Or I could let him talk to me, fill me in on the rest
of his life, till I was ready to go again. But I didn’t really feel like any of that; I just felt like lying in the dark,
smoking my cigarette, listening to Justin breathe beside me, and knowing that whatever happened next was entirely
up to me.

I let him stay.

***************************

“Brian?” Justin asked me the next morning. I was ready for work early so had pulled up a stool at the counter to
drink the coffee he had waiting for me.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

I shrugged. “All right.”

He paused. “But would you like anything else for breakfast, first?”

I cocked my head at him sarcastically. “Do I ever want anything else for breakfast? Is that what you wanted to ask
me?”

“No.” He toyed with the coffee pot. “I wanted to ask you … “

I raised my eyebrows and looked at him expectantly.

“Do you really think of it as breaking our deal when I ask if I can make you dinner?”

I pulled back a bit in surprise. “What?”

“You know how I promised I wouldn’t ask you for anything. So if I ask for … permission to do something for you
– like make your dinner, or whatever … does that count as breaking my promise?”

What was he getting at? I had to think about his question. “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. Depends how you
ask.”

“Then how can I ask so it doesn’t?” he asked me seriously.

I gave him a sarcastic, bemused smirk. “You’re awfully fucking concerned about this.”

“I don’t want to piss you off,” he answered simply. “I don’t want to break my promise.”

“So don’t ask me for things like that.”

But I like doing things for you. Does it really annoy you when I ask?

I drank my coffee, not knowing how to answer.

He tried again. “Do you hate letting me do things for you?”

That one I already knew the answer to, since I’d thought about it myself. “Not necessarily.”

“But you don’t like to be asked.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t like to be talked into things.”

He nodded slowly. “So if I just ask, but don’t … “

“Don’t cajole me. Let me decide for myself.”

He nodded again and turned back to the coffee pot. “Would you like some more coffee?”

“No.”

“OK. Thanks, Brian.”

It was time to go, and I was already heading for the door. He came out from the kitchen and met me there. I could
see how much he wanted to lean up and kiss me, but he just put a hand on my arm instead. “I was … really happy to
stay here last night. Thanks again for letting me.”

For a moment I considered giving him the kiss that he wanted, but in the end I just nodded and went on my way.

Part 9

I wasn’t seeing Justin at the clubs and bars as much these days, but then, maybe that was because I wasn’t at them as
much myself. Work was still keeping me busy, there were evening meetings with clients, and when I was free I
found myself wanting to do other things. I made a deal with Lindsay and Mel to take Gus overnight once a week,
and after that I usually needed another evening at home to recuperate. I’d still go to Woody’s and play a bit of pool
with the boys, but I didn’t always end up at Babylon afterwards.

When I did go out, I noticed that Justin wasn’t always around, waiting for me. Of course it didn’t matter since he
was never more than a phone call away. And when I called, he never told me no.

One day after my weekly Gus sleep-over I called Justin to give him a heads-up for the evening. As usual after
dealing with my son single-handedly all night, I was ready for a seriously stress-free evening. And as usual, Justin
accepted the offer – but this time, I could have sworn I heard a fraction of a second’s hesitation before his response.

When he arrived I could see that he was slightly subdued. He asked if he could make dinner and I agreed. At the
table later he waited for a sign that I wasn’t averse to conversation, which I gave him by asking how his mom and
Molly were doing. He told me they were fine, then asked me about the small bed and toys in the corner of the loft.
I’d figured out pretty fast that it was a lot easier to buy my own set of kid accessories than to have to lug them over
from the girls’ place once a week, so the corner by the chaise was quickly becoming Gus’s area.

“It’s for Gus,” I told Justin. “I take him once a week now.”

He brightened visibly. “Really? Overnight?”

I nodded, taking in his excitement thoughtfully. “Yeah. So when did you see him last?”

The enthusiasm dimmed a bit. “Oh … a few months ago I guess.”

“What the fuck? Why so long?”

He looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know … “

“What, are they not letting you see him? They know how much Gus likes you.”

He nodded. “No, they … they let me see him when I ask.”

”So it’s you who isn’t interested?”

He shook his head earnestly. “No, Brian, I love to see Gus.” I could see his reluctance to continue, and waited
pointedly. “It just … I don’t know, I … He stopped and looked at me appealingly.

I frowned, not understanding. Was he trying to avoid complaining about Linds and Melanie? Were they giving him
a hard time? I kept looking at him, not letting him off the hook.

He sighed and dropped his gaze. “I just think we all feel uncomfortable when I’m there.”

“All? You mean Linds and Mel?”

He nodded. I tried to figure out what he was getting at. So the girls were uncomfortable having him around Gus,
even if they weren’t actually denying access. Why? They knew nothing about what was going on between Justin
and me. Neither of them had mentioned his name to me since the Rage party. As far as they knew, the last time I’d
seen him was when he walked out that day …

Oh. That was it. They saw Justin as having humiliated me in public. Encouraging a relationship between him and
Gus was like a betrayal to me. Would Lindsay really see it that way? I thought about it briefly. Yeah. She would.

Hell, everyone would. As far as queer Pittsburgh knew, Justin was my come-uppance. His exit that day had finally
de-throned the king of Liberty Avenue. I was starting to remembered the whispered comments and mocking smiles
I’d caught in the days and weeks following the party. The way people had turned away from me, avoided meeting
my eyes. The looks on my friends’ faces. All of that was why I’d never told anyone I had taken Justin back.

No wonder Linds and Melanie weren’t exactly welcoming. And Justin … I realized, with a little surprise, why it
was uncomfortable for him. He knew I hadn’t told anyone what was happening with us. So he was going along
with it, not clearing things up or defending himself. He would just keep putting up with my friends’ hostility until I
did something about it.

I looked at him consideringly. “It would be good for you to see more of Gus.” I picked up my fork and added under
my breath, “Especially if it was on MY watch.”

When I glanced over, I could see the sparks lighting up Justin’s eyes, but he bit his tongue and just looked at me
with a little smile. We could both see the appeal to me of having an extra pair of hands around when I was
responsible for Gus. We exchanged a glance, and I figured I might just take him up on that some time soon.

After dinner he cleaned up, as usual, and I went through some of my trade magazines on the sofa. I could feel
myself waiting for Justin to finish and come over to me so that we could get started on the main event. In the back
of my mind I guess I was tracking the sound of his movements in the kitchen. That’s how I first noticed that
something was wrong. The kitchen clean-up sounds had stopped, but there was no soft padding of Justin’s feet into
the living area.

I looked up. He was standing by the loft door with his cell phone in his hand, looking indecisive. When he saw my
gaze reach him he gave me an uncertain smile.

“Um, Brian … I’m just going to step outside for a minute, okay?”

I was a bit taken aback. “Whatever.”

He slipped out the door and I knew he was making a phone call he didn’t want me to hear.

Well, fuck that. If he wanted to keep secrets, he’d better not flaunt them right in front of me. I wasn’t so much
curious as provoked.

When he came back into the loft, looking a little troubled, I ordered him over. By the time he was standing in front
of me he was looking a lot troubled.

“What the fuck was that all about?” I asked evenly.

“I … I just needed to make a phone call.”

Did he think I was stupid? “Obviously. Who were you calling?”

He looked at me in surprise. It should have been a safe gamble for him to bet that I wouldn’t ask. I never took an
interest in his life, and suddenly I wanted to know who he was calling?

“Just a friend from school,” he said.

“From school?” I repeated.

He nodded.

We looked at each other for a minute as the wheels turned slowly in my brain. Apparently he was avoiding
something. Justin, having worked for months to convince me he was the model of transparency and openness, now
hiding something from me? I was pissed just on principle.

I sighed and asked him with emphatic precision, “Why did you need to call them right now?”

A definite hesitation. “I … wanted to make sure I reached him tonight, before he went to bed.”

I rolled my eyes and encouraged him sarcastically, “And you needed to reach him tonight because …

He gave up trying to pretend, and stood biting his lip and looking at me. “I …

We stared at each. I gave him my best advice of the night. “Don’t drag this out any longer.”

He took it. “I needed to know what happened in class tonight so I can have the assignment ready for tomorrow.”

For a second I was only surprised. And then, instantly, I was livid. “You little asshole. Did I tell you to cut class
for me?”

He shook his head, already frightened. “No, sir. I just … ”

“You just wanted to come over here and get fucked instead.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you …

“How to tell me?” I interrupted incredulously. “How can you not know how to say, ‘I have a class’?”

He gave up trying to answer and just shook his head.

“What the fuck do you think I ASK you for? The good of my health?” I was on my feet by now, stalking around
the room. “If I wasn’t giving you a chance to say no, why would I bother to call you? Why wouldn’t I just give you
a little pager like some street-corner hooker, and push a fucking button when I wanted you to show up?”

