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cuivresdesaxe
FROM:fansee
TITLE: The Mad Avenger
GIFT REQUEST: AU. Brian and Justin have not met. Brian is still working at Vangard on Stockwell's campaign. Justin is still making his posters but they're also targeting Brian for helping a homophobe getting elected.
NOTE: I apologize, dearcuivresdesaxe, for how long it has taken me to finish this, but I was so charmed by your request that I had to plunge in and do my very best with it. My very best turned out to run a little over 5,000 words, so I hope you like lo-ong fics.
The Mad Avenger
“Want some peach yogurt?” Daphne held out a bowl to Justin.
Justin sighed and took another drag on his cigarette. “No, thanks.”
“It’s just that it’s healthier than all the cigarettes you’re consuming.” She sat down next to his sofa/bed. “You’ve been depressed for practically the entire first month’s rent.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a lousy roommate. It’s just that I don’t know where I’m going in life, now that I’m not with Ethan. That turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life, but at least I felt like my life had direction. I thought he wanted what I wanted…a committed relationship, the chance to build a normal life together, maybe start a family when our careers were established. I was so fucking wrong! And now….”
“Now you’re still in school, you’re still doing well, you still have a great career ahead of you…”
“Yeah, logically I should be fine, but mentally…I’m not.”
“Retail therapy works for me.”
“My mom is stretched to the limit paying my tuition and everything I earn at the diner goes to the little bit of rent you let me pay you and art supplies. Besides, I don’t like to shop.”
“I dunno…maybe you should quit the diner and get a better paying job. Do something different: shake things up.”
“I have thought of leaving the diner for a job at a higher class restaurant, now that I have experience as a waiter, but right now I feel like I can’t. With Stockwell coming out with all these anti-GLBT ads, I feel like Liberty Diner is kind of a rallying point for the gay community.”
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
“Of course, Brian Kinney goes there, so it isn’t a 100% rallying point.”
“Brian…who?”
“Brian Fucking Kinney. He’s as out a gay man as Ricky Martin, but he’s doing Jim Stockwell’s ad campaign.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m not…and it’s a damn good campaign, too. I wish there was something I could do to fuck it up.” He was quiet for a few minutes, an intent look on his face. “Maybe I can. I have the beginning of an idea that just might work. It’s worth a try, anyway.”
Three weeks later, Justin started at Vangard as an intern. Within two hours, while he was barely oriented to his job, he had his first encounter with Brian Kinney. Justin was Xeroxing a stack of papers when he felt Kinney watching him. He looked up and forced himself to smile although it felt like his face might crack when he did. “Can I help you?” he said.
“Who the fuck are you and why are you here?”
“I’m Justin Taylor and I’m an intern here. Today is my first day.”
“Well, I’m Brian Kinney. I’m a partner here at Vangard, and this is the first time I’ve heard that we hired an intern.”
Justin realized that the area around the Xerox machine had gotten quieter since Kinney’s appearance. There were two or three other employees busy in the vicinity, and he was sure they were following the encounter with interest. He decided that Kinney’s statement didn’t require a response from him, so he kept quiet. He hoped, fervently, that his dislike…no, it was more than dislike…his loathing of the man didn’t show.
Apparently, some response was expected because, after a short, loaded silence, Kinney said, “Who hired you?”
“The head of the art department. I’m a graphic arts major at the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts. I need three credits of practical experience in my chosen field to graduate, so I wrote a letter to him and submitted my transcript and samples of my work. He called me in for an interview, and that was pretty much it.”
Kinney was looking at him thoughtfully. “You look familiar. Have I fucked you?”
Justin gasped. “N-no.” The silence in the room was intense. No one within hearing distance wanted to miss a word of this exchange.
Justin’s mind was racing frantically. He could find no way out: if Brian ever entered the Diner while he was working, shit would hit the fan. “I work at the Liberty Diner. I’ve seen you there.”
Brian stepped back and eyed him critically. “Hah! Debbie’s little protégé. Well, let’s get something straight here and now. I keep my professional and my private life separate, O.K.?”
Justin was baffled. “O.K.?” he said.
“That means, not only have we never fucked, but we never will.” Brian’s gaze raked the room. “I assume everybody here has duties to carry out, including young Justin.”
As their audience of three scurried away, Brian said, “I’d like to tell you to get the fuck off the premises this minute, but I’m told we need an extra pair of hands around here. One misstep on your part, and you are gone, do you understand?”
Justin nodded. He could feel the flush reddening his face. “Yes,” he said. The flush was 25% embarrassment and 75% fury.
“That’s ‘Yes, Mr. Kinney,’ or ‘Yes, sir.’”
“Yes, Mr. Kinney.” But Kinney was already across the room, headed for his office.
“So what happened next?” Daphne asked.
“Nothing. I finished the Xeroxing, got everything ready for mailing or for the courier. I didn’t see Mr. Brian Fucking Kinney, sir, the rest of the day and I ate lunch by myself. You know what the #1 topic at lunch was going to be.”
Daphne nodded. “For sure. What’s this Kinney guy like, anyway? I know you don’t like that he supports Stockwell, but what’s he like in person?”
“He had me as angry as I’ve ever been in my life. I actually saw red. I thought that was just something people say, but it’s true. There was a red haze over everything. It took every bit of will power I have to keep from punching him in the nose.”
“What stopped you? Didn’t want to lose the job?”
“No, I want to get back at him, and I know I can hurt him a lot more using what I’ve learned at PIFA than with my fists.”
Daphne grinned. “What are you going to do? Tell me!”
“I don’t want to talk about it yet. I’m going to be bent over a hot computer most of this weekend.”
It was Thursday of Justin’s second week. He was matting prints for a client conference when Kinney came breezing through the workroom. Eight days of working at Vangard had complicated Justin’s feelings about Kinney. He still despised him for working on Stockwell’s homophobic campaign, but he had to admit that the man knew his way around the advertising business. The other employees often used derogatory nouns when referring to him: slave driver, prick, asshole, jerk, and bastard were not uncommon, although not when Kinney was within earshot. The adjectives that modified the nouns were another story, however. In his eight days, he had heard meticulous, thorough, challenging, intuitive, thoughtful, and inspired used to describe Kinney’s work.
Kinney stopped and looked over Justin’s shoulder. “How’s it going, Taylor?”
“It’s going great. In less than two weeks, I’ve learned more than I would in a semester at school.” He swallowed hard and continued, “I’ve been taught that the workplace atmosphere starts at the top, so that reflects well on you.”
Kinney looked at him speculatively. “Eye-conic Optics will be here at 1:30. Think you can handle putting the boards on the easel during the meeting.”
