Moth for The Star

MOTH FOR THE STAR


612 – Healing Wings (Chapter 12)


* A week later * December 2006


Love, from its awful throne of patient power
In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour
Of dread endurance, from the slippery, steep,
And narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs
And folds over the world its healing wings.
- P. B. Shelley


The Loft
BRIAN:

Brian slid the heavy metal of the door aside and walked into the loft, slinging his bag down on the counter before halting and absently taking off his coat, looking across the huge room. What had caught his attention as over beside the bedroom, in front of the television. A big easel was set up, facing away from the door so Brian could not see what sat on it, but he could see Justin, who was half turned away, a feverish glow flushing his cheeks and his expression hostile and desperate. Brian stood for a moment longer, watching the younger man’s arm darting around the canvass, sometimes supported by his other arm. He was so beautiful when he was inspired, his pale hair was tousled and his eyes were so dark they looked like two frantic oceans. But the mess! There were open paint cans and tubes littered around the easel, paintbrushes were scattered across the floor, and a few failed attempts on canvasses were jutting out from their leaning-place against an armchair.

Brian took off his hat and ran his hand through his shorter hair. He had gotten it cut on the way home, a way to make the chunks that fell out in his hands less noticeable. The doctors had told him that he was lucky. “Sometimes chemo patients can lose ALL their hair. In your case the alopecia is mild and it will all grow back again soon!” Gee thanks, doc. Toeing off his shoes and leaving them by the entrance, Brian moved further into the apartment. If Justin had heard him come in he gave no indication of it, and Brian progressed slowly, cautious of Justin’s fragile mood.

“Someone’s been busy.”

A grunt. Brian pulled his lips into his mouth, aware that something was wrong, but unsure as to how to help.

“You’d better not get any of that shit on my floor.”

Justin looked up with a halfhearted smile and Brian saw with a jolt that his eyes were red-rimmed. He had been crying. Brian took a step forward, making to walk around the easel.

“No!” Justin’s hand was on his chest, shoving him backwards.

The blonde was wearing a pair of faded jeans that were too tight and fairly ripped, and a black sweater that was too big and hung down over his ass. All of him was covered in paint. Old paint, new paint, dry paint, wet paint. His hand, quickly withdrawn, was smeared with dry remnants of a desecrated rainbow. Brian stood still, surprised by Justin’s sudden movements, looking down at him and wondering what was going on. It was a long time since he had seen Justin this wired. The younger man was avoiding his gaze, wringing his hands. Brian, for a lack of anything else to do, reached out a hand to touch Justin’s shoulder, earning him a look of fury and an angry slap away.

“Don’t touch me!”

Then a softening, an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, Brian. I’m not angry at YOU, I just… You can’t see it. I … can’t show it to you. I never should have done it. Fuck, look, I’m sorry about the mess, I’ll clean it up now…”

Brian, seeing Justin’s hesitation, cut him off. “Sunshine. Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it. Now stop being a fucking princess and let me see the picture.”

Justin bit his lip, and then turned on his heel and walked back behind the easel, facing the canvas, his expression resigned. After a pause, Brian went and joined him. When he stood next to his partner and looked at the painting, it was all he could do not to huff in his breath in shock. They both stood gazing at the monstrosity before them for a minute before Brian spoke.

“Shit, Justin. This… this is everything.”

“Yeah.”

“I had no idea. This is what you feel?”

A choked voice “Sometimes.”

Brian was silent again, willing himself to turn away from the transfixing intensity of torment which radiated out of the slashed brush strokes of the painting. So full of desperation, and fear, and wailing anger were the vague shapes which dotted the dark surface, whilst behind there loomed what Brian could only describe as the most fucking disturbing use of paint he had ever seen. There were no particular shapes or entities on the canvass, but the very layers of color, and the angles that jutted in desperate reaching shards, and the swirling trapped unfair colors that fought to find peace but failed, were all so emotive it took his breath away. Justin sure had a way with art, Lindsey was right about that. Brian swallowed, knowing the reason for this overwhelming fear and desperation. Himself. The fucking cancer. Pittsburgh. Between which and New York Justin was trapped like a lost soul, unsure of where to go, what to do.

