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maybe742
FROM:xheartrockx
TITLE: 500 Miles (2/2)
GIFT REQUEST: I would love to read the second part of 500 Miles by xheartrockx. Brian and Justin are on a road trip. Why they are on the road, what they're doing and who else is involved or not, that's all up to you.
NOTE: I’m terribly sorry this took so long to finish. My muse is sailing on other ships these days. As always, my thanks go out tomander3_swish for hosting this festivus, for righting my wrongs, and for kicking me in the shin about this fic. I hope you all enjoy it :)
SUMMARY: Brian struggles with the long-distance relationship. So he does what he always does – he pretends not to care and throws himself into his work. At the launch party for Kinnetik NYC, he runs into Justin again. Both are invited to spend Christmas in Toronto. When a blizzard hits, they are forced to share a car. Could this be the perfect opportunity to deal with their troubles?
WORD COUNT: 4000
Part 1
Part 2
While Justin refills the gas tank, Brian goes into the little store and gets them two coffees and some bagels. It wasn’t all that far to Toronto now, but he knew Justin and his eating habits well enough to know that going to Canada on an empty stomach wouldn’t be pleasant for either of them.
Outside and well away from the gas pumps, he lights a cigarette and watches Justin put the hose back on its station. He isn’t entirely unaware of the Freudian parallels but he chooses to ignore them.
“So we’re not going to talk about it?” Brian is surprised by his own words when he gets back into the car and hands Justin the coffee cup.
“Thanks. And talk about what?”
The little shit is playing him, using his own tricks against him. Brian decides to play along and musters his best chick-flick voice. “About the kiss, of course.”
Justin grins and Brian has to fight that particular infatuation. “So we kissed. Big deal. After all, we were together for… a while.”
“But you’re with Didier now.” Brian keeps pushing, keeps ignoring the unnerving feeling that has settled into the pit of his stomach ever since this morning.
“We broke up about a month ago.” That sentence comes so easily, as if Justin has practised it in his head, waiting to finally say it out loud.
“Then how come you know about his catering gig?”
“I still follow him on Twitter.”
Brian almost snorts his coffee. “Twitter, the trick tracker.” He sobers quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Justin shrugs and takes a bite of his bagel to buy time. “It’s none of your business.”
“You are my business.” It’s a lame statement and they both know it, but it’s the closest thing to Brian talking about his feelings, so it’s enough for now.
Justin shakes his head, his gaze drifting out the window.
“Not anymore.” He sounds sad, solemn even. Before Brian can reply, he continues: “Not when you don’t tell me you’re opening Kinnetik NYC. And that you have an apartment in the city.”
Justin has a point, yet it hardly amounts to not telling Brian about his relationship status. Or does it?
“From the day we met, you wouldn’t shut up about New York. How you couldn’t wait to get out of Pittsburgh, and how you wouldn’t look back once you got there. Now that you’ve managed to open a branch of your own fucking company there, you don’t say a word. All I get is a generic invitation, which for all I know was signed by Ted or Cynthia.” Justin takes a deep breath. “So excuse me if I don’t feel the burning desire to share facts about my personal life with you.”
The worst thing about Justin’s little speech is that he's right.
In the first months of their... whatever non-relationship... Brian wanting and eventually getting the chance to move to New York had been the thing. He had been devastated when the job fell through.
In the years following, the Big Apple had become less of a priority. Even though he would never admit it, some things had been more important.
And after Justin had moved there... At first Brian had been jealous. Yeah, jealous. The kid would go off to live his dream. He had groomed him just right after all. And they both knew it had been the right decision at the worst possible time.
Sometimes, after they had gotten off the phone (back when they had still talked regularly), Brian imagined them both in New York; sharing an apartment, having date nights, anything sickeningly hetero. The image, as anti-Kinney as it once was, hadn’t seemed so terrible after all.
But things had begun to slip away from him. The calls had become few and far between, matching the frequency of their visits. And then Didier happened. It had only been a matter of time, really. Or at least Brian had convinced himself of it.
"Right, so much for talking about it." Justin takes one more sip from his coffee, then puts the cup into its holder on the dashboard and pulls the car into traffic.
They don't talk about it for the next 75 miles. They don't talk about anything at all.
It's just as well. If the only thing they still share is mutual attraction, then that is okay. It's just how it is, how it would probably always be.
*
When they pull up to the border control, Brian has almost dozed off again. The warmth in the car and the stress of the last couple of weeks were at last showing their effects on him.
Justin's hand on his thigh rouses him. "We're almost at the booth."
"Yay," Brian replies with fake enthusiasm.
"Can you behave? I don't want to spend Christmas in jail just because you couldn't keep your mouth shut."
"When did I ever misbehave, eh?"
Justin rolls his eyes. "Case in point."
"Don't be a wuss, Bieber. If they let Michael and Ben get married, they know how to take a joke."
Justin doesn’t reply, and that is just as well. Conversations about marriage and such have never ended well. Except for that one time. The one time when Justin had agreed to marry him only to figure out that it wouldn’t work after all. One more episode in the “wrong place, wrong time”-show, spin-off of the Brian/Justin-saga.
