Outside The Box
by Severina

* * *

Brian Kinney had a dilemma.

He didn’t do flowers, or candy, or chocolates wrapped in shiny red foil. His gag reflex kicked in whenever he saw anything remotely heart-shaped. He certainly wasn’t going to contribute money to the Hallmark bullshit machine for a card that attempted to rhyme “infinity” and “eternity”.

But.

He also no longer did hustlers as presents, nor yearly gift certificates to bathhouses or porn websites.

Brian stared blankly at his computer monitor, unaware that his screensaver had started up five minutes before, and tapped his pencil on his desk as he considered his predicament. It wasn’t like Justin even expected anything, after all. The insecure little schoolboy who thought affection only came wrapped in soaring sonatas and ribbon-draped roses had matured into a man. A man who knew that love had many guises.

So yes. Justin knew that Monday was just another day. A manufactured holiday for the mindless masses. The domain of jewellers and chocolatiers and the advertisers who concocted brilliant campaigns designed to sucker the rubes into their stores and out of their hard-earned cash. Yes, Justin of all people knew that.

Right. Of course.

“Still here, Bri?” Ted said, poking his head in from the hallway.

Brian blinked away from the cascading images on his screen. “No, Theodore,” he said, “I’m just a figment of your fertile imagination.”

“When I imagine you, Brian, it’s rarely sitting at your desk working.”

Brian‘s lips quirked before he could stop them. “Did you want something, or did you just stop by to frighten me with your tie?”

“My--” Ted skimmed a hand nervously over his tie, a perfectly appropriate office-casual pin-stripe that he thought brought out the colour in his eyes. “I’m just locking up. Unless... you need me to stay?”

Brian pressed his lips together. Ted had been quite accommodating when Brian was... sick. One might even say compassionate. And he could keep a secret. Maybe he could offer some advice... Brian shook his head. What the fuck was he thinking? He had a dilemma, not a lobotomy.

“Nope, just finishing up with the Randalburg proposal.” Brian waved airily at his computer screen, which now featured a rotating Kinnetik logo. In hot pink. He made a mental note to keep Justin away from the office computers.

“Right.” Ted hesitated in the doorway, hand on the jamb. “You’re sure?”

Brian grimaced. “Go home. Feed your cat. Watch Larry King. Pull your pud. Do whatever it is you do to fill the endless wasteland of your nights. I’ll be leaving myself in a few minutes.” He rearranged a few papers and stared intently at the monitor until Ted got the message and shuffled out. Then he shut down his computer and turned off the lamp. And sat in the dark, thinking about florists and truffles and all the bullshit that made up Valentine‘s Day.

* * *

When Brian tossed his briefcase on the counter a few hours later, he’d made up his mind. He wasn’t even going to mention that day. Not a word. He was going to avoid Lindsay, so that she wouldn’t have any opportunity to nag him. He was going to avoid the diner, so that Debbie wouldn’t have any opportunity to hit him. He was going to avoid anyone and anything that might possibly be remotely connected to hearts, cupids and cherubs. On Monday, he would go to work. After work, he would stop and get Chinese. He would bring home won ton soup and lemon chicken and spicy fried rice, and share it with Justin. Then they would fuck until they passed out. In other words, he would spend this coming Monday like he did any other Monday.

He felt better now that he had a plan.

Justin was hunched at the table, pencil scratching feverishly at his sketchpad.

“Hey,” Brian said as he dug into the fridge for a beer. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah. Hey, did you hear about that fireman? He found this mother cat and her kittens in some burning building, and one of the kittens had stopped breathing. So he saved it by giving it mouth to mouth resuscitation.”

“Huh.” Brian paused in his search for the bottle opener. “He must really like pussy.”

Justin snorted out a laugh. “You are incredibly lame.”

Brian had taken a sip of his beer before an awful thought occurred to him. “You’re not sketching kittens, are you?”

“Uhh... no.”

Brian narrowed his eyes. Watched Justin‘s hand snake behind his ear, and scratch. Watched the furtive way Justin then tried to casually drape his arm across the drawing. And those short strokes of the pencil? Definitely fur.

Brian had his own thoughts on just who was the lame one in this relationship.

But in his newly magnanimous style, he let it go with a mere, “Thank fucking god.” Nobody could say that he hadn’t matured. Nobody.

“Brian? We’re not doing anything on Monday, right?”

Brian froze with the beer halfway to his lips, envisioning his entire plan crumbling before his eyes. But years of emotional reservation can come in handy. His eyebrow barely twitched as he lifted his shoulders. “No.”

“Good. I’m gonna take an extra shift at the diner. Everybody wants the night off, and Kiki’s got a date.”

“Kiki’s got a date.”

“Yeah. With a dentist.”

“Shit, and she’s spent all those years practicing covering her teeth.”

