by JD Ruskin
Nick cleared his throat. Time was up.
“Um, so…,” began Brandt.
“Yeah, um… thanks… uh, Mason. That was, kind of… well, I’m… I’m sorry.”
The screen clicked to black, and they were done. Brandt collapsed back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, tears still welling in his eyes.
Nick came to the side of the bed.
“Dude, that was off the hook,” he said through a grin that stretched the width of his face. “I’ve never seen anyone do so well on their first time! That guy was so wrung out—he couldn’t even remember your name.”
It took Brandt a moment to come back to the room from wherever he had gone to avoid dealing with this experience.
“Yeah, it was….” Brandt’s voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. “Look, could I just get a shower and get out of here?”
Nick’s brow furrowed a bit. “Sure, buddy, of course. I’ll go start the shower for you so it’s nice and warm. And I’ll grab a new pair of underwear for you, compliments of the house—this Gabriel guy may want the red jock as a souvenir. Back in a sec.”
Brandt lay there, feeling the cold semen run down his sides onto the bed. What was he going to say to Donnelly? How could they be okay with each other ever again?
He heard Nick come padding back into the room.
“Shower’s ready. Come on, big guy.” Nick nudged Brandt’s shoulder.
“Nick?” Brandt said as he got to his feet.
“Yeah?” Nick replied, his arm around Brandt, leading him to the bathroom.
“Did you ever do something that fucked it all up with someone, like, all of a sudden? Like maybe there was no going back?”
Nick stared at him, his brow peaked in a look of concern. Then a nod and a hint of a chuckle, as if he understood perfectly
“You know, as a matter of fact, I have. I’ve done some stupid stuff, and a couple of times I nearly lost the person who means more to me than anyone in the world. But what I’ve learned is that people, and relationships, are more resilient than you think they are. Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and believe that what you want will still be there when you open them.”
Brandt nodded. “Thanks, Nick. I hope you’re right.”
“I almost always am. Except in calculus.” Nick chuckled and guided Brandt into the steaming shower. “I’ll see you downstairs in a few, right?”
“Yeah. I’ll be okay now. Thanks.”
BRANDT SHOWERED, dressed, and found his way through the house. As he did, Eugene and what seemed like every guy who worked in the house slapped his back or his ass and congratulated him on a job well done. As he headed for the door, Drake pulled him aside.
“Jason, I’m very impressed. Nick says you handled that like a pro. I think you may have helped us establish a compelling new business model.”
Brandt just nodded, trying to imagine himself out of this bizarre place, in his own space, quiet.
“I’ve just spoken to the owner of the company, and he would very much like to meet you. Can you come here for lunch on Monday?”
Brandt nodded again, reminding himself to look flattered and excited. Ironically, this was the very thing he most needed to achieve in order to do his real job, the one that he had been trained to do, the one that did not require him to be naked.
“Great. Come by around eleven or so.” He gave a little hop, as if remembering something. “Oh, and here’s what I’m sure you’ve been waiting for.” He pulled an envelope from behind his back and handed it with a practiced casualness to Brandt.
“Thanks, Mr. Drake,” Brandt mumbled, and put the envelope in his pocket.
A flash of concern washed over Drake’s face at the desultory tone of Brandt’s voice, but this was replaced quickly by a more assured expression.
“Have a nice weekend, Jason. Enjoy the spending money.”
Brandt mumbled something that sounded like assent and made his way out the door, alone at last. But as he reached his car, he saw with surprise that Nick was standing next to it, leaning against the passenger door.
“Uh, hey, Nick,” Brandt said wearily, heavily, as he approached the car.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Nick replied, stepping toward Brandt, who had stopped a few feet away. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before, and I don’t think I was much help. But if you need to talk, anytime, please call me, okay?”
Brandt’s shoulders slumped. He was overwhelmed, helpless. Nick’s kindness, which his professional training was urging him to rebuff, warmed him in his coldest places. He sighed and felt unbidden tears once again wet his cheek.
Nick took another step toward him, which brought them toe-to-toe.
Brandt knew what would come next, and in his devastated and exhausted state he admitted to himself what he no longer had the energy to deny: he wanted it. He wanted to feel Nick’s arms around him, to be warmed in his strong, sheltering embrace.
It didn’t come. He looked up, his eyes blurred with tears. He scanned Nick’s face for a sign as to why he was holding back when he never had before. The kind, golden eyes crinkled at the edges as a sweet smile spread across his face. Nick shook his head slightly, as if debating, deciding.
He brought his hands up to Brandt’s stubbled jawline and ran his thumbs along the hollow of his cheeks, wiping the tears away. Brandt surrendered to this touch, which he somehow suddenly needed more than anything in the world. He closed his eyes and leaned his head slightly to the side, as if trying to nestle into the strong grasp of Nick’s smooth, warm hands.
Brandt’s eyes opened only when he felt the gentle rush of Nick’s breath on his cheek. He saw Nick so close to him, felt the radiant heat of his mouth nearing his. And then, suddenly and yet in slow motion, Nick’s mouth closed over his own.