*
Seventy miles to go.
This is, by far, the worst road trip Brian has ever taken. Even their rescue mission to New York with the five of them cramped into his Jeep seems like a joyride compared to this. Compared to the awkward tension that fills the car like molasses; one wrong step and you're stuck.
They make another stop just outside St. Catherines and Brian is glad to get out of the car again. He can do this. He can hop himself up on enough nicotine to make it to Toronto, sit through dinner with a fake smile, and then head to his hotel to spend the night in blissful solitude while finishing off his ever-present half-erection. It's pathetic, but it's a plan.
“You need anything?” Brian doesn’t look up from where he stubs out his cigarette with the heel of his boot.
Justin shakes his head as he fights with the hose of the gas pump.
“That’s smooth.” Brian can’t help a grin when he finally looks up to see Justin’s struggle. “No surprise Didier ditched you.”
Justin gives him the finger, otherwise ignoring the comment, much to Brian’s chagrin.
The gas station’s little shop is cramped, trying to fit in all the necessities needed for a trip or a lonely Saturday night. Brian makes his way to the liquor shelf, choosing a bottle of Canadian whiskey (just for the hell of it). He’ll need cigarettes, too, plenty of them. For a moment, he contemplates asking the scrawny kid manning the register if he knows where to buy something with a little more kick, but he refrains when Justin comes in to pay. He'll only be able to handle so much reprimanding in one night. Instead, he grabs a package of condoms along the way and tosses it offhandedly on the counter just as Justin steps up to pay.
“I’ll pay for gas,” Brian states simply.
Again, Justin doesn’t reply. He just eyes Brian’s purchases, the fraction of a smile ghosts over his face, before his expression turns neutral again. “I called Linds and told her we’ll be there in about an hour.”
“How very responsible of you.”
“Glad to know to I’m not the only one.” With that, Justin turns and leaves the little shop.
Brian is almost disappointed by the lack of Justin’s reaction. Have they really grown that far apart that he is not even worth more than an offhand comment? So when they get back into the car, pull into traffic, and all of a sudden Justin shakes his head in something close to disappointment, Brian almost sighs in relief.
“So you’re really going to go out tonight? On Christmas?”
“Tis da time to be merry.”
“So let me get this straight. Or not so straight in your case. We went on this fucking road trip to visit the family for Christmas, and instead of enjoying some time off with the family - your son - you want to go out and get laid.”
Brian scoffs. “Wouldn’t you be surprised if I didn’t?”
Justin contemplates that for a satisfactory moment. “I guess some things just never change.”
A strange atmosphere stretches between them. An atmosphere ripe with unsaid things, of unasked questions, and pretty much everything that has happened in the past years.
Maybe Brian really should have asked that kid for some dope after all.
*
As soon as Justin pulls the car into the driveway of Mel and Lindsay’s house, the door opens and a boy comes bounding out, dressed in a Spiderman suit, dark hair falling into his face.
“At least someone is happy to see me.” Brian says more to himself (maybe to convince himself) as he peels himself from the car.
WIth the force of a miniature bulldozer, Gus crashes against his dad’s legs, making him wobble. Without so much as yelling “Daddy,” he immediately starts rattling off his Christmas wishes, how they’ve been trying to make Hanukkah and Christmas work at the same time and how JR still believes in Santa Claus, and really, how stupid is that? The baby, of course, has no idea what is going on but she’s cute and basically just screaming and pooping and eating and at that point, Brian has to remind his son to breathe and stop him from detailing how Lindsay is breastfeeding her newborn. Because really, there is nothing better to kill that thin sliver of Christmas spirit than imagining such an image. Well, with Mel in the picture maybe...
“Daddy Justin!”
Justin gets about the same treatment and (admittedly) handles it more gracefully. And why the flying fuck did Gus just call him Daddy Justin? Brian doesn’t have time to process it when Gus grabs his hand and drags both him and Justin into the house.
They are greeted by a welcoming cheer of their friends as if they haven’t seen each other for years and not just last week at the Naughty Elf Extravaganza at Babylon. Brian's response is his trademarked eye-roll. He doesn’t fight the big bear hug Debbie gives him, though, as there is no point in trying.
The house is decorated in an odd mix-n-match of tinsel, mistletoe, ornaments and the like, a menorah finding a home somewhere in between. The first is probably the kids’ work, the latter the work of their politically uber-correct mother. Strangely enough, it works well together, and it all makes the place look and feel even more of a home than it already did whenever Brian made a visit.
All of it is crowned by a huge Christmas tree in the livingroom.
“I helped put up the lights,” Gus announces proudly as he drags his dad into the room.
“And you did a great job, Sonny Boy.”
“We only blew a fuse twice,” Mel says, patting Gus on the shoulder.
“That’s what happens when you let a man do a dyke’s job,” Brian retorts, earning a slap on the arm from Justin. “What? You said to be nice to the Canadians. They are not Canadian, they are just lesbians.”
“Ugh, Dad…” Gus says, rolling his eyes, then bounding off to talk to Drew about football. Apparently, his son takes more after his Mama then is genetically possible.