Stopping across the room from him, I turned around with a sudden hard, biting smile. “You thought it would be too
cruel for me if I had to go without you for a night.”

This time he made an effort to respond; he seemed to be struggling to keep up with me. “No, of course I didn’t … “

I strode over to him. He watched me, stepping back until he felt the wall behind his hands, then bracing himself
against it and waiting for me. I leaned down into his face.

“You don’t cut class to come over here just because I give you the chance, do you understand?”

He nodded apprehensively. “Yes, Brian.”

“When I ask you something, you tell me. When I ask if you’re free, you answer me. If you have a class, you’re not
free. Is that too complicated?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry –

I cut him off. “Don’t.”

He stopped. I looked away, then stepped back a couple of paces and leaned against the sofa. “Do you know why
you don’t cut class for me?”

He blinked, and I could see him thinking quickly. “Um … because I need to finish school. And – and it’s
expensive. And you’ve invested in my education.”

Those were a lot of pathetic straws to grasp at. I shook my head disdainfully. “Because it’s part of your life. And I
don’t ever want you putting your life on hold for me.”

His eyes widened a little. I looked at him intently. “Do you understand that?

He nodded hesitantly.

“You don’t start cutting things out of the rest of your life to accommodate this part. You know fucking well I’ve
never let you do that. I’m sure as hell not going to let you do it to me now. You’re not putting that responsibility on
me.”

He was starting to get it. He met my eyes and nodded again, this time with more conviction. “I understand.”

“I don’t care whether you want to go school or sit in your apartment or spend the rest of your life working at the
Liberty diner. That’s your choice. Don’t ever put it on me.”

“I won’t.”

I paused, and looked at him silently for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a class tonight?”

He looked down, but his response was frank. “I was afraid if I said no you might not call me again.”

I took his chin in my hand and forced his eyes up to meet mine. “That’s the risk you take.”

He met my stare. “I’ll take it. Next time; I promise.”

I released him. “Go home. You can do your assignment now.”

He took a quick breath and headed toward the door. I watched him as he rounded up his things. From the door he
turned back to me and said softly, “Good night, Brian.”

I looked away, and he let himself out.

***************************

When I sent him home, it was intended to punish him for lying, for pushing responsibility on me that I wasn’t going
to take. It wasn’t till after he was gone that I realized it was my loss as well. All we’d done so far was eat dinner - I
hadn’t gotten off once that evening. And I’d been looking forward to Justin all day.

I thought about the other options that were available to me – there was no shortage. I could head out to the clubs or
the baths, or trawl the net, or call one of the endless numbers I’d acquired somehow. But I didn’t bother. I’d been
expecting Justin. No one else was going to come close.

***************************

At work the next day, I reached for the phone to call Linds. I thought I might as well let her know that I didn’t have
a problem with Justin seeing Gus. Tell her to give him a call and invite him over.

I imagined telling Lindsay that, and in my mind I could hear her response. Her soothing, maternal concern. She’d
assume I was trying to find a way to see Justin again, to cross paths with him casually through Gus.

I winced at the thought. No way. I took my hand off the phone and went back to work.

Part 10

After that, things seemed to fall more into place with Justin. I called him over the next time I had Gus, which
thrilled both of them and made me pretty happy myself since it split the workload in half. Who am I kidding, it
probably cut it down to a third. I wasn’t complaining, this one time, but Gus is my responsibility and I knew that in
future I’d be doing my share.

Justin brought a copy of his school schedule with him, and taped it to the fridge. He didn’t say anything about it but
I figured it out for myself. From then on, when I wanted to see him I’d take a quick look at the schedule to find out
when he’d be free. And I made more of an effort to ask if he was busy or had schoolwork to do, when I called. He
often worked on assignments at my place, on the nights when I stayed in to do my own work and called him over to
make it more interesting. Sometimes I even had him over when I didn’t have work to do but still felt like staying in
for the evening.

He took to doing more around the loft, sometimes asking first, sometimes not, and I didn’t stop him. Certain things
became understood as his responsibility … cooking meals and keeping the fridge stocked, looking after Gus’s
things. He seemed to take notice of any small service I was about to need and do it quietly, without fuss. It was
tempting sometimes to keep him there just to have him at hand.*

Gus being around once a week gave us someone to talk to when he was there, and talk about when he wasn’t. The
sense of common purpose broke a lot of tension, and the whole conversation thing started to come a little easier for
me. Gradually I found myself learning more about Justin’s life away from me, how things were going with school,
and even some of what he’d been doing in those months when I’d lost all track of him. And he started asking me
questions, innocuous ones about what I wanted for dinner and whether the videos were due back tomorrow, and
bigger ones about work and my mother and Gus. I answered when I felt like it and didn’t when I didn’t. But he
never asked me about Lindsay or Melanie or any of the old gang, and I never volunteered anything.

I was starting to become uncomfortably conscious of the way I was hiding this thing with Justin. It made me feel
something that seemed suspiciously like shame, and I knew that meant those waves of revulsion and regret couldn’t
be too far behind. Why was I going to such lengths to avoid letting anyone know about this? And I was going to
lengths now, I knew it … at the beginning, perhaps, I didn’t care, or it didn’t seem relevant to anyone else, but by
now I realized I was covering up. I had changed the lock on the door of the loft so that no one could surprise me
there. On mornings when Linds came by to pick up Gus, I sent Justin out early so he’d be gone before she arrived.
And although I had taken to giving Justin rides to school after he stayed over, I never offered when I had to pick up
Michael or drop off Gus.

And then there were the times when we saw each other in public. It’s true that I rarely ran into him anymore when I
was out at the clubs – and it wasn’t hard to guess that he was keeping out of my way on purpose. He knew as well
as I did – better, maybe – what I was avoiding. But still, there were days when I had to drop by the diner to keep up
appearances. And there was a look Justin had, when he came over to take my order, that could cause a sudden ache
in my chest and make me drop my eyes to avoid his clear, steady, undemanding gaze. He was so careful to
accommodate me, to betray no sign of intimacy, even as I felt him looking right through my defences and forgiving
my weakness.

I knew I wasn’t going to be able to leave things like this for much longer, if I wanted to avoid that nauseating feeling
of self-disgust. And yet, every time I considered acknowledging Justin in public, I was overwhelmed with visceral
images of the reactions I expected – pity, disbelief, disdain, disappointment, triumph. I couldn’t stand the images,
and I couldn’t get beyond them.

***************************

I still let Justin do all the cooking, but some days I’d hang around the kitchen while he worked, on the off-chance
that I might absorb something useful through osmosis. I found myself asking questions, providing input, and
occasionally being put to work on some routine task. Keeping an eye on what he was doing helped to make sure he
kept the calorie count down.

One day, as we sat over dinner, Justin – finishing his plate before me, as always – put his fork down, gave me a long
sober look, and said, “Brian, I’d like to make a proposal.”

Fuck! I stared at him as every muscle in my body tensed instantaneously. He saw my expression and burst out
laughing.

“Oh, god, not like that … it’s nothing to worry about, really.” He was still laughing. But I wasn’t.

He grew serious again. “It’s an economic proposal, really.” He got up, walked behind me and started massaging
my shoulders. The least he could do, really, considering the havoc he’d just created there.

After a minute, when I still hadn’t said a word, Justin leaned over and looked into my face. “Brian? Have I really
given you a heart attack, or can I keep going?”

I raised my eyebrows, still speechless. He took that as a yes, but was careful to keep up the soothing work on my
shoulders and neck. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the money I owe you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Give me a break, Justin. I already told you not to worry about that.”

“I know, but I do. We both know I’m not going to be in a position to re-pay you for a long time. And meanwhile,
the interest is accumulating.”

He paused for a moment to let me think about that. I used the time to admire his resourcefulness in suggesting that
my loan was creating an economic burden for him.

“I told you my father’s got the tuition covered this year. I’ve only been doing around 15 hours a week at the diner,
just enough to make a little spending cash.”

He stopped and moved in front of me again, pulling up one of the chairs next to me. “I took a call from the
housecleaning service yesterday. They told me Elena is leaving and they’re going to have to assign you a new
cleaner.”

“Justin,” I warned irritably as I started to see where he was going.

“I know what you pay the service, Brian – I asked, while I had them on the phone. It’s more than twice what I make
at the diner.”

I was already starting to shake my head, but he picked up my hand and said in a low voice, “Just hear me out first.
Please, Brian. I won’t argue with you, but just let me finish.”

He waited only the briefest of moments before rushing on. “If you hired me directly and paid me at half the rate you
pay the service, the amount you saved would equal the interest I’m accumulating. I’d be making the same as I do
now working the same number of hours, your total cost would be the same only half would be covering the interest I
owe you, and I’d stop getting any further into debt.”

