Bars.

Years of jail bars.  Cold.  Hard.  Black and edge-lit by a single light.

Numbly drained, Justin eased a palm up one bar, floated it to another a few inches away and stared through the narrow gap between them.  Blinked his eyes slowly, listened to the soft hiss of his own breaths.  In and out.  Slowly.

He gripped the bar.  Smooth and chill hard as a gun barrel.  Like the one he’d aimed at Hobbs.  Only he didn’t remember being that close to Hobbs.  But he must have been, because he could still feel the stiffness in his arms from holding the gun so close he could see Hobbs’ terror-glazed eyes, hear the whimper muffle around the barrel site in Hobbs’ mouth.  And the steady sound of his own breathing over the drawn-out click of the cocking hammer.  Then a man’s gravelly voice.

“If you’re here for the game, it’s an away game tonight.”

Justin spun around and saw the approaching shadow of a paunchy older guy in a janitor uniform so familiar he knew it was taupe though streetlight made it muddy gray. “I used to go to school here.  Just came to see if…it still looked the same.”

“It’s closed,” Janitor grunted, stopped beside Justin and eyed one car at the curb.  “Where’d you park?”

“I took a cab.”

“I’m just heading home -” Janitor grabbed and shook the gate, little nod of satisfaction it was locked,  “- so you might want to do the same,” then cornered a suspect eye on Justin.  “Not safe out here alone after dark.”

“Was safe on THIS side of the gate,” Justin grimly smiled at Janitor’s puzzled head tilt and pulled his cell phone.  “I’ll be outta here as soon as I can get another cab.”

Janitor nodded, paced to his car, unlocked it, swung into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

Justin could feel a stare from the car’s dark interior.  Like I really plan to rob this place, he exhaled, studied the lighted display on his phone and noticed a pending message. Kinnetik.  He hit play, heard Brian bark, “The point of having a cell phone is that you leave it on,” and narrowed irate eyes.  Until Brian’s paler “Where the fuck ARE you” made him bite his lip.  A blurry image of Hobbs’ face sharpened into focus, low like he was kneeling, lips pursed around a gun barrel, somebody’s thumb cocking the hammer –

BANG.  The slamming car door made Justin jump, image go blank, blood pound with the Janitor’s words.

“Look.  If there’s a problem here, I can call the police for you.”

“No problem,” Justin recovered.  Phone still in hand, he turned up the walk and paced steadily toward a busy cross street a couple blocks away.  He briefly pressed a palm to his temple.  Felt the low rumble of a coming earthquake deep in his gut and started jogging. 

He turned the corner, stopped in light from a drugstore window, touched redial and eased a breath when the last place he’d called, City Suburban Cab, lit the display screen.  One ring.  He glanced at the store window sign – Now On DVD Rambo, Death Wish and Dirty Harry – grimaced aside – second ring - saw an approaching bus and stepped to the curb.  Bus, cab, hitchhike, whatever, he had to go…where?  Third ring, he noticed the battery meter on low, disconnected the call, redisplayed the Kinnetik message.

Displayed it again an hour later.  Only this time Justin was sitting in the dark on a door stoop, knees up, back propped against the door.  He keyed a number, listened to rapid tones, pressed his head back and glanced up so that moonlight glistened off the film in his eyes.  “Hey,” he smiled, mimicked, “Where the fuck ARE you?  Yeah?  Sounds awfully quiet for the Back Room,” leaned forward, elbow on his knee, palm propping his forehead.  “I’m…okay.  On your roof,” and grinned, “No, alone.  Yeah, I’ll wait.”  Justin knit brows at his phone.  Did he just hang up?  No.  Must be cumming.  Only Brian would answer his cell phone in the middle of a blowjob.

Justin palmed back a sniffle, yelped “Ow.  Hey!” when the door smacked against him.  He jumped up, spun and saw Brian cautiously peer out.  “jesus.  You said you were in the Back Room.”

“BATHroom?  You should recharge your battery,” Brian stepped out, “And what the fuck are you doing up HERE?”

Pressure churning inside, Justin watched his hand close and pocket his cell.  “I just wanted to let you know I got your message…and everything’s…”  No it’s not.  Justin leaned back against the wall beside the doorway, left hand gripping the wrist of his clenched right as he stared up.  Hardly heard Brian shut the door and barely felt him lean back beside him.  “I saw Hobbs.  He apologized to me.”

