In the mood for some fiction, kiddies? LOL! Here is Chapter 2 of Mickey Dee. Enjoy! And thanks to Alan for the Beta. Randall
Justin looked up from his computer as Brian entered the loft. It was almost ten. Brian was still in his work clothes, and he looked more exhausted than debauched. Justin sighed, and diverted his gaze back to the screen.
"Your office called. Twice. You missed a meeting this afternoon. We were supposed to have dinner with Mel and Linds. Lindsay sends her love, Mel says to tell you that you're a 'rude fucking egomaniac'. That's a quote."
Brian drained a bottle of water at the refrigerator, then yanked his tie off and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Save it. I'm not in the mood for a lesbo tirade from Melanie fucking Marcus."
He went into the bedroom and hung up his suit, before sitting down heavily on the bed in just his underwear. Justin sensed his dark mood had nothing to do with tricking. His own anger subsided as he joined him there and rested an arm across his shoulders. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Brian responded after a minute's pause.
"Why do you even bother lying to me? I can always tell."
"I don't want to talk about it."
Justin stroked his hand up and down the bumpy ridges of Brian's spine, soothing him. "Ok. Want me to fix you something to eat?"
Brian glanced at his lover's handsome face and forced a smile. "Killing me with kindness again?"
"If it will help. Sure."
"I am kind of hungry. What do we have?"
"I brought home a doggie bag from Lindsay's. I'll nuke it for you. Ziti pasta, your fave."
Brian nodded, then stopped him from getting up, kissing him firmly on the lips. "Thanks for giving a shit."
Justin smiled and ruffled Brian's hair. "No big deal."
As Justin went into the kitchen, Brian remembered the photo and retrieved it from the pocket of his jacket. He pulled on a robe and went into the main room, changing out Justin's dancey electronic music for more soothing jazz. Justin handed him a bowl of reheated pasta and a glass of wine. Brian sipped the wine and placed the stem on the floor as he bit into a forkful of pasta. 'HOT!" he complained and Justin laughed.
"Want me to blow on it?"
"I can think of something better to blow," Brian smirked. Justin picked up the photo Brian had been examining, and laughed.
"God, Mikey was a butterball."
"He went through a fat period for a few months. Must have been hormonal."
"You, on the other hand, were a bone."
"Yeah. I don't recall being that skinny."
"You were still beautiful. Who was the cut out person?"
"Just a friend."
"Then why did you cut him out?"
"I didn't cut that picture up. It doesn't belong to me."
"Then why did Mikey cut him out?"
"It's not Mikey's either."
Brian handed him his empty bowl and finished off the wine, fortified by the rush from the carbohydrates. He took the picture from him as Justin carried the dishes into the kitchen. He followed him in there, sitting on the counter as Justin put the used dishes in the dishwasher. They ate out so often that it took almost a week to fill up the appliance. Even then, most of the space was taken up with glasses and cutlery used to eat out of boxes.
"Justin, do you ever think about having sex with women?"
Justin wrinkled his nose. "Eww. Why would I think about that when I have your hard cock beside me in bed every night?"
"I know you like cock. That's not the issue. Do you think about it?"
"Do you mean if I see a pretty girl, do I think, 'man, I'd like a piece of that'?"
"Ok. No. Do you?"
"I mean it was nice when I had sex with Daph," he walked over to Brian and rested his hands on his thighs, ingratiating his hips between his spread legs. "It felt good. I was comfortable with her. I'm glad we did it, so I know. It would be weird to go through life and not know. But do I ever want to do it again with her? No. Never. Not her, not any girl."
"Brian, I know you slept with Lindsay when you were in college. Were there other women?"
"Why? Didn't you know about yourself early on?"
"Yep. I knew. But I was afraid of it for awhile, confused. I tried telling myself I was one of those all-sexual creatures, like a vampire, or something. The fact that all my fantasies were male, and having sex with other guys was what I craved slightly complicated matters."
"I know your story about the coach when you were fourteen. When did you lose your cherry with a girl?"
Brian winced. "Doesn't matter," he leaned over and kissed Justin on the lips, slipping his tongue into his mouth. He explored the soft interior of his mouth as his hands moved down and across Justin's firm butt. Justin parted Brian's robe, reaching inside and began stroking his cock. Brian moaned, leaning back, his hands flat on the countertop, his chin tilted towards the ceiling as Justin took advantage of their position and began to fellate him with great delicacy. Brian felt the expert glide of his lover's mouth, the smooth integration of his tongue against his flesh, the wet warmth of the enclosure, and he lifted his hips slightly, going deeper. He abandoned himself to the pleasure Justin was creating, smoothing one hand through his golden hair, leaning his weight on the other.