I sat there staring at him. For about two seconds I was too impressed with his ingenuity to be annoyed. Then I
remembered the terms of our deal, and felt a stirring of resentment at the idea of being manoeuvred one more time.

He launched in again, cutting off my thoughts at the pass. “I know it sounds like I’m asking you for something now,
but I’m not. It’s just a proposal that I thought we could both benefit from, and I’m not going to argue with you
about it. I’m especially not suggesting you owe me this so I can save on my interest payments down the line.
There’s other things I could do to make more money, better-paying jobs, and I’ll start looking for them if you want
me to.”

He gave me a challenging look, and paused just long enough to draw a new breath. “But you have to admit it would
be easy and painless all around if you agreed. Painless for me since I won’t have to look for another job, and
painless for you since you won’t have to break in a new housecleaner. You know I already know a-a-all of your
habits.” I swear he said the last part seductively, dragging it out to make it sound like a reference to more than
domestic habits. “And that’s it, I’m done,” he added quickly, giving me a tentative smile. “If you choose to say no,
you won’t hear about it again. It’s your call.”

This time he stopped for good. He sat still and looked at me, still holding on to my hand.

I looked at him expressionlessly for a minute while I considered all of this. And then I gave him my most mocking
smile and said pointedly, “You want to be my houseboy.”

I could feel Justin’s hand tighten on mine as he met my sardonic gaze without guile. “Yes,” he said simply.

That one word, the simple, shameless admission of his desire to serve me, made my breath catch in my throat and
my dick stir. A moment later I felt myself put my fingers up to my eyes, and I knew I’d lost. “I’ll think about it,” I
said harshly.

It was a pathetic attempt and we both realized it. To his credit, Justin stopped himself from smiling. He just nodded
seriously and picked up the plates and took them into the kitchen.

When he came back I was still sitting where he’d left me. With a deliberate motion he pushed the table away from
my chair and calmly climbed onto my lap, straddling my legs. He took my head in both of his hands and leaned
down to kiss my mouth firmly. I pulled back a little, not sure I appreciated his boldness, but he kept his hands in
place, meeting my gaze with a mixture of brazenness and submission that made my head spin and my throat

constrict. And by now, he must have realized the effect his confession had had on my cock because he was pressing
himself against it as he leaned down slowly to meet my lips again with deliberate, delicate insistence.

I could feel my resistance dissolving and in a moment I gave in, opening my mouth to push back against his lips
half-angrily as I slid my hands up under his shirt, dragging my nails across his back and pulling him closer towards
me. He coaxed my tongue into his mouth, snaking his own against it, sliding his hands up to support my head and
hold my mouth against his. After a minute he loosened his grip and moved away slightly to pull his shirt over his
head and drop it, then leaned down again and covered my face with rapid, fiery kisses. My hands had dropped to his
hips, pulling him further onto my lap, grinding our cocks together through our clothes. His breath caught when he
felt what I was doing and he stopped suddenly and looked at me, biting his lip, dropping his hands to my shoulders.
I could feel him holding himself back, giving me a chance to make the next move.

I wrapped my arms around his back to cushion him slightly and shoved him to the floor. He started to pull me down
with him, then changed his mind and reached for the waistband of his pants to push them down before my full
weight was on top of him. Then his hands were on my shirt, my jeans, forcing everything out of the way till he had
free access to bare skin. I pushed down against him as he raised his hands to my face and reached up to press his
lips hotly against mine. And then his mouth was beside my ear, shallow breaths causing ripples of vibrations, his
voice coming in short gasps.

“Brian … “ he rasped urgently, “you know you own me … I belong to you … ”

His words drove me deeper against him, my hands forcing his shoulders to the floor, my knee thrusting his legs up
and apart, my cock grinding against his ass.

His hands still held my ear against his mouth. “I’m yours, only yours, always yours"

I couldn’t take any more of it; I pulled my head out of his grip, pinned his arms to floor, and shoved his legs up to
his stomach. I could see his eyes glazing before I covered his mouth with mine, cutting off any possibility of more
words. Then I leaned up, grabbed my discarded jeans and fished around in the pockets for the supplies. He reached
for the condom in my hand but I didn’t allow it, leaving him to pant shallowly, catching his breath and reaching
hungrily with his mouth for my throat and jaw, while I rolled it on. His hands pulled down on my ass, trying to
force me into him, and I slowed myself down, determined to establish who was in control. Then I heard the deep
moan in the back of his throat, heard him take in a long breath … and I shoved my mouth back against his to stifle
the words before they left me completely helpless. Fuck it, forget proving anything … I pushed my lubed fingers
into him, feeling his cries like a tremor against my lips, and concentrated on getting him ready. When I was sure he
wasn’t going to be saying anything coherent, I took my lips off his, slid inside him while he gasped unintelligibly,
and began an urgent rhythm that would bring us both to completion before he could do anything else. Thank god he
came before I did, because I knew I wouldn’t hold out much longer.

When it was over, I collapsed on top of him. It couldn’t have been very comfortable for him, but fuck, that’s what
he got for making me take him on the floor. I stayed there until I could feel the hard, unyielding wood of the floor in
my own bones, but still he didn’t complain, just traced lazy circles on the muscles of my back. When I finally raised
my head and looked down at him, he met my gaze with a serene, sated smile that asked for nothing and conveyed
pure contentment. I almost laughed, looking at him.

“You going to stay here all night?” I teased.

His smile barely changed. “Are you?” he asked simply.

I laughed and pushed myself up slowly, my muscles already complaining. “I don’t think so … whose idea was that,
when we were two feet from the sofa?”

He laughed, not answering me, and getting to his feet a lot faster than I did. Ah, youth.

“I never brought you your coffee or dessert, did I, Brian,” he chided himself playfully, heading toward the kitchen.
But I put out a hand to catch him and pulled him over to the sofa with me, where we settled in for a much longer,
and considerably more comfortable, second round.

Part 11

The terms of the housecleaning deal were hammered out within a few days. Justin asked to spread his hours out
over the week, since that would fit best with his school schedule. I agreed to two hours a day, provided they were
while I was at work. He didn’t argue, but pointed out that given his schedule there were a couple of days when he’d
still be there when I got home. I conceded this irritably and made a point, at first, of going out early on those nights
so he didn’t automatically assume he’d be invited to stay. But it all became a bit moot as Justin soon abandoned any
pretence of a schedule and starting doing whatever needed to be done, whenever it needed doing and whenever he
was around. He’d explain at first, saying he had to work on a project during the day, or meet with someone … but I
cut off the excuses when they got tiresome. It was strange at first, but then I got used to him jumping out of bed and
running off to wash the floors or polish the furniture or something, while I caught my breath or went back to my
work.

And I made a few concessions. I gave him his own key to the loft door so he could let himself in during the day,
while I was at work. And I learned to juggle a bit to make sure no one dropped by while Justin was working. Once
in a while he’d call to ask if he could drop by in the evening to finish up some work, and though we never spoke
about it specifically, I knew he wanted to help me avoid any unexpected meetings.

On days when I got home from work while he was still there, Justin inevitably asked if he could make dinner. At
first I’d say no, since – pointedly – I was going out early. But he persisted, and eventually I admitted to myself that
his cooking was better than anything I was going to get “out”, so I changed my tactic and stayed home to eat, then –
pointedly – left immediately afterwards. That never seemed to faze him, though; he’d just ask if he could stay
behind to finish up some chore he hadn’t gotten around to earlier. He was always gone when I got home – unless I
told him to stay – so I let it go.

Over time, I became so used to Justin’s familiar, industrious presence that I often forgot he was there.

***************************

I had to say something about his hours though. I was on my way out one night when he did his usual, “OK, seeya
later, I’m just gonna stay and finish the bathroom,” thing, and I couldn’t help but make a rough tally of his hours for
the week – I counted at least 20 so far, and it was only Thursday.

I stopped at the door. “Justin,” I said sternly. “You understand, I’m not paying you any more, no matter how many
hours you work.”

He looked up from the sink where he was washing dishes, and almost laughed. “I know that, Brian.”

I frowned. “This better not be cutting into your time for schoolwork, either.”

He shook his head, trying to hide a smile. “I’m on top of it, I swear.”

I still wasn’t satisfied. “You know it’s your choice if you do this stuff. I’m not going to feel obligated.”

He seemed amused at my perplexity. “I hope not.”

I stood there, trying to figure it out. “If you think this is … “

He suddenly flicked a handful of water at me from the sink, and it worked. I broke off, wincing.

“Give it up, Brian. You know perfectly well I’m doing this because I want to. It’s not a plot against you. Get over
it.”

I brushed the shoulders of my coat and glowered at the puddle on the floor.