Brandt’s breath caught in his throat; his hands flew up to push Nick away. But instead of shoving him backward, they wrapped themselves around his neck and pulled him in closer. Brandt closed his eyes again as he registered all of the million little ways that kissing Nick was so different from kissing a woman. It felt rough and hard and stubbly and urgent and hot and all of the other strangenesses, yes, but it also felt like love. Nick kissed him because he needed to be reminded that there is love in the world and sometimes, when one does not expect it, it arrives, urgent and rude, and kisses one on the lips.
For a moment, Brandt was happier than he ever remembered being in his life.
And then he remembered his life.
He released his grip on Nick’s neck and pulled his head back. Nick broke the kiss and looked at him, his forehead etched with arches of worry.
“I’m sorry,” Nick blurted, clearly shocked at what he had done.
“No.” Brandt shook his head slowly side to side. “No, don’t be sorry. That was, well… I don’t know what that was. But it was nice, and thank you.”
Nick positively beamed.
“You kiss well, for a straight guy,” Nick teased, ruffling Brandt’s hair.
“You too,” laughed Brandt. “Though I imagine anyone who saw us just now might not call us that.”
Nick stopped laughing and looked at Brandt through a thoughtful squint.
“You gonna be okay?”
Brandt looked down for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I think I am. Mainly because of you. You helped me see some things tonight that I needed to see. So, thanks again for that.”
Nick grinned. “Word is you’re coming back on Monday to meet the big guy. You’re kind of our hero now.”
“I can’t tell you what that means to me,” chuckled Brandt. Seriously, he couldn’t. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Good night, Jason.”
Brandt shivered as the artifice of his fake name rankled against the truth of what they had just shared. But there weren’t words for what they had just shared, at least not any words that he knew.
Brandt opened the door, got in, and pointed the car home. He tried to drive fast enough to leave behin
d all that had happened tonight, to keep from having to think about it. But his tears, softly coursing down his cheek, were his constant companion as he made his way through the night.
AFTER ARRIVING at home, Brandt stumbled up the stairs to his apartment, fumbled his key into the lock, and collapsed onto the sofa without turning the lights on. He lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling. In the dark quiet, the tears returned as the events of the evening whirled around him. He breathed deeply and tried to either think clearly or stop thinking at all. He was unsuccessful at both.
“God, Gabriel, what did we do?” he whispered into the dark.
Great, he thought. Now I’m talking to myself. Fuck.
“We did what we had to do.”
The voice was low, and it was close. Brandt sat bolt upright, his reflexes taking control. He sat, not breathing, listening. Had he really heard Donnelly’s voice?
“Gabriel?”
“Ethan…,” the voice from the darkness replied, in a whisper—a long, low, dissipated sound.
Brandt felt his throat closing in panic. He had not even begun to think about what he might say to Donnelly, how they would be after this evening. Crazy lights flashed around the margin of his sight as his head throbbed with sudden confusion.
“What are you doing here?”
“Where else would I go?” was Donnelly’s simple reply.
“So you came and sat in my dark apartment?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I knew you’d be upset at how fucked up the whole thing was, and I guess I figured I’d just put myself here so you wouldn’t have to go looking for me in order to kill me.”
“Kill you?” Brandt snorted. “I’m the one who got us into that mess. Why would I want to kill you?”
Donnelly was silent for a moment.
“Because I watched your video,” he whispered, almost inaudible.
“Yeah, about that,” Brandt said as he reached up to turn on a light. He wasn’t looking at Donnelly, couldn’t bring himself to. “That was kind of a surprise.”
“To both of us,” agreed Donnelly miserably.
“That video was the most degrading thing I’ve ever been through. My only hope of getting past it was believing that no one I knew would ever see it.” Brandt spoke slowly, looking at the same patch of carpet Donnelly was studying. He sighed. “I can’t believe you would do that to me.”
“I did it for me,” Donnelly whispered.
Brandt had to force himself to look across at his partner. He didn’t know what he would see in that familiar, but now completely alien, face. What he saw was his best friend in the world, pale and shaking, tears running down his face.
“I don’t understand,” murmured Brandt, struggling to keep the shock out of his voice.
Donnelly wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand, as if trying to erase himself.
“I can’t explain it. Not to you.” A sob escaped him. “Not to me.” His chest heaved, and more sobbing rushed from his anguished, trembling mouth. “I am so fucked up… so fucked up… so fucking—” He took several gulping of air, trying to catch his breath if not his composure. Failing, he put his head in his hands and continued crying raggedly.
“Look,” Brandt said, keeping his voice level and calm, as he had been trained to do when talking someone down from an emotional (or actual) ledge. “The way things went tonight—I thought I would be there alone. But Nick stayed and watched the whole time. I had to play the part or he would have known something was up. I just wasn’t expecting you to be there. The bidding went higher than what we had, so I don’t know how—”
“I paid it,” Donnelly muttered, his face still in his hands.
“What?”
Donnelly looked up. “I paid it. I paid the money.”
