LOVE YOU 'TIL THE DAY I DIE

"A Queer As Folk USA FanFic"

by Gaedhal

This is Chapter 47 of the "Queer Realities" series.

The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Brian Kinney, Jimmy Hardy, Tess Hardy, Dorian Folco, Diane Rhys, Howie Sheldon, William, Freddy Weinstein, Jerry Baxter, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Brian and Justin attend the Academy Awards in Los Angeles. Los Angeles, March 2003.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Watch Queer As Folk on Showtime, buy the DVDs, videos, and CDs. Read the stories and enjoy.

"There's closets in my head
Where dirty things are kept
That never see the light of day,
I want to drag them out, go for a walk,
Just to see the look that's on your face.

Sometimes I can't be straight,
I don't want to hurt you,
So forgive me if I tell a lie,
Sometimes I come on cold but don't believe it,
I will love you 'til the day I die.

I believe in doing things backwards,
Take heed, start doing things in reverse...."

***

"Bri!" cries Jimmy Hardy, the overwhelming favorite to win the Best Actor Oscar for playing Guy in 'The Olympian.' When Brian is the one who should be nominated. The character of Bobby is the heart of the film and Brian is the real star. But Homophobic Hollywood won't acknowledge that. And I'm not only saying that because Brian is my partner. It's the truth. Did I also mention that Jimmy Hardy is a fucking asshole?

"This way to the bar, boys!" Jimmy shouts, grabbing Brian's elbow and dragging him across the room to where all of the biggest stars in Hollywood are getting shitfaced before the start of the broadcast.

"No, thanks, Jimmy," says Brian, jerking his arm away. "Or have you forgotten where I just came from?"

But Jimmy only smirks. "Oh, that! School's out, Bri. No rehab watchdogs here. It's Oscar Time! You have to help me celebrate." Jimmy looks like he's already been celebrating for a while. And Tess is nowhere in sight.

"You haven't won yet, Jimmy," Brian reminds him.

"It's in the bag!" Jimmy winks slyly. "I have it on good authority." He takes out a wrinkled sheet of paper. "I have my speech all written out. Howie wanted to help me with it, but I did it all by myself. Straight from the heart!"

"Good for you, Jim," says Brian, glancing at me and rolling his eyes. "Now Justin and I need to find our seats."

"Christ! No one sits down until the last minute, Bri!" Jimmy informs us. And none of the other Hollywood movers and shakers seem in any hurry to get into the auditorium. They're too busy at the bar, slamming down shots. "This show will go on -- and on -- and on! It's fucking never-ending! Everybody needs to get good and lubricated before they're trapped inside for the next four hours. Here you go, Baby Blue," Jimmy hands me a glass filled with a weird liquid. "A special Oscar-tini! Drink up!"

The thing is a funny orange color and doesn't smell like any martini I've ever had before. It's fucking disgusting! I set it back down on the bar. "I'm not thirsty, Jimmy. But thanks anyway."

"So, Jimmy," says Brian, trying to change the subject. "How was Toronto? And the ubiquitous Chuckie Ranger?"

Jimmy makes a grim face when he hears the name of the popular black comedian who was his co-star in the picture he just finished filming. "Don't mention Chuckie Ranger tonight, Bri. This is my night and I don't even want to THINK about fucking Chuckie Ranger!"

"That good, huh?" Brian sniffs. He calls over the bartender and orders Perrier with a twist for both of us.

"Ranger is a camera hog and a fucking scene-stealer!" Jimmy almost yells. A few people turn around to see what Jimmy Hardy is complaining about, so he lowers his voice. "The shoot was a nightmare. Toronto was like an icebox, the director was an asshole, and Ranger...." Jimmy shudders. "Never again, Bri! Never again."

"Live and learn, Jimmy," says Brian, sipping his Perrier. "You knew that picture would be trouble. So why the fuck did you do it?"

"I gotta have a hit, Bri," Jimmy admits. "Something box office. I've got the critical acclaim, but Howie convinced me that I needed a film that'll make a bunch of cash, even if it fucking stinks. And Chuckie Ranger is box office."

"If you lie down in the mud, Jimmy, you're going to get dirty," Brian tells him. Chuckie Ranger is very funny and his movies are big hits, but he's also crude and disgusting. Most of the people who work in his movies end up hating him -- and Jimmy seems no exception!