At the end, Brian thrust upward, holding Justin's head in place by spreading his hand on the back of his neck, feeling the force of his ejaculation in three strong, seismic tremors that pumped hot flow down Justin's throat. Justin straightened up, delicately wiping his lips on the sleeve of his shirt as he beamed up at his lover, treasuring the look of absolute release that lit Brian's features. His own erection strained against the confines of his jeans and Brian glanced at it and then at Justin's flushed face.
"Bed time," Brian announced, and Justin smiled and held his hand as they retreated to the bedroom.
Brian was dreaming. The year was 1986. He had just turned sixteen. Recovering from a freak accident that required surgery and two pins in his left ankle, he was back on the soccer team, and performing well, if not up to his stellar pre-injury game. He still maintained a straight A average, finding public school curricula far easier than the parochial schools he attended for grades 1-7. He was a sophomore, with a driver's license, but no car. The girls at school were attracted by his looks, and enslaved by his apparent disinterest. The boys were envious of his power over the girls, and suspicious of his aloof behavior. His only real friend was Michael Novotny. Until she came along.
She was new in school, a transplant from an all-girl private school favored by families with money and conservative views about the future they wanted for their daughters. Brian first met her when she was trying to open his locker before school started one morning. He stood back and watched the tall, slim girl with a crazy mane of auburn curls struggle with the combination lock.
He liked her outfit, plaid private school pleated skirt with fishnets on those endless legs and a crisp white shirt tied at her waist. It was a blend of whore and innocent, the result subtly enticing. "What are you doing?" he finally asked.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
He wondered about her race. Her skin was golden brown, her eyes dark, her lips full and enhanced with a berry stained shade of lip gloss. She was black, he supposed, but her features reflected the influence of Anglo genes, as well.
"It looks like you're trying to break into my locker."
"Your locker? This is my locker. 476."
"What are you? Dyslexic? This is 467."
She glanced at the number on the door, then laughed. Instead of being defensive or embarrassed, she found it very funny. "No wonder the combination they gave me didn't work. What a dweeb! Sorry. I'm Deidre Anderson, but everyone calls me Dee," she thrust her hand out at him. He was surprised by that gesture, but he shook it anyway.
"I'm Brian Kinney."
"Where's your cheerleader?"
Brian was confused. "Huh?"
"Aren't guys like you supposed to have a cheerleader hanging off your arm?"
Brian shook his arm and smiled. "Is she missing? I guess she fell off between here and the curb. What do you mean 'guys like you'?"
Dee shook her head, giving him a sly look. "You know exactly what I mean, Brian Kinney, and don't expect me to feed your ego."
"I have no ego. Did you just move to Pittsburgh?"
"No, I was in private school."
"Me too until a couple years ago. Were you expelled?"
She laughed. "A nice girl like me? No. My parents were afraid I was becoming a dyke so they sent me to school with boys. As if that would change anything."
"Are you a dyke?"
"Let's not start that rumor, ok?"
He smiled at her. He could identify. Being out in high school was being dead in high school. She managed to open the correct locker, and she stored some books and her sweater. "Can you point me towards the office? I have to change something on my schedule. I was there once last week when I enrolled, but I'm turned around."
"I'll walk with you. Come on."
They started down the hall together when Brian heard Michael call his name. He paused, he turned, he frowned. He tried to ignore him. "BRIAN!"
"Brian!" Michael's voice was on the phone. Justin was pressing the receiver against Brian's ear, so he could hear. The concerted action awoke Brian from a sound sleep. He glanced at the clock. It was just after ten. "What the fuck do you want? You know what time it is?" Brian grumbled.
Michael whined, "Yeah, it's late!"
"It's Saturday, for fuck's sake! I don't have to get up. What do you want?"
"Who is where?"
"That boy with the picture! I saw him on my way in."
Brian groaned as it all flooded back to him. "So?"
"You have to see this kid, Brian. He so resembles you and..."
"Ok, don't go off on that tangent again. I'll pull on some clothes and be over there in a second." He hung up and reluctantly left the bed. He thought Justin had fallen asleep, but Justin yawned and propped himself up on an elbow, squinting at his lover.
"Nothing. Go back to sleep."
"You're going out?"
"Yeah, it's nothing. Mikey needs me to do something."
"Can I help?"
"Just sleep, Sunshine. See you later."
"Yeah?" he paused, slipping on his shades.
"You want to....before you go?"
Brian smiled and shook his head. "Later, sex addict. Keep it warm for me."