“Sure.”
Kinney shuffled through the boards. “In this order.”
“Mind if I number them on the back?”
“Unobtrusively?” Justin nodded. “Okay. Just remember: your job is to put the boards up and keep your mouth shut. In fact, just think of yourself as furniture and you’ll do fine.”
“Yes, sir.” In a corner of his mind, Justin noted that his use of ‘sir’ was less ironic than it had been a week ago. He didn’t stop to analyze it. He had other work to do before the 1:30 meeting.
His participation in the Eye-conic meeting did not get off to a good start. He fumbled the boards as he started to set up and dropped about half of them. Mr. Vance didn’t seem to notice, but Kinney drilled him with the evil eye.
Everything else went smoothly until Mandy Greaves from Eye-conic turned toward him and said, “Would you buy a pair of these sunglasses if you saw this ad?”
Startled, Justin said, “Uh…sure.” And that was that: his one word participation in the meeting.
There was some back and forth about the particular shade of blue and the font size, but it quickly became clear to Justin that Vangard was getting the account. When it came down to hand-shaking and congratulating, Kinney gestured to the door, and Justin left.
He started mounting shots from another project, when Kinney came into the workroom. Without looking up from what he was doing, he said, “Do I have a career as furniture?”
“I’d forget about a career as a juggler, if I were you; you were pathetic with the boards.” His voice was mild.
“Sorry, sir.” He looked up at Kinney. “Looking forward to your weekend, Mr. Kinney?” Why did I say that, he wondered to himself, but he knew why. He wanted to break down Kinney’s professional/private barrier so that the man saw him as a person, not furniture. He waited for a response, but Kinney just shrugged and went back to his office.
The next afternoon Justin found out how easy it was to stay late and have Vangard’s office to himself. Friday afternoon, and everybody was eager to get a start on their weekend. Cynthia was the last to leave. “Are you going to be much longer, Justin?” she asked.
“Not really. The cleaning people are still here; I’ll be ready to leave before they’re finished, I think.”
“Okay. Have a great weekend. See you on Monday.” And she was gone.
He booted up the computer with the connection to the printer that printed on over-sized paper; he had used that computer and that printer almost daily. He inserted the thumb drive that had the two posters he’d created on it and printed them out. Then it was just a matter of making copies. It was after 7:00 when he finished, and the cleaning crew were long gone, but they had left the lock set on the door. “All you have to do is shut the door behind you, hon, and it will lock. Mind you, you can’t get back in without a key, so you’ll be locked out.”
It was too early in the evening to start putting up posters – he’d need to wait until well after midnight – so he went back to Daphne’s, changed, and had something to eat. He thought about taking a nap, but he was much too keyed up to sleep. ‘Clubbing,’ he thought. ‘I’ll hit the clubs.’ He had a pretty good idea of the places Brian and friends usually hit. He’d eaves-dropped like mad at the diner last weekend, something he’d never done when he was with Ethan. They weren’t going clubbing, so he hadn’t cared. Now he cared.
He started his evening by checking out Babylon and hit pay dirt. The dance floor was crowded, the music was loud, and the bar area was busy. He scanned the room and found the tall, swishy guy whom Kinney often joined for brunch: Emmett? Another scan of the room but…no Kinney. He wasn’t sure whether he was pleased or disappointed. Staying clear of Kinney after office hours was the smart, cautious thing to do. On the other hand, he didn’t feel cautious tonight. He shrugged and crossed the room to the bar. It wouldn’t hurt to have a drink while he scoped Babylon out.
Closer to the bar, Justin picked out another of Kinney’s friends: the short, Italian-looking guy with dark hair. He took a place at the bar next to him and ordered a drink. Then he said, “You’re friends with Brian Kinney, aren’t you?’
The guy looked at him and said, “You look familiar.” A lot of people seemed to be saying that lately.
“I work at Liberty Diner evenings and weekends.”
“O.K., I do know you. My mother hired you.”
“Right, Debbie is your mom, isn’t she? I love her.”
“Heart as big as the universe,” the guy said, but he seemed to be looking for someone.
“My name is Justin. And you are?”
“Michael. Michael Novotny.”
Justin needed to get the guy to pay attention to him. “I’m working for Kinney at Vangard now.”
Now the guy…Michael…was focused on him. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’m going to school for graphic arts, and I got an internship there. I’m kind of surprised Kinney likes clubbing. He’s all business at work.” That was only a slight exaggeration.
Michael set him straight. “Oh, he likes clubbing all right. He likes drinking and doping and fucking…especially fucking.”
“So why’s he working for Stockwell? Stockwell is pretty much against drinking, doping, and fucking, especially when gay people are doing it. Doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t understand either and I’ve known him since I was twelve. Brian wants to move to New York, and he thinks running the campaign that gets Stockwell elected will get him there.” Michael straightened up. “There he is now.” He waved.
Kinney worked his way across the dance floor, looked sharply at Justin, then kissed Michael on the lips. “What’s my fumble-fingered intern doing at Babylon?”
“Trying to unwind after a stressful week at Vangard.”
“Aren’t you supposed to work the early shift at the diner tomorrow? Tsk, tsk. Better not stay out late tonight.”
“I won’t do anything I can’t handle.”
An eyebrow arched. “All right. Then let’s dance.”
“You mean…you and me?”
“See any reason why not?”
“I thought you kept your professional and private life separate?”
“Always.”
“So…no dancing at Vangard?”
“Got it.”
“And I can call you Brian here?”
Brian grabbed his hand and pulled him out on the dance floor. It had been too long since Justin had danced: the cheap-wine-and-cheese parties Ethan’s friends threw never included loud music and gyrating bodies. He was happy to discover that his body hadn’t forgotten how to move
Still, he was surprised when Brian bracketed his waist with his hands…such long fingers…Justin wondered if they met in the middle of his back…and pulled him close. He looked a question at Brian. Brian’s answer was to begin grinding his pelvis against Justin’s. The result was predictable. Brian put his lips to Justin’s ear, and Justin shuddered.
Brian laughed softly and said, “Just don’t ever wear those tight jeans to work. I’d have to fire you on sight.”
They were still grinding on each other when a third man tapped Justin on the shoulder. He pulled away from Brian and blinked back to reality. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Justin Taylor,’ he thought. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ He turned his back on Brian, adjusted his jeans, and started making his way back to the bar. Brian didn’t try to stop him, he noted, and told himself that was a good thing. Well, whether it was good or bad, it was safe and safe was important.
The rest of the evening was less exciting. Justin stayed well away from Brian. He danced, he stretched two drinks into an evening, and a little after midnight he left.