Justin rolled his eyes and grabbed a cloth. “Yeah, I know, no water on the hardwood.”

As he came over to me and bent to dry the floor I grabbed his chin and pulled him up for a kiss. When I was done, I
had to remind myself that I was on my way out. He didn’t say anything, just stood, smiling, and watched me as I
left.

***************************

I called him when I got in that night. It was late and I was a little high, but I found myself wondering again about
what he’d said earlier.

His voice on the phone was slow and sleepy, but no less warm for having been woken up. “Want me to come over,
Brian?” he asked languidly.

“No, it’s okay … ”I answered, though it occurred to me that wasn’t such a bad idea. “I was just thinking about what
you said earlier.”

“Mmhm,” he murmured, waiting for me to go on.

“Do you really do all this stuff because you like it?”

“Why else?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know, that’s what I can’t figure out.”

He laughed. “Stop worrying about things all the time – quit feeling guilty. Why can’t you just take what’s there
without wondering what the catch is?”

I thought hazily about my night at Babylon, the alcohol and chemicals, the trips to the backroom … desires gratified,
cravings indulged. “I do pretty well at that. People don’t usually tell me to feel less guilty. I’m the self-indulgent
hedonist, don’t you remember?”

He laughed again. “You only do that because you spend all the rest of your life worrying about what other people
think of you. You’re the most self-conscious person I know.”

“What?” I was having a hard time following this after everything I’d ingested that night. “Are you saying I live a
life of debauchery because I care about other people’s opinions?” I knew I was a bit wired, but this wasn’t making
any sense.

His voice was low and soothing. “You take on a lot of other people’s expectations, that’s all. Once in a while you
might want to stop thinking about what other people expect of you or what price you’ll pay for something and just
do what you want.” *

“Like with you.” I was pretty sure that’s what he was getting at.

“Yeah, with me. You know, I used to spend a lot of time worrying about what other people thought of me too.
Life’s a lot easier since I’ve stopped.”

“But you’re the one that … ” I began, and stopped abruptly.

Justin sounded fully awake now, his voice serious. I’m the one that what, Bri?”

“That … wanted me to pay a price. After offering everything for free for so long ….”

For a moment he was silent, then he spoke with quiet assurance. “I made a mistake, Brian.”

I shook my head, still trying to clear my thoughts. “So now you’re giving me extra housecleaning hours for free to
make up for it?”

He laughed. “Something like that. Look, does it bother you that I’m there a little more than we agreed?”

I contemplated that, frowning with the effort. “No.”

“And you know you can stop me if you want to, right?”

“Yeah, I know, you keep telling me.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Damned if I knew. Other than that I was having some drunken debate with Justin over the phone instead of fucking
him.

“Nothing, I guess.”

”So we can drop it, right?”

“OK.”

“You want me to come over?”

“No, I’m about to pass out.”

He laughed again. “OK. How about if I come over in the morning then, is that okay?”

“Whatever. Night.”

I dropped the phone and fell asleep immediately. Good thing Justin was there in the morning to get me to work.

***************************

I was finding myself asking a lot more questions these days. It seemed like Justin had all the answers, and the more
I heard his calm, certain responses, the more questions I wanted to ask him.

It also wasn’t hard to see that he was growing more self-assured. More and more I heard that confident, playful
voice I used to know so well. I kind of liked it, and it didn’t bother me because I knew I could get the other Justin
back whenever I wanted. Actually I knew that because I tested. Every now and I again I’d throw a sharp word at

him, and he’d immediately back down and concede whatever point was under discussion, lowering his eyes and
changing his tone. It never failed. So when he started coming out with the smart-ass comments and familiar digs
about my age, I wasn’t too worried.

It didn’t stop me from grousing though. “Whatever happened to that subservient little boy who lured me in with his
promises to obey my every word?” I asked once.

“He’s still here,” Justin answered promptly. “I’ve noticed you bring him back whenever it appeals to you. I just
think you get bored with him pretty fast. You’re much happier with someone who pisses you off now and again, so
you have a good excuse to make sarcastic comments and act annoyed. You know that’s your best look.”

I caught myself trying to give him an annoyed look, and laughed. “But what if some days I just want someone
who’ll do what he’s told?”

He grew a little more serious. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

“Puts a lot of pressure on you, doesn’t it?”

“Keeps things interesting.”

“But what if you get it wrong and I get really …

He cut me off. “That’s my job to deal with. It’s not for you to worry about.” He gave me a sultry look and added in
a purr, “And if I get it wrong now and again, you can always correct me.”

***************************

He was working in the kitchen one evening when I took a break from the computer to go and get myself a drink. As
I passed behind him, I dug an elbow into his ribs so that he jumped and dropped the spoon he was stirring with into
the pot. “Fuck, Brian!” he griped, fishing it gingerly out of the hot liquid. “Can’t you keep your hands to yourself
for one minute?”

It wasn’t exactly convincing, and I smirked as I reached into the fridge for the juice. I poured a glass and leaned
against the counter to drink it, watching Justin work at the stove while he directed a halfhearted frown in my
direction.

“So what would you do if you really were pissed off at me?” I asked him with sudden curiosity.

“I’m pissed off at you all the time,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“What?” I said, somewhat surprised. “You are?”

“Sure … he said. “Like, every time you walk across my nice clean floors without taking off your shoes …

I winced disgustedly. “You’re such a little housewife.”

“Houseboy,” he corrected me firmly, suddenly turning around. He shot me a grin and next thing I knew he had me
practically backed over the counter, his mouth on mine so forcefully that I had to struggle for breath, and his hand,
of course, right on my dick. When he let me up and went back to work he was laughing. “We have way more fun.”

I pushed myself off the counter, smiling despite myself. “Whatever.”

He was already at the stove, concentrating on the sauce again, but I was still unsatisfied.

“Seriously, Justin. You know what an asshole I am - what are you going to do the next time I do something really
vicious and you’re so pissed off you can’t stand to look at me? What are you going to do then?”

He looked at me curiously. “When are you going to do that?”

I shrugged. “Tomorrow, next week, next month, what does it matter? We both know I will.”

He gave me a faint smile. “Some time in the far distant future, when you’re still letting me hang around?”

“It’s not going to be that long.”

He nodded and turned back to the stove. “You’re right. It wasn’t.”

I smiled a little, sardonically. “You mean it’s already happened.”

“Of course. That’s the way you are.”

“So, what? You’re just going to bite your tongue forever?”

I heard that word, forever, echo in my mind. What was I thinking?

“No.” He put the spoon down abruptly and turned back to me, deliberately, leaning against the stove. “You’re
right, sooner or later I won’t be able to stand it.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, looking down. “I don’t have it planned. Yell at you, probably. Sulk, maybe.
Be cold to you for a week.”

“Or walk away.”

He raised his eyes and held my gaze firmly. “No. That’s the one thing I can guarantee I won’t do again.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve tried it once already. I had a lot of time to assess its effectiveness. And I won’t try it again.”

That seemed like a good answer to me. For a moment we stood there, looking at each other evenly, him with a
steady, defiant look, me feeling myself start to smile. “Maybe you should try the sulking approach. That can be
really hot.”

He shook his head, turning back to the stove. “Yell. Definitely yell.”

***************************

Lindsay was coming by at 8 one morning to pick up Gus, and Justin had stayed over the night before. As usual, I
told him without explanation to be out by 7:30. Justin nodded expressionlessly, as always, and headed for the
shower without comment.

While he was gone, I put on my robe and went to the kitchen for coffee. I sat at the counter, listening to the sounds
of Justin getting ready and thinking about what it felt like to be gutless. It was something I’d never experienced
before. It felt like shit.

Justin came out of the bedroom, dressed and ready to go. He glanced at the time – he had ten minutes to spare –
then went into the kitchen to get himself a coffee. As he passed me on the way back, I suddenly grabbed his arm,
stopping him. He glanced at me curiously.

“Don’t you … doesn’t this bother you?” I asked.

His expression grew impassive. “What, being kicked out early?”

“You know what I mean. Leaving early so that no one… so that I don’t … “

He sat down on the stool beside me, watching me, waiting to see if I’d finish. I didn’t. After a moment he said
calmly, “No. It doesn’t bother me. You’ll do it when you’re ready.”

For some reason, I found myself thinking about Justin’s life outside of the loft. He had school, his own apartment,
friends, art … a whole life out there that was completely separate from this. Suddenly I felt claustrophobic –
trapped in the loft, hidden, afraid to be seen in public with someone I did so much with in private.

“Justin?” I asked abruptly. “Wouldn’t you like to … I don’t know, go out somewhere sometime? With me?”