After the first round of small talk is exchanged and Justin has rehashed their road trip (thankfully leaving out some of the details), they sit down to eat.
Debbie has helped with the food, and the table they cram around is filled with turkey, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and everything else one would expect in the way of All-American Christmas cuisine.
Brian’s stomach growls in approval. It’s the first warm and remotely decent meal he has had in about a week. His appetite wanes a bit when Justin sits down next to him. It's distracting when Justin's knee is constantly brushing against Brian's thigh.
It’s been a while since the last 'family dinner.' That’s what they've always called them despite the fact that only half of them are actually related by blood. The rest is family by choice, and while Brian wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it, he likes it. Always has. Ever since Michael’s home became his more often than the house he was suppose to live in.
So when they eat and the wine is poured (and the good kind, too), and they talk about this and that (for once, it’s not work), something warm spreads inside of him. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Something that is a nice countermeasure against the weariness and cold and uncertainty of the last couple of months.
If only Justin’s close presence didn’t bring back some of the weariness and the uncertainty. If only he knew what was going on, where it was going to go and how he was supposed to handle it.
There is maple pie for dessert, and it’s so sticky and sweet that it makes Brian’s teeth hurt. That feeling gets even worse when Lindsay goes upstairs and returns with a bundle in her arms.
Amelia is tiny, even smaller than Gus was when he was born. She is wrapped up in a pink blanket that matches her pink onesie which almost swallows her whole. At four weeks, she should be bigger. At least that’s what Brian thinks given he has no real reference. His cameos as a dad didn’t really cover those first weeks unless he was writing a cheque.
Everybody ooohs and aaahs as if they have never seen a baby before, and it’s actually Gus who tells everybody to back off his littlest sister. Nonetheless, the girl gets passed around like Saturday’s twink until she lands in Justin’s arms.
“I need a smoke,” Brian says a little too quickly for his own liking, and leaves the table. He doesn’t bother to grab his jacket when he heads for the back door.
*
“Be careful. Even a Grinch might catch a cold.”
Debbie pushes her way out the door, wrapped up in her garish rainbow scarf and matching mittens. She sidles up to Brian, getting well into his personal space.
“How long have you been sitting on that one?” Brian takes the last drag from his cigarette and crushes it under his boot. Mel will hate that he leaves it out there, which is part of the reason why he does it.
“If you’re just going to be grumpy and miserable, you should have stayed home.”
Brian ignores her. “Just called my hotel. They cancelled my reservation since I missed check-in yesterday. And every decent shack in this wilderness is booked solid thanks to the weather.”
“But that isn't the reason why you're acting like someone just stole your favorite new toy.” She nudges him, all but catching him off guard. “Or is it an old and well-beloved toy.”
“Do you get paid by the metaphor?”
Debbie huffs a sigh, as if she is talking to an annoying child. Well… “Brian, if you and Justin are done for good, that’s fine. But if there is even the slightest chance, for god's sake, put us all out of our misery and talk to him."
Brian eyes her. "Us? What about my misery?"
"I don't think you have a lot of say in the matter."
"You've talked about this? Behind our back?"
"Of course. That's what family does. They wanted to put a wager on it, too.” She laughs a throaty laugh, elbowing Brian in the side.
“Yeah? Did you bet for or against me?”
She glances up at him, winking, then grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him down to give him a peck on the cheek. “Talk to Justin, kiddo.”
“Only if you cut me in.”
*
“Good news, Sonny Boy. Your old man is going to stay.”
Thankfully, Lindsay has already tucked Amelia back into bed when Brian goes back inside. In a matter of seconds, he is play-wrestling with his son who is already making plans for their sleeping arrangements while Brian tries to explain what has happened.
“You’re staying in my room, Dad. We can play with my race track and you can read me a story.”
“Race track, huh? How surprisingly stereotypical.”
“You’ll have to take the couch. Justin’s already staying in the guest room,” Lindsay interjects before things get out of hand. “Unless…”
“Couch is fine.” Brian answers a little too quickly and the room falls into an awkward silence for a moment. Before that gets out of hand as well, Gus grabs his dad by the hand and drags him upstairs.
*
The house has fallen into quiet by the time Brian comes back downstairs. Apparently, the rest of the family has had more luck with their accommodations and have shuffled off to their respective hotels. For a fleeting second, he contemplates calling any of them (preferably Theodore, since he is his employee and blackmail just works so well) to ask if they have a spare bed for him, but when he rounds the corner from the hall to the living room, he decides otherwise.
The lights of the tree are still on and it bathes the room in a golden glow that is, admittedly, beautiful.
“Pajama party already over?”
Brian gives a start when Justin's voice breaks the quiet. He's standing by the window on the other side of the room, looking out. Or at the reflection of Brian in the window pane.
“Apparently, my son snores.”
“So he does take after his dad after all.”
Brian knows it’s bait and choses to ignore it. “You could have told me that you were going to stay here.”
“You never asked.”
Brian ignores that, too. “I need a drink.”
“Top shelf.” Justin gestures toward the cabinet in the corner. “Top mine off?” He holds out an half-empty glass of bourbon.