Back at the apartment, everything was ready to go: both posters, a container of glue, and a large brush with which to apply it. Five minutes later he was out on the street again, heading for downtown alleys where, this late at night, he could put up the posters with minimal likelihood of arrest or even just harassment. When he had three sets left, he took a chance and plastered them to the fence around a construction site. When he was done, he crossed the street and looked at them from afar: three posters of a Jim Stockwell wearing a Hitleresque moustache, with the legend, “Heil to Stockwell,” and three posters of a rat-faced Brian Kinney that said, “Rat Fink Kinney.” He nodded his head, satisfied. They were effective, he thought. He headed home for some sleep.
When his alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday, Justin hit Stop instead of Snooze. He didn’t want to be the first person to notice the new posters that had gone up on the side of the Liberty Diner overnight. Besides, he was tired. He turned over and went right to sleep again. Daphne woke him up a little after 7:00. “Aren’t you working this morning?”
“Fuck. Yes. What time is it, anyway?”
“When did you get in last night? I got back after 1:00 and you weren’t home yet.” She held up his alarm clock so that he could see the time: 7:13 a.m.
“It’s complicated. I’d better get going.” He reached for his cell phone and punched in Debbie’s number.
Justin was not the first person to notice the posters. By the time he got to Liberty Diner, a small group had clustered in front of the array of posters he’d put up early, early that morning. Debbie had come out of the diner with her apron on; Justin guessed that Michael had dragged her away from work to see the posters. The tall guy with the grey eyes who was named Emmett was there, as was the blonde from the pair of women Justin thought of as the Lezzie Ladies.
“Wait ‘til Stockwell sees this,” Debbie chortled. “He’ll have a fit.”
“So will Brian,” said Michael, in a tone somewhere between gloat and horror.
Debbie turned to Justin. “My God, you look exhausted this morning. Is something wrong, honey?” Justin shook his head, and she went on, “What do you think of these posters? Aren’t they wild?”
“I think they’re effective even though the messages are heavy-handed and the graphics are crude.”
Blonde Lezzie Lady said, “I like the coarseness of the design. Overall, they are great representatives of the tradition of agitprop art.”
“Agee…? What?” Debbie asked.
“Propaganda art,” Brian said. When had he arrived on the scene? Justin wondered. “The posters are all over town, including a bunch on the barriers around the new office building that’s going up.”
“What about the one of you?” Debbie asked.
“While I’m not happy about being compared to a rat, I do take the whole idea of being the subject of a poster as a sort of compliment.”
“Compliment?” Michael said. “I’d take it as an insult, a pretty nasty insult.”
“Haven’t you heard that there’s no such thing as bad publicity, Michael? It’s a clever caricature, and the cartoonist spelled my name right. Now, if I were shown as a puppet-master, pulling Stockwell’s strings, then I’d be insulted. I’m no puppet master. I’m dressing up Stockwell’s message and making it understandable for the masses, but it’s Jim Stockwell’s message, not mine. He’s the real deal.”
Lezzie Lady said, “I don’t agree with you. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong with your argument, but I’m sure it’s flawed. I’ll run it by Mel.”
“I’m sure the esteemed Melanie Marcus will trash my argument to your satisfaction. You can tell me all about it the next time you see me.” Brian twitched an eyebrow.
Debbie, who was looking back and forth between Brian and Lezzie Lady, suddenly came to herself. “Come on, Justin, we have work to do.” He followed her through the back entrance and into the Diner’s kitchen.
Justin said, “So that’s the whole story. Remember, Daphne, you swore not to tell anyone. I’ll be in more trouble than you can imagine if Brian finds out what I’m doing. Losing my job at Vangard will just be the start of it.”
Daphne’s face was solemn. “Swear to God, hope to die, with a needle in my eye. Not a word, not to anybody, not even my mother.”
Justin took two steps across the small room and hugged her. “I trust you, I really do. And I’m happy to have someone to talk to about it. It’s hard to keep quiet about such a big deal, you know?”
Daphne nodded vigorously. “It was pretty brave of you to go looking for Kinney at Babylon.”
“Brave? Or stupid? And then when he came on to me when we were dancing? I was lucky that other guy interrupted Brian’s next move…if he was going to make a next move. I was fucking hypnotized.”
“Would you have let him…you know…fuck you if he’d tried?”
Justin looked gloomy. “Probably.” He sighed. “I stayed out of his way the rest of the night, but I kinda talked to some other guys about him, and it mightn’t have been so bad. They all said he has a one-and-done philosophy when it comes to fucking.”
“One-and-done?”
“Yeah, as in, he never fucks the same guy twice.”
“That’s just plain weird.”
“Yeah. It’s probably not 100% true, but if it is…I should fuck him and get it over with.”
Daphne giggled. “Like getting inoculated for smallpox?”
Justin laughed back. “I guess I kind of want it, too, or else why did I go to Babylon in the first place?”
“Are you going to keep on stalking him?”
“That’s so high school.” Justin shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
Justin came out of the men’s room at Woody’s and scanned the bar for Kinney. He was nowhere to be seen, so he went to the bar and bought a Coke. He was perched on a bar stool when Kinney came in on a burst of cold air. Kinney stopped for a minute, scanned the room, and found Michael and his big boyfriend over by the pool table. Kinney’s next stop, Justin figured, would be the bar, so he slid off the bar stool and unobtrusively made his way across the room to a small table by the wall. There the contrast with the bright lights over the pool table made the darkness seem even darker.
When Brian was done at the bar, he brought his beer over and joined Michael and his boyfriend at their table without noticing Justin, a few tables away. Nevertheless, Justin ran his fingers along the rim of the watch cap he was wearing: every bit of blond hair was safely tucked away. He turned so that he was facing the back wall and his back was toward Kinney. His ears, however, were straining in Kinney’s direction. He caught Michael’s voice, saying, “I thought you had a trick tonight.”
“I did, not that it was much fun. We went out looking for somewhere to fuck. First we went to Liberty Baths: closed. So we tried the Gravel Pit, and it was shut down. We even looked up Adonis, and it was locked up tight.”
Michael said, “You hate Adonis.”
“They haven’t cleaned the cum off the floor since the day they opened. It’s disgusting, but it’s the principle of the thing.”
“Or the unprincipled thing,” the big guy said.
“Did you take him back to the loft?” Michael asked.
“He blew me in the alley. I think leaning against that freezing cold wall gave me a backache.”
“It’s your own fault, Brian, for encouraging Stockwell to persecute us….”
The big guy interrupted. “Brian knows that, Michael. Let’s drop it now. He’ll do what he has to do.” And the conversation obediently veered off the topics Justin was interested in. He nursed his single Coke along for another hour until all three finally got up and left Woody’s. Justin gave them another fifteen minutes to leave the immediate vicinity and then thankfully went back to his warm bed.
