Author's Notes: Brian's thoughts during episode 307. Lyrics used in this fic are Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt. Please enjoy & feedback is always wanted/welcomed!
"'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won."
When I walk into the diner the revelation hits me like a Mac truck.
I'm finally starting to get over him.
I realize this as I stare at him. I realize this because seeing him in front of me - doing his usual half-bus boy, half-waiter, full-on beautiful thing behind the counter – is the first time I've thought of him all day. I didn't wake up with him on my mind, even though that's where he was when I fell asleep. And I realize in this second that I didn't find my mind wandering to thoughts of him while I was in meetings this morning. What was he doing? Would he be working today? Would he be at Babylon tonight? When would I run into him again? None of those torturous and previously uncontrollable thoughts had dominated my brain today.
The realization makes me want to celebrate so I order a side of fries with my usual turkey on whole wheat, no mayo. I worked out an extra day this week so what the hell?
So yeah, I stare at him and watch him work and the only real thought in my head – which doesn't sting like the old thoughts used to – is he's wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday.
"Someone didn't sleep at home..." I say casually because, over him or not, I feel the need to let him know I know this.
"What are you? A detective?" He wants to know turning to look at me with tired, angry eyes.
"No. Just the same stunning ensemble that you wore yesterday," I explain and smirk. I find his anger amusing. And it's nice because I can't remember the last time anything to do with Justin Taylor made me feel anything other than pain.
"Spent the night at Daphne's if it's any of your fucking business."
Wow. He's being a total bitch. Hmmm....
"Do I detect a discordant note in love's tender refrain?" I ask whimsically. I am very much enjoying rubbing salt in his wound. I would never enjoy it if I still loved.... was into him. So yeah, I'm finally over it. Over him.
He says nothing he just stares at me vacantly for a long minute as I pop a fry into my mouth and try not to gloat. Well, pretend I'm trying not to gloat. Then he turns back to the coffee maker, replacing the coffee pot. I almost feel bad for him. But then again he's a drama queen and he's probably making his little lover's spat into something way bigger than it has to be. And the fiddler will probably buy him roses tonight or write him a fucking poem or some such bullshit and Justin will run back to him and forgive him everything and suck him off and....
I feel slightly nauseous.
Too many fucking fries.
"And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be"
I spend the rest of the day feeling pretty goddamn good about myself. I'm totally over him. He's not my problem anymore. He's not going to be inside my head 24-7. He's not going to make me feel bad. Granted he won't make me feel good either, but I can go back to random tricks for that – now that he's not clogging my brain or any other internal organ, like that heart no one but Debbie seems to know I have.
Later that night I'm at Babylon trying to talk Mikey off the proverbial ledge – the same way he talked me off the real one the night Gus was born. He's going to be a great dad. I know it and deep down he's knows it too. I think for a minute that maybe Lindsay should have asked him too. Lord knows he'd be better to Gus than I am. Gus would grow up to be an amazing person with Mikey as his dad. With me as his dad... well it's a crap shoot.
I kiss Mikey's cheek and leave him to enjoy his cigar and his impending fatherhood, because this conversation is making me feel a wee bit depressed. And I'm horny. Been horny since lunch.
I need to find a way to celebrate the fact I'm finally out of the Bell Jar and over that little blonde kid who infiltrated my life. And by 'way' to celebrate, I mean 'mouth' for my dick.
The back room seems more crowded than usual. I make my way through the throngs of bodies – all naked and mostly hot – and look for the right mouth. I turn a corner and then another scanning every face, inspecting every mouth.
Hmm... his lips are too thin..... that one's cute but I've had him before..... Oh and that one, he's not bad. Maybe I'll bless him with my dick when he's done taking it up the ass....
Then I see something that makes my dick twitch. A flaxen head bobbing by the wall. Suddenly, I want a blonde tonight. Yeah... a blonde.....
I get closer, never taking my eyes off the back of this guy's head and as I approach I recognize the familiar, stunning profile. His hands are on some guy's shoulders and his eyes are focused downwards, at the area where their bodies are connected.
"I've kissed your lips and held your hand.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you."
I can't help but stare, with a furrowed brow, as I watch him glide in and out of an ass that definitely does not belong to his fiddler. I lean against the wall far enough from him that I am not intruding but close enough that nothing blocks my view. The face that belongs to the ass he's inside looks over at him with lust but Justin simply stares back with that same vacant expression he had at the diner. It's like he's on auto pilot. Just fucking because... he has to? He's supposed to? He's trying to prove something?
Whatever the reason I can't stop looking at him. I undo the zipper on my pants and let my hard dick escape into the warm air. I give it a stroke, my eyes on him.
He glances up randomly at first, not really looking at anyone or anything. But then he sees me. His eyes narrow with recognition and for a second there I worry he might stop what he's doing. I don't want him to stop. I want him to keep fucking so I can watch. I want to watch so badly that I don't even worry how weird it is, or what he's thinking. I just stare, unabashedly lowering eyes to watch his thick, warm cock bury itself over and over in this guy that is not his fiddler. Then I slowly raise my gaze to catch his eye again. I blink softly.
His eyes drop now – to my exposed dick and I swear to Christ he starts pumping his twink harder when he sees it. His rhythm picks up and he finally starts to carry an expression on his face – it's lust. Desire. Longing.
My breath catches in my throat and I turn my head away momentarily. A trick is kneeling in front of me and has my dick in his mouth now but I barely notice and don't even care.
No. It couldn't be. That look couldn't be for me.
But maybe it is.
I almost smile. Almost. I mean I would have... if I wasn't over him. But I am. I'm over Justin Taylor.
I turn and watch him some more. I can't keep my eyes from that tight pale ass pushing deeper and harder. I look up at his eyes. They're still on me.
This time neither of us looks away. His tongue slides out and licks his bottom lip. And I know. I know without a shadow of a fucking doubt he is not thinking of his fiddler right now – in the seconds before he cums. He's not even thinking about the face attached to the ass he's railing.
He is thinking about me.
Then his head tilts back and his eyes start to close and he pushes one last time – hard. And he cums.
I put my hand on the back of my trick's head and push myself deeper into his mouth. Justin immediately pulls out of the non-fiddler ass and peels the condom from his cock. The trick turns and reaches for him, trying to pull him into a kiss, but Justin's steps away. He smiles politely and then turns to face me. He starts walking towards me. My heart feels like it might punch its way through my chest.
He stops and leans against the wall beside me, zipping up his pants he turns his head to face me and I turn to face him and our eyes lock again. He's just inches from me. Inches.
"And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bare my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet."
And then I feel a hot swell in my balls and I involuntarily close my eyes as I orgasm.
I open my eyes and he's gone. I search the dark shadows on either side of me but... he's gone. Nowhere in sight.
The head at my waist pulls away and I zip up my pants, panting and breathless but very little of it has to do with the blow job.
I smile and pat the shoulder of the dude who blew me and then push off the wall.
I do one lap of the club but I know it's futile. Justin didn't stick around.
That unwelcomed and unwanted warm feeling I haven't felt since before the Rage party starts to swell in my chest. That horrible feeling that makes a smile on my lips inevitable. The kind of feeling that makes me want to sing along to the radio, or kiss Mikey for no reason, or give money to the beggar on the street corner – just so long as he's not playing violin.
As I leave the club my breathing is still uneven and my head is still spinning and I am certain of only two things in the world.
One: The fiddler is no longer his fiddler.
And Two: I am so not fucking over him.