Brian swallowed, stared across the roof.  “I never would have guessed he was the type.” Not accusing.  Not pressing.  Letting Justin talk.

“I doubt he meant it.  But it felt good hearing him say it.  And he knows he said it,” Justin toned with righteous conviction that faded to a headshake at his feet and a quiet, “Facing him, scaring the shit out of him…didn’t feel as good as I expected.”

“Why’s that?”

“I used to wonder how somebody could…hate someone so much, he could literally bash his head in.”  Justin turned his welling eyes to the sky.  “Now I know.  I came that close.  That close to being him.”

“You’re nothing like him if you stopped before going too far.”

“But not by much.  Scary thing to realize about yourself…for the first time.”

“He didn’t stop at all.”

“Maybe he didn’t have a reason to.  Maybe I just gave him one.”  Justin felt Brian’s arm slide around his waist, nudge him away from the wall.

Brian edged behind Justin, leaned back and tightly embraced Justin’s rigid body until it relaxed against him and Justin’s head settled against his neck.  “Was it worth it?”

Justin crossed his arms over Brian’s, blinked and ignored a tear that left a silvery path down one cheek as he gazed at a checkerboard of lit windows in a few city high-rises.  One more flicked on.  “Yeah,” he whispered.  “Yeah.  It was.”  Then heard a faint –

“Justin.  You okay?” that sounded like…Michael?  And Brian’s arm suddenly felt cold and hard as…

…the narrow coach armrest onboard a jetliner.  Justin opened his eyes to see his hand clenching the aisle seat armrest.  He felt an unexpected chilly damp thread on one cheek, brushed his fingertips against it and realized it was his own tear.  And he had to sniffle again.  AND respond to Michael whom he noticed staring with big-eyed Novotny concern.  “It’s this fucking dry air,” he grumbled, palmed both eyes.

Michael exhaled, “That’s a relief.  You tensed up, mumbled something, and for a minute I had a flashback of that airline movie.  You know, that one where the whole flight crew and just about everybody gets food poisoning and -” he glimpsed three listening folks frozen mid-chew over their meals across the aisle past Justin.  “But in real life, nobody has to worry ‘cause there’s always someone on board who knows how to fly the plane.”

Justin blinked at him a moment.  “Michael, I think you’re still recovering from that two-hour pitch session.”

“I think I did pretty good for my first one,” he smiled then frowned at Justin’s side-eyed wry look.  “I tried to think of it as sort of like a Comic Con.”  Justin’s more exaggerated face prompted Michael to cross arms and stare ahead.  “And I thought that one producer, Fenderman, made a good point.”

“Oh come on,” Justin scoffed.  “You’re not siding with HIM against BRETT, are you?”

Michael stared back, “About considering social responsibility?  I happen to think he made a lot of sense.  A lot more people will get Rage’s message if we go mainstream.”

“But he was talking PROFIT, not message,” Justin toned low, stare serious.  “It means changing the concept.  Changing Rage himself.  I thought we weren’t gonna do that.”

Michael returned equal intensity.  “The important thing…for every kid who needs a gay superhero…is that this movie gets made.”

Justin’s eyes narrowed, lips tensed in a self-control moment.  “I thought it was more about an individual’s right to live the kind of life he wants, honestly and openly.  That he doesn’t need to wear a white hat to be a hero, and that hot gay sex is a million times better than…gory kill-cripple-and-maim shit.”

“For the COMIC, yeah.  But…” Michael shifted uncomfortably, talked to the seatback in front of him, “Maybe his lifestyle IS too much for most standards.  Maybe it DOES need to be toned down a little.”

“More like Zephyr and the Professor?”

“I didn’t say that,” Michael defended, quickly donned a happy smile and lowered his tray table for a Stewardess in a flashy Liberty Air logo apron as she handed him a lunch tray across the empty center seat.

Justin shook a polite, “No thank you,” watched her move on, turned calmly back to Michael.  “Sounds like we have more to work out before things finalize.”

Michael bit into his dessert cake, did several short nods.  “We can do it.”

Why do things sometimes seem so simple to you.  Justin reclined his seat, locked hands loosely over his fastened seatbelt, shut troubled eyes and wondered which one of them would have to decide that the principle was worth sacrificing the goal.