Friday night, and Justin was putting in another late night at Vangard. He was running off a second, large batch of posters. This time Stockwell’s poster announced “Laughing Stock” over a caricature of Stockwell with a red clown nose. The second poster was entitled, “Traitor Kinney,” and depicted a sly-looking Brian holding a smoking gun. The letters, G L B T, danced in the smoke.
Justin jerked around toward the door at the sound of Kinney’s voice. “Taylor, what are you still doing here? Let me guess. The Mad Avenger was too cheap to do his copying at Kinko’s so you offered to do it for him.”
Justin quickly – guiltily – flipped the top copy over. “I told you: I’m doing a project for school.”
“I’m sure you’ll get an A even if it is a bit crude and heavy-handed.” Brian turned over the poster back over and looked silently at the smoking gun. Then he crumpled it up. “Fun’s over, Super Boy. You made your statements once; that’s enough.”
Justin clenched his teeth. “I’m not going to cut it out. I’m doing what I believe in…what you should believe in, too. You know that Stockwell is a homophobe, a fascist, even if you won’t admit it. He’s a threat to everything and everyone we both know, and I’m going to fight him every way I can.”
“Leave Stockwell out of this. I don’t care about Stockwell. You are fucking with my business.” He stared at Justin. “Stop it.”
Justin stared back for a long minute, then he nodded. He straightened out the stack of finished posters and handed them to Kinney. “Dispose of them, will you?”
“Gladly.”
Justin went to the men’s room, put on his coat, and then picked up his portfolio with the much larger batch of posters he had made earlier in the week. The light was still on in Kinney’s office, so he yelled out, “Bye,” as he left.
This time he waited until after 10:00 to leave for Babylon. It was mobbed again, the dance floor and the bar packed with men. Rumor had it that undercover cops were circulating in the crowd, so he ordered seltzer with a twist of lime at the bar. He’d always gotten served whatever he asked for at Babylon, but there was no point in being picked up for underage drinking tonight. He had things to do later on.
He started talking to the kid next to him who didn’t look any older than Justin but was drinking a margarita, then they went out on the dance floor together. The song that was playing was just merging into the next one when Brian stepped between them. “Brian,” Justin said, “What a surprise.”
“Uh-huh,” Brian said, and slid his hands under the back of Justin’s tight jeans until they were caressing his ass.
Justin grinned at Brian. “I’m commando,” he said.
“Good planning,” Brian said.
They stayed on the dance floor through a couple of sets, touching, licking, exploring each other, then took a break for drinks at the bar. This time Justin’s seltzer with a twist of lime was fortified by a shot of vodka, probably because of some unobserved magic of Brian’s. When they’d finished their drinks and Brian grabbed him again, Justin thought they were going back out on the floor. Instead they crossed it, went past the stairs to the balcony, and beyond to the door that led to the backroom.
Brian’s grip on his arm was firm, but Justin wasn’t pulling back against him. Brian took a couple of steps, then stopped short. “Wha-at the fuck?
The door was nailed shut. The sign nailed to the door said, “This area is closed.”
Justin said, “Stockwell’s Storm Troopers have struck again.”
Brian turned and strode toward the dance floor, looking around. He veered toward Emmett who was on the dance floor with two other guys, but Justin grabbed Brian’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “Listen,” he said. “You know I do have to be at the diner around 6:00 tomorrow morning…this morning…and it’s after midnight already. I hate to leave, but….”
Brian waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I understand. Go.”
Justin went.
Justin burst out of Babylon and hustled back toward the apartment. Part of his haste was fueled by the need to get started on his plan for the rest of the night; another part was an urge to put physical distance between himself and the undeniable temptation that was Brian. Had he been saved by the bell or had he missed the opportunity of a lifetime? Obviously if that door hadn’t been nailed shut, he’d have either been on his knees, sucking dick, or bent over with Brian’s dick up his ass. Even out here, in Pittsburgh’s cold winter air, those images were having an effect on his dick.
He shook his head at his own stupidity at putting himself in a situation conflicted in so many intractable ways. Fuck Brian physically or fuck Brian’s ambitious plans? Doing both could lead to a disaster that would blow up in his face. He’d been lucky, very lucky, that that door had been locked, he decided, no matter how vigorously his dick disagreed.
By this time, Justin has his routine for pasting up posters down so pat that he could do it in his sleep. In fact, that’s what he was doing in his sleep many nights: dreaming about putting up posters where the glue wouldn’t stick or where sinister figures blocked every attempt to get near any wall. Sometimes all those figures looked like Brian Kinney which meant he always woke up just as the dream got interesting.
Those nightmares only occurred when he was asleep, however. When he was awake, even when he was as cold and tired as he was now, everything went smoothly, automatically. He had just started to brush paste onto the next spot when a hand reached over his shoulder and gently took away his brush. He looked up at Brian and waited to see what he would do. He was too tired even to protest.
Brian slapped on the paste with the brush, so Justin handed him a poster, a Stockwell poster, he noted. Brian positioned the poster and pressed it into the paste. Then he put his arm across Justin’s shoulders and kissed him, softly at first, then more strongly, more dominantly. Justin relaxed into the kiss.
Brian finally drew back and said, “Have you done the diner yet?”
“No.”
“Let’s do it next, then we’ll go back to my loft and talk strategy going forward.”
“I’m beat. I need some sleep before I think about strategy…before I think about anything.”
“I know just the way to make sure you get some healthful, refreshing sleep. Afterwards, I have an idea I’m pretty sure you’ll find interesting. And since you’re determined to be a player, you can stick your neck out and be ready to take some flack, too.”
“Okay,” Justin said, but he was thinking, ‘Not just another trick. I’ll be more than just a trick, I’ll be a player. This has potential.’
“Let’s go,” he said more energetically. “Let’s make Stockwell’s life a lot more interesting.” ‘And make my life more interesting and yours, too, Brian Fucking Kinney.’
cuivresdesaxe FROM:
fanseeTITLE: The Mad Avenger
GIFT REQUEST: AU. Brian and Justin have not met. Brian is still working at Vangard on Stockwell's campaign. Justin is still making his posters but they're also targeting Brian for helping a homophobe getting elected.
NOTE: I apologize, dear
cuivresdesaxe, for how long it has taken me to finish this, but I was so charmed by your request that I had to plunge in and do my very best with it. My very best turned out to run a little over 5,000 words, so I hope you like lo-ong fics.“Want some peach yogurt?” Daphne held out a bowl to Justin.
