Title: Lux Aeterna [Perpetual Light]
Author: Paul Plesko
Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: Requiem, part 4, sequel to Dies Irae
Pairings: Brian/Justin; Brian/OMC
Category: Angst, Drama
Rating: NC-17
Date:
Summary: Returning to Pittsburgh, Brian must make a difficult decision... and without Justin, he would be unable to follow through with it. Brian and Justin become closer than ever amidst the glow of the setting sun and the bright flickering of a flame.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Author Notes:

Lux Aeterna
by Paul Plesko

The first sensations... the sound of a fan... the feel of unfamiliar sheets against my hip... a softer bed.

Unusual darkness... Unrecognized surroundings... The moment of panic, when I realize I'm not in the loft, like falling in a dream... re-living past experiences... opening eyes in strange surroundings...like a string of sensory explosions.

Waking up in a new house as a child; we moved so often... sleep-overs at Mikey's house... my dorm rooms at Penn State and the apartment... waking up with strangers in beds that smelled of sex... hands still tied to the headboard, sometimes... drug and alcohol stupor... an overnight bus-trip, with a man's hand stroking my cock through my levis as I woke up; I can still feel his hand there, five years later.

The images came flooding back like drum-beats before I could regain my bearings. Waking up in unfamiliar surroundings has been a terror since childhood.

A motel room. A large bed. I rolled over and my shoulder bumped an object...someone's forehead...Justin's forehead. The memory of yesterday finally began to reassemble in my consciousness...the trip to Penn State, the funeral, the visit to John's home, the sleazy bar in Altoona. And here we were...together in a strange bed smelling of sex...but I remembered last night.

He slept so peacefully. His chest rose and fell in slow regularity; his eyes moved slowly behind closed lids. [ I watch him sleep whenever I can. It calms my restlessness.] But we couldn't lounge in bed all morning. The Lexus needed to be returned to the rental agency by noon and we still had a couple hours to drive.

So I placed my palm against his cheek and let my thumb trace his eyebrow softly. His lashes opened and his gaze locked onto mine as if he knew I was there all the time...and the smile broadened like a sunrise. "You were fucking-fabulous last night," he murmured with his first words of the new day in a soft, unused voice. "Maybe you were reliving a past fuck or something...but you were all over me. We've never used so many different positions in one night." He rubbed his ass absent-mindedly as if checking to see if it was still there.

"We need to go," I said throwing the blankets off him. He snuggled closer for warmth while looking up at me. It was almost impossible to deny him what he wanted when he asked with only his eyes like this. I enfolded him in my arms and rolled him up atop my chest, trapping his legs in mine; he didn't struggle but, instead, spread like a blanket over me. I arched up to kiss him, but when I broke the kiss, he took my face in his hands and looking down at me intently...questioningly.

"Your body is here, but your mind is somewhere else," he said, gazing into my eyes.

"I'm right here...with you," I murmured. "I admit yesterday was hard for me...the funeral and all, but..."

"You wouldn't be human if yesterday was easy, Brian. Funerals are like that. Was it going to that club?"

Perhaps I winced a little. "Partially. That's a part of my life I'm not proud of...but my intent was to show you more of what's inside me...so you have to take the bitter with the sweet,...if there's any sweet there."

"I was just gonna ask you where you hide the sweet- stuff, but I think I know the answer to that." He ground his groin against mine as if to indicate. " I don't feel that it was bitter, Brian. I've always wanted to understand how you ended-up where you are, and this trip has given me a lot of insight into that process, despite your hesitancy."

"Some of it I'm not proud of," I repeated.

"Yea, well who doesn't have things in his life he's not proud of? I know I do." (Somehow I could just imagine Justin's huge hidden secrets...cheating on a Latin test or forgetting to write a "Thank you" note.) "What is it that makes you feel less than proud? Your relationship with John, or what you did later?"

"Both, I guess." I was suddenly reluctant to discuss why I had brought him on this trip in the first place, but the determined look in his eye made me continue. "I wanted his love so badly, I encouraged him even after I realized it couldn't go anywhere...a train-wreck just waiting to happen."