Brandt felt as though he’d been punched in the solar plexus. By a Toyota.
“What? How?”
Donnelly took a deep breath. “When my brother was killed in Afghanistan, some life insurance that my grandparents bought him as a kid paid off. My mom was completely around the bend at that point and refused to take the money—I think it made his death too real to her. Anyway, my sister and I split it. Actually, I gave her most of it for the down payment on her house. I took five thousand, and it’s just been sitting in my savings account since. So tonight, when the bidding jumped at the last second, I decided to use it.” He paused, catching his breath after spilling all of this out. “I didn’t want you to have to do that with anyone else.” His voice caught. “Anyone but me,” he whispered miserably.
“You spent 5K of your own money to have video sex with me? What the fuck?”
“I spent 5K of my own money to play chess with you, remember?”
Brandt was chastened by Donnelly’s reminder that he had failed to manage the situation according to their plan.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I really tried. I just couldn’t convince him to leave me alone. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Donnelly closed his eyes, took a deep breath that seemed to go on forever.
“I’m not.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“I can’t explain it. Please don’t make me,” Donnelly begged.
Brandt’s could only stare in mute, confused anguish.
“I gotta get outta here,” Donnelly blurted, as he bolted upright and rushed for the door. He would have made it, had there not been an obstacle in his way.
It was Brandt.
He had matched Donnelly’s motions and put himself between his partner and the door. They stood, inches apart, Donnelly’s tear-streaked face met by Brandt’s anger-clouded visage.
“No.”
BRANDT’S WORD was a weapon, and Donnelly felt its force. He took a breath to beg again to be released, but Brandt sprang at him, pushing him hard, sending him reeling backward. He sprawled back onto the chair he had just left, struggling to catch his breath.
“You’re not going anywhere, ‘partner’,” snarled Brandt. Donnelly could see the tendons in his neck tauten, his jaw set.
“Ethan, please don’t… I can’t—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Brandt shouted. Donnelly had never seen him this way. He had witnessed his partner wrestle drug dealers to the ground, he had watched him shoot a hostage-taker at a bank robbery, but he had never seen him this fierce.
Brandt looked down at his trembling partner. His nostrils flared as he tried to think clearly.
“Good God, Gabriel.” Some calm had returned to Brandt’s voice. Not enough to let Donnelly think he might survive, but some. “Who the hell are you?”
“I tried to be the partner you needed. I fucked it up, clearly.”
“My fucking partner. Right. Nice to know you’ve got my back, buddy.”
Something snapped inside Donnelly.
“I have always been there for you!” he exploded, getting to his feet. “I have been your partner and your friend and your fucking therapist for two fucking years and the first time I fuck things up you’re ready to beat the shit out of me? That’s fucked up, my friend. Fucked up.” He moved toward the door once again.
Brandt blocked him again. They again stood inches apart, but now both faces were flushed with anger, their bodies heaving with barely contained rage.
“Just tell me one thing, and I’ll let you go,” Brandt snarled.
“What?” spat Donnelly, his eyes narrowing with a furious intensity.
“Did you mean what you said?”
Donnelly frowned, squinting into Brandt’s eyes.
“What?”
“During the live thing. What you said to ‘Mason.’ Did you mean it?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t remember what I said!” Donnelly’s voice rose with the stress of anger—or of lying.
“You said you watched my video a dozen times. You said you beat off when you watch it. You said you shoot your shit when you watch me shower.” Brandt was panting. “That’s what you fucking said. Did you fuc
king mean it?”
Donnelly froze, not breathing. Then, slowly, he sagged, spent from the emotional and physical exertion this day had demanded of him. Tears filled his eyes again.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Brandt was silent. Donnelly counted his breaths. One. Two. Three.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Brandt’s voice was as quiet as Donnelly’s had been.
This was not what Donnelly had been expecting.
“Tell you what? That I watched a sex video of you? I didn’t even want to admit that to myself.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “The first time I had my eyes closed through the whole thing, like seeing it would blind me or something. But I had to know what you were doing. So I watched it again. And again. And then I wasn’t doing anything but watching it—and trying to convince myself each time not to do it again, that I didn’t really want to see it again, but I did.” He steeled himself and looked into Brandt’s eyes.
“I watched it because I wanted to. Because it showed me what I’ve been trying not to know. Because it made me see you clearly.” He sighed, then whispered, “Because it changed me into who I’ve always been.”
Brandt looked desperately into Donnelly’s eyes, back and forth between them, trying to see the truth of what he had said, trying to see that it wasn’t true at all. But it was.
“Just let me go,” Donnelly asked. “I’ll arrange a transfer on Monday, and you’ll never have to see me again. No one will know what happened. I’ll say it’s all me, and you can get a partner who won’t go all pervert on you.”
“I swear to God, Gabriel, if you try to leave I will fucking—” With this Brandt grabbed Donnelly by the collar, brought his face even closer. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
Donnelly’s breath was short and shallow. But if it had to end this way, at least it would be over. His mom would be much better off with a dead cop for a son than another dead fag.