nanowrenlet (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nanowrenlet) wrote2003-11-19 05:29 pm
nanowrenlet) wrote2003-11-19 05:29 pm
(no subject)
Justin couldn't fucking believe it. Part of him wanted to grab Brian's shoulders and shake him awake, how dare he skip out on Justin like this when he was so obviously losing his fucking mind? Only... Brian hadn't done anything. He -hadn't-. And he didn't know and ooooh God, this was fifty different kinds of fucked up. Justin scooted away from Brian, backed up until he was sitting on the end of the bed, and he cradled his head in his hands and listened to Brian breathe and tried to figure out what the fuck just happened.
It was a little like poking at the hole a tooth leaves behind, only if you didn't know that what had been there was a tooth. Justin thought -around- the strange gap in his head; he remembered tumbling into the loft, Brian stroking him off, Justin rolling them both over and going down on him in return. He remembered Brian's hands in his hair and Brian coming like a freight train and then... nothing. Absence. The tiny break in his memory that he still couldn't explain. And really, if he said it just like that -- 'I can't remember what he sounds like' -- it seemed like the smallest fucking thing in the world. But like a tooth that gets yanked out of your head, it left an ache behind all out of proportion to its size, and Justin was biting into the pad of his thumb and fighting the urge to just curl up into a ball and cry.
Which was maybe why the pounding on the door startled him so badly that he damn near fell off the bed.
"Brian?! Fuck, Brian, you had better be in there!"
Michael. Well fuck, of -course- it was Michael; he'd know what day it was because Michael was just like that, remembering things that even Brian would sometimes forget except that he hadn't, and he'd obviously ditched Michael at some point before he'd shown up at Boytoy. Justin heard Michael curse again and jingle a set of keys, and fuck he had to get -out- of there, why hadn't he moved yet?
Justin scrambled off the bed and dashed for his clothes. He had his pants on and was pulling his sweatshirt over his head by the time Michael slid the door open and he wondered absently which of them had locked the door on the way in. Probably him. And it was probably a fucking miracle he hadn't automatically set the alarm code, too.
Michael stopped still when he saw him, and Justin gulped.
"Who're you? And where's Brian?"
"'M just leaving." Justin pulled his shirt down and ducked his head away from Michael's gaze. "He's in bed. He's okay, just passed out a couple minutes ago."
Michael's shoulders sagged, like he'd been expecting that and dreading it both, and he nodded and headed for the bedroom just as Justin started away from it, looking for his shoes. It wasn't until they were almost even with each other that Justin remembered and added, "Oh, and his Jeep's probably over by Boytoy."
"Okay, thanks." And Michael looked at him and smiled a little, because it was the polite Michael-thing to do, and when he got his first good look at Justin his face sort of softened. Justin knew what he was seeing -- another blond-haired, blue-eyed kid -- and he could see that Michael guessed -why-, and might have even apologized to this kid for it if he had known where to begin explaining. Justin looked away and searched for his shoes. Michael didn't need to be sorry; Justin was sorry enough for them both.
He had his shoes in hand and was almost out the door when Michael sat next to Brian on the bed, and Brian woke up.
"Mikey? Where'd he go?" Brian was still high as a kite and his voice had that soft, confused pitch Justin had only heard a couple of times, and because he was a fucking idiot, he stopped just outside the door of the loft and listened.
"Who, your trick? Home, I'm guessing."
"No, it wasn't a trick, it was Justin. He was just here a minute ago."
Justin held his breath. Michael was silent for so long that Justin thought maybe he was holding his, too, but when he spoke again he just sounded tired. "No, Brian. It wasn't Justin. I told you to stay the fuck away from Anita's shit."
Brian was mumbling by then, arguing probably, and if Justin peeked around the door he bet he would see Michael pushing Brian back down onto the bed and pulling a blanket up over him, but God, there were limits even to his stupidity.