"Yeah, you can afford to say that, Bri. You're gonna work with Eastwood! By the way," Jimmy continues. "I sent a script over to your house. I have a bunch of ideas, but this one would be perfect for the two of us to co-star in. It's a comedy, but it has an edge, you know? Have you had a chance to take a look at it?"

"No," says Brian. "I haven't looked at anything yet, Jim. Justin and I only got into town on Friday and yesterday was packed with fittings and other shit." Brian sighs. "I'll look at it the first chance I get."

"You'll love it, Bri," Jimmy grins. "It's a great story! It's based on a novel called 'The Last Great Man Date.'"

Brian glances at Jimmy in surprise. "I've read that. It's a gay novel. A gay romance novel."

"Sure," says Jimmy, shrugging. "What else?"

Brian looks dubious. "Ron was sent a copy of that book, but he thought it was too schmaltzy and too fucking gay for the Chick Flick crowd." Brian slides his eyes at me and I shrug back. "Jimmy, you want to do a gay romantic comedy. With ME? For real? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Sure, Bri. It's a fabulous premise!" Jimmy replies. "These two so-called straight guys who are attracted to each other but won't admit it! It's kind of like 'Castle in the Air' -- except with you and me instead of me and that bitch, Glenda Douglas."

"Are you fucking crazy, Jimmy?" Brian declares. "You'll never get a script like that greenlighted by Terra Nova Studio! Howie Sheldon will go apeshit if he even thinks we're talking about it!"

"I'm not planning to do it with Terra Nova," says Jimmy. He gestures to the bartender to refill his drink. "You're right about the major studios passing on this concept, Bri. Even a studio run by fags!" His voice rises. "They're all a bunch of fucking pussies! HOMOPHOBIC fucking pussies!"

"Jesus," Brian mutters under his breath. "Here we go!"

"I want to do it as an independent project with my own production company," Jimmy asserts. "I've got a ton of great scripts in my office that would be perfect for us, Bri. We're a team, right? You and me, baby!" Jimmy slings his arm around Brian's shoulder and slobbers all over him. He doesn't seem to care that half of Hollywood is standing at the bar, watching straight movie star Jimmy Hardy trying to stick his tongue into his gay co-star's ear.

"Let's talk about this again when you're sober," Brian says sternly. He takes Jimmy's hand off of his neck and pushes him away gently. "Where the fuck is Tess?"

"She's around," Jimmy mumbles. "Somewhere."

A harassed-looking man in a tuxedo carrying a clipboard walks through the bar area. "Please take your seats, ladies and gentlemen! Please! The broadcast is about to begin. Please take your seats!"

"Barkeep!" Jimmy shouts. "One more for the road!"

But Brian turns Jimmy around. "I think you've had enough. Let's sit down. Now!"

Brian nods to me and the two of us escort Jimmy Hardy, America's Boy Next Door, into the auditorium of the Kodak Theater. An usher immediately comes up and leads us all the way down to the front. Our seats are in the second row. Tess is already sitting there, with Dorian and Diane next to her. Right behind them I see Howie Sheldon and his boyfriend, William. Howie glares at us and then gives William a disgusted look, as if to say, 'Here's Kinney and his Twink.' I'm really dying to say fuck you to Howie Sheldon, but this isn't the time or the place.

We're only just in our seats when the broadcast begins. The lights go down in the auditorium and come up on the stage. There's a lot of loud music and Steve Martin, this year's host, comes out to start the show.

Once he knows the television cameras are rolling, Jimmy seems to settle down. He's sitting next to Tess. They're holding hands and have smiles pasted on their faces, looking like the Perfect Hollywood Couple that they aren't. No one would have any fucking idea that they are barely speaking to each other.

I think about Jimmy calling me in the middle of the night from Toronto while he was filming up there. He called about five or six times, always when he was drunk, always when he was horny, and always when he couldn't get Brian to answer his cell. Jimmy wanted to have phone sex with me. He also wanted me to come up and 'visit' him. "I'm lonely, Baby Blue," he whined. Right! Lonely. But I can't help but feel sorry for Jimmy even if he is a jerk. He's probably going to win the biggest acting award in the world tonight, but he's a sad, pitiful guy.

There's a camera practically in our faces. All the nominees for the major awards are seated up front and the TV cameras are trying to catch every expression on their faces, but especially their reactions to winning -- and to losing. You can sort of tell when the camera is on you. The red light is glowing and you can look up and see yourself on the monitors and large screens that hang in the corners of the auditorium. That bugs the shit out of Brian. He hates being caught off-guard, so he likes to goof at the camera. Whenever Brian thinks they might cut to him -- usually when someone on stage mentions 'The Olympian' or makes a gay reference -- he leans over and nuzzles me. Brian knows that the television director will cut away from the fags doing fag stuff like a shot. And when they do, Brian laughs.