“Something isn’t kosher here after all.” Brian brings the bottle over, pours himself a glass and fills up Justin’s as well.
They stand in silence for a while, looking out the window into the moonlit garden. Snow is still coming down in huge flakes, making it look like balls of cotton candy are dropping from the sky. At least that’s what Gus has said.
“They never asked,” Brian says finally, taking a sip. He doesn’t look at Justin, keeping his gaze fixed on the stark black trees bowing into the backyard.
“They never asked about what?” Justin pushes.
“The baby. They never asked.” The bourbon doesn’t taste all that great all of a sudden, but it’ll make due. “Gus was the one who told me that Linds was pregnant.” Justin nods, taking in the news. He’s about to say something consoling when Brian shrugs. “It’s just as well. I don’t need another kid I only see once a month.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Justin’s hand falls on Brian’s arm, and it takes Brian a lot of effort not to pull away. “I’m sorry.”
“I want you to be...” The words have come so quickly, but when Justin looks up at him, Brian falters. “I want you to work for me. In the art department of Kinnetik NYC. We could use your talents while we get things going.” He is rambling and he knows it. “Freelance, of course, so you can still do your artsy stuff on the side.”
Justin scoffs and rolls his eyes. Then he turns around, leaning against the window sill. “No.”
“Why not? Are you afraid I’m not going to pay you enough?”
“Brian, if you want me back in your life, just say it. With your words. Not your chequebook.”
Brian takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look at Justin, can’t look at Justin. “Chequebook’s easier.”
“Try me.”
A long beat passes between them before Brian dares an attempt at words instead of actions. He really isn’t good with that. “I want you to be my business again.”
Justin grins at that and it matches the golden glow of the Christmas tree. “That’s better.”
“And I want to… know things about you again.” This is getting easier, if only a little.
“Alright.”
“And when I’m in New York, I want to see you.”
“Like on dates?” Again, Justin is dangling it in front of him like bait. “Because I’m still not working for you.”
“Like for lunch or to a fucking hipster after-work party for all I care.” This is Brian’s end of the rope, and frustration takes the better of him. Justin knows him, knows he is crap with this, with… them. So this torture is really uncalled for.
When Justin doesn’t reply right away, Brian tosses his hands up in resignation, stepping away. With an annoyed groan he sinks down on the couch, which Lindsay has already set up for him to sleep on.
“What happened to us?” he asks then, not quite sure where that question is coming from now.
Justin looks at him, he can feel his gaze on him without meeting his eyes. He looks at him for a long while before he finds an answer. “I don’t know. Life, I guess. Time.”
“Didier.”
“He was there.” Brian sees the last of Justin’s shrug when he does lift his head. “He was there when you weren’t, when I was just starting something and needed someone to…”
“Relate?”
“Yeah.”
“It should have been me.” Brian’s words aren’t really directed at Justin. For a second he even wonders if he has said them aloud.
“Listen, if you are looking for blame here, you won’t get any. This is as much my own fault as it is yours. We both thought we could make the long distance thing work and it just didn’t work out. Maybe that is not who we are.”
Maybe this is not who I am, Brian corrects him, if only in his head. For years he has tried to convince him and others that he and relationship didn’t even go together in a sentence. For the most part, he has proven himself right. His very own self-fulfilling fucking prophecy. Even with Justin he has gotten it more wrong and then right and yet… at the end, there was a sliver of hope. That maybe, someday, somehow, they would make it work.
“So what now? How does ‘not who we are’ fit with lunch dates?” Brian asks, aching for that bottle of bourbon which was way over there on the window sill.
Justin sits down next to him. “Do you really mean what you said before?”
“Yes.”
“Then we make it work.”
Brian glances at him from the corner of his eyes. “How many more chances are you going to give me, Sunshine?”
Justin leans into him. “I think we might only need the one. Now that you’re rich and famous, I’ve got everything I ever wanted in a sugar daddy.”
Brian’s hand closes around Justin’s chin, pulling him close for a kiss. When he feels Justin grin against his mouth, he breaks away. “What?”
“You said 'dates.'”
“How old are you? Twelve?”
“I’m still more mature than you.”
“Are you now?”
They share a grin and for the first time tonight, Brian feels like it's actually Christmas.
For a while, they just sit in silence.
It’s Justin who speaks first. “You didn’t just say all that just to get me to share the guest room with you?”
“It was implied.”
Justin rolls his eyes. “We’re not fucking in this house.”
“How about in a condo on 52nd street?”
“Better. But you gotta wine me and dine me first. It’s been a while.”
“Fine.” Brian rolls his eyes, but nods in agreement. “There is one thing you’ll have to do first, though.”
“And what is that?”
“You have to unfollow Didier on Twitter.”
fin.
maybe742FROM:
xheartrockxTITLE: 500 Miles (2/2)
GIFT REQUEST: I would love to read the second part of 500 Miles by xheartrockx. Brian and Justin are on a road trip. Why they are on the road, what they're doing and who else is involved or not, that's all up to you.
