Moth for The Star

Hello! Here is the next chapter as promised. Any comments (even realllly harsh criticism!) would be MOST appreciated, as I am a terrible judge of my own work! *hugs* There is also a VERY unexpected P.O.V … I shall let you discover :D So, without further ado, here it is! WARNING: it might make you cry (it did me!) (??) :‘-(

610 - Arise And Unbuild (Chapter 10)

* The next day * November 2006

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
- Shelley


Pittsburgh
JUSTIN:

I opened blurry eyes to see the high ceiling of the loft lit with morning light. Momentarily confused, I had to blink a few times before I remembered. Realized with a flip of my stomach that it is not a dream, not another fantasy; that I really am here, have been here for a month, in the loft and back where I belong.

As the sense trickled into my limbs, I turned my head to my right to see Brian lying quietly, still asleep, unusual for him because he is a restless sleeper at the best of times, but I remembered he had been up in the middle of the night with me as I silently fretted about what Deb had so gracelessly said at my party. He was on his side, facing me and the tall windows beyond the bedroom, and the sunlight fell dappling onto his ghostly pale skin, an alluring 9 o'clock shadow darkening his jaw. His features were relaxed, the faint lines were smoothed from around his eyes and he looked so innocent and peaceful. His silky chestnut hair caught the light and shone subtly, making me yearn to touch it. His hand lay beside him on the pillow, long fingers gently curling, palm soft and smooth. I stayed and watched him for a minute, listened to his gentle breaths, the sound of which I knew as well as my own voice. God, I had missed him. As I felt the warm sun on my back, and resisted the urge to kiss him awake, I made a promise to myself that I would never again be so deluded, would never again force myself to give up the one thing that meant the most to me in the whole world. Would never again lose my lover, my mentor... and my best friend.

A short time later, as I padded out of the bathroom and down the steps of the bedroom toweling my hair, still trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake Brian, I noticed an answer message flashing on the machine. With the volume down low, I pressed ‘enter’ and stood with folded arms, biting my lip, as it played.

“…Justin? Is that you honey? … It’s Debbie. I don’t know what happened last night, but I could kick myself for upsetting you. On your birthday too!…I just shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. …Justin, Sunshine. Please come and talk to me. Let me make it up to you? …Listen, um, I will be in the diner today, please come over.”

The line went dead and I sighed, placing my hands in the small of my back and stretching my neck skywards until I saw the hefty wooden beams above me. It wasn’t her fault I blew a fuse. I knew that. It was entirely mine, for being in denial, for refusing to think about any of it, for wanting to block out reality and being a sensitive selfish queen. And yet her fatalism still shocked me. The way she seemed to have accepted defeat and already written Brian off. I shuddered. Even in the warm clear light of morning, an icy fist of dread clenched in my stomach at the thought of losing him. Not now, not when I have just got him back. Oh god please not now.

I went to the kitchen and made a pot of strong coffee when I heard Brian moving in the bathroom. Shortly he came down to join me, dressed in grey pants and a maroon v-neck top, which hugged his beautiful frame and made my cock stir with lust. He paused by me, leaning to give me a lingering kiss on the cheek and I smiled: it was so comfortable, so homely, so husbandly. Not that I would say that to him, of course, so I just rested my hand on his back and pulled him in slightly before stepping away and holding up the jug.

“Want some coffee?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. I feel like shit.”

I grinned at him as I poured our drinks. “So prancing around in the early hours doesn’t suit you any more then, old man?”

His hand lowered as he raised his eyebrow and gave me a pointed look. “There are those of us who have to save the damsel in distress when she suffers from determined insomnia, little boy.”

I welcomed the mutual teasing; it defused the situation and made me forget about last night, and more importantly, the reason for last night and all the worries that came with it. But when I looked at Brian he really did not appear well at all, he had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and I felt a momentary twinge of emotion: guilt for keeping him up, gratitude for having such a caring boyfriend, and a great appreciation for his discreet yet invariable support. He was always there for me, quiet and undemanding, casual yet unwavering. His hands were cold as he took his mug from me and he was silent, contemplative as he sipped it. I looked at him.