Justin's heart was slamming against his ribs and he still didn't -understand-, but Rube's warning was echoing in his head: 'You are playing with fire. If you keep it up, someone's going to get burned.' He didn't know the whys or the hows, but now he knew -what-, and it was as if Brian had become a poison to him, threatening the only remnants of their time together that Justin had left.
Justin felt something that was probably terror clawing at his insides, and he ran down the stairs before his traitor mind could forget anything else.
[882/882/34566]
It was a little like poking at the hole a tooth leaves behind, only if you didn't know that what had been there was a tooth. Justin thought -around- the strange gap in his head; he remembered tumbling into the loft, Brian stroking him off, Justin rolling them both over and going down on him in return. He remembered Brian's hands in his hair and Brian coming like a freight train and then... nothing. Absence. The tiny break in his memory that he still couldn't explain. And really, if he said it just like that -- 'I can't remember what he sounds like' -- it seemed like the smallest fucking thing in the world. But like a tooth that gets yanked out of your head, it left an ache behind all out of proportion to its size, and Justin was biting into the pad of his thumb and fighting the urge to just curl up into a ball and cry.
Which was maybe why the pounding on the door startled him so badly that he damn near fell off the bed.
"Brian?! Fuck, Brian, you had better be in there!"
Michael. Well fuck, of -course- it was Michael; he'd know what day it was because Michael was just like that, remembering things that even Brian would sometimes forget except that he hadn't, and he'd obviously ditched Michael at some point before he'd shown up at Boytoy. Justin heard Michael curse again and jingle a set of keys, and fuck he had to get -out- of there, why hadn't he moved yet?
Justin scrambled off the bed and dashed for his clothes. He had his pants on and was pulling his sweatshirt over his head by the time Michael slid the door open and he wondered absently which of them had locked the door on the way in. Probably him. And it was probably a fucking miracle he hadn't automatically set the alarm code, too.
Michael stopped still when he saw him, and Justin gulped.
"Who're you? And where's Brian?"
"'M just leaving." Justin pulled his shirt down and ducked his head away from Michael's gaze. "He's in bed. He's okay, just passed out a couple minutes ago."
Michael's shoulders sagged, like he'd been expecting that and dreading it both, and he nodded and headed for the bedroom just as Justin started away from it, looking for his shoes. It wasn't until they were almost even with each other that Justin remembered and added, "Oh, and his Jeep's probably over by Boytoy."
"Okay, thanks." And Michael looked at him and smiled a little, because it was the polite Michael-thing to do, and when he got his first good look at Justin his face sort of softened. Justin knew what he was seeing -- another blond-haired, blue-eyed kid -- and he could see that Michael guessed -why-, and might have even apologized to this kid for it if he had known where to begin explaining. Justin looked away and searched for his shoes. Michael didn't need to be sorry; Justin was sorry enough for them both.
He had his shoes in hand and was almost out the door when Michael sat next to Brian on the bed, and Brian woke up.
"Mikey? Where'd he go?" Brian was still high as a kite and his voice had that soft, confused pitch Justin had only heard a couple of times, and because he was a fucking idiot, he stopped just outside the door of the loft and listened.
"Who, your trick? Home, I'm guessing."
"No, it wasn't a trick, it was Justin. He was just here a minute ago."
Justin held his breath. Michael was silent for so long that Justin thought maybe he was holding his, too, but when he spoke again he just sounded tired. "No, Brian. It wasn't Justin. I told you to stay the fuck away from Anita's shit."
Brian was mumbling by then, arguing probably, and if Justin peeked around the door he bet he would see Michael pushing Brian back down onto the bed and pulling a blanket up over him, but God, there were limits even to his stupidity.
Justin's heart was slamming against his ribs and he still didn't -understand-, but Rube's warning was echoing in his head: 'You are playing with fire. If you keep it up, someone's going to get burned.' He didn't know the whys or the hows, but now he knew -what-, and it was as if Brian had become a poison to him, threatening the only remnants of their time together that Justin had left.
Justin felt something that was probably terror clawing at his insides, and he ran down the stairs before his traitor mind could forget anything else.
[882/882/34566]