Justin sighed and took another drag on his cigarette. “No, thanks.”
“It’s just that it’s healthier than all the cigarettes you’re consuming.” She sat down next to his sofa/bed. “You’ve been depressed for practically the entire first month’s rent.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a lousy roommate. It’s just that I don’t know where I’m going in life, now that I’m not with Ethan. That turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life, but at least I felt like my life had direction. I thought he wanted what I wanted…a committed relationship, the chance to build a normal life together, maybe start a family when our careers were established. I was so fucking wrong! And now….”
“Now you’re still in school, you’re still doing well, you still have a great career ahead of you…”
“Yeah, logically I should be fine, but mentally…I’m not.”
“Retail therapy works for me.”
“My mom is stretched to the limit paying my tuition and everything I earn at the diner goes to the little bit of rent you let me pay you and art supplies. Besides, I don’t like to shop.”
“I dunno…maybe you should quit the diner and get a better paying job. Do something different: shake things up.”
“I have thought of leaving the diner for a job at a higher class restaurant, now that I have experience as a waiter, but right now I feel like I can’t. With Stockwell coming out with all these anti-GLBT ads, I feel like Liberty Diner is kind of a rallying point for the gay community.”
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
“Of course, Brian Kinney goes there, so it isn’t a 100% rallying point.”
“Brian…who?”
“Brian Fucking Kinney. He’s as out a gay man as Ricky Martin, but he’s doing Jim Stockwell’s ad campaign.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m not…and it’s a damn good campaign, too. I wish there was something I could do to fuck it up.” He was quiet for a few minutes, an intent look on his face. “Maybe I can. I have the beginning of an idea that just might work. It’s worth a try, anyway.”
Three weeks later, Justin started at Vangard as an intern. Within two hours, while he was barely oriented to his job, he had his first encounter with Brian Kinney. Justin was Xeroxing a stack of papers when he felt Kinney watching him. He looked up and forced himself to smile although it felt like his face might crack when he did. “Can I help you?” he said.
“Who the fuck are you and why are you here?”
“I’m Justin Taylor and I’m an intern here. Today is my first day.”
“Well, I’m Brian Kinney. I’m a partner here at Vangard, and this is the first time I’ve heard that we hired an intern.”
Justin realized that the area around the Xerox machine had gotten quieter since Kinney’s appearance. There were two or three other employees busy in the vicinity, and he was sure they were following the encounter with interest. He decided that Kinney’s statement didn’t require a response from him, so he kept quiet. He hoped, fervently, that his dislike…no, it was more than dislike…his loathing of the man didn’t show.
Apparently, some response was expected because, after a short, loaded silence, Kinney said, “Who hired you?”
“The head of the art department. I’m a graphic arts major at the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts. I need three credits of practical experience in my chosen field to graduate, so I wrote a letter to him and submitted my transcript and samples of my work. He called me in for an interview, and that was pretty much it.”
Kinney was looking at him thoughtfully. “You look familiar. Have I fucked you?”
Justin gasped. “N-no.” The silence in the room was intense. No one within hearing distance wanted to miss a word of this exchange.
Justin’s mind was racing frantically. He could find no way out: if Brian ever entered the Diner while he was working, shit would hit the fan. “I work at the Liberty Diner. I’ve seen you there.”
Brian stepped back and eyed him critically. “Hah! Debbie’s little protégé. Well, let’s get something straight here and now. I keep my professional and my private life separate, O.K.?”
Justin was baffled. “O.K.?” he said.
“That means, not only have we never fucked, but we never will.” Brian’s gaze raked the room. “I assume everybody here has duties to carry out, including young Justin.”
As their audience of three scurried away, Brian said, “I’d like to tell you to get the fuck off the premises this minute, but I’m told we need an extra pair of hands around here. One misstep on your part, and you are gone, do you understand?”
Justin nodded. He could feel the flush reddening his face. “Yes,” he said. The flush was 25% embarrassment and 75% fury.
“That’s ‘Yes, Mr. Kinney,’ or ‘Yes, sir.’”
“Yes, Mr. Kinney.” But Kinney was already across the room, headed for his office.
“So what happened next?” Daphne asked.
“Nothing. I finished the Xeroxing, got everything ready for mailing or for the courier. I didn’t see Mr. Brian Fucking Kinney, sir, the rest of the day and I ate lunch by myself. You know what the #1 topic at lunch was going to be.”
Daphne nodded. “For sure. What’s this Kinney guy like, anyway? I know you don’t like that he supports Stockwell, but what’s he like in person?”
“He had me as angry as I’ve ever been in my life. I actually saw red. I thought that was just something people say, but it’s true. There was a red haze over everything. It took every bit of will power I have to keep from punching him in the nose.”
“What stopped you? Didn’t want to lose the job?”
“No, I want to get back at him, and I know I can hurt him a lot more using what I’ve learned at PIFA than with my fists.”
Daphne grinned. “What are you going to do? Tell me!”
“I don’t want to talk about it yet. I’m going to be bent over a hot computer most of this weekend.”
It was Thursday of Justin’s second week. He was matting prints for a client conference when Kinney came breezing through the workroom. Eight days of working at Vangard had complicated Justin’s feelings about Kinney. He still despised him for working on Stockwell’s homophobic campaign, but he had to admit that the man knew his way around the advertising business. The other employees often used derogatory nouns when referring to him: slave driver, prick, asshole, jerk, and bastard were not uncommon, although not when Kinney was within earshot. The adjectives that modified the nouns were another story, however. In his eight days, he had heard meticulous, thorough, challenging, intuitive, thoughtful, and inspired used to describe Kinney’s work.
Kinney stopped and looked over Justin’s shoulder. “How’s it going, Taylor?”
“It’s going great. In less than two weeks, I’ve learned more than I would in a semester at school.” He swallowed hard and continued, “I’ve been taught that the workplace atmosphere starts at the top, so that reflects well on you.”
Kinney looked at him speculatively. “Eye-conic Optics will be here at 1:30. Think you can handle putting the boards on the easel during the meeting.”
“Sure.”
Kinney shuffled through the boards. “In this order.”
“Mind if I number them on the back?”
“Unobtrusively?” Justin nodded. “Okay. Just remember: your job is to put the boards up and keep your mouth shut. In fact, just think of yourself as furniture and you’ll do fine.”
“Yes, sir.” In a corner of his mind, Justin noted that his use of ‘sir’ was less ironic than it had been a week ago. He didn’t stop to analyze it. He had other work to do before the 1:30 meeting.
His participation in the Eye-conic meeting did not get off to a good start. He fumbled the boards as he started to set up and dropped about half of them. Mr. Vance didn’t seem to notice, but Kinney drilled him with the evil eye.