“Are you feeling ok?”

Brian groaned. “No, I told you, I feel like shit, remember?”

He was silent for a moment then he put his cup down, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes met mine. I went back over, pressing myself against him, gently rubbing his back, breathing into his jaw and lightly kissing the bump of his Adam’s apple, feeling the soft vibrations of his voice through his chest as he continued:

“The doctors are gonna try out some new drugs to help with the nausea.”

“That’s good.”

“Hmn”

I stopped stroking Brian and brought my arms down around his waist, holding him close. He sighed deeply and buried his face into the curve of my neck. As he exhaled I could feel his hot breath against my skin; my mouth was against his ear and I spoke in a low voice.

“You know I love you, right?”

I said it simply, stating a fact. It was still hard to say after the emotional upheaval of yesterday, because it re-opened a floodgate, created new possibilities, re-established old ties. But I said it unsmiling, and as Brian pulled away from me I watched him with seriousness. I saw the tiniest fleeting glimpse of surprise in his guarded eyes before he glanced away, then back. He said nothing, but after a moment, he dipped his chin in the smallest of nods, biting his lip and briefly stroking my shoulder. I continued to look at him.

“Good. Don’t forget it.”

And with that I moved away and changed the subject, knowing that a display of shameful sentimentality would not be appreciated. My hand caught his in a lingering caress as it slipped from my upper arm and I walked past him, talking over my shoulder. “I am going to the diner this morning. I’m going to talk to Deb.”

He leant against the counter and scratched his head. “Is that a wise idea?”

“She wants to meet me. She left a message earlier.”

“Ahhh.”

Shortly afterwards, I pulled on a sweater and my coat, slipping my bag over my head and glancing over to where Brian was concentrating on his computer screen. He had declined my invitation to come along, saying he had work to finish for a recently rather neglected Kinnetik, which Ted had been struggling to run on his own most of the time. I was glad of the space. I had no idea how my ‘conversation’ with Deb was going to go: whether I would apologize like I meant to, or whether I would become angry again. My emotions felt like fragile rags, blowing in a reckless wind. One push too far and I would break. As I called goodbye, buttoning up my collar, I forced a smile that I knew Brian could see right through. Sometimes I loved him so much; the fact that he did not question me, did not demand to be privy to my problems even though he probably suspected he was partly their cause. He just nodded and gave me a quick smile before turning back to his work. His eyes were uneasy, light brown-green orbs in the autumn light, and I pivoted on my heel, closing the door behind me, not wanting him to see the internal struggle that took place in my chest. Oh for him to be well again, for the chemo to work, for us to be left alone. Haven’t we been through enough shit already? Maybe God is a gay-basher too.

***

THE DINER

A tall lanky man in a leather jacket swerved to avoid an unbalanced tray, which was being carried by Kiki the waitress as she tottered past the counter in stilettos. He threw his hands up in theatrical protest as a plop of yellow milkshake landed on his pink T-shirt, looking after the unsteady drag queen who screeched a “Sorry!” over her shoulder as she was propelled forward by some unseen force, just managing to put the tray down on the expectant but surprised table before grabbing the end of the bar and regaining her balance. Debbie came through from the kitchen with raised eyebrows, surveying the startled faces and pink-and-yellow masterpiece with a grin before cracking her gum in amusement.

“Kiki hun, maybe lay off the high-heels at work tomorrow sweetie?”

And then, as the radio cheerfully started playing a Christmas carol, voices rising in festive incongruity, washing over the still quiet diner, jarringly out-of-place in the sunny morning:

“I am so sick of that goddamn song! I don’t understand why the fuck they do that! They have to start celebrating Christmas so early beforehand that when it eventually does come around, everyone’s sick of it!

The radio, oblivious to the attention it was attracting, blared optimistically on, cheerily welcoming the little lord Jesus into the world and ringing the bells of reindeer harnesses. Debbie glared at it while she got the Milkshake-Leather man a napkin. It was a quiet morning in the diner, only a couple of customers huddled in distant booths, and she could see the wind outside blowing a music to which the trees danced, the last few withered leaves falling in a fire of reds and oranges. Debbie liked autumn, it was colorful, like her, and it brought back fond memories from her childhood wading through piles of crackling russet vegetation in green wellingtons, scarf prickling warm around her neck.