In another past, another place…

Dim light, sweat sheen on two naked, panting bodies. Brian had Justin’s back pinned to the bare Loft floor.  Knees pressed almost painfully against the wood, Brian withstood Justin’s legs clamped to his waist, Justin’s gritty hoarse voice…

“You said there are only two kinds of straight people.  Those who hate you to your face and those who hate you behind your back.  And you know what?”

“What?” Brian grunted as he gripped Justin’s wrists on the narrow edge between control and injury.  Something deep and fierce struggled back.

“You were right!”

Brian felt Justin’s leg power-drive against his collarbone.  Then sudden disorienting free flight before cold hardwood slammed his hip and shoulder and the room whirled across his sight.  The floor rose vertically and slapped against his cheek as he watched Justin roll to a horizontal stand. What the FUCK was going on.  “When did you reach THAT conclusion?”  Brian rolled flat on his back, non-threatening but ready to defend.

Justin straddled Brian, “When I started watching and listening again instead of hiding and pretending it didn’t exist,” dropped to knees alongside Brian’s hips, clamped his hands on Brian’s biceps, arched forward on stiff arms and glared into his eyes. “When I actually started DOING something about it,” Justin lowered his face and hovered close, “The fucking joke is, I thought you more than ANYBODY would understand.  But we’re all just little toy soldiers in a sandbox to you, aren’t we?”

Brian winced as Justin’s forward lean squeezed his arms.  In a swift move, Brian grabbed Justin’s waist, jack-knifed a leg for leverage and toppled Justin aside.

Justin landed with a thud, gasped and was suddenly rolled onto his stomach.  The side of his face pressed to the cool floor, one arm twisted against the small of his back under Brian’s hot weight, legs spread with Brian’s legs stretched between them, Justin tried to strike back with his free hand.  But he felt long fingers quickly pin it to the floor above his head.  “If you’re gonna fuck me, then do it.”  

Both hands occupied, Brian couldn’t hold himself up and felt Justin’s pulse drumming the length of his heavy contact.  Heat, sweat, musk, breaths, dick in place – all the elements of erotic arousal, but no desire.  Not like this.  Brian released Justin’s wrists, leaned his head against Justin’s and whispered, “IS this about sex?”

Justin slowly uncoiled his freed arm from between them, stretched it to relax, eyes staring, hardly blinking.  “No,” he finally uttered.  “It’s about you going on about making my own mistakes…looking for trouble…downing my friends.  For the first time in god knows how long, I feel good.  And right.  About what I’m doing.  I never expected you to join me.  But I thought you’d have more faith in me.”

Brian inhaled a long breath, let it out slow, skin like plastic wrap lifting off wet marble as he shifted off Justin and onto his side so he could still lean against him without crushing weight.  Eased his fingers over the short soft nap of Justin’s hair.  “I know YOU’LL do the right thing.  Don’t expect me to think the same about the rest of the world. And when I said there were only two kinds of straight people, I wasn’t counting the exceptions.”

Justin answered quiet, emphatic.  “Neither was I.”

Brian looked off and recalled his conversation with Michael about honesty in a relationship.  There was always security in action backed by logic and fact.  But what if all he had was an innate human sense of inexplicable danger?  Despite the bruise on Justin’s back, hostile displays, Justin insisted he was in control.  At what point could Brian challenge that without challenging his trust in his partner?  Only with the indisputable support of facts and logic he didn’t have.  And Justin’s trust in HIM, which had to be strengthened.  “So when’s the next scheduled patrol?”

Caught between pleased and suspicious, Justin twisted his head back to check if the sincerity in Brian’s tone matched his expression.  “Ten-thirty tomorrow night.  Why?”

Easing the strain in Justin’s neck, Brian leaned his face into Justin’s view, lips so close to Justin’s, his breath touched like a soft kiss.  “So we can plan any hot fucks around our work schedules.”  He grimaced as he pushed upright on a hip, “Preferably NOT on the bare floor,” watched Justin crack a momentary smile.  Not much.  But the pounding between them had settled to just a rhythmic sensation and a need to normalize.

Justin rolled to face Brian, sat up and swung bent knees to the floor beside Brian’s.  “I didn’t really want to fight.  I just wanted you to know I’m not afraid.”