“Wouldn’t I?!” he repeated disbelievingly. He stopped himself quickly and went on more quietly. “Of course I
would, Brian. I’d love for you to come and see some of my projects, or – or, I don’t know, go out for a beer with me
and meet my friends.” He paused again, thinking about it, then smiled at me reassuringly. “When you’re ready.”
He brushed his hand against my thigh, glanced at the clock, and got up to go. “Whenever you’re ready, Brian,” he
said as he left.

***************************

I was trying to figure out what to wear one Saturday morning, while Justin made the bed and straightened the room.
He was in one of his annoyingly sunny moods, retrieving accessories for me helpfully without being asked and
making bright, admiring comments about everything I considered.

“What the fuck are you being so cheerful about?” I asked sourly at last.

He paused and looked at me, and I could see him trying to contain his smile. “Jeeze, I’m sorry, was I being
cheerful?”

“You think I’m going to hang around with you today.”

He shook his head immediately. “No, I know you’re not, Saturday mornings are for the gym with the boys, so you
can make up for all my cooking last week, and then – I don’t know but you’re always gone for the day.”

“Yeah, you can’t wait till I leave so you can hang around here without me.”

He was laughing openly at me now. “Yeah, that’s right, the loft without Brian, my favourite place to spend a
Saturday morning.” He tossed the pillows on to the bed and went on mockingly, “I wander around all day, saying,
there is where he sat and watched the movie last night, and this is the cup he drank his coffee out of, and here is the
perfectly smooth place on the floor where he tripped yesterday … “

Did I look like I was in the mood for this? I grabbed his arm as he passed me and spun him around forcefully. “You
are seriously looking for trouble this morning.”

“Yeah, and I know where to find it,” he said quietly, his eyes still dancing irrepressibly as they met mine.

I frowned at him darkly as I let him go. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

“No. I was trying to cheer you up, but I realized my mistake.”

“Well, stop it.” I headed for the loft door, not really looking forward to my morning at the gym. The guys
inevitably asked me a lot of questions about how I was doing that made me feel like a world-class hypocrite. “Some
days I don’t know why I put up with this. I should just get rid of you, at least I’d have some peace and quiet.”

I was almost at the door, pausing to add over my shoulder, “Don’t be here when I get back.”

“OK.” To my surprise, he was standing directly behind me, looking solemn. “Are you really getting rid of me?”

I stopped and glowered at him. “Did I say I was?”

“No, you just said you should. So I wondered.”

I started to leave again, feeling vaguely disquieted.

From behind me, Justin said gently. “Because you could, you know. You could get rid of me anytime if you
wanted to.”

I turned back around slowly, feeling that sudden stab in my chest that made my head spin and my breath grow short.
And as I turned, he threw his arms around my neck, fervently, consolingly. “As I intend to keep reminding you.
You can get rid of me whenever you want. It’s your choice if you let me stay.”

Somehow I found my arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer against me. By the time we had finished
kissing I was ready to skip the gym and get my work-out fucking him. His smile was back, and he knew what I was
thinking, but if he was feeling any sense of victory it didn’t show. His lips slid across my face, along my jaw, and
down my throat in a long, slow, unrestrained foretaste of what could come.

Just as I was about to push him back to the bedroom he pulled away slightly, just enough to speak. “Go to the gym,
Brian,” he breathed. “I’m yours, you can have me anytime, whenever you want. Two hours from now, tonight,
tomorrow … just tell me when and I’ll be here.”

It was the exact opposite of victory, it was complete surrender; but somehow that was when I began to realize he
was winning.

Part 12

We lay in bed one night, catching our breath and gathering strength. I saw Justin’s contented smile and found
myself wondering, not for the first time, how he was able to put up with so much from me.

I leaned up on my elbow to look at him and said curiously, “Why do you put up with this, Justin?”

He turned his head toward me in surprise. “With this? You mean waiting around for you to get your strength back?
Hey, I know you’re … “

I jabbed an elbow into his side before he could get to the “old” part. Jesus, he was acting more like the brat he used
to be every day. I had to remind myself that at one point I’d missed it. “You know what I mean.”

He grinned at me, not answering right away. Then he leaned back and stretched out languorously, like a cat. “Don’t
worry about me, Brian,” he said finally. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

I smiled a little. “I know you are right now … but what about all the rest of the time? How can you live like this?”

For a moment he seemed almost provoked. But he turned on his side to face me and met my eyes seriously. “It’s
not that hard. I know what I’m doing. I’ve had a lot of time to think about things, and I know what I want. This is
it.”

As always, I found myself lulled by the certainty in his voice, and was ready to drop the subject. But after a
moment, he spoke again.

“Brian?”

I turned to look him.

“What about you?” he asked softly. “How are you doing with all of this?”

I was caught off-guard for a second – Justin never asked questions like that. I was surprised to find that it didn’t
really bother me; I just lay silently for a minute, thinking about it, while he waited quietly beside me. Then I
reached out, put an arm across him and pulled him slightly towards me. He slithered back into my arms
accommodatingly, and I almost felt like I’d answered him well enough. But in the back of my mind I was still
thinking, and from the way Justin leaned back slightly to look at me, I knew he was trying to read my expression.

I sighed and stroked his hair, thinking I might as well just admit it. “I don’t like hiding this,” I told him honestly.

For an instant he seemed to stop breathing, and I could understand why. It wasn’t like I’d ever talked about this
before. I turned away from him, onto my back, and he followed me slowly.

After a moment he murmured, “You know you don’t owe anyone any explanations, Brian.”

I shrugged a little, impatiently. I didn’t really want to discuss it. “I know I don’t – but covering up is not my style.
And it feels like shit.”

He put his hand up to my face. “But you can tell people whatever you want … about me,he whispered. “It’s not
like you’ve … taken me back. I mean, you just let me …

The whole conversation was making me uncomfortable. Rolling over, I pinned Justin underneath me, trapped his
hands on the pillow above his head, and looked down at him until I saw the concern in his eyes melt into desire, and
I knew the discussion was over.

***************************

And then, one day, I forgot.

Until my dying day, if someone asks me when things changed, I’ll tell them it was when I forgot.*

Justin left a voicemail for me one Thursday to say he had something to do during the day on Friday, and could he
drop by in the evening instead? I didn’t object, since I’d already planned to meet the boys at Woody’s that night.

On Friday evening I barely heard Justin when he let himself in; I was in the bedroom concentrating on getting ready
for my night out. When the phone rang later and Michael said he and Ben were in the neighbourhood and could
they pick me up on their way to Woody’s, I agreed without thinking about it.

So I was standing in front of the full-length mirror by the computer desk, making a few last-minute adjustments,
when the outside door buzzer rang. Still not thinking, I went over, said hi to Michael and Ben through the intercom,
pushed the button, and slid the loft door open.

It was only afterwards that I realized Justin shot me a look when he heard their voices and saw me buzz them up. It
didn’t register at the time; he was so much a part of the background by then that I wasn’t even aware of him.

Michael and Ben must have seen Justin the minute they walked through the door. I turned around languidly to greet
them and caught Michael’s reaction. His shock and astonishment were so transparent that it could have been
comical, under other circumstances. Even Ben did an obvious double-take and then stared at me.

I actually had to follow their gazes across the room to realize what they were reacting to. Justin was at the opposite
end of the loft, where he’d been cleaning the floor. He stood, frozen in their eyes, the mop still in his hands. For a
moment the loft was like a still tableau, Michael and Ben at one end, Justin at the other. And me in the middle.

I felt blind-sided. It had to be a set-up – Justin knew they were on their way; he’d heard me on the phone. He could
have prevented this. Anyway, he must have known something like this would happen at 9 on a Friday night – he
was too smart and too calculating not to have guessed it would happen sooner or later. He must have had it planned.

Inside, I could feel a growing wave of white-hot anger mixed with humiliation and a rising sense of betrayal and
exploitation – trapped again in one of Justin’s webs. But I caught myself. Justin might be the master of strategic
manipulation, but I’ve always been able to control my emotions.

I turned back to Michael and Ben with a cool, oblivious smile, and said, “Hey guys. What’s new?”

Mike switched his stare from Justin to me. “Jesus, Brian, when did you … “

Ben cut him off before I could, with a jab to the ribs. “Hey Brian. Hi Justin. Hope we’re not disturbing you.”

My detached smile flickered slightly as I realized what Ben was suggesting. “Not at all,” I answered, making a
point of sounding amused. “I’m all ready to go.” I forced myself over to the kitchen and asked calmly, “Drinks?”

Michael still hadn’t recovered, so Ben answered again. “No, why don’t we get going? The others will be waiting.”

I shrugged, grabbed my jacket, and paused by the mirror to give myself a cool once-over before joining Michael and
Ben at the door. As we left, Ben asked gently, “Justin, are you coming?”

