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Bitter Pill -- Act 1, Scene 2 - By Falcon Stefan watched the luggage as the conveyer belt carried it past, trying to guess which piece would be claimed by which member of the assembled post-flight crowd. A few he got right -the embroidered bag with the wooden handles went to an elderly lady, and the large, ragged backpack went to a kid who looked like he hadn't bathed for weeks. But most of the suitcases were simply too generic to hold any hints. Still, he kept trying, playing constant mental games to keep his mind from straying in more dangerous directions. That had become his strategy. If he kept himself from thinking about it, then maybe, slowly, he would forget that it ever happened. He would forget the smoky taste of Steve's lips, the spicy scent of his aftershave, the sound of his desperate, ravished moans. He would forget seeing Brian lying on the bathroom floor, next to a heart traced in blood. And, once he managed to forget, maybe the pain would finally stop. The sight of his travel bag, followed closely by Brian's suitcase, woke Stefan from his thoughts, and he lifted both, carrying them over to the bench where Brian sat. Setting Brian's suitcase down in front of him, Stefan searched his expression for some flicker of affection. Or gratitude. Or anything. But Brian's eyes were fogged by the drinks he'd consumed on the plane, and Stefan didn't dare look too hard, for fear of what he might see. Sometimes, Stefan felt absolutely sure that Brian hated him. Sighing, he sat down on the bench. Then, without warning, Brian leaned against him, and slipped his arm around his waist. "Stef," he murmured. And a tiny flicker of hope brushed its wings against Stefan's heart, promising that maybe, somehow, the three of them would still be able to work this out. After a few minutes, Steve joined them, carrying his own bag. "Hey, are we going to hang around the airport forever? Hawaii awaits!" "Yeah, let's go find us some hula girls. Or boys." Stefan wrapped his arm around Brian, and gave him a tender hug, then stood up, lifting his own bag, and Brian's. "Where do you think we need to go to catch a taxi?" The sun outside the airport was almost unbearably bright, eliciting a groan from Brian. Knowing that Brian's own sunglasses were probably broken, or lost, or buried in the bottom of his luggage, Steve pulled his pair from his shirt pocket, and slipped them over Brian's eyes. Then he hailed a taxi. Climbing into its backseat, he ended up wedged between Stefan and Brian, which, he reflected with a bitter smile, perfectly represented his life, lately. Ever since the suicide attempt, Brian - never particularly stable to begin with - had begun to swing even more wildly between frantic, brittle highs, and dark, bottomless downs. Steve tried to be there for him. Tried to help him through his moods. Tried to walk the line between being a good friend and offering false hope. But no matter how hard he tried, he could feel the strength of Brian's longing, begging him to be more than he could ever possibly be. And as for Stefan... He and Stefan hadn't talked at all. Partially because every time they got anywhere near each other, Brian shot them a look filled with such pain and reproach, that they immediately drifted off toward different corners of the room. But also, partially, because Stefan himself seemed to be avoiding any direct discussion about what had happened between them. And Steve was pretty sure he knew why. Stefan obviously thought that everything Steve had done, everything he'd said, up to and including "I love you", had only been the afterglow of a really good blowjob. And, in truth, Steve couldn't blame Stefan for discounting his sincerity. Why shouldn't Stefan have doubts? When he'd claimed Stefan as the most precious person in his world, and then surrendered him without a fight, just because Brian couldn't deal? It made Steve feel like a gutless worm. Surely, a real lover, with any inch of backbone, would have told Brian to stick it up his ass. Would have refused to live a shadow life, just because Brian had learned to wield his suicide like a weapon. Sighing inwardly, Steve rubbed his face. He couldn't tell Brian to stick it up his ass. He cared too much about him. And, in any case, what good would it do? If he and Stefan ran off together, and Brian finished what he'd started - how could they possibly expect their love to survive? When they'd always blame themselves? When every kiss, every caress, would be poisoned by the knowledge that their happiness had been bought at the expense of a friend's life? God, he needed this vacation. A chance to relax. Steve closed his eyes, and tried to picture himself on a beach, with the sun warming his skin, and the drone of waves lulling him to sleep. And Stefan. Stefan, beside him, dressed only in swim trunks. Sipping something creamy and alcoholic from a coconut shell. Steve could almost see the white of it, staining Stefan's lips, could almost taste its sweetness as he pulled Stefan's mouth to his. /Oh god. Oh god. Think unsexy thoughts. Cold showers. Spinach. Brian's mother./ Steve crossed his legs, and put his hands in his lap, praying that neither Brian nor Stefan had noticed the results of his descent into fantasy. /Polyester. Jellyfish. The smell of gasoline./ Luckily, before Steve ran out of images for his internal parade of turnoffs, they arrived at the hotel. It looked nice enough. A large pool out front, and a view of the ocean in back. Steve inhaled as he stepped out of the taxi. Savored the cloying perfume of the pink and white flowers blooming everywhere. Not bad, as far as slices of paradise went. This would be a good vacation. He just had to be careful. Very careful. The long, air-conditioned taxi ride seemed to have revived Brian, because he snatched his suitcase from the trunk of the taxi, and bounded into the hotel lobby. "Come one! Let's get changed, and go exploring. I want to shop!" Steve exchanged a sympathetic look with Stefan, before getting the keys to their room. Up five floors, down a long white hall, room 521. Again, nice enough. A balcony, facing the beach, with wispy white curtains drawn across the French doors that lead out onto it. A clean bathroom. Two beds, and a cot. Brian flung his suitcase onto the nearest mattress. "Dibs!" he announced. "I call dibs on the bed tonight." Hastily, Steve hurled his own travel bag onto the second bed, leaving Stefan to moan as he looked at the cot. "Aw, come on, guys. I must be twice as tall as this thing." "Poor Stef," Brian chortled. "Want to share my bed?" "You wish." "As a matter of fact," Brian continued, "I don't see why we even need two beds. I bet we could save a lot of money if we called the front desk and asked them to transfer us to a room with one big, soft, bouncy--." "No!" Steve and Stefan chorused. Brian tossed them an exaggerated pout, and then began to unpack, covering the bed with various outfits. Shaking his head, Steve opened his travel bag, and pulled out a pair of shorts and some suntan lotion. Then he undid his belt, letting his slacks drop to the floor. As he stepped out of them, and began to pull his shorts up over his hips, he became aware of an intense stillness from Brian's direction. Glancing over his shoulder, Steve saw Brian watching him. Grief and starvation mixed in Brian's green eyes. Steve froze. /Careful. Be careful. Laugh it off. Turn it into a joke./ "Are you staring at my ass?" he demanded, forcing a grin. "I--." For an instant, Brian looked startled and scared, as if he'd been caught committing some horrible crime. Then he matched Steve's smile. "Your ass? Ewww! That might make me go blind!" "He was," Stefan confirmed. "He was most definitely staring at your ass." "Traitor!" Brian accused, throwing a pillow at Stefan. "People who expect loyalty don't make their friends sleep on cots," Stefan pointed out, right before the pillow smacked him in the face. "I offered to let you share my bed!" "Don't even go there," Stefan laughed, pitching the pillow back at Brian. "Children, children," Steve interrupted, before things got out of control. "I think we can all agree that I have an ass that would tempt the pope to stare at it. So let's not blame Brian for his moment of weakness." At which point, two pillows, coming from two separate directions, collided with his head. Steve sighed. "No one appreciates the peacemaker." Then, remembering Brian's look of sadness, Steve walked over and rubbed Brian's shoulder, gently kissing the top of his head. "Come on, princess. Get changed and we'll go do something fun." Prev | Next Home |