He turned to look at Justin, who had no words, only met his eyes with a look of dejected surrender. No more façade, no more pretending it’s all right. Brian forced down the guilt boiling in his chest and moved forward in one swift movement, enveloping the lithe body in his arms. He pushed his nose into Justin’s neck, breathing the scent of his sweat. Then he felt Justin’s shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and he held him tight, and tighter, and wove his fingers into the hair on the back of Justin’s head and wished with all his heart he could just take it away, reverse time, fuck Justin until the other man was gasping and grinning, take back all the trials and worries. When Justin was motionless, the two stayed in the embrace for a while longer, before Justin pulled back and wiped his nose on his already filthy sleeve. Smiling ruefully. Then he frowned.

“Hey, You’ve cut your hair!”

Stroking the shorter locks with long pale fingers, Justin sniffed and shook his head. Laughing slightly at his queen-out. But Brian wasn’t laughing. He looked down at where Justin’s hand was grasped in his, before taking a breath and meeting his partner’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. And don’t even try to assume that it is, Brian.”

“I wouldn’t force you to stay.”

Justin’s eyes were clear as he slid his arms around Brian’s neck and kissed him on the cheek.

“You never have.”

***

* A couple of days later *

The diner
DEBBIE:

Debbie handed a customer his order with a smile in the newly decorated diner. Festooned with her usual enthusiasm, it glittered with multi-colored furnishings and Christmas lights, not to mention the embarrassed looking plastic elves in dubious positions wherever one turned. The small Christmas tree in the corner twinkled merrily, although it was the middle of the day. The counter sported green and red paper chains and even the new paintings Justin had recently donated were draped with gaudy gold tinsel.“They wouldn’t have sold anyway …too personal. I want you to have them.” He had said. AS IF. Debbie wasn’t fooled. She knew it was Justin’s big heart making that excuse to avoid her insisting on paying for them. And they sure as hell were worth paying for. Three large canvasses, full of a raised rocky consistency and a multitude of minute splashes of deep vibrant colors. They matched to an extent, meant to be a triad to hang next to each other. Within the undulating surface were patches of level canvas where figures were picked out in smoother brushstrokes; swirling murals in the rough texture. Vague scenes of people, interaction, emotion… Debbie wasn’t sure she wanted to understand or look closer at the little tableaux, it seemed somehow an intrusion. After all, they were very personal, as Justin had said. But it sure made for good art, and she got compliments for it almost daily. The young man’s success made her smile; she had always known he had it in him. The talent, the fearlessness, the unfathomable strength and courage that always blew her away but she had been careful to hide.

It seemed Justin had grown up so fast. She still remembered the hyperactive youth who had reluctantly sat down with Michael that first night… (he still had an ass to die for, Debbie thought with a chuckle, although she expected he didn’t know it.) The natural blonde hair had brightened up the room and warmed her heart, but not as much as his blinding smile when later she got to see it. Boy, that was one of the most pure, heartfelt, contagious smiles she had ever had the good luck to encounter. When it was turned on you it was like the sun shining into your heart… Sunshine really was a good nickname for him, she mused, her own mouth curling at the memory. But that smile had not always graced the young face: so many hardships, almost too many to be real, had piled up against the poor teenager. Perhaps Justin had changed little by little, Debbie mused. She remembered no defining day when he became the confident man he was. Events changed people, for better and for worse, and it still baffled Debbie how Justin had come through his problems so mature, so wise, so grounded.

Speaking of the devil… Debbie looked up to see a familiar blonde head come in through the door, shaking off errant flakes of wet snow. She absently shoved her gum into the bin before hurrying forward to bury the young man in her embrace.

“Sunshine!”

She felt his huff of laughter and realized with a jolt that he was actually taller than she was. Bang goes the mental image of her baby, her little Justin, she thought, feeling the wetness of his coat seeping through her top and pulling back with a loving look. The deep blue eyes sparkled and Justin grinned at her, and of course it made her laugh, damn that smile was infectious! Debbie stepped away and brushed the remaining melting bits of ice off his coat.

“So, what’ll it be, hunny? This one’s one me, Christmas spirit an’ all!”