Everything else went smoothly until Mandy Greaves from Eye-conic turned toward him and said, “Would you buy a pair of these sunglasses if you saw this ad?”
Startled, Justin said, “Uh…sure.” And that was that: his one word participation in the meeting.
There was some back and forth about the particular shade of blue and the font size, but it quickly became clear to Justin that Vangard was getting the account. When it came down to hand-shaking and congratulating, Kinney gestured to the door, and Justin left.
He started mounting shots from another project, when Kinney came into the workroom. Without looking up from what he was doing, he said, “Do I have a career as furniture?”
“I’d forget about a career as a juggler, if I were you; you were pathetic with the boards.” His voice was mild.
“Sorry, sir.” He looked up at Kinney. “Looking forward to your weekend, Mr. Kinney?” Why did I say that, he wondered to himself, but he knew why. He wanted to break down Kinney’s professional/private barrier so that the man saw him as a person, not furniture. He waited for a response, but Kinney just shrugged and went back to his office.
The next afternoon Justin found out how easy it was to stay late and have Vangard’s office to himself. Friday afternoon, and everybody was eager to get a start on their weekend. Cynthia was the last to leave. “Are you going to be much longer, Justin?” she asked.
“Not really. The cleaning people are still here; I’ll be ready to leave before they’re finished, I think.”
“Okay. Have a great weekend. See you on Monday.” And she was gone.
He booted up the computer with the connection to the printer that printed on over-sized paper; he had used that computer and that printer almost daily. He inserted the thumb drive that had the two posters he’d created on it and printed them out. Then it was just a matter of making copies. It was after 7:00 when he finished, and the cleaning crew were long gone, but they had left the lock set on the door. “All you have to do is shut the door behind you, hon, and it will lock. Mind you, you can’t get back in without a key, so you’ll be locked out.”
It was too early in the evening to start putting up posters – he’d need to wait until well after midnight – so he went back to Daphne’s, changed, and had something to eat. He thought about taking a nap, but he was much too keyed up to sleep. ‘Clubbing,’ he thought. ‘I’ll hit the clubs.’ He had a pretty good idea of the places Brian and friends usually hit. He’d eaves-dropped like mad at the diner last weekend, something he’d never done when he was with Ethan. They weren’t going clubbing, so he hadn’t cared. Now he cared.
He started his evening by checking out Babylon and hit pay dirt. The dance floor was crowded, the music was loud, and the bar area was busy. He scanned the room and found the tall, swishy guy whom Kinney often joined for brunch: Emmett? Another scan of the room but…no Kinney. He wasn’t sure whether he was pleased or disappointed. Staying clear of Kinney after office hours was the smart, cautious thing to do. On the other hand, he didn’t feel cautious tonight. He shrugged and crossed the room to the bar. It wouldn’t hurt to have a drink while he scoped Babylon out.
Closer to the bar, Justin picked out another of Kinney’s friends: the short, Italian-looking guy with dark hair. He took a place at the bar next to him and ordered a drink. Then he said, “You’re friends with Brian Kinney, aren’t you?’
The guy looked at him and said, “You look familiar.” A lot of people seemed to be saying that lately.
“I work at Liberty Diner evenings and weekends.”
“O.K., I do know you. My mother hired you.”
“Right, Debbie is your mom, isn’t she? I love her.”
“Heart as big as the universe,” the guy said, but he seemed to be looking for someone.
“My name is Justin. And you are?”
“Michael. Michael Novotny.”
Justin needed to get the guy to pay attention to him. “I’m working for Kinney at Vangard now.”
Now the guy…Michael…was focused on him. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’m going to school for graphic arts, and I got an internship there. I’m kind of surprised Kinney likes clubbing. He’s all business at work.” That was only a slight exaggeration.
Michael set him straight. “Oh, he likes clubbing all right. He likes drinking and doping and fucking…especially fucking.”
“So why’s he working for Stockwell? Stockwell is pretty much against drinking, doping, and fucking, especially when gay people are doing it. Doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t understand either and I’ve known him since I was twelve. Brian wants to move to New York, and he thinks running the campaign that gets Stockwell elected will get him there.” Michael straightened up. “There he is now.” He waved.
Kinney worked his way across the dance floor, looked sharply at Justin, then kissed Michael on the lips. “What’s my fumble-fingered intern doing at Babylon?”
“Trying to unwind after a stressful week at Vangard.”
“Aren’t you supposed to work the early shift at the diner tomorrow? Tsk, tsk. Better not stay out late tonight.”
“I won’t do anything I can’t handle.”
An eyebrow arched. “All right. Then let’s dance.”
“You mean…you and me?”
“See any reason why not?”
“I thought you kept your professional and private life separate?”
“Always.”
“So…no dancing at Vangard?”
“Got it.”
“And I can call you Brian here?”
Brian grabbed his hand and pulled him out on the dance floor. It had been too long since Justin had danced: the cheap-wine-and-cheese parties Ethan’s friends threw never included loud music and gyrating bodies. He was happy to discover that his body hadn’t forgotten how to move
Still, he was surprised when Brian bracketed his waist with his hands…such long fingers…Justin wondered if they met in the middle of his back…and pulled him close. He looked a question at Brian. Brian’s answer was to begin grinding his pelvis against Justin’s. The result was predictable. Brian put his lips to Justin’s ear, and Justin shuddered.
Brian laughed softly and said, “Just don’t ever wear those tight jeans to work. I’d have to fire you on sight.”
They were still grinding on each other when a third man tapped Justin on the shoulder. He pulled away from Brian and blinked back to reality. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Justin Taylor,’ he thought. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ He turned his back on Brian, adjusted his jeans, and started making his way back to the bar. Brian didn’t try to stop him, he noted, and told himself that was a good thing. Well, whether it was good or bad, it was safe and safe was important.
The rest of the evening was less exciting. Justin stayed well away from Brian. He danced, he stretched two drinks into an evening, and a little after midnight he left.
Back at the apartment, everything was ready to go: both posters, a container of glue, and a large brush with which to apply it. Five minutes later he was out on the street again, heading for downtown alleys where, this late at night, he could put up the posters with minimal likelihood of arrest or even just harassment. When he had three sets left, he took a chance and plastered them to the fence around a construction site. When he was done, he crossed the street and looked at them from afar: three posters of a Jim Stockwell wearing a Hitleresque moustache, with the legend, “Heil to Stockwell,” and three posters of a rat-faced Brian Kinney that said, “Rat Fink Kinney.” He nodded his head, satisfied. They were effective, he thought. He headed home for some sleep.