I hadn’t expected that. Despite myself, I turned to stare at Justin. He hadn’t moved; he still stood in the far corner,
watching us with an unreadable expression. At Ben’s question he shook his head abruptly, then said quickly, ever
polite, “No, thanks, Ben … nice to see you guys.”

Watching him, I saw his eyes shift, almost imperceptibly, to me, and for a split second we were locked in a stare. I
realized that he was waiting, expecting me to say something. Trying to tell me what to say. But I wasn’t interested.
I turned away abruptly, shepherding Mike and Ben through the door.

We headed to the stairs, but at the last minute I said casually, “Oh, hey – I forgot something. You guys go on ahead,
I’ll just meet you there.”

I saw the knowing looks they exchanged, but by that time I no longer cared. I turned back, listening to make sure
they continued down the stairs, then went into the loft.

Justin still stood where we’d left him, staring at the door. He didn’t say anything, but I could see the apprehension
in his eyes as he watched me come in.

I walked straight over to him, my eyes meeting his steadily, my emotions having changed from white-hot to cold as
ice. I knew what to think now.

“Brian … “ he began nervously as I drew close to him, but I cut him off calmly.

“So this was it all along,” I said, almost appreciatively. “This was your plan. Well, way to go. It worked perfectly,
didn’t it? A perfect trap.”

And at that moment I truly could see it all, with the clarity of a scene from a movie: Justin’s whole agenda spread
out before me, like I was looking right along a straight path that led inexorably from the moment he accosted me in
that empty parking lot nine months ago to the instant Michael and Ben walked through the loft door and saw him
standing there.

He started to shake his head. “Brian, no, how could I have planned this?”

“You knew fucking well they were about to walk in here and see you.”

“I thought you did too!” His answer was so fast that I knew he was panicking, not realizing how defiant he sounded.
He caught himself and added quickly, “I mean, I thought – I thought you were doing it on purpose.”

“Don’t talk back to me. Like this is what I wanted them to see. Good fucking work, Justin – now the whole town’s
going to know I’m fucking you again. Just like you wanted, didn’t you?”

“No,” he said miserably.

“I knew better than to get dragged into this. I always knew you had a fucking agenda. Now I know what it was.“

“Brian, I didn’t.” His voice was rising in alarm, reacting to the steely resolution he could hear in my tone. “I didn’t
have anything planned. Or at least, not … “

He broke off and stared at me in sudden dismay. For a moment we stood looking at each other, me with dawning
realization and him with mounting fear.

“At least not what, Justin?” I asked coolly.

“At least … “ He looked away from me, like he was trying to escape. And finally he finished in a tiny voice, “ …
not that. I didn’t plan for it to happen like that.”

After a second’s pause he tried to continue, but I cut him off.

“But you did plan it. So you’re admitting you set it up.” Somehow, the confession didn’t make me any angrier.
Maybe there was nowhere left for my rage to go. Instead I almost felt light-headed, relieved, freed by the final
confirmation that I’d been right all along. Justin had always had a plan.

I turned around and walked calmly to the door. “Take everything with you when you go. You won’t be back.”

“Brian!” He sounded stunned.

I paused and glanced back at him. “Don’t call me. Don’t let me see you around. Don’t try to contact me.”

I had reached the loft door by the time he caught up to me. “Brian, wait!” I could hear the desperation in his voice,
and I pulled the door open quickly. I just needed to step outside and leave him behind and it would all be over.

Behind me, Justin spoke in a rush, sounding frantic now. “You’re right, it’s true, I did have a plan. I admit it – I
wanted them to see me, if not tonight then some time … but not like you think, I swear. Not as your … your
boyfriend.”

I stopped despite myself and looked at him uncomprehendingly.

He managed to slow himself down slightly. “I didn’t want them to think you’ve taken me back, I’d never suggest
that. I wanted them to see me as I am, as your … your houseboy.”

When I still didn’t say anything he went on, pleadingly. “Don’t you see, Brian? You wanted to stop hiding things,
this was your chance. All you had to do was let them see what I am to you, that I’m only here on your terms. Then
you’d never have to worry again about … about people thinking you gave in to me.” He was watching me, trying to
see if I was getting it yet. “Jesus, Brian, I was cleaning your floors,” he whispered finally. “I asked for the chance
to serve you this way. All you had to do was tell them that. Why didn’t you just say it?”

I looked at Justin, alone in the middle of the loft, looking tiny and vulnerable and terrified, until I couldn’t stand it
any more; my mind was shutting down against the effort of taking in what he said. I spun around, through the door
and down the stairs, wanting only to get away from it all.

When I reached the street I wasn’t thinking; all I knew was that I needed a drink, something to wash away the
memory of the scene I’d left behind. The last thing I wanted was to see Michael and Ben again, so I headed in the
opposite direction from their car and stopped at the first bar I found. My brain had pretty much stopped processing
from the moment I left the loft but, ironically, the first whiskey seemed to clear my thoughts. By the time I started
on my second, I almost seemed to be functional again.

I paused, and drank more slowly, gradually letting my mind turn back to that last conversation with Justin. And
finally I realized what he was trying to tell me about what he’d wanted to do. It was true, he did have a plan, I was
right about that. But I’d been wrong about the goal. Only now I recognized his real agenda: he’d wanted to
sacrifice his own pride to let me salvage mine.

I got up and headed back to the loft.

Part 13

“Justin.”

He was on the floor in front of the sofa, leaning against it, his head buried in his arms on the cushions. Crying. I
could tell that from the way his shoulders were shaking, though he made no noise. Crying like someone would
who’d put up with the terms of our deal for the last nine months – only to lose everything just when he thought
peace was at hand.

All the way back from the bar to the loft my outrage had grown at the thought of Justin’s intended sacrifice and the
idea that he considered me capable of accepting it. Did he really think I was so pathetic that I’d try to save my own
pride at his expense? Did he really believe I needed his help that way?

But now, looking at him, I saw only a desolate, defenceless kid, not the confident, calculating opponent I was so
used to. As I walked over to him I could feel my outrage dissipate in a haze of adrenaline. The thought of his
gesture – the perfect symmetry of orchestrating his own public humiliation in exchange for the one he’d caused me
that night at the Rage party* – no longer made me indignant or resentful. Suddenly I was overwhelmed, humbled
even, by the purity of his self-sacrifice.

He jumped when I spoke, turning around to stare at me, his eyes red, his face streaked with tears. I saw a mix of
emotions in his face, surprise and fear and guilt and anxiety, but mostly what struck me was the tiredness in his eyes.
For once, he looked like he wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever was coming next.

“Justin,” I said again, more gently.

He took a breath, and I could see him try to gather his strength. “Brian, I’m so sorry, I … “

“Shh.” I moved across and sat down on the sofa beside him, picking up his hands in mine. “Wait a minute. It’s
okay, Justin. I just want you to tell me something. Did you really think I’d go along with that? Did you really think
I’d expose you to my friends, just to … to salvage my pride?”

I watched him as he shut his eyes and shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know. I didn’t know. I just wanted to
make it easier for you.” He opened his eyes and seemed to suddenly seize the moment. “I swear, Brian, I swear I
didn’t plan what happened tonight. I didn’t hear you on the phone, I had no idea they were coming over – and when
you let them up I thought you knew I was there, I thought you did it on purpose. I would never have tried to set up
something like that on purpose.”

“I know,” I said quietly. And it was true; I finally knew it.

He took a shaky breath and went on. “If I did plan anything … it was only because I wanted to make it easier for
you. I just thought that if I was around enough you might have a chance to … take advantage of the situation. All I
wanted was to give you a way out.”

I sat for a moment, looking at Justin and thinking of all those months I’d spent expecting the worst, waiting for the
other shoe to drop. I’d never really trusted him, I’d always suspected him of plotting something. It had never
occurred to me that his only plan would be to plumb the depths of his own selflessness to free me from my fears.

He had shifted his position, and now he was looking up at me from his knees, his hands still in mine, his eyes
pleading. “You seemed so unhappy, I just wanted to find some way to make you feel better.”

I pulled him up quickly, onto the sofa beside me, and then into my arms. His body molded itself to mine instantly,
his arms flew around my neck and he dropped his head on my chest like he was too tired to hold it up any longer.

“That’s your downfall, Justin,” I said, stroking his hair. “You’re always trying to fix things.”

He didn’t answer, just clung to me like I was a lifeboat and he was adrift in the ocean. I held him for a few minutes,
and then I started talking. “It’s okay … it was my fault, not yours. You never would have thought of it if I hadn’t
been acting so pathetically for so long. It was my fault for not dealing with it myself.”

He wasn’t answering me, or even moving; he just lay against me with his eyes shut.

“But it’s all over now,” I said finally, firmly. “Come on.” I put my arms on his shoulders and pushed him slightly
away. “Let’s get going to Babylon and make our entrance.”