Justin rolled his eyes and turned back to his sketch. He may or may not have muttered “sooo lame” under his breath, but since Brian didn’t fully catch it, he decided to choose “may not”.

* * *

Brian had a plan.

It was a good plan, the whole “ignore the day” thing. He and Justin spent the weekend eating and fucking and talking and fucking and watching TV and fucking. Justin didn’t even mention ‘the day’, aside from snorting in derision at one of the “buy your honey a heart-shaped diamond” ads on the local station.

Brian didn’t mention that Kinnetik had produced the ad.

It was obvious that Justin didn’t care one way or the other about Valentines Day. Brian kept telling himself that. He tried to ignore the nagging little voice in his head -- the one that sounded suspiciously like Debbie Novotny.

When Justin went out to get some DVD’s on Sunday night, Brian spent fifteen minutes pacing back and forth. Another ten holding the cell phone in his hand while cursing Debbie, Justin, relationships, and Michael, just for the hell of it. And then five more minutes making the phone calls he needed to make, speaking quickly into the phone because he’d wasted so much time debating that Justin was due back any minute.

* * *

Brian stood outside the diner on Monday night, hands stuffed in his pockets, and debated just turning around and walking away. Sure, Carlos would be confused... but Justin would be none the wiser.

He squinted through the window, watching Justin hustling between tables. Justin looked flustered. Justin looked exhausted. Justin looked like a kid who would willingly take a butter knife to the next person who ordered the special “cupid croquettes”.

He really had to rescue him. He didn’t have a choice.

Brian took a deep breath and pushed into the diner.

“All right, everybody out!” he shouted. He clapped his hands, but nobody moved. “Am I speaking Swahili?” he bellowed. “Diner’s closed, everybody out!”

Diners grumbled. They bitched. Somebody threw a roll. But he was pleased to hear the shuffle of feet amongst the angry protests, and he marvelled that it was just that easy. He spoke, they listened. He really was the King of Liberty Avenue. Then Justin was grabbing him by the arm and pinching. Hard. Little fucker.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t just come in here and--”

“Actually sunshine, I can.” Brian smiled deviously before carefully disengaging himself from his lover. He had more stragglers to roust. “Everybody out! All you can eat ‘cherub surprise’ at The Swan. Get the fuck out!”

As soon as the last of the dawdlers was out the door, Brian flicked the lock and switched the sign to “closed”.

“I would say that Deb is going to kill you for this,” Justin said softly from behind him, “but by the time I’m through with you there’s not going to be enough left for her to maim, let alone kill.”

Brian turned around and leaned against the door. And smiled.

“Carlos!” he called out.

He would never forget the look on Justin’s face when Carlos brought out their feast. Brian had to admit that Papagano’s had outdone themselves, though Giuseppe Papagano might as well have been wearing a mask and holding a gun for the price he’d set for a little unconventional home delivery of a couple of steaks. And wine. And candles. Candles? Brian didn’t actually remember ordering candles.

Carlos took care of everything. He set the table, uncorked the wine, dimmed the lights, lit the candles with a flourish that Brian was sure was added just to piss him off. Then he pocketed his hundred bucks and left with a spring in his step.

They were alone.

Justin’s smile outshone any candlelight.

* * *

“You know that you owe me for this.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Blowjobs--”

“Right.”

“--for the rest of your natural life.”

“Uh huh.”

“It may even stretch into the afterlife.”

Justin smiled. “It’s nice to know you think we’ll be dancing in the fires together.”

Brian pierced an asparagus spear and twirled it thoughtfully. Nope, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend eternity.

“You also know that I totally deserve this, right?” Justin said after a moment.

“Right.”

“You’re not easy to live with.”

“Okay.”

“You always drink the last of the juice.”

Brian snorted. If that was the least of Justin’s complaints, he was well set. “Right.”

“And then you bitch, and I’m always the one that has to go to the store to get more.”

“Yeah.”

“In fact, I’d say I’m just about the best boyfriend ever.”

Silence. And silence. Until Justin finally looked up from his dinner.

“Yeah,” Brian said softly.

Justin licked his lips. “I’m done. You?”

“I haven‘t even begun.”

Their eyes met, and held. Then they were both lunging across the table, plates hastily pushed aside, silverware clattering to the floor, lips meeting eagerly, Brian’s fingers clutching at Justin’s hair, the only sounds in the diner the soft moans from their lips... and the whoops and jeers from two dozen horny fags pounding on the window and watching the show.

“Fuck!” Brian pulled Justin from the booth. He was an exhibitionist, sure, but there was a time and place. “Kitchen?”

“Too far,” Justin breathed. “Behind the counter.”

Justin tugged, Brian followed. As always.

* * *

Feedback is always welcome
Severina

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