When his alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday, Justin hit Stop instead of Snooze. He didn’t want to be the first person to notice the new posters that had gone up on the side of the Liberty Diner overnight. Besides, he was tired. He turned over and went right to sleep again. Daphne woke him up a little after 7:00. “Aren’t you working this morning?”
“Fuck. Yes. What time is it, anyway?”
“When did you get in last night? I got back after 1:00 and you weren’t home yet.” She held up his alarm clock so that he could see the time: 7:13 a.m.
“It’s complicated. I’d better get going.” He reached for his cell phone and punched in Debbie’s number.
Justin was not the first person to notice the posters. By the time he got to Liberty Diner, a small group had clustered in front of the array of posters he’d put up early, early that morning. Debbie had come out of the diner with her apron on; Justin guessed that Michael had dragged her away from work to see the posters. The tall guy with the grey eyes who was named Emmett was there, as was the blonde from the pair of women Justin thought of as the Lezzie Ladies.
“Wait ‘til Stockwell sees this,” Debbie chortled. “He’ll have a fit.”
“So will Brian,” said Michael, in a tone somewhere between gloat and horror.
Debbie turned to Justin. “My God, you look exhausted this morning. Is something wrong, honey?” Justin shook his head, and she went on, “What do you think of these posters? Aren’t they wild?”
“I think they’re effective even though the messages are heavy-handed and the graphics are crude.”
Blonde Lezzie Lady said, “I like the coarseness of the design. Overall, they are great representatives of the tradition of agitprop art.”
“Agee…? What?” Debbie asked.
“Propaganda art,” Brian said. When had he arrived on the scene? Justin wondered. “The posters are all over town, including a bunch on the barriers around the new office building that’s going up.”
“What about the one of you?” Debbie asked.
“While I’m not happy about being compared to a rat, I do take the whole idea of being the subject of a poster as a sort of compliment.”
“Compliment?” Michael said. “I’d take it as an insult, a pretty nasty insult.”
“Haven’t you heard that there’s no such thing as bad publicity, Michael? It’s a clever caricature, and the cartoonist spelled my name right. Now, if I were shown as a puppet-master, pulling Stockwell’s strings, then I’d be insulted. I’m no puppet master. I’m dressing up Stockwell’s message and making it understandable for the masses, but it’s Jim Stockwell’s message, not mine. He’s the real deal.”
Lezzie Lady said, “I don’t agree with you. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong with your argument, but I’m sure it’s flawed. I’ll run it by Mel.”
“I’m sure the esteemed Melanie Marcus will trash my argument to your satisfaction. You can tell me all about it the next time you see me.” Brian twitched an eyebrow.
Debbie, who was looking back and forth between Brian and Lezzie Lady, suddenly came to herself. “Come on, Justin, we have work to do.” He followed her through the back entrance and into the Diner’s kitchen.
Justin said, “So that’s the whole story. Remember, Daphne, you swore not to tell anyone. I’ll be in more trouble than you can imagine if Brian finds out what I’m doing. Losing my job at Vangard will just be the start of it.”
Daphne’s face was solemn. “Swear to God, hope to die, with a needle in my eye. Not a word, not to anybody, not even my mother.”
Justin took two steps across the small room and hugged her. “I trust you, I really do. And I’m happy to have someone to talk to about it. It’s hard to keep quiet about such a big deal, you know?”
Daphne nodded vigorously. “It was pretty brave of you to go looking for Kinney at Babylon.”
“Brave? Or stupid? And then when he came on to me when we were dancing? I was lucky that other guy interrupted Brian’s next move…if he was going to make a next move. I was fucking hypnotized.”
“Would you have let him…you know…fuck you if he’d tried?”
Justin looked gloomy. “Probably.” He sighed. “I stayed out of his way the rest of the night, but I kinda talked to some other guys about him, and it mightn’t have been so bad. They all said he has a one-and-done philosophy when it comes to fucking.”
“One-and-done?”
“Yeah, as in, he never fucks the same guy twice.”
“That’s just plain weird.”
“Yeah. It’s probably not 100% true, but if it is…I should fuck him and get it over with.”
Daphne giggled. “Like getting inoculated for smallpox?”
Justin laughed back. “I guess I kind of want it, too, or else why did I go to Babylon in the first place?”
“Are you going to keep on stalking him?”
“That’s so high school.” Justin shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
Justin came out of the men’s room at Woody’s and scanned the bar for Kinney. He was nowhere to be seen, so he went to the bar and bought a Coke. He was perched on a bar stool when Kinney came in on a burst of cold air. Kinney stopped for a minute, scanned the room, and found Michael and his big boyfriend over by the pool table. Kinney’s next stop, Justin figured, would be the bar, so he slid off the bar stool and unobtrusively made his way across the room to a small table by the wall. There the contrast with the bright lights over the pool table made the darkness seem even darker.
When Brian was done at the bar, he brought his beer over and joined Michael and his boyfriend at their table without noticing Justin, a few tables away. Nevertheless, Justin ran his fingers along the rim of the watch cap he was wearing: every bit of blond hair was safely tucked away. He turned so that he was facing the back wall and his back was toward Kinney. His ears, however, were straining in Kinney’s direction. He caught Michael’s voice, saying, “I thought you had a trick tonight.”
“I did, not that it was much fun. We went out looking for somewhere to fuck. First we went to Liberty Baths: closed. So we tried the Gravel Pit, and it was shut down. We even looked up Adonis, and it was locked up tight.”
Michael said, “You hate Adonis.”
“They haven’t cleaned the cum off the floor since the day they opened. It’s disgusting, but it’s the principle of the thing.”
“Or the unprincipled thing,” the big guy said.
“Did you take him back to the loft?” Michael asked.
“He blew me in the alley. I think leaning against that freezing cold wall gave me a backache.”
“It’s your own fault, Brian, for encouraging Stockwell to persecute us….”
The big guy interrupted. “Brian knows that, Michael. Let’s drop it now. He’ll do what he has to do.” And the conversation obediently veered off the topics Justin was interested in. He nursed his single Coke along for another hour until all three finally got up and left Woody’s. Justin gave them another fifteen minutes to leave the immediate vicinity and then thankfully went back to his warm bed.
Friday night, and Justin was putting in another late night at Vangard. He was running off a second, large batch of posters. This time Stockwell’s poster announced “Laughing Stock” over a caricature of Stockwell with a red clown nose. The second poster was entitled, “Traitor Kinney,” and depicted a sly-looking Brian holding a smoking gun. The letters, G L B T, danced in the smoke.
Justin jerked around toward the door at the sound of Kinney’s voice. “Taylor, what are you still doing here? Let me guess. The Mad Avenger was too cheap to do his copying at Kinko’s so you offered to do it for him.”