More seriously quiet than flip, Brian blinked, “You already ARE the bravest person I know.  Just keep in mind that non-suction bruises are unsightly, painful, and should never be exchanged by people fighting on the same side.”   

Justin studied Brian’s eyes, turned up a faint smile and slowly blinked back.  “There are some things I have to do for myself.”

“Do I get to express my opinion?”

“I’ll try not to hold it against you.”

Brian watched Justin’s eyes and knew it was no tease for a quick comeback.  Justin was leaving a cautious opening, and Brian accepted with a nod.  When did detached it’s-your-call become the desire to be more involved with Justin?  And why now, with Justin pulling away to explore his independence?  Whether coincidental timing or direct cause-and-effect, Brian damned one more aspect of relationships – their constant twists against balance.  Yet, did they not also bring new dimension to excitement, discovery and joy. 

Brian looked into Justin’s waiting eyes.  I see some of my lessons, mantras, examples and have to wonder if they were such fucking good things.  Never considered you’d march to your own interpretation.  But does right-for-you always mean right.  I guess that’s where trust comes in. 

As they leaned toward each other and into a light kiss of truce, Brian winced from soreness in his shoulder, the rising drone of…

…a jet engine.  Another tap on his sore shoulder.  And Ted’s “Brian?  Brian.”

They were both in Armani suits and power ties, Brian’s left arm still immobilized in a sling under his suit jacket.  “What is it, Theodore?” Brian grumbled and corner-eyed Ted in the First Class seat beside him. 

“Sorry I had to wake you but we’re in range of Pittsburgh and have to…” Ted glanced and pointed across Brian’s lap, “…fasten seatbelts.  That’s IF it’s okay with you.”

“It’s a Federal regulation, not a choice,” Brian exhaled, lifted the buckle half in his right hand and stared at Ted.  “Well?  Go ahead.”

“I didn’t want to assume…” Ted mumbled, felt along Brian’s thigh for the other half of the seatbelt, “I’ll…uh…try not to touch anything,” then snapped it into the buckle and pulled the belt snug while avoiding staring into Brian’s lap.  “By the way.  I can’t thank you enough for letting me fly in First Class with -”

“Then don’t.  It’s deductible and one hour with you on RegionAir is far more desirable than eight on the road.  And back.”

“Oh.  Right.  I almost forgot about that time Justin ran away.” Ted rechecked his own seatbelt and finally relaxed.  “At least now you’ll have him to come home to.”  Ted saw Brian turn his way, raise a brow.  “Well…I heard you asked him to move in with you.”  No response.  Ted looked off flustered.  “Then again, you know how rumors fly, and I WAS a little skeptical when I first heard that, since you’re more the satisfied single type, and-”

“It’s true.”

“ – you’re also entitled to a partner as much as the NEXT man.  And,” Ted smiled, nodded, “You two always did look good together.”

Brian warmed, “If I didn’t know any better,  I’d suspect you’re either pushing for a raise or practicing for political office.”

Ted basked in his confidence glow.  “A year ago I would have considered that an insult.  But I’ve come to understand that you insult everybody and merely ignore the people you can’t stand, so I’ll take that in the spirit in which I’m sure it was intended.”

“My, you’ve come a long way.”

“Not exactly,” Ted stared morosely off.  “If I ever got hurt and couldn’t use one arm, there’s nobody home but my cat.  At least you found someone to cook and clean and help you dress and -” Ted caught himself but not Brian’s hardening glare.  “Anyway,” he shot a wide grin at Brian, “Congratulations.  I really mean that.”

“Thank you -” Brian deadpanned, turned dark eyes out the window, “- Theodore.”

Brian hardly heard the preparation-for-landing speech.  He wanted to shout I-can-fucking-dress-myself.  But since what he and Justin did was nobody’s fucking business, and what anybody thought didn’t mean shit, the fact that Brian happened to have a broken collarbone when he asked Justin to move in, shouldn’t have mattered one fucking bit.  But now it did.

Two passenger planes – RegionAir and Liberty Air, bank from opposite holding patterns and into final approach, descend side-by-side and land on Pittsburgh International’s two main parallel runways.

Song: “Nothing Wrong (Highway 69 Mix)” by Mo Shic

[1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10]