Justin gave an appreciative laugh. “Thanks Deb. Uhh I’ll have a coffee and your pancakes with syrup?”

Debbie nodded with pleasure. Thank God he still ate like a horse. She had always loved Justin’s appreciation of her food… how he stayed so slight she would never know but she was mighty glad to see that after 2 years, some things had not changed. Bustling off to the kitchens, she caught Ted entering the diner and gave him a hearty wave, which he returned before going to sit by Justin in one of the booths. Her boys. Pride wasn’t the word for what she felt seeing them all in Pittsburgh, healthy, happy, home. Ted gave his order to the new waitress and Debbie had to attend to other customers, but when Justin and Ted’s orders came up (Ted had a turkey sandwich) she whisked them from the kitchen and took them over herself, sitting down for a minute beside the two men.

“Have you heard about the Mr. Universe contest at Pulse?” Ted was saying.

Brian had at last decided to sell Babylon when a worthwhile offer had been made, and Pulse was the new gay bar that had taken the place it had left. It was a fairly highbrow establishment, not too grimy or overcrowded, the same standard as Babylon had been. The management brought in various entertainments, and hosted some intriguing contests which always promised to be a show, no matter how dubious the title. Indeed the building was bigger than the old club had been, and therefore roomier, making for a comfortable evening, or fuck, or dance, or whatever you felt like doing. The fags and dykes of Pittsburgh had, as usual, hardly batted an eyelid at the swift change of leading establishment… as long as the thumpa thumpa continued, no one gave a toss about where.

Debbie watched fondly as her boys tucked into their meals, chatting about nothing in particular.

Justin was grinning into his pancakes. “Brian wants to buy Gus a bike for his birthday… he was looking at them online yesterday. Do you KNOW how much kids bikes cost nowadays? Its insane!” He dropped his hand to the handle of his cup. “Mind you, I don’t think anything can shock me that much after the apartment rentals in New York. I have become economically desensitized.”

Ted chuckled. “Ahh, that’s never a good thing to be. Before you know it your assets are pulling you into the closet and your expenditures are tying you up while the stock market sits on your head.”

“That’s a kinky fantasy, Ted. Even for you.”

All three heads looked up to see Brian standing by their booth, in grey pants and a white shirt, his jacket and overcoat slung over one arm, and other hand holding his briefcase.

“Brian, honey!’ Debbie always wondered why seeing him gave her a little warm happy feeling in her heart. “What brings you to the lowly diner?”

Brian sat down next to Justin, planting a quiet kiss on his partner’s cheek before placing his coat behind him on the back of the seat and answering Deb.

“I had some business to attend to.”

At this point Debbie saw his quick look shared with Ted and decided something was going on. Justin was finishing off his pancakes and didn’t seem to have noticed. She decided to let it be, for the moment, and took out her notepad with a silent tsk and a bright smile at Brian.

“So, what’ll it be for the workaholic?”

He pulled in his lips and frowned slightly, recalling the menu, a twinkle in his eye. Justin put down his cutlery on his empty plate and glanced at Brian.

“The pancakes are really good today!”

This earned him an amused look. “Weren’t you eating DIY hot fudge sundae and a doughnut when I left the loft uh… 4 hours ago?”

Pause. A cheeky nod. A grin. Brian sighed, doing an impersonation of incredulous and condescending parent.

“I don’t know where you put it all.”

“Oh, I have many little holes to stash it in…”

“Don’t I know it.”

They were smiling teasingly at each other. Deb rolled her eyes, those two. Getting it on in the diner. Again. They really were insatiable. And very cute.

Ted coughed and cleared his throat. “Okay, Guys, get a room! Take it someplace else! Take it…”

“To the sheets?” Brian finished with a grin.

Ted stared at him blankly for a moment before suddenly remembering and nodding into his coffee with a defeated smile. Debbie leaned over to check if she were needed in the kitchen, but no new customers had come in and the other waitresses were doing a bang-up job. So she settled herself more comfortably and folded her arms across her bosom. Brian’s tiny smirk continued.

“Hey, Deb? I think I will have the pancakes. I feel like celebrating.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek and feigned indifference.

Debbie waved a waitress over and gave his order, then turned back to the table.

“Celebrating what, sweetie?”