NOTE: I’m terribly sorry this took so long to finish. My muse is sailing on other ships these days. As always, my thanks go out to
mander3_swish for hosting this festivus, for righting my wrongs, and for kicking me in the shin about this fic. I hope you all enjoy it :)SUMMARY: Brian struggles with the long-distance relationship. So he does what he always does – he pretends not to care and throws himself into his work. At the launch party for Kinnetik NYC, he runs into Justin again. Both are invited to spend Christmas in Toronto. When a blizzard hits, they are forced to share a car. Could this be the perfect opportunity to deal with their troubles?
WORD COUNT: 4000
Part 1
Part 2
While Justin refills the gas tank, Brian goes into the little store and gets them two coffees and some bagels. It wasn’t all that far to Toronto now, but he knew Justin and his eating habits well enough to know that going to Canada on an empty stomach wouldn’t be pleasant for either of them.
Outside and well away from the gas pumps, he lights a cigarette and watches Justin put the hose back on its station. He isn’t entirely unaware of the Freudian parallels but he chooses to ignore them.
“So we’re not going to talk about it?” Brian is surprised by his own words when he gets back into the car and hands Justin the coffee cup.
“Thanks. And talk about what?”
The little shit is playing him, using his own tricks against him. Brian decides to play along and musters his best chick-flick voice. “About the kiss, of course.”
Justin grins and Brian has to fight that particular infatuation. “So we kissed. Big deal. After all, we were together for… a while.”
“But you’re with Didier now.” Brian keeps pushing, keeps ignoring the unnerving feeling that has settled into the pit of his stomach ever since this morning.
“We broke up about a month ago.” That sentence comes so easily, as if Justin has practised it in his head, waiting to finally say it out loud.
“Then how come you know about his catering gig?”
“I still follow him on Twitter.”
Brian almost snorts his coffee. “Twitter, the trick tracker.” He sobers quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Justin shrugs and takes a bite of his bagel to buy time. “It’s none of your business.”
“You are my business.” It’s a lame statement and they both know it, but it’s the closest thing to Brian talking about his feelings, so it’s enough for now.
Justin shakes his head, his gaze drifting out the window.
“Not anymore.” He sounds sad, solemn even. Before Brian can reply, he continues: “Not when you don’t tell me you’re opening Kinnetik NYC. And that you have an apartment in the city.”
Justin has a point, yet it hardly amounts to not telling Brian about his relationship status. Or does it?
“From the day we met, you wouldn’t shut up about New York. How you couldn’t wait to get out of Pittsburgh, and how you wouldn’t look back once you got there. Now that you’ve managed to open a branch of your own fucking company there, you don’t say a word. All I get is a generic invitation, which for all I know was signed by Ted or Cynthia.” Justin takes a deep breath. “So excuse me if I don’t feel the burning desire to share facts about my personal life with you.”
The worst thing about Justin’s little speech is that he's right.
In the first months of their... whatever non-relationship... Brian wanting and eventually getting the chance to move to New York had been the thing. He had been devastated when the job fell through.
In the years following, the Big Apple had become less of a priority. Even though he would never admit it, some things had been more important.
And after Justin had moved there... At first Brian had been jealous. Yeah, jealous. The kid would go off to live his dream. He had groomed him just right after all. And they both knew it had been the right decision at the worst possible time.
Sometimes, after they had gotten off the phone (back when they had still talked regularly), Brian imagined them both in New York; sharing an apartment, having date nights, anything sickeningly hetero. The image, as anti-Kinney as it once was, hadn’t seemed so terrible after all.
But things had begun to slip away from him. The calls had become few and far between, matching the frequency of their visits. And then Didier happened. It had only been a matter of time, really. Or at least Brian had convinced himself of it.
"Right, so much for talking about it." Justin takes one more sip from his coffee, then puts the cup into its holder on the dashboard and pulls the car into traffic.
They don't talk about it for the next 75 miles. They don't talk about anything at all.
It's just as well. If the only thing they still share is mutual attraction, then that is okay. It's just how it is, how it would probably always be.
*
When they pull up to the border control, Brian has almost dozed off again. The warmth in the car and the stress of the last couple of weeks were at last showing their effects on him.
Justin's hand on his thigh rouses him. "We're almost at the booth."
"Yay," Brian replies with fake enthusiasm.
"Can you behave? I don't want to spend Christmas in jail just because you couldn't keep your mouth shut."
"When did I ever misbehave, eh?"
Justin rolls his eyes. "Case in point."
"Don't be a wuss, Bieber. If they let Michael and Ben get married, they know how to take a joke."
Justin doesn’t reply, and that is just as well. Conversations about marriage and such have never ended well. Except for that one time. The one time when Justin had agreed to marry him only to figure out that it wouldn’t work after all. One more episode in the “wrong place, wrong time”-show, spin-off of the Brian/Justin-saga.
*
Seventy miles to go.
This is, by far, the worst road trip Brian has ever taken. Even their rescue mission to New York with the five of them cramped into his Jeep seems like a joyride compared to this. Compared to the awkward tension that fills the car like molasses; one wrong step and you're stuck.