"Stop that," says Howie Sheldon from the row behind us. "Don't be childish, Brian."

"Fuck you, Howie," Brian says simply. "If people don't want to see me being myself, they don't have to look."

"Stop courting trouble, Brian," Howie warns. "You aren't big enough in this town to get away with pulling that shit." I can tell that Howie wants to add, "like Jimmy can." But he doesn't say it. Jimmy is too big even for Howie Sheldon to control.

They go through the awards with excruciating slowness. No wonder everyone wanted to get drunk before the show began! But as things proceed I can tell that Brian is getting more and more nervous. By the time they announce the next category -- Best Supporting Actor -- he's squirming in his seat. This is where Brian's name should be -- but isn't.

"Shit," he whispers, looking pale. And then he stands up.

"Brian?" I touch the sleeve of his tux. "Where are you going?"

"I need to... to take a piss," he says, pushing past Tess and Jimmy, who are sitting on the last seats in our row. And Brian hurries up the aisle. Jimmy watches him go. And then follows him.

I lean over to Dorian and Diane, who are next to me. "I better go get Brian."

"Stay still, Justin. He'll be back in a moment," Dorian assures me. "The ushers will make certain of it. Jimmy's category is coming up and so are the screenplay awards."

Sure enough, a few minutes later two ushers -- who look more like beefy security guards -- escort Brian and Jimmy back to their seats. Jimmy is smiling that goofy grin of his and Brian looks... guilty. Yes, guilty. He also seems less nervous. "I'm okay," Brian says to me. "Really okay." Except that I didn't ask him if he was okay. And that's how I know he's not really okay.

"Tell me. What did you take?" I hold my breath, expecting the worst.

Brian squeezes my hand. "One Xanax. That's all, Justin. I swear. But it's okay. Jimmy had one for me and one for himself. And I didn't have anything to drink with it, so it's fine. Really. I feel fine. Much better now."

He feels fine. Fucking fine. One lousy, goddamn pill!

It isn't the Xanax that bothers me so much. If one pill is all he took it isn't going to make that much difference to him physically. It's that Brian took the fucking thing at all! That he thought he needed to take it when he really didn't. And that fucking Jimmy Hardy gave it to him!

But what can I say? How can I call Brian on it? At least Brian didn't lie to me. Because I've lied to him. About... about a lot of things. About... Dylan. That guilt keeps me silent. Which makes me a fucking coward. A bad partner. And a fucking failure!

Finally, they announce the screenplay categories. The flamboyantly gay Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar wins Best Original Screenplay for 'Talk to Her.'

"Fuck me!" breathes Brian. "They won't give it to TWO faggots! Ron's screwed now!"

But Brian is wrong because two minutes later they call out Ron's name, winning Best Adapted Screenplay for 'The Olympian.'

"Go up, Brian!" urges Dorian. "There's no one else who should do it!"

Jimmy stands, but it's only to let Brian out of the row so he can reach the stage.

I don't know when I've ever seen Brian so shaky. Even Ben Affleck and Matt Damon -- they are SO fucking each other! -- handing him the Oscar can't make Brian lose his stunned expression. He stares at the golden statue and then he stares out at Hollywood.

"They all said that 'The Olympian' could never be made," Brian says when he finally finds his voice. "That it was too political, too depressing... and... and too queer. They said a love story between two men that didn't play it for laughs would never get off the ground. It took Ron Rosenblum ten years of fighting the fundamental homophobia of this town and this industry in order to get 'The Olympian' made the way he knew it should be. And it took the rest...." Brian's voice catches. "It took the rest of Ron's life to get it into the theaters. To get people to see this film and understand that queers are human, too. That they live and love... and that they also die. Often too early. Too... too early...."

The music starts playing to end his speech and Brian looks confused for a moment. "Thanks," he finishes. "That's all I have to say." Then Ben and Matt gently push him off the stage while a new pair of presenters comes on from the other side.

"Where's Brian?" I ask Dorian when he doesn't come back after three more awards are given out. "Is he all right?"

"He's being interviewed backstage. He probably won't be back in his seat until almost the end -- if he comes back at all."