“I’ve just come from the hospital. They can’t be sure I’m out of the woods, apparently, but the nuking they have done so far has worked. Sooo…No more puking my guts out at 3 in the morning… no more looking like I need to be put in the ‘whites’ laundry wash… no more having huge needles shoved up my arms every week. I have officially finished chemo.”

Brian finished and twiddled a toothpick as he continued to smirk, and when he looked at Justin, who had been sitting quiet and still up till then, the blonde suddenly rose up and threw his arms around him, almost knocking him back. Debbie couldn’t see either of their faces, but she had to swallow a choke in her throat, and silently offered up a tentative thanks to whoever was up there making things alright, if there was anyone. Then her words came bubbling up as Brian and Justin broke apart, no words exchanged, no conversation needed, only looks, and touches.

“Brian, honey! That’s really great. I am so happy for you sweetie! Here, those pancakes are on the house too! Oh this is the best Christmas present anyone could give me! To see you on the mend…”

Debbie clasped her hands, unable to say anything more, and gazed delightedly at Brian, his gorgeous profile as he turned to Ted after thanking her with a nod and a quiet glance. Then suddenly Justin shot up, looking at his watch and cursing.

“Shit! I’ve go to run! I said I would meet Lindsey to visit an exhibition! Excuse me everyone! Deb, thanks for the pancakes! Bye Ted!” He stepped out from the booth and paused, resting a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later?”

Brian nodded. “Later.”

After Justin had left the diner, Debbie decided it was time she continued with her work and let the two boys to get on with it. She did notice however, as she bussed tables and cleared up spilt sugar and served hot drinks to chilled customers, that Ted was showing Brian a document, and the two were talking intently together. Then Brian reached down and pulled some papers from his briefcase, shuffling them into order before handing them over to Ted, who perused them quickly, nodding as Brian earnestly explained something to him.


***


Pittsburgh gallery
JUSTIN:

As I wandered about the exhibition with Lindsey, I couldn’t help mentally punching the air in glee and relief, every so often. Brian had finished chemo! Brian would get better! He would get stronger, and we wouldn’t have to worry about sickness, or pain, or sleepless nights or fainting… Jesus fucking Christ, the walls of the gallery seemed too small to contain my relief. I wanted to run back to him and hug him so hard he laughed like he always does, before berating me and teasing me about it for days. Lindsey was good company; she shared my passion for art so it iwas always a pleasure to go to openings with her. This one she had heard about from a friend. A modern artist, originally from Los Angeles, showing a series of award winning canvasses in an empty room of the local gallery. Indeed, although quirky, they were very good. Once I got used to his style, which, if one did not specifically follow was rather confusing, I found myself mesmerized by his almost constant use of dark backgrounds and thin neon lines to outline dynamic shapes.

I felt Lindsey’s hand in the small of my back. “I’m going to go over and talk to Gertrude. Are you okay to finish looking around?”

I nodded and turned back to the paintings as she crossed to the other side of the room to talk to an old acquaintance. After 2 or 3 paintings, I reached one which gave my stomach that strange jolt, and made my hands and feet tingle with anticipation while my cock stirred. Much like my old sketches of Brian had done. It was vague in outline, but the sexual energy radiating off it was intoxicating, surging with an intensity that made me swallow and turn away, breathing out with a small smile.

With Brian sick, neither of us has been up to much. Sure, he has sucked me off, and tried to make up for his weakened state, and it made my heart ache to see how much he hated his limitation. But he just did not have the strength. During the first bout of cancer, not having sex had drawn us closer, had forced us to really see each other, forced us to listen instead of fuck and, I hope, had made him realize that I loved him no-matter what. We'd shared more, because we'd sat and talked and held each other. This time was the same. One day I had been curled on the sofa, looking through some old photos of him and Mikey, when a brown envelope had fallen out onto my lap. Intrigued, I had opened the age-worn seal and pulled out… the most amazing set of photographs I had ever seen. They were of various things, a birthday cake with out-of focus figures in the background, a Pittsburgh streetlamp, a set or iron railings… but they were taken with such artistic ingenuity, the unusual focal points, the concentration on reoccurring patterns, making the magical from the mundane.