The bell on the door tinkled and Debbie looked up to see Justin entering, his cheeks flushed from the cold, fair hair almost white. She still could not get over how much of a man he had become; it seemed only yesterday to her that he was an exaggerated skinny youth, all expressions and gestures and storms of emotion, but now as she looked at him, he had grown into himself. His physique was stronger: although he had not grown much more in height, his whole person was more in proportion; a man’s body. However, it was the way he held himself, the maturity in his self-possession, the calm confidence beneath his still boyish features which struck her the most. His expression was careful and apologetic as he caught her eye and came towards her.

“Deb…”

Debbie put down the napkin she had been holding. “No, Sunshine. … Let me. Look, come here.”

She pulled him into one of the furthest booths, quiet in a corner, and sat opposite him, taking his large hand in hers and running her thumbs over the back of it, looking earnestly into his bright blue eyes.

“I had no right to say what I did, kiddo. I realize that. You know me, always puttin’ my foot in my mouth and sayin’ what I shouldn’t.”

Justin mustered a small smile and shook his head. “No Deb, I was wrong to have shouted. I shouldn’t have got angry. You were only trying to help me. It is my fault I was too closed to hear it. There is nothing wrong with speaking your mind, in fact I’ve always admired you for it…”

Debbie cut him off. “Justin, Sunshine? Stop right there.”

Justin looked up at her.

“What you did was because of what you feel. And that can’t have no restraints. You can’t impose rules on emotions, just like you can’t measure ‘em. So don’t ever be ashamed of caring for someone. Love ain't easy, kiddo, but nothing's more worth the trouble.”

Justin swallowed and nodded, a weak smile playing at his lips. Debbie stroked his cold cheek with the back of her hand as she continued.

“You know as much as anyone that I don’t go for pessimism. So why I said what I did last night, I don’t know, but hear this, Sunshine. Brian IS gonna get well, because I told God if he didn’t I’d rip God’s balls off” She chuckled. “If he has any. And God has always been wise enough to listen to me in the past. So, I won’t think any more shit thoughts like that, if you won’t. Deal?”

At that moment the beautiful blonde in front of her would have looked 10 years old if his expression had not been so burdened with tiredness and worry and responsibility. He gently squeezed her hand back, and Debbie could feel the powerful muscles in his palm.

“Deal.”

Debbie smiled and patted Justin’s face, but then she frowned at him.

“One more thing. Don’t you ever shout at me again, you little shit. Y’hear?”

The look of surprise on Justin’s face quickly changed into a laugh and Debbie pulled him in for a hug, feeling the strong forearms coming around her waist, and running her hands along the faint bumps of his spine. He had always had a rather bony back, seventeen of her triple chocolate November specials, that’s what he needed.

***

* 1 week later *

JUSTIN:

A week later and Brian was still feeling worse. He had an appointment booked for a scan to see if he needed more chemo, something both he and I were dreading. Although I had noticed him become quieter than usual, I said nothing, knowing how he hated to be pampered, and just tried to be there when he was in pain, or feeling weak, or nauseous. I came in one afternoon to find Brian on the sofa, left knee drawn up, one arm protectively around his stomach, the other hand holding my cell phone. He was looking at it thoughtfully and I put my bad down on the kitchen counter before walking over to him, kissing his hair and smelling the shampoo he always uses, before sliding my hand down his neck and along his shoulder in a fond greeting.

“Hey”

“Hey yourself.” He glanced at me amusedly out of the corner of his eye, but I sensed something troubled beneath the surface and moved my gaze to my phone in his hand.

“Oh that’s where it is. I didn’t know I had left it here.”

He twirled it in his slender fingers before sighing and holding it out to me, working up to what he was going to say.

“Your Dad called. It was ringing so I answered and I think he wanted to speak to you. Anyway, he didn’t sound to happy to hear me.”