Justin quickly – guiltily – flipped the top copy over. “I told you: I’m doing a project for school.”
“I’m sure you’ll get an A even if it is a bit crude and heavy-handed.” Brian turned over the poster back over and looked silently at the smoking gun. Then he crumpled it up. “Fun’s over, Super Boy. You made your statements once; that’s enough.”
Justin clenched his teeth. “I’m not going to cut it out. I’m doing what I believe in…what you should believe in, too. You know that Stockwell is a homophobe, a fascist, even if you won’t admit it. He’s a threat to everything and everyone we both know, and I’m going to fight him every way I can.”
“Leave Stockwell out of this. I don’t care about Stockwell. You are fucking with my business.” He stared at Justin. “Stop it.”
Justin stared back for a long minute, then he nodded. He straightened out the stack of finished posters and handed them to Kinney. “Dispose of them, will you?”
“Gladly.”
Justin went to the men’s room, put on his coat, and then picked up his portfolio with the much larger batch of posters he had made earlier in the week. The light was still on in Kinney’s office, so he yelled out, “Bye,” as he left.
This time he waited until after 10:00 to leave for Babylon. It was mobbed again, the dance floor and the bar packed with men. Rumor had it that undercover cops were circulating in the crowd, so he ordered seltzer with a twist of lime at the bar. He’d always gotten served whatever he asked for at Babylon, but there was no point in being picked up for underage drinking tonight. He had things to do later on.
He started talking to the kid next to him who didn’t look any older than Justin but was drinking a margarita, then they went out on the dance floor together. The song that was playing was just merging into the next one when Brian stepped between them. “Brian,” Justin said, “What a surprise.”
“Uh-huh,” Brian said, and slid his hands under the back of Justin’s tight jeans until they were caressing his ass.
Justin grinned at Brian. “I’m commando,” he said.
“Good planning,” Brian said.
They stayed on the dance floor through a couple of sets, touching, licking, exploring each other, then took a break for drinks at the bar. This time Justin’s seltzer with a twist of lime was fortified by a shot of vodka, probably because of some unobserved magic of Brian’s. When they’d finished their drinks and Brian grabbed him again, Justin thought they were going back out on the floor. Instead they crossed it, went past the stairs to the balcony, and beyond to the door that led to the backroom.
Brian’s grip on his arm was firm, but Justin wasn’t pulling back against him. Brian took a couple of steps, then stopped short. “Wha-at the fuck?
The door was nailed shut. The sign nailed to the door said, “This area is closed.”
Justin said, “Stockwell’s Storm Troopers have struck again.”
Brian turned and strode toward the dance floor, looking around. He veered toward Emmett who was on the dance floor with two other guys, but Justin grabbed Brian’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “Listen,” he said. “You know I do have to be at the diner around 6:00 tomorrow morning…this morning…and it’s after midnight already. I hate to leave, but….”
Brian waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I understand. Go.”
Justin went.
Justin burst out of Babylon and hustled back toward the apartment. Part of his haste was fueled by the need to get started on his plan for the rest of the night; another part was an urge to put physical distance between himself and the undeniable temptation that was Brian. Had he been saved by the bell or had he missed the opportunity of a lifetime? Obviously if that door hadn’t been nailed shut, he’d have either been on his knees, sucking dick, or bent over with Brian’s dick up his ass. Even out here, in Pittsburgh’s cold winter air, those images were having an effect on his dick.
He shook his head at his own stupidity at putting himself in a situation conflicted in so many intractable ways. Fuck Brian physically or fuck Brian’s ambitious plans? Doing both could lead to a disaster that would blow up in his face. He’d been lucky, very lucky, that that door had been locked, he decided, no matter how vigorously his dick disagreed.
By this time, Justin has his routine for pasting up posters down so pat that he could do it in his sleep. In fact, that’s what he was doing in his sleep many nights: dreaming about putting up posters where the glue wouldn’t stick or where sinister figures blocked every attempt to get near any wall. Sometimes all those figures looked like Brian Kinney which meant he always woke up just as the dream got interesting.
Those nightmares only occurred when he was asleep, however. When he was awake, even when he was as cold and tired as he was now, everything went smoothly, automatically. He had just started to brush paste onto the next spot when a hand reached over his shoulder and gently took away his brush. He looked up at Brian and waited to see what he would do. He was too tired even to protest.
Brian slapped on the paste with the brush, so Justin handed him a poster, a Stockwell poster, he noted. Brian positioned the poster and pressed it into the paste. Then he put his arm across Justin’s shoulders and kissed him, softly at first, then more strongly, more dominantly. Justin relaxed into the kiss.
Brian finally drew back and said, “Have you done the diner yet?”
“No.”
“Let’s do it next, then we’ll go back to my loft and talk strategy going forward.”
“I’m beat. I need some sleep before I think about strategy…before I think about anything.”
“I know just the way to make sure you get some healthful, refreshing sleep. Afterwards, I have an idea I’m pretty sure you’ll find interesting. And since you’re determined to be a player, you can stick your neck out and be ready to take some flack, too.”
“Okay,” Justin said, but he was thinking, ‘Not just another trick. I’ll be more than just a trick, I’ll be a player. This has potential.’
“Let’s go,” he said more energetically. “Let’s make Stockwell’s life a lot more interesting.” ‘And make my life more interesting and yours, too, Brian Fucking Kinney.’
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Date: 2017-01-09 08:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-09 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-09 04:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-09 11:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-09 08:08 pm (UTC)I love it! Thank you!
And this 5000 flew by much faster, then I was anticipating. ;)
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Date: 2017-01-09 11:22 pm (UTC)Whew! I'm delighted to hear this. This is one of the longer fics I've written, but I couldn't figure out how to truncate it.
Thanks for commenting. FanSee
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Date: 2017-01-10 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-10 06:57 pm (UTC)appreciate the comment! FanSee
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Date: 2017-01-10 09:59 am (UTC)I liked it a lot.
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Date: 2017-01-10 06:58 pm (UTC)Yay! And I like your clever icon a lot, too. FanSee
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Date: 2017-01-10 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-10 12:42 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for sharing :)
HUGS
V.
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Date: 2017-01-10 07:01 pm (UTC)And I LOVE your encouragement. Thank you so much!! Your icon is perfect for this story! FanSee
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Date: 2017-01-11 02:39 pm (UTC)LOL! Loved that line! And soooo Brian Kinney!
Enjoyed this variation on the episode on the show! Thank you for posting this. ~Kim
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Date: 2017-01-12 10:47 pm (UTC)Dee Dee