I had held them out to Brian, who was walking through from the bathroom, a glass of water in his hand.

“What’re these?”

He took them from me when he reached the sofa and looked at them for a moment whilst standing there. Then he sighed and plopped down on the sofa beside me, drawing his lips into his mouth, shuffling through the collection of photographic masterpieces. He reached one in particular and contemplated it for a while. Looking over his shoulder, my hand resting affectionately on his thigh, I saw it was of a collection of beer bottles, some empty, some half full, some overturned and one of two smashed. They were on a table, wet with spilt booze, and the background was out of focus, only the vague outline of a dresser was visible. It was an emotive image, and slightly disturbing in it’s own right. Brian was still looking at it absently, then he spoke.

“I took this when I was 16.” He said. “I sneaked downstairs in the early hours of the morning, after Jack had a rare home booze-up and before Joan could sweep it under the rug. The old fucker had already gone upstairs and passed out on his bed, so I took my camera and…” He fell silent, giving a short cold laugh, and passing the photo to me.

I stared at it. “My God, Brian. YOU took these? These are… amazing! These aren’t just photos, these are art!”

“Why thank you, Picasso.”

I hit him in the chest with the back of my hand. “Seriously. You could have applied to any art or photography course you wanted with these! They are so… intense!”

Brian shrugged. “I’m better ad man then I would have been a photographer.”

I had taken the pack of photos from him and sifted through them, feeling his hand playing through my hair and reveling in yet another side to him I had not known about. The amazing thing about Brian Kinney is that he is always capable of surprising you, no matter how long you have known him, or how well you think you have got him sussed. That unpredictability, the streak of the untamable beast was still running strong in him, and I liked it. He kept his past fairly private, I knew that, and he certainly did not like to talk about Jake or Joan Kinney. This new revelation, to a side of him I had not known about, excited me beyond my wildest dreams, and gave me a powerful feeling of closeness to him.

I smiled to myself. The past few months had been nice, awful but nice. Calm and contented, and nice because Brian and I were so close …and not through sex. But enough was enough. I wanted to get fucked. And I fucking knew that I didn't want anyone to do it but him. I had been so pre-occupied, I had hardly thought about it for so long, and now I realized that I missed it. So fucking much. Nothing else was good enough. I was so horny in that gallery, like I had found myself more frequently over the past few weeks, as Brian got stronger and the crushing worry and fear had been lifted gradually from my chest. Nothing was satisfying me anymore. I just wanted Brian back. My insatiable, fuck anyplace, any time Brian. It was almost a physical craving, a desperation to reach those levels of abandon again and lose myself back in his sweat, and smell, and the feel of him inside and around me. I knew people would probably say it was just because I missed having sex and that was true, because fucking has always been a huge part of our relationship. It had all begun with sex, when I was a nervous youth underneath the yellow streetlight, nothing but prey in his eyes, it had caused problems and solved them, it had kept us grounded when either of us wanted to fly off the rails. But that wasn’t the reason. More than anything I missed having that intimate connection with him, feeling him moving in me, touching his skin and having him set mine on fire, looking into his eyes as our pleasure grew in perfect unison, his sweaty hair falling onto his forehead, breathing in his scent, clutching his strong arms, my nails digging into his flesh. Feeling how our bodies fitted together perfectly, how we moved incomplete sync and reveling in how well we knew the language of each other’s sounds and actions. That was why it couldn’t just be a dildo or any old stud. I didn’t want an orgasm. I wanted Brian.


***

Kinney house
JOAN:

Joan sat in her empty living room, staring at a photo frame held in her hand. In the photo, a younger Jack Kinney stood with his hand on her shoulder, whilst Brian and Claire sat on the grass in front of them. The perfect family shot. A lovely one to show to the relatives and friends when they came round. How little they knew. How much a good lens and the right positioning could hide. Joan took a sip from the glass of water beside her. Little Brian. He didn’t look older than 13. Had he been… already then? She guessed she had been too busy to notice. She had always been too busy to notice. Joan realized with a jolt that she did not know what kind of man her child was. All she had ever experienced was the brick wall, the cold retaliation to her own hardness. She had lost a son.