"I've stood on that track many times with you. I was sure you would never want me as more than a casual fuck...and I was madly in-love with you...deeply, passionately. It's a feeling I know very well...hopeless rage. "

"Well, I raged, that's for sure...totally fucked...turned my anger against everyone...even you sometimes." I hadn't realized that until that moment.

"No, you've never raged with me. You tried to run-me-off with indifference, but I saw through you."

"But you never saw me like the images I shared with you yesterday....the most desirable stud in Pittsburgh...on his knees in the filth..." The smell of the bar's backroom came back to me now as a sordid memory.

He clenched his fist on my chest. "The sleazy side of you? Get fucking real! Well, the most desirable stud in Pittsburgh had to learn it somewhere. In a sick way, I'm grateful for that filth because so much of what you bring into our bed you learned somewhere else. I knew nothing until you touched me, Brian. You gave feeling and touch to my desires."

I nodded, remembering that first time in the loft. "You were such a novice. You didn't know shit!"

He laughed, admitting it. "I can't imagine you EVER being as clueless as I was. But how do you know I wasn't just playing the "virgin" for your benefit?"

"You were nervous as Hell...and as tight as a fist..."

"Not tight for long, thanks to you. Turned me from a tight-end to a wide receiver in one night! You deliberately intimidated me...made fun of me. Maybe you wanted me to run."

"I intimidate every trick. Just to keep 'em at arm's-length. It's my style..."

"So you fucked this one up, Kinney." He stretched out his arm to mock me.

"Apparently." I rolled him off onto the bed. "But you say you 'luv' me...you hardly know what that means." His brows lowered, but I continued. "If you had loved before and been hurt before...then I'd possibly be able to accept your feelings...but that night, you would have loved anyone who rimmed you and fucked you."

His eyes flashed dark suddenly. "You say it with such sarcasm...as if my love has to satisfy some definition or meet some requirement to be worthy. I have known you FOREVER." He reached for the pillow as he spoke and slammed it at me. "Fuck you!" And he scrambled out of the bed and started to get dressed.

We both were quiet as we dressed and headed for the car. No thought of breakfast. As we left the motel and headed for the highway, Justin was silent, staring straight ahead and chewing on his thumbnail. I finally spoke. I realized we couldn't go all the way to Pittsburgh like this. "I didn't mean to minimize your feelings. But look at it from my perspective. How many times can you tell a boy he's a 'worthless piece of shit' before he begins to believe it? Lick his perineum; he'll confuse lust with love. Just a little real love from someone and he'll crave more. Just a little praise of his 'prowess' and he'll find new ways to please. Praise his appearance and he'll sculpt himself into Adonis. Give him a little attention, and he'll become a demigod. I've been there...I've loved the attention...I've loved the power of having someone want me so badly, he would have destroyed his family and career for me..."

Justin interrupted "You know he loved you...he told you in those damned books...but I tell you directly to your face. Why is his love genuine? Because he almost sacrificed so much? But my love is less genuine just because I have less to risk? Why is it 'love' when it happens to John, but for me it's some kind of physical fixation?"

He didn't need to remind me. I knew the list of sacrifices he had made...to be himself, to be with me. He had made the sacrifices that John had only hinted at. I couldn't look at him because I was driving...but I didn't want to look at him at that moment. "Because that's how everyone treats me now...the body, the prowess, the reputation..."

He wasn't listening to me. "It's because you don't think you're worthy of my love. It's not a defect in the gift, it a defect in the recipient. It's because you think that all you have to offer is your fucking sexual expertise. News flash! I can get laid anywhere. It's YOU I love, Brian...what's inside...your soul...your brain...not just your cock."

I let his words sink-in. "Justin, how can I feel worthy of the love you offer me? I'm a heartless bastard...just ask anyone."

"You're already worthy, Brian...you just can't accept that fact. And let me tell you how heartless you are. You were so heartless, you agreed to give Lindsey a baby despite your reservations. You were so heartless, you've supported Gus and you've even given-up your parental rights when you felt it would be in his best interest. You are SO heartless, you kept coming back to me even when you feared I was a stalking brat..."