I want to go back there and find Brian, but I can't leave my seat now. The Best Actor category is called and, to no one's surprise, Jimmy wins, beating out Nicholas Cage, Daniel Day-Lewis, Jack Nicholson, and Michael Caine. But the whole scene is such a fucking sham! Tess is crying and clapping and Jimmy kisses her before he saunters up and grabs his award. Jimmy is suddenly completely sober and in control. He knows exactly what to say, thanking Howie Sheldon, Terra Nova Studio, and his beautiful wife, Tess. He even mentions Ron and Brian before the orchestra cuts him off. Jimmy sounds sincere and grateful, but the truth is that Brian has already taken away Jimmy's thunder. Brian made the big statement about 'The Olympian' and Hollywood's fucking homophobia. Anything Jimmy could possibly say at this point would be nothing but an afterthought. And that's exactly the way it sounds.

Ron loses Best Director to Roman Polanski, and 'Chicago' wins Best Picture. And that's the end of the show.

Or at least the end of Round One.

***

"Here comes trouble,
There's nothing wrong when I relax,
I'm talking to myself,
you're coming with me,
Teaching you how to distort the facts.

Sometimes I can't be straight,
I don't want to hurt you,
So forgive me if I tell a lie,
Sometimes I come on cold but don't believe it,
I will love you till the day I die...."

***

Once the television cameras turn off most of the audience bolt for the doors. Everyone wants to get into their limos and head out to one of a hundred parties going on all over Los Angeles. The losers especially want to get to the parties -- and the bar.

Almost everyone is gone now. Except us. We're all still standing there -- Tess, Dorian, Diane, Howie, William, and Me -- waiting for Brian and Jimmy to reappear.

"I'm sure Jimmy is doing every interview possible backstage," says Dorian. "We could well be here all night waiting for him to shut up!"

Howie Sheldon and William finally decide to leave. "I can't believe 'Chicago' won," Howie marvels. "That film is gayer than 'The Olympian'!" He turns to Dorian. "Terra Nova has tables reserved at the Governors Ball and at Morton's for the 'Vanity Fair' party. The Miramax gang will be holding court at the Governors Ball, so we're heading to Morton's first."

"What about Elton's party for the AIDs Foundation?" says Dorian. "I think we should make an appearance there."

Howie snorts. "Whatever you like. But don't forget to show up at Morton's first. That's where all the good pictures will be taken." Then Howie nudges William and off they go.

"He's in a real cheery mood for a guy whose picture just won two Oscars," comments Diane.

"That's just the way Howie is," says Tess. She looks beautiful in a long silver Versace gown. But she also looks very sad. Resigned. And tired. Like she knows this is the end of something. Like her marriage. "Howie's actually thrilled that Terra Nova got two Oscars. And Jimmy's win is the biggest they've had in years. It means that greenlighting 'The Olympian' will not be the end of Howie's career at the studio."

"You mean he might have gotten fired if 'The Olympian' didn't win something?" I ask. I can't believe it! 'The Olympian' made more money than anyone had expected -- Brian told me it did. And it's won a lot of awards -- two Golden Globes, four New York Film Critics Circle awards, plus a lot of other regional critics awards, and the BAFTA for Ron's screenplay. "How can Terra Nova even consider firing Howie Sheldon over 'The Olympian'?"

"The Oscar is everything, cutie," Diane reminds me. "You know what they say -- 'You're only as good as your next picture.' And that means Jimmy's Chuckie Ranger flick -- and 'Red River.' No wonder poor old Howie can't get a good night's sleep! His studio's future is riding on Jimmy Hardy and Bridie! Their two hottest properties -- and their two biggest headaches!"

That's when the two headaches -- Brian and Jimmy -- appear. Jimmy is flying high again, laughing and waving his Oscar over his head like it's a bowling trophy. But Brian is subdued. His face is pale and his eyes downcast. He walks directly to me and puts his arm around me. "Will you hold this thing for me?" he asks. And he hands me Ron's Oscar. It's very heavy and very cold.

The ushers hustle us out to the waiting limo and our whole group crowds into it. Dorian and Jimmy have a brief argument about whether to go to the 'Vanity Fair' party at Morton's or to the Elton John AIDs party in West Hollywood first, but Jimmy wins -- again -- and we go to Morton's.

"Hey, Baby Blue!" says Jimmy. "Bri and I have been invited to co-host the 'Letterman' show on Wednesday. One of the producers was backstage lining up guest-hosts while Dave's out of commission from a bad case of shingles. We're flying to New York Tuesday night on the red-eye!"