***

The loft
JUSTIN:

I woke on Saturday to find myself alone in the bed. From the looks of the winter sunlight streaming through the slats of the bedroom, I guessed it was mid morning and silently cursed, swinging my bare legs over the side and pulling on a pair of grey pants and a maroon V-neck top which I knew was a little too tight but didn’t really care. Ignoring the icy chill which crept around my toes from the flagstone floor, I padded barefoot to the entrance of the bedroom and looked around for Brian, running one hand groggily through my hair. I knew I looked a mess in the mornings: my haircut, although short, was rather shaggy at the best of times and stuck up in various places. Brian had always taken a devilish delight in my bed hair. He liked to muss it and tease me when it didn’t behave. In fact he was the only person I simultaneously felt totally relaxed with and yet knew he would never flatter or praise me unduly. He always said things as they were, never lied. He would always be straight with me if I looked like shit and that brought a great sense of trust.

Brian was sitting on the sofa, his laptop open on the coffee table, electric lead trailing to the socket by the computer desk. He was wearing a dark grey top and jeans, his back was half towards me and I saw with a warm surge in my stomach the oh-so-familiar curve of his shoulders, the way his chestnut hair tickled the nape of his neck, just above the collar of the sweater. He was leant forward reading something, before reaching for the mouse and clicking, obviously focused on what he was doing.

I came down the steps of our bedroom and crossed over to the kitchen area. He heard me and cocked his head round to give me a brief smile, his intelligent eyes thoughtful and preoccupied. God I loved him so much. I smiled back as I put the kettle on and popped two pieces of toast in the toaster.

“You should’ve woken me up. It’s really late.”

“It’s only 10:30, Sunshine. And besides…” Brian raised an eyebrow teasingly as he craned his head to look at me. “I thought I’d let you get your beauty rest.”

I laughed and then the toast pinged and I buttered it and put it on a plate, taking a bite as I meandered over to where Brian was typing. He had moved the computer to his lap and was concentrating on it thoughtfully. I rounded the sofa, and put my plate down beside me as I sat down on the coffee table in front of him, grinning. When he closed his laptop with a snap and looked at me, I leant forward to kiss away the crease between his eyes.

“Whatcha doing? It’s Saturday, you don’t have to work!” I leaned forward and sympathetically squeezed his shoulder. “You know the doctor said to take it easy, and I’m sue Kinnetik will do fine with Ted there to…”

Brian cut me off. “It’s not Kinnetik.”

When I peered at him, I saw that familiar look in his eye; the look that meant he had something important to say which was hard for him so he tried to hide his feelings. The clouded, silent look I had come to understand so well. As I waited, Brian drew his lips into his mouth and looked down at his hand where it lay still on the closed computer. Then he took a sudden deep breath and looked me straight in the eye.

“I’m finalizing my will.”

Everything went deathly quiet. I could hear the blood thumping in my ears and a tingling coldness flew to my fingers and toes. For a second no words came out. I looked into his beautiful eyes, watching me quietly. Trusting, expectant… vulnerable.

“Oh God Brian. You don’t need to do that. The doctors said you were going to be okay. … You are going to be okay aren’t you?”

“Don’t worry Sunshine, it’s called a living will. It’s just a precaution. You should have one too, you know.”

I wasn’t buying it. “Why are you doing this now?”

Brian’s face remained impassive. “Because I want to. Because, if anything does happen to me…”

“Like what?”

“Like the cancer comes back. Don’t look at me like that Sunshine. We both know it’s a much greater possibility now.”

My hand was still on his cool forearm and I kept quiet, staring at him. Glancing away, Brian laid his other hand over it and continued.

“As I was saying, in case anything happens to me, I don’t want the government getting their sticky hands on my money, so, I’ve dictated what’s to go where.”

Biting his lip, Brian looked up at me, seemingly deliberating whether or not to say what he wanted to say next, and I saw the side of him I had struggled to get to for years. The side of him I had seen a lot more of recently, indeed since the first bout of cancer. The true Brian Kinney. The shy, unaffected, sincere, hidden man who was so generous to those he loved, who bought the new name for Vic Grassi House, who let me comfort him when he was feeling shitty, who was able to acknowledge his feelings and was unafraid to let them show, who spooned himself around me without questions when I used to wake screaming from a nightmare. Those first few years I had been so determined to break down the barriers, I had become frustrated when I couldn’t, when Brian had brushed me off and returned to his snarky self, his shield. I suppose that was partly what drove me to leave him for Ethan. I was so impatient to get what I wanted, for my own selfish needs, for my own ego, I had failed to see the reasons for Brian’s inability to open up, to keep himself hidden.

