Title: Do It Right Timeline: Post-513 Rating: nc-17 Warnings: Minor character death Theme: Hurt/Comfort
I come home and find him on the bed, crying. It seems so out of character and yet I can't help thinking back to all the times I saw him, fuck made him, cry when we first met. Only this is different. Justin is sobbing.
He looks up when he hears me and chokes a bit.
"My mom died."
I like Jennifer, a lot. She's an amazing woman and I have grown to not only care for her, but admire her as well. But she isn't my mom. And I was never lucky enough to have a mom like her. So I can only imagine that the pit that immediately settles in my stomach is nothing compared to what Justin is feeling right now.
I'm frozen in place like a fucking idiot.
And then a wave of something so powerful hits me that I find myself bent at the waist, my hands on my knees the only thing keeping me from keeling over.
I sit on the edge of the bed and compose myself enough to finally ask, "How?"
It's just a whisper and it gets lost in the sound of his sobs.
I don't know how long it takes me to go to him, to hold him, but I would guess it was too long.
We don't sleep much, or maybe at all, mostly we make plans and just sit together.
The trip home to Pittsburgh feels like a new form of torture. The formalities of airport security seem cruel and unusual under these circumstances. Once we are settled on the plane Justin stares ahead, refusing to let his emotions get the best of him in an enclosed space full of strangers. But the faraway, dead look in his eyes scares me more than the tears did. I want him back from wherever he's gone.
Only I know there is no going back. It used to be that I didn't know how to recognize these moments, the ones where your life changes forever and going back is impossible.
Now I know. Meeting Justin. Gus' birth. Prom. The bashing. Losing Vic. Cancer. The bomb. Losing your mom. Those are things that are there for better or worse. Sometimes if you get lucky the worse turns into better. That doesn't apply here.
But at least I can see this moment for what it is. And fuck everyone and everything if I'm not going to do this right or as close as I can fucking get.
So I take his hand in mine and vow to myself to not let go until... Until what? Because Jennifer is not coming back. I wonder when that thought will stop making me want to vomit.
Mikey and Deb are at the airport waiting for us. And they say all the things I probably should have said. Every word out of their mouths makes me hate myself a little more. But Justin just holds onto my hand a little tighter so I squeeze back.
Normally, being at the loft is like coming home. We relax here. New York is good and our place there is arguably nicer than the loft- much nicer, but there is something about being here that I always feel good about.
Now it's just another place. There is no comfort for me here. But Justin goes immediately to the bedroom and passes out. He's exhausted and I guess relieved to be here. I tell myself that I have to rest while he rests. But I'm having a hard time pulling myself away from just sitting and staring at him. He looks peaceful and I really wish he could have that feeling when he wakes up later. But I know he won't. Everything will come back the minute he opens his eyes.
I decide alcohol is the only chance I have at getting some rest. So I pour myself a drink. And then another. I want to move from the glass directly to the bottle, but I don't give into temptation. I have to stay sober enough to deal with whatever comes. For now.
We sleep until late afternoon and then there are things to be done. Family matters to be settled. Funeral arrangements to be made. Asshole fathers to wrangle. Ex-boyfriends to contact. Phone calls to answer. Obituaries to write.
And fuck, why can't anyone ever mourn in peace.
Only Justin seems to be thriving on all the bullshit. He has his game face on and he's dealing. I have this odd notion that it is the calm before the storm. But I can't for the life of me imagine what that storm might look like.
For every detail that gets checked off the list he gets wound up a bit tighter. By midnight he has handled every last fucking thing and he looks like he is about to start bouncing off the walls.
He paces around for awhile and I watch quietly, because what the fuck else am I supposed to do. I've been perched silently on a bar stool pretty much since we woke up.
And then finally he looks at me across the room and says, "Are you going to fuck me before I go out of my mind or what?"
His tone is so even that I can't really tell what he is thinking at first, but then he smiles a bit as if to put me at ease, and that is fucked up. So I figure I better just relax and fuck him.
It is cool in the loft, but he feels really warm.
I run my hand over his chest. He shakes his head and moves my hand to his cock.
His eyes betray how tired he really is. He wants me to fuck the shit out of him so he can sleep. I'm good for it.
I grab the lube and make him wet all over. To do this right I should really flip him over, use his hips to pull him into every thrust, but I need to see him, I need to know he is OK. So I put his legs around my waist and push into him. He lifts his legs higher to let me in deeper.
I pull out and then push in as hard as I can in this position. He moans, so I do it again. I set a pace that is just a little faster then he is expecting. He thought I was going to drag this out, but I want him to come, right now. So I fuck him hard and fast and he arches up off the bed and does. He feels so good and it takes everything I have not to come from his asshole spasming around my dick.
I pause briefly to compose myself and then keep pushing into him. Slower now, but just as hard. There are tears in his eyes, but he is pushing against me so I know he wants me to continue.
I lean down and kiss him. I can feel his dick and his cooling come on my stomach.
"I want you to come again for me Justin."