He gave a dry laugh and I looked at the screen. Unread text.

Brian saw me. “Yeah, I think it’s him. I didn’t read it. Thought you might like to open Pandora’s box yourself.”

He stood up gingerly and leant to kiss me on the lips, his hand warm on my back as I perched on the back of the sofa, and then he headed for the kitchen and put the kettle on. I walked slowly towards the steps of the bedroom, my phone extremely heavy in my reluctant hand, hesitating, wondering. The sender ID was withheld, I could see that much… but did I really want to hear what he had to say? I absently took off my jacket and suddenly I felt Brian behind me, wrapping his arms around me, locking his hands on my stomach and kissing my neck. I leant back against him, holding onto his arms. He buried his face in my hair, inhaling languidly as if savoring my scent, and I forgot the about the phone and felt his broad chest gently rising and falling against my back. Nothing equaled this feeling. Nothing came close to this staggering coalition of love and hope and fear and passion and this deep, incredible tenderness that filled my body whenever I was with him. He smiled in my ear.

“You smell of fresh air.”

I twisted my head back, winding my hand into his hair and sliding my tongue in to his mouth, feeling the soft warmth there and wanting to kiss him so hard that we became one, to kiss away the doubt and sickness. Our teeth clinked as he smiled against me, his lips opening to my tongue, and I turned completely in his arms until I was facing him and continued, pushing it deeper into his mouth, my hands behind his head, taking it slow and easy, eyes closed with the pleasure. I said silently with my mouth all the things I wasn't meant to say out loud. I love you. I won’t leave you. I know things are bad right now but I've got you. He let out a sigh and I took a step forward, pushing him gently until the backs of his knees touched the bed, and then when he sat down on it I pressed him backwards, laying him down on the navy coverlet with me on top of him, nestled between his legs and holding myself up on one elbow as I sucked at his lips, his tongue, licked his teeth and the roof of his mouth.
When Brian’s hands found their way into my hair, tugging gently, passionately running through the shortish mane, holding my mouth right where it was, I gave a slow gentle thrust, lazily moving my hips, rubbing my hard cock against his groin, eliciting a breathy moan from his lips. I had always loved making out with Brian, I could come just kissing him.

I felt the tension leave my body, just the feel of Brian’s flesh beneath me, the knowledge that he was here and that I loved him relaxed my shoulders and freed my mind. I became aware again of his hands caressing my hair and I opened my eyes to look down at him. Our faces were inches apart and his eyes were dark with lust and vulnerability; he was unguarded, just lying there under me, looking up into my eyes, and I felt for a moment as if I had lost myself in him, forgotten my body and was floating, helpless. Brian was breathing in gentle gasps and I pushed my nose into his neck, breathing in the scent of his clothes and skin and arousal, before bringing my mouth back round, kissing his neck, his jaw and finally his mouth again.

It went on a long time. I felt the pleasure in my groin building as I struggled to keep myself from ramming against Brian. Oh for this to go on forever, in a cocoon of sweat and spit and love, shielding us from reality, taking us to another place, a beautiful place. Brian sucked on my tongue and clenched his fists in my hair as I came, my clothes still fully on, my lips fixed to his, my cry lost in the depths of our mouths, my arm trembling from holding myself so steady. We lay for a long moment in the silence until I heard Brian sigh and felt his fingers slide from my hair. He brushed the side of my mouth is a chaste kiss and lay his head back down on the bed; his whole body conveyed exhaustion and I raised my hand to brush the damp locks away from his forehead before easing myself off him and heading for the bathroom to clean up and change my pants.

When I came out again he was sitting on the edge of the bed, long legs stretched out and crossed in front of him, smoking a joint. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he smiled at me and I laughed sheepishly, blushing slightly, like an embarrassed teenager. It wasn’t often anymore that I jizzed my pants, and I deduced that he took a roguish pleasure in it. Still grinning, I shoved his shoulder slightly in jest as I passed him, and then his face became serious and he held out my phone to me, the unread text staring out and burning a hole in my gut. I swallowed and took it from him.