But as I sat on the coffee table, I knew that had gradually changed. I liked to think it was because of me, because I had finally gained his full emotional trust, that he had finally accepted I wasn’t going to leave him in the dirt if he let himself love me. But who was I kidding? I had been away for over a year! What kind of a signal does that send, I wondered. No, I believed it was also the cancer, cliché as it sounds. It’s amazing how much of a wake-up call a brush with death can be. I figured Brian probably had it shoved in his face that if he didn’t say and do the things he wanted to right away, he might never get to. And so he had let me caress his hair, and smiled at me when I came back from the diner, and hugged me from behind when I least expected it. But not in a crude sexual way, where all emotion was unnecessary and we could lose ourselves in the bestial physicality. In an affectionate, companionable way, which held no pretence, no alibi of a fuck, only love. No apologies, no excuses, no regrets.

I was brought out of my thoughts when Brian sucked in a breath and continued, his eyes resting uneasily on the glass of the table.

“I’ve allocated a certain amount to Lindsey in the event of my death, and of course Gus will get an inheritance. Most of my assets are to be liquidated, like Kinnetik…”

“Brian, Please. I don’t want to hear this.”

“Let me finish. But the main part of my estate; my possessions, a large sum of money and of course the loft, will automatically go… to you.”

My head snapped up. “What? …How?”

“I’ve named you as my legal partner in the document, which consequently makes you my beneficiary.”

Brian fell silent; his eyes searching mine, waiting for my response. Although he had a tiny amused curl at the corner of his mouth, I saw the nervousness in his eyes, and I wanted to rush into his arms, hurl myself at him, bury my face in his soft hair, draw my nails across his smooth skin, have him fuck me so hard we were both screaming and gasping, the floor slick with our sweat, out minds lost to brutal need but our bodies frantically synchronized in the dance we do best. I licked my dry lips and cleared my throat.

“Brian, I… I don’t know what to say.”

Then I felt his hand in mine, pulling me foreword in one fluid movement as the other hand moved the computer off his lap. Straddling him, I had to smile; the familiarity of the gesture, the cocky sexuality, was a comfort to me. A bed rock which banished most of the crawling thoughts of Brian’s cancer from my mind. I clasped both hands around his neck and felt his arms come up behind my back and hook onto my shoulders as he answered me softly.

“Then don’t say anything.”

I gazed into his eyes a moment longer and then, feeling the tears building up in my chest and behind my eyes, I relaxed foreword, grasping him to me, sinking into his embrace, feeling his soft chest beneath the sweater, and the gentle bumps of his spine, breathing in his familiar smell; the smell of his body and his shampoo, which I always used to borrow all the time. I buried my face in his shoulder as he leant back against the sofa, feeling his soft breath against my hair. We stayed like that for a long time, and them I pulled back and managed a smile despite my red eyes. Brian chuckled.

“Now now, Sunshine, don’t get your knickers in a twist. It’s an open arrangement, it can be changed at any time … if you want it to…”

But I silenced him by leaning down and capturing his mouth with mine. His gorgeous, soft, kissable mouth. The one thing about him which has never changed, no matter how sick he got his mouth was always the same; so familiar to me as I reveled in the taste of him, feeling his small mischievous smile against my lips, and trying to suppress the intense love and sadness and relief and bewilderment and surprise which boiled inside me. Brian hadn’t put any ties on me, he hadn’t asked me to stay, he hadn’t told me he needed me, he had just subtly let me know that he wanted only me, that even if I were in New York I would still be a part of his life and deserved his loft, that no one else would ever take my place. I felt my eyes getting damp again and hugged Brian closer, unable to stop the revelation of what had just happened from bounding around inside my head with an insatiable rhythm that matched the beating of my heart.

***


End of Chapter 12