They make another stop just outside St. Catherines and Brian is glad to get out of the car again. He can do this. He can hop himself up on enough nicotine to make it to Toronto, sit through dinner with a fake smile, and then head to his hotel to spend the night in blissful solitude while finishing off his ever-present half-erection. It's pathetic, but it's a plan.
“You need anything?” Brian doesn’t look up from where he stubs out his cigarette with the heel of his boot.
Justin shakes his head as he fights with the hose of the gas pump.
“That’s smooth.” Brian can’t help a grin when he finally looks up to see Justin’s struggle. “No surprise Didier ditched you.”
Justin gives him the finger, otherwise ignoring the comment, much to Brian’s chagrin.
The gas station’s little shop is cramped, trying to fit in all the necessities needed for a trip or a lonely Saturday night. Brian makes his way to the liquor shelf, choosing a bottle of Canadian whiskey (just for the hell of it). He’ll need cigarettes, too, plenty of them. For a moment, he contemplates asking the scrawny kid manning the register if he knows where to buy something with a little more kick, but he refrains when Justin comes in to pay. He'll only be able to handle so much reprimanding in one night. Instead, he grabs a package of condoms along the way and tosses it offhandedly on the counter just as Justin steps up to pay.
“I’ll pay for gas,” Brian states simply.
Again, Justin doesn’t reply. He just eyes Brian’s purchases, the fraction of a smile ghosts over his face, before his expression turns neutral again. “I called Linds and told her we’ll be there in about an hour.”
“How very responsible of you.”
“Glad to know to I’m not the only one.” With that, Justin turns and leaves the little shop.
Brian is almost disappointed by the lack of Justin’s reaction. Have they really grown that far apart that he is not even worth more than an offhand comment? So when they get back into the car, pull into traffic, and all of a sudden Justin shakes his head in something close to disappointment, Brian almost sighs in relief.
“So you’re really going to go out tonight? On Christmas?”
“Tis da time to be merry.”
“So let me get this straight. Or not so straight in your case. We went on this fucking road trip to visit the family for Christmas, and instead of enjoying some time off with the family - your son - you want to go out and get laid.”
Brian scoffs. “Wouldn’t you be surprised if I didn’t?”
Justin contemplates that for a satisfactory moment. “I guess some things just never change.”
A strange atmosphere stretches between them. An atmosphere ripe with unsaid things, of unasked questions, and pretty much everything that has happened in the past years.
Maybe Brian really should have asked that kid for some dope after all.
*
As soon as Justin pulls the car into the driveway of Mel and Lindsay’s house, the door opens and a boy comes bounding out, dressed in a Spiderman suit, dark hair falling into his face.
“At least someone is happy to see me.” Brian says more to himself (maybe to convince himself) as he peels himself from the car.
WIth the force of a miniature bulldozer, Gus crashes against his dad’s legs, making him wobble. Without so much as yelling “Daddy,” he immediately starts rattling off his Christmas wishes, how they’ve been trying to make Hanukkah and Christmas work at the same time and how JR still believes in Santa Claus, and really, how stupid is that? The baby, of course, has no idea what is going on but she’s cute and basically just screaming and pooping and eating and at that point, Brian has to remind his son to breathe and stop him from detailing how Lindsay is breastfeeding her newborn. Because really, there is nothing better to kill that thin sliver of Christmas spirit than imagining such an image. Well, with Mel in the picture maybe...
“Daddy Justin!”
Justin gets about the same treatment and (admittedly) handles it more gracefully. And why the flying fuck did Gus just call him Daddy Justin? Brian doesn’t have time to process it when Gus grabs his hand and drags both him and Justin into the house.
They are greeted by a welcoming cheer of their friends as if they haven’t seen each other for years and not just last week at the Naughty Elf Extravaganza at Babylon. Brian's response is his trademarked eye-roll. He doesn’t fight the big bear hug Debbie gives him, though, as there is no point in trying.
The house is decorated in an odd mix-n-match of tinsel, mistletoe, ornaments and the like, a menorah finding a home somewhere in between. The first is probably the kids’ work, the latter the work of their politically uber-correct mother. Strangely enough, it works well together, and it all makes the place look and feel even more of a home than it already did whenever Brian made a visit.
All of it is crowned by a huge Christmas tree in the livingroom.
“I helped put up the lights,” Gus announces proudly as he drags his dad into the room.
“And you did a great job, Sonny Boy.”
“We only blew a fuse twice,” Mel says, patting Gus on the shoulder.
“That’s what happens when you let a man do a dyke’s job,” Brian retorts, earning a slap on the arm from Justin. “What? You said to be nice to the Canadians. They are not Canadian, they are just lesbians.”
“Ugh, Dad…” Gus says, rolling his eyes, then bounding off to talk to Drew about football. Apparently, his son takes more after his Mama then is genetically possible.
After the first round of small talk is exchanged and Justin has rehashed their road trip (thankfully leaving out some of the details), they sit down to eat.
Debbie has helped with the food, and the table they cram around is filled with turkey, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and everything else one would expect in the way of All-American Christmas cuisine.