"But that's the day we're supposed to go back to Pittsburgh, Brian," I remind him. "I have classes. And I need to start working on my music video."

"A few more days won't matter, will it?" Brian asks. He looks at me almost sadly. "We'll go back on Thursday or Friday. A couple of days in New York will be fun. Like last fall when Jimmy and I did the show. We had a great time, right?"

"Right," I agree. But I still feel uneasy. I don't want to spend any more time with Jimmy than I have to, but what can I say? That America's Boy Next Door keeps hitting on me and also lusts after my boyfriend? A few minutes later the limo pulls up in front of Morton's.

Jimmy is like the conquering hero as he and Tess walk in, the rest of us following in his wake. The whole place applauds and cheers. America's Boy Next Door triumphs again. Two Academy Awards. Jimmy Hardy really is the Most Powerful Actor in Hollywood and can do no wrong, I guess.

Brian and I are at the table reserved for Terra Nova Studio. Everyone else is schmoozing and drinking, while the two of us sit quietly, sipping Perrier. Brian keeps staring at the Oscar. "I can't believe he's dead," Brian says. "Ron's really dead. This is everything he wanted. Everything he was working for. His fucking dream. And... he's dead. It's like it's just hitting me now. The reality of it. Gorowitz is constantly trying to get me to talk about my feelings about Ron being dead, but I couldn't. Because I didn't accept it. I told myself that I did, but I was lying. It was like he was only out of sight. Somewhere else, where I didn't have to deal with him. Gone away -- with Jack. Maybe to Maui. Somewhere he was really happy."

"Brian," I say. "Don't think about Ron. Not tonight." Yes, that's my fear. Brian thinking about Ron. Thinking too much about the past and not about the future. Thinking not about our future together, but about all of the fucking mistakes he's made. That we've both made. Which is why I don't want to think about the past, either. Especially the recent past.

"I hope it was worth it," says a harsh voice. "You useless whore."

Brian and I both look up. Freddy Weinstein is standing there, with Jerry Baxter lurking behind him, scowling. They both look drunk. And angry.

"Go away, Freddy," Brian breathes. "This isn't the time or the place."

"Oh, no?" barks Freddy. "This is exactly the time and place for it! I see you got your moment of glory in the spotlight by stealing Ron's award! Making a big speech like a big faggot! Homophobic Hollywood killed poor old Ron! Is that it? When we all know that YOU killed him, Kinney. You're the one to blame -- and no one else!"

Brian jumps up. "Shut the fuck up!" he yells at Freddy. "You have no right to question anything I do! You only pretended to be Ron's friend when you and Jerry were nothing but a couple of fucking leeches!"

Suddenly Dorian is there. And Jimmy. And Garson Brewster, an actor friend of Jimmy's who is married to Glenda Douglas, Jimmy's former co-star. I also try to hold back Brian's arm to make him sit down, but he shakes me off.

"Calm down, everyone!" Dorian pleads. "Brian! Please!"

"You have a lot of fucking nerve showing your face in this town again, Kinney," Freddy snaps. "I thought we'd seen the last of you! Everyone knows that Howie and the studio have had you under wraps ever since Ron's death. Where were you? In the Spencer Pavilion or some other expensive nut house? It wouldn't be the first time you've had to be put away, Kinney. Next time I hope it's in jail! Because that's where you really belong! Maybe in San Quentin!"

Brian comes around the table and grabs Freddy by the front of his tux. Both Jimmy and Dorian try to haul Brian off Freddy, while Garson Brewster and another man I don't recognize try to pull Freddy away.

"You think you're such a macho man, Freddy!" Brian shouts. "You want everyone in Hollywood to see this faggot kick your fucking ass all over this room?"

"Try it!" Freddy spits. "I'll break your pretty face in half! Then you'll be back on the street where you belong, sucking off tourists for five bucks a head!"

Somehow Brian gets his arm free and takes a swing at Freddy, but Garson Brewster yanks Freddy out of the way and Brian's fist only hits the air. It's a good thing, but I'm also sorry. I would have loved to see Freddy lying on the ground. But then I shudder. On the ground. I feel dizzy and I have to sit back down in my chair at the table before I fall.