He doesn't answer but he pulls me closer with his arms and legs. I can't pull out as far like this but I keep pounding into him until he cries out and we both come.
We would normally shower, but he doesn't care about the come smeared across his chest or dripping from his ass, he just wants to pass out. So I wipe him off the best I can with the sheets and then pull him to the other side of the bed to sleep.
I'm holding Justin's hand on one side and he's holding Molly's hand on the other. Her tears haven't stopped since the service started. She and Justin aren't particularly close and her father is an asshole. She really doesn't have anyone.
Said asshole father is sitting on the other side of her, and from the looks he keeps shooting me, I can tell he is more upset about my presence than the fact that the mother of his children is fucking dead.
And then next to him is what I believe is wife number three. Apparently God doesn't mind divorce anymore, just two guys fucking. Wife number three is made almost entirely of plastic and looks more bored than anything. Craig never ceases to amaze me, having this bimbo sit with the family. I said we should tell him to fuck off, but Justin insists we have to make nice for Molly's sake.
In the row behind us are some relatives I don't really know and the current boyfriend. He is slightly more age appropriate and boring as fuck. But he treated her well so what can I say.
Tucker is a few rows further back with a girl who looks about Molly's age. Seems Justin was right about him all along.
Then there is Deb, Horvath, Mikey, Ben, Ted, Blake, and Emmett. They all showed up for Justin. And I guess Jennifer too. Mel and Lindsay sent flowers and "their love".
Deb invited everyone back to her place after everything was said and done. There was pressure to show up but I could tell Justin just wanted to go home, so we passed.
On the way home he asked me to stop at the liquor store and then told me to wait in the car. He came out with a $600 bottle of Patron that I bought him a shot of once at some bullshit trendy bar.
I raise an eyebrow at him.
"I figure if we are going to puke tomorrow we might as well do it right."
We both laugh softly but sincerely. Laughing feels so weird. Like some sort of release of all the pressure that is built up, but also all wrong. Like the sound doesn't make sense anymore.
Once we're back in the loft I feel like I just want to hole up with him here and never leave.
He walks around flipping out the lights we left on earlier and tells me to grab some glasses. I lock up and find him in the bedroom.
Its not dark yet, but the sun just set and it will be soon. He has all the lights turned off, so I find a few candles and light them on the nightstand.
He's stripped out of his suit and is in briefs on the bed. I do the same, throwing each piece of my suit on the ground. I can't imagine I'll ever feel like wearing it again.
I go to the dresser and pull out a joint. He nods when I hold it up for him to see.
He's being so quiet.
We sip our first drink and smoke the joint. I feel like I can visibly see every muscle in his body relaxing.
We talk about bullshit everyday things. Debbie's ridiculous outfit, Horvath's equally hideous suit. What a great job Emmett did catering the reception. Ben's boring new book.
The second drink goes down faster. We're done tasting the alcohol and have moved on to getting drunk.
Justin always looks young and probably will until he's fifty, but with him in front of me slightly stoned, half drunk and sitting Indian style in his underwear, I can't helping thinking he looks like a kid again. I move closer and sling one of my legs over his lap and around his back. He looks at me so honestly. I smooth my hands through his hair and a few tears slide down his cheeks.
"I'm really going to miss her."
My feelings can't come close to matching his, but it is the truth.
"She dressed pretty well, for a soccer mom. She knew enough to date significantly younger men. Once she stopped hating me, she treated me like I was part of the family. And she put you first."
He can't even talk, just smiles and nods through the tears.
We sit quietly for a long time. I brush his tears away a few times but then I just let them fall, forming little puddles on our legs.
"She told me once that she was the reason I'm an artist. I think she was right. Sometimes you don't realize how much a person does for you, you know?"
I silently nod, I want him to keep going.
"I wasn't easy, but she always thought I was worth it."
I pour us each another drink and hold mine up to toast. He clinks his glass lightly against mine and we drink.
"I think we are past the glasses at this point."
He takes the bottle out of my hand and takes a swig. I lick a drip off his chin and we both laugh at the fact that he is drinking directly from a bottle that comes in a velvet-lined box.
"How do you ever get over losing someone like her?"
"I don't know."
He laughs and almost spits out a mouthful of tequila.
"That's what I love about you, no bullshit about time healing all wounds."
He laughs again and it is becoming clear how drunk he is. How drunk we both are, because I laugh too.
I wake up on top of the covers with him asleep on my chest. It's cold, so I pull the duvet over us both. I want to let him sleep for as long as possible. He still has a lot of shit to handle with the estate and none of it is going to be easy. Thank god Jennifer was the type to have that sort of thing in order.
We drank quite a bit last night, but he can hold his liquor so I doubt there will be any actual puking today.
We talked for a long time and then I let him fuck me. It was long and slow. There was this calm about it, about him, that made me feel like he was going to be OK. He took his time and made me feel like he was taking care of me instead of the other way around. He made me come just from fucking me and he held my hand the entire time.