He stared at me in dismay. “Babylon!” he repeated. “Oh, Brian, don’t make me go there tonight … I’m a mess,
look at me, you don’t want to be seen with me at Babylon tonight.”

I laughed a little. “Ever the princess. You can take a shower, get cleaned up, you’ll be fine.”

He leaned back against me, laying his head on my shoulder, and once again I felt his weariness. “Please, Brian …
can’t we go to the diner tomorrow or something? I’m so tired. I feel like I’ve run a marathon tonight. I know the
guys are waiting for you, why don’t you just go ahead … “

I stopped him with a kiss, then put his head back on my shoulder and held him while I thought about it. Michael and
Ben were out there and I didn’t doubt they were talking; the news would be everywhere by morning. All my
instincts told me to take the lead, get everything over with while I could still control it. I could see the two of us
making an entrance at Babylon that would at least provide a little drama and style to counteract all the months of
hiding. And Babylon meant less talk, more being seen; another advantage over the diner. I could just imagine the
scene there – the stares, the questions, everything I’d been dreading …

I looked down again at Justin, who looked for all the world like he was going to fall asleep in my arms, and thought
about the rollercoaster of emotions he’d already been through that night and the tiredness I’d seen in his eyes.

“Were you about to give up, Justin?” I asked finally. “Have you had enough of this?”

He opened his eyes and looked at me. “There’s never enough, Brian.” He sighed and reached up for my face.
“Sometimes I don’t know if I’m doing anything right. But I could never give up.”

I caught his hand, and found myself pressing his fingers to my lips. His eyes widened, and I began to gather him in
my arms. “You’re saying you want to stay in tonight.”

He nodded, still holding on to me, and I stood, picking him up – Jesus, he’s not getting any lighter – and managed to
carry him to the bedroom and lay him down. I almost felt like leaving him there, letting him sleep, but his hands
tightened against me as I started to release him. “You want me to stay, or do you just want to sleep?” I asked quietly

“Stay with me.” He was already reaching for me, pulling me down on top of him, and I wasn’t arguing. For once I
didn’t even feel like playing; all I wanted was for him to get his strength back. I realized now that he was finally
hitting a wall, reaching the edge of his limits. It was time for me to start taking on some of the load.

I lay on top of him and kissed him, softly but steadily, starting with his mouth and moving slowly to the rest of his
face, then downwards. I wanted to rejuvenate him, to transfuse my own strength, my own sudden certainty and
understanding and conviction, back to him through every point where our bodies touched. I wanted to cover him
completely, I wanted him to feel me on every part of his body. I held him down with my weight, forcing him to
remain still and accept my ministrations. And for a while he lay under me without moving, peacefully, the tension
draining from his face.

Then … “Brian!” he said abruptly, his eyes suddenly open and staring into mine.

I stopped and looked down at him.

“Is it really over?” he asked, his voice small but faintly hopeful. “You’re really not mad at me? You’re not going to
find some new way to punish me tomorrow?”

I went back to what I was doing, sliding down his neck to the cleft of throat and along his collarbone. “No.”

He couldn’t move his hands because I was still holding them down, but he turned his head from side to side, trying
to stop me, or at least slow me down. “I’m not going to come in next time and find you fucking some trick in front
of me to make your point?”

I looked up at him. “No. I don’t have another point to make.”

He sighed again and I watched his eyes clear and his expression grow calm. But he still had more questions. “Are
we going to the diner tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

He wriggled a little against me and gave me an almost mischievous smile. “Do I still get to be your houseboy?”

Fuck. I moved back up to his face. “Yes,” I said, as I covered his mouth with mine, the only sure way I’ve ever
found to keep him quiet. I could feel him laughing against me and struggling to lift his arms, and when I finally

came up for air he whispered, “Please let me move my arms, Brian … you don’t know how much I want to hold you
right now.”

I let him. He wrapped his arms around me and I could swear he was stronger already.

***************************

I could have done without the diner scene, which turned out to be everything I'd anticipated and more. But there
was no turning back. Justin was quiet all morning, and so was I, engrossed with wondering who would be there, and
when, and what was the best way to make our entrance. Finally, when we were both ready and he was starting to
look at me uncertainly, I just took his hand and we walked out of the loft and along the streets to the Liberty Diner.

As I expected, everyone was there. The grapevine must have been humming last night. Even Linds and Melanie
had turned up, with Gus, along with usual crew. Debbie was standing at their table; we were obviously interrupting
them in mid-gossip. The rest of the diner looked more full than usual, though it might just be ego that attributed that
to me.

I could feel Justin’s hand tense in mine but I was ready for it; I strolled calmly over to the booth where seven pairs
of eyes were trained on us. The eighth belonged to Gus, who was too busy pouring ketchup onto the cutlery to look
at us. I slid onto one of the benches, pulling Justin along behind me, and took the ketchup bottle smoothly out of
Gus’s hand.

“Hey guys. Who gave him this to play with?”

To be honest, after that it was a bit of a blur. I remember a cacophony of questions and comments and a fair amount
of outrage, most of it from Michael, and yeah, many of the looks I’d been dreading all along – Lindsay’s expression
of sympathy bordered on pity, and I couldn’t miss Mel’s smugness or Ted’s cynical amusement. I could see the
disappointment under Mikey’s annoyance, and I caught Emmett giving Justin a concerned look and asking him
quietly if he was sure he knew what he was doing. But it was all worth it for the relief and freedom I was feeling for
the first time in months. And for the brightness in Justin’s face as he took in all the stares and questions and
expressions of disbelief, and the quick glance of pure pleasure he shot at me when we caught each other’s eye for a
second in the midst of the storm.

At one point, I remember, Michael leaned across the table towards me, caught my attention and said intently, “Brian,
I just want to know. After everything he’s done to you, what are you doing with Justin again?”

It was one of those moments where suddenly everyone is listening, all the other conversations end and the whole
room waits for your answer. Only I didn’t have one. It was an obvious question – I should have been prepared for it
– but I wasn’t. I’ve never been very good at working out the details. There was a long pause while I looked away
and tried to think of something to say.

And then Justin spoke. “I think … “ he began tentatively.

I turned to him. He was watching me hesitantly, waiting for my approval before continuing. Well, I had no
objection … out of ideas myself, I was curious to know what he would say. I lifted an eyebrow at him interestedly,
and he smiled and looked at Michael.

“I think he’s forgiving me,” he said.

Of course Michael had no response to that, though Emmett did. He jumped in with, “He’s not the one to be doing
the forgiving, honey,” and that set them all off again, thank god. I gave Justin a quick smirk and a thwap on the
back of the head and mouthed, “fixing things again” at him. He grinned back, trying to look apologetic but not
being very convincing about it.

Eventually they all started heading out, until only Mikey and Ben were left with us. When Ben kissed Michael and
said he’d see him later, I knew what was coming. I gave Justin a nudge in the ribs and said quietly, “Hey, don’t you
have some school work to do?”

He nodded, but held my eyes with a patient, expectant look until I added a little wickedly, “And don’t you have
some, um, chores to finish at my place after that? Why don’t you drop by later?”

He grinned, wincing a little – maybe it was the idea of almost being outed – though I knew it would go over Mikey’s
head – or maybe it was the reference to last night’s misadventure – then gave me a quick kiss, with a sidelong,
almost apologetic, glance at Michael, and headed out, ducking Debbie as he left.

And then I faced Michael, ready for the tirade I could see was coming. I did my best to deal with it squarely,
answering some questions, deflecting others, telling no lies but not all of the truth, and accepting his remonstrances
with equanimity. Yes, I’d been seeing Justin for quite a while, and no, I didn’t tell anyone else, and yes, I realized

what he did, and no, I didn’t think he was a manipulative little twat (at least, not as of last night, though I didn’t add
that for Michael), and yes, I knew Michael was my best friend, and yes, I knew that best friends are supposed to talk
to each other. I didn’t have any explanations for what I’d done, so I didn’t give him any. But by the time we were
done I think he was over it, and I was out of the doghouse.

I glanced at my watch as I left the diner, feeling a sense of efficiency and accomplishment – barely noon, and I’d
already made it through two scenes today. Now I just had to go to the gym and after that I could spend the rest of
the day in guilt-free indulgence. With Justin.

***************************

For a few days afterwards I was content just to revel in that liberating feeling of having finally done the right thing.
Justin was around non-stop and although we could finally go out now, we mostly stayed in, hardly leaving the
bedroom, talking about nothing that mattered, and never thinking beyond the next few minutes. I felt free for the
first time in months, relieved of the twin burdens of hiding from my friends, and mistrusting Justin. No, it was more
than just being sure of him. I was sure of myself as well.

Everything had changed, but I wasn’t in any hurry to work out the details yet.