"You ARE a stalking brat," I laughed, because it was true.

"...shut up..." he inserted quickly, without a change in the tone of his voice, not missing a beat..."and you have no clue what you've done for me. You saved me from my father. You supported YOUR father, although he didn't deserve it. And you've saved Mikey a thousand times..."

"I guess to feel loved, you have to love yourself well enough to think there's something worth sharing." The words came out before I had even parsed them.

The silence echoed in the car for many seconds. "Yea, you SUCK," he finally said unconvincingly.

"For so long, that's all I've 'owned' worth sharing...my desirability, my fuck-power...
but I'm getting older. The beauty thing is getting harder and harder..."

"Bingo! Meanwhile, if you can't see what's worthy about you, then slip into my skin and look at yourself from my perspective. The first thing you'd have to do is to get past the beauty. It's still there, but you think the beauty is all there is. Do you think I'm beautiful, Brian?"

"Of course. From the first moment I laid eyes on you, looking for love on Liberty Avenue. But I'm always attracted to guys with good bodies, fine eyes, a type of grace that is indescribable..."

"And I looked at you, and I told Daphne later, 'I have seen the face of God, and his name is Brian Kinney.'"

"Yea, yea," I said, "you probably heard that from one of the boys in the back room who had God's cock up his ass one night."

"The boys in the back room have never even SEEN your face...not your real face. They've focused on your dick. They never see your real beauty." He paused, letting my think about the faade I wear like a heavy iron mask. "But somewhere along the line in that first fuck, some little bell went off in you. I remember."

While I hadn't been able to remember his name at the time, I had the strongest sensory memory of that moment. "Remember when I said you'd always see my face when a guy fucked you? Well, at that moment, I looked down at you and I saw my own face, thirteen years ago, looking up at John....scared...trying to please...afraid it would hurt...it was the look on YOUR face that did it."

"You were a wonderful first lover...gentle and caring and hot. I have no complaints about the physical side of it." He smiled, probably remembering last night. I smiled too.

"But I remember how John's attraction to my body turned into more...the tougher things to deal with."

"Yes, Brian. Just as my attraction to your body turned into more...and, believe it or not, admit it or not, your attraction to my body has turned into more....and you are terrified of it."

"All that love-shit...it never lasts. People change. What is great now will become last year's fling in a little while. You'll meet someone your own age...someone with whom you can explore..."

"How do you know??? Except for that "thing" with John and your weird relationship with Mikey, this is your first experience with caring too. And guess what? You are my own age, emotionally."

"If I weren't driving, I'd..."

"I can still run faster than you."

That made me laugh. "Not with my cock up your ass, you can't!"

"Promises, promises." ("Brat!") We both laughed, just to break the tension. "Brian, tell me something..."

I nodded. I had to give him credit for standing up to me and holding-his-own in this emotional duel. I paused, then added, "OK. No lies, no distortions, no faade...just the truth as I see it ...you deserve it."

Justin thought for a moment, formulating his question like a young lawyer trying to "nail" the case. I could feel the wheels turning. "If we went back to that club and I got down on my knees on the sticky linoleum and I stuck some trick's dick down my throat, how would you feel about it?"

"It makes me sad to think about it...to think you'd sink that low when I'm nearby..."

"Yes. But John was NOT nearby, was he? You had pulled back, and he had severed the relationship...and you had no one. And you would have done anything to put a Band-Aid on the pain. Sex is a great Band-Aid."

"He was hurting too. I caused it...some of it." My thoughts turned to the journal he had given me, filled with that hurt and his attempts to deal with it. As if reading my mind, Justin picked up the second volume from the back seat. "Brian, would you ever write the kind of journal to me that he wrote to you....and then would you make sure that I read it?"

"Just like John, I write poetry for YOU when you're not around. But I never show it to you." I had never revealed my poetry-writing to anyone. It was a compulsion when emotions overflowed...something I did because I couldn't avoid it.

