Justin, the smart wonderful little shit that he is refuses to allow Brian to play mind games with himself.
“Does this make you feel better, Justin?” His voice was quiet, but a little mocking, too. “The Christmas lights, the fire, the wedding rings?” He nodded at his ring, on the table.
I looked at him. “Yes.” I didn’t say anything else.
He sat down heavily on the sofa next to me, looking at his ring, and then at the fire. “I don’t understand that.”
“I know.”
He snorted. “God, I fucking hate it when you say that.”
I shrugged. “Get over it.”
I took a deep breath. “Do you think it’s all romantic bullshit, Brian? The Christmas tree lights, and the wedding rings, and the fireplace?”
He shrugged but didn’t answer me.
“Because it’s all your romantic bullshit, Brian. You bought this house, you bought this fireplace, you bought the fucking firewood. You bought the Christmas tree, and the lights, and you bought these fucking rings. I never asked you for any of this. Never.” None of this was about being anything for Justin, giving Justin anything he wanted this is about Brian and what he wants. But Brian has always restled with accepting his worth of love, of accepting what he really wants, because maybe he shouldn't maybe it makes him less than. And, Justin knows this and that Brian just needs to stop.
He turned his head, and his eyes looked hurt, but I just stood up, and picked up his ring from the table. “You can tell me it’s all bullshit if you want. You can throw our rings on the floor and tell me to fuck off. Go ahead.” I started to pull my ring off, his still in my palm, and Brian grabbed my hand and stood up. He didn’t let go of my hand, just pulled it up and shoved my ring back down on my finger.
“Don’t.” He had his forehead pressed against mine, and his hand was clenching so hard on mine it hurt.
I felt tears burn in my eyes again. “Why, Brian? Why shouldn’t I? You did.”
He shook his head, and dug his ring out of my palm, and pushed it hard on the finger of his left hand. “Don’t.”
I closed my eyes, and he just pressed his forehead harder against me, and held our hands together tighter. They put the rings on their own fingers. No one is binding one to the other. They are stating they want this, everything, they risk themselves to what they want.
(ummmm I also have that state that everytime you had Justin on his toes to kiss Brian, I melted into a little puddle of Fire, *sigh*)
I know you are a professional writer. I know you are an oracle. But allow this handmaiden to make an obeservation. Your writing has developed and matured over the course of Plans to Risks. Yes, Darling, you are always brilliant, but Risks has a depth and understanding you completely shied away from previously. With each chapter of Risks, you have taken a risk.
I didn't know I could Love your writing any more. Until I did B
“Does this make you feel better, Justin?” His voice was quiet, but a little mocking, too. “The Christmas lights, the fire, the wedding rings?” He nodded at his ring, on the table.
I looked at him. “Yes.” I didn’t say anything else.
He sat down heavily on the sofa next to me, looking at his ring, and then at the fire. “I don’t understand that.”
“I know.”
He snorted. “God, I fucking hate it when you say that.”
I shrugged. “Get over it.”
I took a deep breath. “Do you think it’s all romantic bullshit, Brian? The Christmas tree lights, and the wedding rings, and the fireplace?”
He shrugged but didn’t answer me.
“Because it’s all your romantic bullshit, Brian. You bought this house, you bought this fireplace, you bought the fucking firewood. You bought the Christmas tree, and the lights, and you bought these fucking rings. I never asked you for any of this. Never.”
None of this was about being anything for Justin, giving Justin anything he wanted this is about Brian and what he wants. But Brian has always restled with accepting his worth of love, of accepting what he really wants, because maybe he shouldn't maybe it makes him less than. And, Justin knows this and that Brian just needs to stop.
He turned his head, and his eyes looked hurt, but I just stood up, and picked up his ring from the table. “You can tell me it’s all bullshit if you want. You can throw our rings on the floor and tell me to fuck off. Go ahead.” I started to pull my ring off, his still in my palm, and Brian grabbed my hand and stood up. He didn’t let go of my hand, just pulled it up and shoved my ring back down on my finger.
“Don’t.” He had his forehead pressed against mine, and his hand was clenching so hard on mine it hurt.
I felt tears burn in my eyes again. “Why, Brian? Why shouldn’t I? You did.”
He shook his head, and dug his ring out of my palm, and pushed it hard on the finger of his left hand. “Don’t.”
I closed my eyes, and he just pressed his forehead harder against me, and held our hands together tighter. They put the rings on their own fingers. No one is binding one to the other. They are stating they want this, everything, they risk themselves to what they want.
(ummmm I also have that state that everytime you had Justin on his toes to kiss Brian, I melted into a little puddle of Fire, *sigh*)
I know you are a professional writer. I know you are an oracle. But allow this handmaiden to make an obeservation. Your writing has developed and matured over the course of Plans to Risks. Yes, Darling, you are always brilliant, but Risks has a depth and understanding you completely shied away from previously. With each chapter of Risks, you have taken a risk.