“I’m gonna to go for a walk, okay?”

He nodded, and I pulled on my coat, wrapping a scarf around my neck and shoving the phone in my pocket, flashing him a nervous smile before pulling the heavy iron gate closed and hurrying down the stairs.


***

Once out in the chilly air, I headed for a bench on a quiet side road, sitting and pulling out my phone, not quite knowing why this meant so much to me. I hadn’t heard from Craig in over 2 years, why should I care if he contacted me now? My thoughts drifted back to when I had explained it all so easily to Brian as a naïve teenager: “Even if he gets angry, even if he isn’t always there, it’s better than not having a father at all”. I pursed my lips. What if your father hates you? What then? My hands were getting cold so I quit staring at the screen and flipped my phone open, pressing ‘read’.

‘Justin. Tried 2 call u earlier. Was surprised 2 learn that u are still with tht sick bastard. Thought u knew better. Was going 2 invite u 2 dinner 2 meet the wife + kids if u had grown up, but see now u haven’t. U disappoint me. Craig.’

I swallowed the golf ball that had found it’s way into my throat, staring at the hostile text in my hand for a long moment before closing my phone and rising from the bench, my feet unconsciously taking me down old routes as I strode angrily against the wind, lost in my thoughts. Presently, I found myself in a place curiously familiar to me; the old, now-deserted fairground Dad used to take me to as a kid.

A conspiracy of bushes obscured the aging machinery, dirty bits of rubbish waving forlornly to me from their withered skirts. A pearly mist blanketed the deserted park, swirling in the autumn light, and a Persian carpet of leaves covered the ground as I stepped through the bushes closer to that long-forgotten place. Silver skies illuminated the empty scene; the soft light was muted and quiet. My eyes moved over the shapes as it highlighted the silhouette of the broken fence and caressed the fairground. The sleeping rides were deathly still, rusty limbs stretched out over empty pathways.

The graying gates groaned with age as I pushed them open, elderly wood ridged and dry beneath my touch. I entered through them, as I used to enter, as so many people entered after me, in the dim shrouded world of happy summer days long past. I gazed around the cathedral of gently sleeping structures, towering over a dappled floor. The wind, in a gentle gust, swept up a lonely eddy of unrecognizable wrappers from long ago. The unkempt grass was yellowing and damp, partly veiled by the reds and golds of fallen leaves, and there was no sound save for the distant howling of the wind chasing over the common.

I thought I heard a child’s voice. A whisper of faint laughter, an echo of a once busy place. Then suddenly it was joined by others. A murmur passed through the fairground and as I watched, it stirred and woke. Colors were growing out of the mist! A glow swelled through the fog, brightening each cobweb and arousing each recollection. Grass burned green, stalls sparkled with painted shutters, rusty limbs spread pink, blue and yellow. I was laughing, a child’s laugh, turning dizzy circles in the vibrant realm of the fairground’s memory. Lethargic rides creaked into motion and the brightening merry-go-round was blown into a whirl of color, horses stamping and shining, leaping and bounding. I reached out, eager to touch a gleaming flank, but as my hand met the painted wood, it felt strange. Not the shiny smooth surface I saw, but rough and ribbed. So very wrong! The coarse grooves of old wood. Deprived of varnish and weathered beyond recognition. With my tentative contact, the recollection shrank back; the horse became a withered effigy of age. The ghost children stopped laughing. Memories. As I watched, my heart galloping and bewildered, the merry-go-round shed its colors one by one and ground to a halt, settling for a lengthy stand. The fading rides stopped turning and settled back down to their solitary sleep, limbs folding gracefully with a shudder and a gentle creak. A sigh passed through the fairground. The grass drew up its blanket of leaves once again, as if it too were bedding down. The closing and locking of a sparkling music box.

And I was left alone. All was quiet and still once more. My heart was calmer now, tranquil, as I stood in the deserted fairground; the grey sky was reflected in the now closed shutters, hanging off their hinges. Only remembrance. All was silent and still, save for the distant howling of the wind, and the steady clanking of a chain against the railing. Turning to walk back through the creakily sobbing gates, I breathed in the damp earthy smell of autumn, bidding goodbye to memories.