"You've got to be kidding me! You do? And you never share it? That is so fucking selfish!" He seemed hurt.

"Most of it I throw away. I know how hurtful it can be. John's writing was so beautiful, but the underlying pain was evident despite clothing it in phrases worth of poetry. "

He clutched the book in his fist and waved it in front of me as I drove. "John's writings are a vindictive, hateful weapon used against an innocent, young man full of self-doubt and angst. They are truly cruel."

I released the wheel with one hand and tried to grab the book. "But the books are beautiful. He was such a good writer...and he could share his emotions, when I couldn't even understand mine."

"He didn't share them with you when you needed them most,...when you could discuss what was happening. He wrote his messages to torture you when you were no longer able to talk to him about them."

"That wasn't his intent," I countered.

"Yes it was," he insisted.

"He wrote them because we couldn't be together lots of the time...he wanted me to know how he felt."

"He loved you? He was ready to make huge sacrifices? And he couldn't find time to discuss his feelings for you? I don't think so. He was riddled with guilt, and he never forgave you...or got over you. The second volume makes that clear. He wanted to punish you. And he did. And he still does, from the grave."

"Punish me? For what?"

"For making him love you so hopelessly." His words had a ring of finality.

I waited for a few moments, gathering my thoughts. "Hopelessly...how I feel sometimes..."

"Yes. Hopeless. No future. We all feel hopeless sometimes, Brian. It's not unique to you. I've felt the hopelessness. But when you smile at me in that guarded way, or you put your head on my shoulder, or just pull me onto your lap, I know the world is capable of being conquered."

On that note, we drove mostly silently the remainder of the way to Pittsburgh. After returning the Lexus, we drove to the loft in the Jeep. The familiarity of the Jeep and the city made us feel somehow more relaxed...although there were still issues to discuss and settle.

After putting a few things away and pouring a drink, I stepped up behind Justin at the computer, placing my hands on his shoulders. He was typing something, but he closed the screen as I approached...something he didn't want me to read, perhaps.

"Let's talk," I said. He looked stunned. He was the one who had been pressing the issues. He had guided the conversation in the car. I, on the other hand, had struggled with the issues, opened up my doubts, and generally made a mess of things. So he was surprised that I wanted to resume....but I owed it to him.

I pulled him to his feet, and we sat on the LeCorbusier lounge chair, close enough to touch, but not close enough to be a distraction.

"So where do we begin?" My mind was flooded with things that needed saying, but they were entangled with the things that had already been said on the drive to Pittsburgh.

"Oh, we began a long time ago, Brian. Perhaps we should just resume where we left-off...where the conversation got too close for comfort," he said in that calm, adult way he uses when he knows he's right.

I looked into his eyes, like I had that first night, and I saw his love radiating like a beacon. If I could only be a mirror to redirect it back at him. ""How could you love such a fucked-up mess?" I finally managed to murmur. "There's no happiness loving me...only despair and hurt and..."

"But you bring me happiness,..." he replied, smiling and shaking his head in mild disbelief that I could say such a thing. "...because this fucked-up mess loves me, whether he knows it or not, whether he'll acknowledge it or not, ...he loves me with such clarity and such intensity that I feel chosen out of the whole faggot world to be happy. Yes, I have the despair and the hurt with you, Brian...but you always redeem yourself, and do you know why? Because you can't let me go." He paused and fixed his gaze directly into my eyeballs. "Your life is not empty anymore...and that scares the shit out of you." He refused to continue, demanding that I say something or sit there in silence.

My mind raced back over all the events of yesterday. "I can't shake the ghosts...the hurt...the memories...the past mistakes. I thought taking you to State College would show you, indirectly, how hopeless this was...you'd see me for the fucked-up mess I am."

"You succeeded in one thing." He reached for my hand. "You showed me the "old you"...the forerunner of who you are now....the mistakes you've made...but it only made me love you more, because you're so much better than that. You can't ditch me, Brian. I won't let you."

"You can do better." I couldn't look at him.