Part 14

“Stay or go, Bri?” Justin asked quietly one evening, as we lay in bed. He still asked, every time. Sometimes I
wondered if he was serious, or if it was just an ironic reference to how things had been before.

I looked at him slowly, from the other side of the bed, then put a languid arm around him and pulled him over. “Do
you need to ask?”

“I don’t know,” he said, with a flash of a smile, as he slid over to me. “Do I need to ask?”

Definitely ironic. “What do you think?”

He was still smiling. “I did before.”

“Well, things are changing,” I let go of him a little and added lightly, “We couldn’t go on like that indefinitely,
could we?”

He was looking up at me curiously now. “Like what?”

I smiled sardonically to match his irony. “Like you being my little love slave.”*

He laughed. “Is that what you call it?”

“Whatever. I know you’re not going to be that … obedient … anymore.”

“Why do you think that?”

I looked down at him sharply. He was watching me with a solemn expression, and suddenly I felt that familiar catch
in my throat. “Justin …

“I wasn’t putting it on, Brian,” he said, in that firm, certain voice I knew so well. “It wasn’t an act.”

“But it ... but that’s not who you really are, I protested, hoping I sounded as sure as he did.

“Come on, Brian,” he said, and now his tone was half defiant, half amused. “How do you think I could be so damn
good at it … if I didn’t really like it?”

I could feel the muscles in my jaw tense with the effort to stay calm. “That’s crazy,” I said finally, trying to argue
reasonably. “I’ve known you for almost three years – you’re the strongest person I know. You’re independent,
you’re outspoken, you stand up for yourself. That’s what you really are.”

“I know what I am.” He looked at me with the same even gaze he’d used that first night in the parking lot. “But
that doesn’t mean I always have to be like that with you.”

I shook my head in frustration. “I never said I wanted …

He cut me off. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what I want. And I’m tired of feeling like I have to prove
something by standing up to you.”

He wasn’t making any sense. “When did you …

“Like that’s the only way I can make you take me seriously.” He was watching me, waiting to see if I was getting it.
“By making rules. Making demands.”

I got it all right. “Justin, don’t … don’t think you have to change who you are just because things got fucked up last
time you stood up for yourself. Last year.”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t standing up for myself. I was … listening to other people, doing what I thought I had
to. I was pushing you for things that didn’t even matter to me. I just thought they were supposed to.”

“But …

“I’m not saying there aren’t things that matter to me. There are, lots. I’ve told you that.” He sighed and pressed up
closer to me. “But I’ve had plenty of time to think things through, and I know what I want now.”

This time he stopped and waited. I tightened my arms around him, my head spinning a little. “So what do you
want?”

He looked up at me, as if to ask if I was ready. “I want to be yours. Without having to prove anything. Just like I
have been for the last few months. It doesn’t make me any less strong or independent … or …” he broke off to give
me his impish grin, “… any less of a brat than I ever was.”

I nodded despite myself. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”

He gave a low laugh. “Call it what you want, Brian, call me obedient, call me your love slave … ” He was
definitely mocking me. I covered his mouth with mine and he broke off, laughing again, to kiss me back. And then
he pulled his head away slightly so he could finish what he had to say. “It’s what comes naturally to me. It’s what
makes me happy.” He leaned back down, and now I felt his mouth press against my ear and the light touch of his
tongue tracing the skin as he whispered, “And it makes me hot … you know that, right?”

For a moment I didn’t answer, just held my arms around him, wondering if he was ever going to stop making me
feel this way. “Yeah. Me too.” And I moved against him, giving in, as always, to the certainty of his surrender.

***************************

Later, I lay in the dark with Justin beside me, remembering the things he’d said and wondering if I was finally ready
to start working out the details.

I thought back to that day in the parking lot so many months ago, and everything that had changed since then. I
remembered how sure I was then that there’d be a price to pay, just like there was before, and that I’d never pay it.

Now I realized things would never be like they were before … and if there was a price, it wasn’t the one I’d been
expecting. Maybe it was negotiable.

I could feel Justin stir beside me, and knew he was awake. Maybe now was the time to start.

“Hey,” I said, uncertainly.

He opened his eyes to look at me, and I guess he could see what was coming because he half-smiled, half-sighed,
and pulled himself up to lean against the end of the bed.

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” he said, yawning a bit. “That’s never a good sign.”

I leaned up to join him against the headboard. “Seems like there’s a lot left to figure out.”

He laughed. “Well, don’t try to do it all at once, Brian … it’s just going to make your head hurt.”

“I’m just trying to establish the basics.”

“OK. There’s plenty of time to work out the details later,” he said, definitive as always. “What are you worrying
about right now?” He looked at me intently, but I didn’t answer. There were any number of things I could name.
Why pick one?

He took a guess. “The tricks?”

I shrugged. Sure, that would do for a start.

He shook his head. “So you like to have sex with other guys. It’s not that big a deal.”

I wasn’t buying that this time. “Sure it is, to you.”

“No, it’s not.” He suddenly curled up against me, his arms around my waist, his head on my chest. “This is a big
deal. Do you do this with other guys?”

I looked down at him, still skeptical. “What?”

“This.” He kissed me a little. “Make out with them afterwards. Lie in the dark talking. Wake up in the morning
and do it all again. Do you want to do that with anyone else?”

“No.” I stroked his hair, smiling.

“Well, let me know when you do. That’s when we’ll have a problem.”

We were quiet for a moment. Finally I asked him, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Aren’t there things you’re worried about?”

“Sure. I’ll let you know when they come up.”

“But … what are you going to tell people – your family, your friends? They’re going to figure it out eventually.
That you’re … ” I tried to put it as gently as possible, but I still had to laugh, “ … being my houseboy. Or that I’m
still with other people sometimes. You know what they’re going to say …

He shook his head. “Brian, I told you. I stopped worrying about what other people think a long time ago. And I
never cared as much as you do. Those things are private. I don’t owe anyone any explanations.”

“But next time you’re unhappy about things … how do I know you won’t do the same thing again?” I asked after a
moment.

“What, leave you for a younger guy?” he teased.

I tightened my grip on him. “You know what I mean.”

”I won’t do the same thing again.”

I sighed. “This must have been a long nine months for you.”

He leaned back against the edge of the bed. “Not really,” he said after a moment. “I knew what I was doing. It was
just a matter of waiting to see whether you’d ever come around. I knew it could take a while. It might have been a
lot longer.”

“There must have been times when it hardly seemed worth it.”

“I never doubted that.” He smiled at me. “No regrets, Brian.”

I smiled back, wondering if I could say the same. OK, maybe there were a few things I wished I hadn’t done. But
taking that deal in the parking lot … that wasn’t one of them.

He was still watching me. “Anything else?”

I thought about it, remembering the things he’d told me earlier. I could see now how much there was left to
negotiate. All the things we still had to work out. It could take a lifetime to deal with all the little adjustments, the
compromises, the nuances, the tiny balances of power and control that would make this thing work. But maybe
that’s what was going to keep things interesting. He was right, we didn’t have to do it all at once.

I had one more question though. “What about all those things I wouldn’t tell you?”

I could feel him react to that. “What about them?”

“Do you still need to hear them?”

He was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said at last. “You don’t need to say anything.” He looked at me and it was all
I could do not to turn away from the intensity of his gaze. “It’s still your choice if I stay or go. You could have
made me leave any day for the last nine months and you chose not to. I just want you to make the same choice,
every day.”

I pulled him into my arms and kissed him forcefully, amazed as always at the way I could feel him yield against me.
Finally I asked him quietly, “How do I know you’re always going to love me like this?”

He looked up at me, more serious than ever, folding his arms across my back and holding me like he was afraid I
was going to run away. “You don’t,” he said gently. “I can’t guarantee you that, Brian.”

That wasn’t the answer I had expected, and he paused for a minute as I stared at him. “No one can guarantee that,”
he went on at last. “People fall out of love all the time. I can only tell you that I can’t imagine a day when I don’t
love you like I do now.”

I pulled away from him abruptly and leaned up against the headboard. No wonder I didn’t do love. How do people
live like that? How was I going to live like that?

He must have been reading my thoughts again. He leaned over to me and took my face in his hands. “That’s the
risk you take,” he said.

I reached up to move his hands away, feeling myself start to shake my head.

But Justin was watching me fearlessly. “Brian, you’ve never walked away from anything dangerous in your life.
You’re the most risk-taking person I know. I’ll never believe you can’t take this one.” He stayed where he was,
across the bed from me, and I knew he was waiting to see if he was right.

I held myself still for what seemed like a long time, thinking about what he said and what he was offering me, about
where we’d come from and where we were now. About risks and regrets. And finally I realized he was right. I
could take the risk.

I opened my arms and let him come in.

END