Jimmy drags Brian away in the direction of the bar. I want to follow, but I'm shaking. Diane sees it and sits next to me. "It's all right, cutie," she says, patting my shoulder. "These things happen all the time at these events. Everybody is too keyed-up and well-lubricated." We watch a couple of security men hustle Freddy and Jerry Baxter out of the room. "Freddy's been mouthing off all evening and drinking like a fish. That's always a bad combination." Diane shakes her head. "So when he saw Brian with the Oscar I guess he just freaked." Diane fingers the statue, which is still sitting on the table. "Poor Ron. And poor Bridie."

"I need to make sure Brian is okay." I look around and see Brian at the bar, downing a shot. Jimmy hands him another glass and he downs that, too. Dorian is trying to stop him, but Brian pushes him away.

It's fucking useless. I feel totally helpless. What can I possibly say to Brian to make him stop now? Maybe it's what he needs and always will need. Pain management. No matter how many weeks of rehab and promises to change and all of that bullshit. Because there will always be another reason for Brian to want to block out the pain. Whether it's Ron's death... or his current partner's betrayal. If Brian only knew that... that I... What I did. Yes, he'll find out, eventually. And then... then it'll be more of the same. More blame. More pain management. Always the same shit. I put my head in my hands. It'll never fucking end!

I just sit quietly and watch Brian get more and more smashed as the evening progresses. I also notice that Jimmy has stopped drinking. Now he's only encouraging Brian. And Garson Brewster, a noted drunk, is matching Brian shot for shot until they're both reeling. Everyone in the place is drunk or stoned or both. People are going in and out of the bathroom, doing bumps in there, I'm sure. Diane sits and holds my hand. "It's only tonight, Justin," she murmurs. "Tomorrow it'll all be over and Bridie'll be fine. He'll be back to normal."

"But he is being normal, Diane," I say. "For Brian drinking and drugging are normal. It's thinking that he can be any other way that isn't normal. It's only my wishful thinking."

"Give him some time, honey," Diane urges. "You have no idea how hard it is to stay sober in this town. Especially with assholes like Freddy Weinstein and Jerry Baxter running around loose. Not to mention Jimmy Hardy!"

Diane and I talk for a while. Diane tells me some stories about her own time in rehab. About how almost everyone in the room has been there, often more than once. And how almost everyone relapses on the way to getting better. But it's getting late. We're still supposed to go to the Elton John party for the AIDS Foundation. I see Howie and William leaving. And Jimmy and Brian aren't at the bar anymore. I don't know where they've gone.

"I have to find Brian," I tell Diane. "This is ridiculous. It's late and he's wasted. Maybe we better just go home."

I wander around the restaurant. Tess is standing with a few friends, her silver dress shining under the bright lights. "Have you seen Brian? He was with Jimmy."

Tess shakes her head sadly. "I think they went outside to get some air. And to sober up a little -- I hope."

"Thanks, Tess. I'll keep looking. I want to find Brian and get us out of here." I continue wandering through Morton's. Searching. Ron's Oscar is clenched tightly in my hand.

I go outside. Two valet parking guys are smoking in the doorway. "Have you seen Jimmy Hardy? Or Brian Kinney?"

One of the guys laughs while the other smirks. "Yeah, we've seen them. Over there." He points to an alley next to the restaurant.

I walk over. It's dark and a cold breeze is blowing that makes me shiver. In Los Angeles you forget about the seasons, except at night. That's how I know it's still March. That cold wind.

Brian is leaning against the alley wall. In his usual position. I've seen him like this a hundred times, usually in the alley next to Woody's or outside of Babylon. But it could be anywhere. And any guy could be sucking him off. Any guy at all. Except that it's America's Boy Next Door. On his knees and blowing Brian like an expert. Jimmy Hardy. America's Cocksucker Next Door.

I watch them until I can see that Brian is about to come. He grabs the back of Jimmy's head so Jimmy will swallow and not pull away. Brian loves it when you swallow his load. I feel a movement behind me. Tess is standing there, also watching. She looks like a silver ghost, shimmering in the darkness. Tess gasps softly.

And that's when Brian comes.

***

"I believe in doing things backwards,
Take heed, start doing things in reverse.

Frost on the window pane,
The sound of pouring rain
All makes me glad of you,
Though I am far away
I am always with you.

Know the answer before you know the question
Pull yourself together, baby, push with all your might.
I'm all alone,
always alone,
Though I am far away
I am always with you."

(Neil Finn)

Continue on to "I Can't Make You Love Me".

©Gaedhal, May 2005.

Posted May 17, 2005.