"So can you," he shot-back..."but that's tough shit. We're stuck with each other. It's chemistry."

"I can't change the past. I can't change who I am." My intensity rose to match him.

"Don't change it. Outgrow it. Surmount it. Reject it. Defeat it." His voice rose with each challenge.

"I've tried. I can't." There was finality in my voice.

The expression on his face clouded-over like a sudden summer storm. He slid off the chaise and started digging under the desk for his shoes.

"Where are you going?" I said. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving. Fuck you! You won't even try." He had tears in his eyes as he faced me defiantly.

"What can I do?" I tried to convince him to stay without knowing how to do it.

"You went to college! You figure it out!"

"They didn't teach me how to unscramble the brain of an 18-year-old boy."

"I'm the same age you were when you first met John." His eyes flashed. He was off by a year, but I wasn't going to quibble at that moment.

"Tell me what I can do." It was the first time I had indirectly asked him for help.

He turned quickly, grabbed the two volumes of John's writing on the desk, spun, and threw them at my feet. "Get rid of this poison! Let go of the guilt...and the past."

"But this is beautiful writing...a declaration of love..." I bent to pick them up.

"It's a punishment," he shouted. He turned to leave, and over his shoulder added, "Until you understand that, you'll never be free to love someone else." The door slid closed with a loud bang.

The loft is always a quiet place unless the music is throbbing. The thick floors and brick walls keep out the sounds of the other residents and the city. The openness of its design lets sounds dissipate before they can bounce and be heard. Its openness also makes it feel empty.

It felt particularly empty now...as the echo of the door-slam reverberated only in my imagination. I put the books back in the nightstand where volume one had resided. I poured another drink; I shuffled papers. The computer screen caught my attention because it was the last thing he was doing before the cataclysm. I could snoop in his computer files, I suppose, to reinstate his presence here...but we had an unspoken agreement about that. I picked up his shirt from the floor. We had a spoken agreement about that; I refused to pick-up-after-him like his mother...but I folded his shirt and smelled it before I put it on the corner of the bed. The scent made me numb for a moment.

He was here...even when he wasn't here. His toothbrush in the bathroom...his food preferences in the refrigerator...his art on the walls...his shampoo in the shower, although I'd noticed he had switched to mine lately. He lived here now. A part of the place.

I retrieved volume two; I hadn't had much of a chance to read it. Opening to an early page, I read:

"I gave you a purpose and direction...and you flourished.

I gave you my family, the love of my children, my home as a refuge...and you visited often enough to work your way into our hearts, but then you didn't come anymore.

I gave you my love, my caring, my concern...a gift which I have shared with very few...and you could not love in return.

I gave you all I could give...myself...but you didn't have time.

You asked me to let you go, and I tried...but you stayed to remind me of what cannot be."

That wasn't the way it happened. That wasn't my recollection. It was because I loved in return that I broke off the relationship...not that I couldn't or wouldn't love.

"No promises, no apologies, no regrets." The words kept running through my mind. There are sometimes regrets WITHOUT promises. Personal regrets, involving only myself. Failing others was bad enough...but failing to meet my own high expectations of myself was even worse. There was honor in trying and failing. Failing without trying was the greatest failure. I had promised Justin nothing, but I was failing him anyway.

The urgency to "trick" must originate somewhere in my body other than in my brain. By the time my consciousness was aware, the need was fully aroused. A knee-jerk reaction to personal distress...impersonal sex. What did Justin call it? A Band-Aid? No, more like an artificial kidney or limb-prosthesis, making up for some serious defect, rather than just a protective cover-up. The need to be with someone...anyone...became an all-consuming compulsion. I dressed in the "uniform" and headed for Babylon. A Sunday afternoon...not my usual.

Would Justin be there? I put the thought out of my head. Well, not entirely...because I knew how he would feel about my fucking someone else as a defense mechanism. Using their desire as a substitute for my own self-worth. He would be there. I just knew it.