Brian’s stomach growls in approval. It’s the first warm and remotely decent meal he has had in about a week. His appetite wanes a bit when Justin sits down next to him. It's distracting when Justin's knee is constantly brushing against Brian's thigh.
It’s been a while since the last 'family dinner.' That’s what they've always called them despite the fact that only half of them are actually related by blood. The rest is family by choice, and while Brian wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it, he likes it. Always has. Ever since Michael’s home became his more often than the house he was suppose to live in.
So when they eat and the wine is poured (and the good kind, too), and they talk about this and that (for once, it’s not work), something warm spreads inside of him. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Something that is a nice countermeasure against the weariness and cold and uncertainty of the last couple of months.
If only Justin’s close presence didn’t bring back some of the weariness and the uncertainty. If only he knew what was going on, where it was going to go and how he was supposed to handle it.
There is maple pie for dessert, and it’s so sticky and sweet that it makes Brian’s teeth hurt. That feeling gets even worse when Lindsay goes upstairs and returns with a bundle in her arms.
Amelia is tiny, even smaller than Gus was when he was born. She is wrapped up in a pink blanket that matches her pink onesie which almost swallows her whole. At four weeks, she should be bigger. At least that’s what Brian thinks given he has no real reference. His cameos as a dad didn’t really cover those first weeks unless he was writing a cheque.
Everybody ooohs and aaahs as if they have never seen a baby before, and it’s actually Gus who tells everybody to back off his littlest sister. Nonetheless, the girl gets passed around like Saturday’s twink until she lands in Justin’s arms.
“I need a smoke,” Brian says a little too quickly for his own liking, and leaves the table. He doesn’t bother to grab his jacket when he heads for the back door.
*
“Be careful. Even a Grinch might catch a cold.”
Debbie pushes her way out the door, wrapped up in her garish rainbow scarf and matching mittens. She sidles up to Brian, getting well into his personal space.
“How long have you been sitting on that one?” Brian takes the last drag from his cigarette and crushes it under his boot. Mel will hate that he leaves it out there, which is part of the reason why he does it.
“If you’re just going to be grumpy and miserable, you should have stayed home.”
Brian ignores her. “Just called my hotel. They cancelled my reservation since I missed check-in yesterday. And every decent shack in this wilderness is booked solid thanks to the weather.”
“But that isn't the reason why you're acting like someone just stole your favorite new toy.” She nudges him, all but catching him off guard. “Or is it an old and well-beloved toy.”
“Do you get paid by the metaphor?”
Debbie huffs a sigh, as if she is talking to an annoying child. Well… “Brian, if you and Justin are done for good, that’s fine. But if there is even the slightest chance, for god's sake, put us all out of our misery and talk to him."
Brian eyes her. "Us? What about my misery?"
"I don't think you have a lot of say in the matter."
"You've talked about this? Behind our back?"
"Of course. That's what family does. They wanted to put a wager on it, too.” She laughs a throaty laugh, elbowing Brian in the side.
“Yeah? Did you bet for or against me?”
She glances up at him, winking, then grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him down to give him a peck on the cheek. “Talk to Justin, kiddo.”
“Only if you cut me in.”
*
“Good news, Sonny Boy. Your old man is going to stay.”
Thankfully, Lindsay has already tucked Amelia back into bed when Brian goes back inside. In a matter of seconds, he is play-wrestling with his son who is already making plans for their sleeping arrangements while Brian tries to explain what has happened.
“You’re staying in my room, Dad. We can play with my race track and you can read me a story.”
“Race track, huh? How surprisingly stereotypical.”
“You’ll have to take the couch. Justin’s already staying in the guest room,” Lindsay interjects before things get out of hand. “Unless…”
“Couch is fine.” Brian answers a little too quickly and the room falls into an awkward silence for a moment. Before that gets out of hand as well, Gus grabs his dad by the hand and drags him upstairs.
*
The house has fallen into quiet by the time Brian comes back downstairs. Apparently, the rest of the family has had more luck with their accommodations and have shuffled off to their respective hotels. For a fleeting second, he contemplates calling any of them (preferably Theodore, since he is his employee and blackmail just works so well) to ask if they have a spare bed for him, but when he rounds the corner from the hall to the living room, he decides otherwise.
The lights of the tree are still on and it bathes the room in a golden glow that is, admittedly, beautiful.
“Pajama party already over?”
Brian gives a start when Justin's voice breaks the quiet. He's standing by the window on the other side of the room, looking out. Or at the reflection of Brian in the window pane.
“Apparently, my son snores.”
“So he does take after his dad after all.”
Brian knows it’s bait and choses to ignore it. “You could have told me that you were going to stay here.”
“You never asked.”
Brian ignores that, too. “I need a drink.”
“Top shelf.” Justin gestures toward the cabinet in the corner. “Top mine off?” He holds out an half-empty glass of bourbon.
“Something isn’t kosher here after all.” Brian brings the bottle over, pours himself a glass and fills up Justin’s as well.
They stand in silence for a while, looking out the window into the moonlit garden. Snow is still coming down in huge flakes, making it look like balls of cotton candy are dropping from the sky. At least that’s what Gus has said.