Justin sighed, disappointed, as he fell back on the pillow, closing his eyes as the front door slid shut.
Brian drove through MacDonald's for a large coffee on the way to Michael's shop. He didn't want to stop and get out to retrieve good coffee at a specialty boutique. As long as it was hot and loaded with caffeine, he was fine. Michael met him at the door to the comics store. He took his arm and turned him away.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm taking you to where I last saw him."
"This is just crazy."
"In what way?"
"In EVERY way, Mikey."
"Did you bring the picture?"
Brian pulled it out of his pocket, and then replaced it. "What are we going to say to this kid? And where the hell are we going?"
"This is where I saw him. He was dumpster diving."
Brian winced. "He was eating out of a dumpster?"
"Yeah, behind Mickey Dee's."
"Christ, that stuff is sewage when you get it straight from the counter, let alone after it's been stewing in the trash for awhile," Brian complained, holding up his cup. Michael frowned at him. MacDonald's was among his favorite restaurants. "Why would he be eating out of trash cans?"
"Like I know? Maybe he's a street kid. Shit, he's gone."
"Follow the trail of vomit and we'll find him," Brian quipped.
"Very funny. Look..." he motioned to a pile of boxes that had been opened and flattened to form a makeshift lean-to at the end of the alley. They could just glimpse the olive green of a sleeping bag between the cardboard "shingles".
"This is so fucked up," Brian said nervously, and Michael shushed him as they approached. Before they reached the flimsy structure, the boy came from within, brandishing a box cutter like a switchblade. When he saw Michael he relaxed. He let his gaze wander to Brian, and kept it fixed to his face. Brian stared back, unable to look away.
"Put that thing away," Michael insisted. "We're not here to hurt you."
The boy closed the blade and put it in his pocket. His eyes were still on Brian. "You're the other one in the picture," he finally said, his Southern inflections strangely alluring. "Are you Michael?" He directed that question at Brian.
"No, I'm Michael. He's Brian. And who the hell are you? How did you get that picture of us?"
Brian took it out of his pocket and handed it to the kid, who snatched it and hid it away safely in his own pocket. "My name is Mick."
"Why are you living in a box, Mick? Kid like you? Where are you from?" Brian asked and the boy glared at him.
"I'm from nowhere. I have no home. This is my home."
"Very drama princess, Mick. But everyone comes from somewhere, and your somewhere is obviously below the Mason-Dixon line. Where did you get that picture of us? You never answered Mikey's question."
He ducked inside the shanty and returned with a sliver from the same photograph, protected in a layer of self-applied laminate. The missing musketeer. Dee Anderson, was grinning and beautiful in her red sweater. Her curly mane was lifted by the breeze as she beamed in the direction where Brian had been posed. Brian and Michael stared at it and Brian handed it back as they exchanged a look.
"How do you know her?" Brian asked, and the kid sighed.
"She's my mom."
"What's her name?"
"Deidre Anderson. "
"And you are...what's your whole name?"
"Michael Dee Anderson, but everyone calls me Mick. Sometimes Mickey, but I don't like that. The Mickey Dee joke gets old."
"So where is Dee now? Why are you living in a box? Did you run away?"
"I didn't run away. I left. There's a difference."
"Look, if you're gonna talk to me, at least buy me breakfast."
Brian nodded. "Ok, come on. Let's go to the diner."
"I'd rather eat here."
"In the dumpster?"
The kid glared at him. "At MacDonald's."
"You can save that for the recycled lunch special, " Brian quipped. "Come on. I prefer my sodium in the tens of thousands instead of hundreds of thousands," Brain started to walk, and the kid hesitated. Brian stopped, glanced at him and shrugged in the direction of the street. "Coming or not?"
"I'm not really dressed to go in a restaurant."
Brian took in his shabby, less than clean clothes and shrugged. "You aren't really dressed to dumpster dive, but that's a whole other conversation. For now, you look fine. Let's go. I'm starving."
The boy reluctantly fell in behind them, the two old friends maintaining a tense silence as they walked the few blocks to Liberty Diner. Both Brian and Michael knew they were safe from Debbie's curiosity since she never worked the Saturday morning shift. Dealing with Debbie was the last thing Brian could tolerate right now, and Michael feared she might scare the jumpy kid away, like before. For now, they were safe from her overly maternal threat.
|Disclaimer: The television show Queer As Folk and its characters are the property of Showtime and CowLip Productions. No money is being made. Stories and discussion are intended purely for the entertainment of fans of Queer as Folk, the Brian and Justin characters, and Randall's writings.
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July 25, 2004