Pairing: Brian and Justin
Word count: 400
Timeline: 108 - Justin and Brian alternating POV's
"Look at your mom, Justin."
Brian was the only one who could tell me what to do. I ceased the sullen staring at my hands in my lap and cast her a sidelong glance. Oozing kindness and love, my mother desperately wanted me back home.
The veins in my dad's neck bulged, exasperation teeming inside of him like fiery lava. It seemed as if he'd vomit at the thought of Brian's cock inside me.
Rising slowly, my eyes connected with Brian's when my mom urged me to go to my room. He nodded for me to do as she'd said.
I collected my ward from St. James Academy at dismissal and headed out to the suburbs, having previously engineered a meeting with Justin's parents to discuss his timely return. I wasn't into permanent boarders.
Sitting quietly in the corner of the Taylors' den, I listened as they attempted to resuscitate their fractured relationship with their son. They may have been trying to apply a small, tenuous band-aid to a large gaping wound, but at least it was a start.
Something about the way Justin's father cringed when he dared to look my way sent an ominous shiver up my spine.
"And one more thing, Justin," my father snarled, wishing Brian substantial bodily harm.
Large gaping wounds require so much more than emergency stopgap measures. Even carefully planned open-heart surgery couldn't have closed this one.
I knew right then I could never live in my father's house again. Problem was, I didn't know where I could live.
"That's not love. That's hate," Brian eloquently spoke his mind, wrapping it up with this precious gem. "Justin, you coming?" he called over his shoulder when he was halfway out the door.
My chivalrous knight in shining armor had rescued me again.
Justin's mother knew she'd lost. He would have given anything to have made her happy, yet he followed me out the door.
I never intended for this to happen. I'd felt good about returning the lost sheep to the fold, but I just couldn't bear to witness the death of his dignity.
A quiet, reflective trip back to my loft prefaced the topsy-turvy routine into which we soon fell: you know, the one where I flip-flop between parenting him and fucking his brains out - just your average, daily, run-of-the-mill existence.
Doesn't everyone live like this?