“They never asked,” Brian says finally, taking a sip. He doesn’t look at Justin, keeping his gaze fixed on the stark black trees bowing into the backyard.
“They never asked about what?” Justin pushes.
“The baby. They never asked.” The bourbon doesn’t taste all that great all of a sudden, but it’ll make due. “Gus was the one who told me that Linds was pregnant.” Justin nods, taking in the news. He’s about to say something consoling when Brian shrugs. “It’s just as well. I don’t need another kid I only see once a month.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Justin’s hand falls on Brian’s arm, and it takes Brian a lot of effort not to pull away. “I’m sorry.”
“I want you to be...” The words have come so quickly, but when Justin looks up at him, Brian falters. “I want you to work for me. In the art department of Kinnetik NYC. We could use your talents while we get things going.” He is rambling and he knows it. “Freelance, of course, so you can still do your artsy stuff on the side.”
Justin scoffs and rolls his eyes. Then he turns around, leaning against the window sill. “No.”
“Why not? Are you afraid I’m not going to pay you enough?”
“Brian, if you want me back in your life, just say it. With your words. Not your chequebook.”
Brian takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look at Justin, can’t look at Justin. “Chequebook’s easier.”
“Try me.”
A long beat passes between them before Brian dares an attempt at words instead of actions. He really isn’t good with that. “I want you to be my business again.”
Justin grins at that and it matches the golden glow of the Christmas tree. “That’s better.”
“And I want to… know things about you again.” This is getting easier, if only a little.
“Alright.”
“And when I’m in New York, I want to see you.”
“Like on dates?” Again, Justin is dangling it in front of him like bait. “Because I’m still not working for you.”
“Like for lunch or to a fucking hipster after-work party for all I care.” This is Brian’s end of the rope, and frustration takes the better of him. Justin knows him, knows he is crap with this, with… them. So this torture is really uncalled for.
When Justin doesn’t reply right away, Brian tosses his hands up in resignation, stepping away. With an annoyed groan he sinks down on the couch, which Lindsay has already set up for him to sleep on.
“What happened to us?” he asks then, not quite sure where that question is coming from now.
Justin looks at him, he can feel his gaze on him without meeting his eyes. He looks at him for a long while before he finds an answer. “I don’t know. Life, I guess. Time.”
“Didier.”
“He was there.” Brian sees the last of Justin’s shrug when he does lift his head. “He was there when you weren’t, when I was just starting something and needed someone to…”
“Relate?”
“Yeah.”
“It should have been me.” Brian’s words aren’t really directed at Justin. For a second he even wonders if he has said them aloud.
“Listen, if you are looking for blame here, you won’t get any. This is as much my own fault as it is yours. We both thought we could make the long distance thing work and it just didn’t work out. Maybe that is not who we are.”
Maybe this is not who I am, Brian corrects him, if only in his head. For years he has tried to convince him and others that he and relationship didn’t even go together in a sentence. For the most part, he has proven himself right. His very own self-fulfilling fucking prophecy. Even with Justin he has gotten it more wrong and then right and yet… at the end, there was a sliver of hope. That maybe, someday, somehow, they would make it work.
“So what now? How does ‘not who we are’ fit with lunch dates?” Brian asks, aching for that bottle of bourbon which was way over there on the window sill.
Justin sits down next to him. “Do you really mean what you said before?”
“Yes.”
“Then we make it work.”
Brian glances at him from the corner of his eyes. “How many more chances are you going to give me, Sunshine?”
Justin leans into him. “I think we might only need the one. Now that you’re rich and famous, I’ve got everything I ever wanted in a sugar daddy.”
Brian’s hand closes around Justin’s chin, pulling him close for a kiss. When he feels Justin grin against his mouth, he breaks away. “What?”
“You said 'dates.'”
“How old are you? Twelve?”
“I’m still more mature than you.”
“Are you now?”
They share a grin and for the first time tonight, Brian feels like it's actually Christmas.
For a while, they just sit in silence.
It’s Justin who speaks first. “You didn’t just say all that just to get me to share the guest room with you?”
“It was implied.”
Justin rolls his eyes. “We’re not fucking in this house.”
“How about in a condo on 52nd street?”
“Better. But you gotta wine me and dine me first. It’s been a while.”
“Fine.” Brian rolls his eyes, but nods in agreement. “There is one thing you’ll have to do first, though.”
“And what is that?”
“You have to unfollow Didier on Twitter.”
fin.
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no subject
Date: 2015-01-15 08:19 pm (UTC)Thank you very much,
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Date: 2015-01-16 07:20 am (UTC)And I'm so sorry for the long wait. I hope I was able to make up for it.
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Date: 2015-01-15 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-16 07:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-16 03:46 am (UTC)I'm assuming that Justin is Amelia's father. Sure hope so. It would make their family complete.
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Date: 2015-01-16 07:29 am (UTC)And no, unfortunately Justin is not the father. :(
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Date: 2015-01-19 04:53 pm (UTC)I hope you like your story, too! :)
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Date: 2015-01-21 09:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-21 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-22 02:46 am (UTC)500 miles part 2
Date: 2015-01-22 04:11 am (UTC)