***

THE LOFT

If the light above the bed could see, it would have a pretty good view. From where it hung, it looked down onto the bedroom, and part of the bathroom, but beyond that, the rest of the loft was visible through the entranceways and slats, with its high ceiling and huge windows shrouded in gauze curtains. On the day Justin got a text from his father which he went out to open, the light figured the outcome would not be good, so when Justin left to read the text alone, it crossed it’s fingers for him. Or it would have, if it had any.

Brian sat for a while longer on the bed after his partner had creaked and rattled the huge door shut, pondering over his joint until it burnt down and Brian stubbed it out in the nearby ashtray. The light saw him rise and rub his forehead, no doubt pre-occupied with Justin’s Dad, the nasty fucker. Not that the light hated Craig, indeed, it kinda understood him. It knew that hatred comes from fear, and fear comes from ignorance: It had seen and heard about enough homophobes to fathom their mindsets, to grasp that Criag was scared and confused by something he had never before known happening in his own family. The sliding sense of losing control that happens to all parents hit Mr. Taylor especially hard, as his son turned out to be something he couldn’t talk him out of, couldn’t command, couldn’t understand. The light hung silently as Brian worked at his computer, now and again taking a sip of water, as if to fight waves of nausea, and at other times inhaling and rubbing his hip, occasionally swigging back a painkiller. Confidentially, it shed dim light into the growing dusk of early evening.

Eventually, Brian stood up, shutting of his computer. He looked weary, and a little faint as he held onto the edge of the table for support. The wall light saw his face, bloodless and drawn, scrunch in pain as he gasped for breath. Staggering to the bathroom, he fell his knees; he was shaking, retching into the empty stainless steel toilet. Hanging where it was, the light could see Brian’s profile, eyes staring, mouth grimacing with pain as he buckled over panting, clutching his thigh, where the scar from where they had hacked the cancerous part of his bone out was slowly healing. As the retching continued, the light could see Brian getting weaker, the strength fleeing from his limbs, the fight going out of him, and then he vomited a thin stream of red into the toilet bowl, and it kept coming. Blood splashed the floor as Brian gasped for breath between retching. After a minute, it slowed down, and the light could see Brian sit back on his heels, head hanging low and shoulders shaking with what? Pain? Shock? Exhaustion?

Just then, the wall light heard a blessed sound. It was the sound of Justin’s key in the lock, and the rumble of the gate sliding open. If Brian heard it too he gave no sign, only raised up again to spit another thin trail of blood into the toilet. Justin was calling Brian’s name, glancing around the flat as unwound his scarf and the light could feel his unease, sensing something was wrong, in the way his clear milky brow puckered into a frown and he strode earnestly towards the bedroom, towards the light. As he reached the bathroom and saw Brian gripping the toilet seat with white knuckles, Justin’s breath caught in his throat. The light thought Justin might choke as his eyes passed swiftly at the exhausted man kneeling on the floor, and the blood in the latrine, before he rushed forward and crouching down next to Brian clutching at his back, forgetting to be gentle.

“Jesus, are you alright? Are you conscious? Oh God, Brian, can you hear me?”

Brian gave a small nod, shivering, and the light could see the tears of terror in Justin’s eyes as he spoke in a calm, if slightly quivering voice.

“Hold on, Brian, I’ll get help, just stay there, you’re gonna be okay. Just stay with me.”

He pulled out his cell phone and the light heard the quick triple-beep of the three numbers being pressed. Less than 10 minutes later the flat was swarming with medics in blue uniforms, and the light felt slightly belittled by the huge sweeping flashes of red-blue illumination which pervaded the loft from the ambulance outside in the street. A stretcher was produced and hustled through the flat, while Justin stood back, helpless, twisting his hands together, his face a mask of fear. Soon, the shouted instructions and quick-moving figures and strange beeping instruments had gone from the flat, taking Justin along with them, and the light was left alone in the dark apartment, with only the inaudible ticking of the wall clock for company.


~ END OF CHAPTER 10 ~

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^_^