The music pulsed; the lights flashed. This place was the same every night of the week. He stood at the balcony railing talking head-to-head with a fairly unattractive guy. If he saw me, he didn't acknowledge it. I climbed the stairs and took a position beside him...and just leaned against the railing, looking over the crowd. He sensed me before he turned. His conversational voice, elevated above the surging music, suddenly took on a harshness.

"Look for something?" he asked. "You know where to find it...downstairs, not upstairs."

"I want you to come home," I said. I suddenly realized that his return was more important than the sexual gratification.

His nostrils flared perceptibly. "Why should I? Nothing's changed."

"I can't do it alone," I said softly. He could read my lips if he couldn't hear me.

"Do what?" he said coldly. "Suck your cock and twist your nipple at the same time? You're the sexual gymnast. Practice and you'll make the Olympic Team."

"You told me to destroy the books," I replied. "I think I'm ready to try...but I need you beside me...to watch me do it. If I tried to do it by myself, I'd just hide them and you'd find them someday, and I'd feel like a fool. I need for you to witness it."

He turned without smiling, realizing my seriousness, and he excused himself from his conversation. Without a word he headed down the stairs and toward the door, parting the dancing crowd for me to follow. He looked taller from behind for a moment.

The sun was setting as we climbed the steep oak stairs leading to the roof of the loft and we opened the hatchway. That's the advantage of living on the top floor...access to the roof where I can grow a few smokeable plants, have a private tanning area, and do some outdoor cooking and dining. The pink arch of the sky looked like the roof of a mouth above the jagged teeth of Pittsburgh's skyline, ready to eat her offspring. On the way up I had stopped to retrieve the two volumes. We each carried one like some sacrificial offering.

I lit the gas grill and we stood silently for a moment watching the flames flutter. Justin was beside me...his arm around my waist as if to hold me there unable to flee. He turned his face upward to me, telling me wordlessly that it was time to begin. I opened the first volume, tore out the first page and read the first line out-loud as I touched it to the fire. "To Brian, a token of my love. All the thing's I've said or couldn't say..." The flame crawled up the page leaving a red-edged, blackened, crumpled skeleton of a page crackling on the ceramic briquettes.

Page 2. "Why this book"... It curled like a dying spider.

Page 3. "Sometimes I wonder if you will ever read this." The last line, "immune to anger and pain," was the last to be consumed by the flames.

Page 8. "I love to touch you, to hold you..." I held the page too long before releasing it and it singed the hair on the back of my hand.

As if on-cue, a church somewhere in the distance began tolling the Angelus bell...a call to prayer, an announcing...but, in this case, a tolling for the dead.

The brightness of each page's flame lit Justin's face with an intensity that increased, then decreased...a rhythmic appearance from, and a return to, the darkness. His skin glowed golden in that momentary light...and the sight of him suddenly gave some purpose to this ritual burning. Even the darkest words, on paper, could light the face of Truth.

When I had finished volume one, he handed me the second one, then slipped behind me with his arms around my waist and his face peering around my right shoulder.

The first page. "To Brian, Volume 2, A Goodbye." I felt Justin tense as the heat bathed his face. The brightness outlined his profile in contrast to the darkness. As each page went up in flames, I felt a gentle squeeze...an affirmation.

Page 26. "I loved you once because of what you did...the facets you added to my life..." I turned my face to kiss him while trying not to burn my fingers.

Page 30. "Interesting changes in my life..." ...words to a song (by Peter Allen) which were meaningful to John.

Page 32. "Your reasons for leaving were honorable...selfish, but honorable." A man's vanity tells him what is honor; a man's conscience what is justice. Flaring fire, like reason, lighting our darkness for a few seconds.

The last pages went more rapidly. The tearing became a rhythmic motion; I stopped reading them aloud. The last pages were blank. He had never finished his condemnation of me...or himself. It would have continued had he lived. He chose to end it the only way he could. At the end, I burned the leather bindings. The smell, like burning flesh, put an end to the sacrifice. I turned off the gas. The darkness was total now...as dark as it ever gets in a city. A breeze scattered a few of the black ashes; I could hear them rustle. Standing under the arch of stars...alone....together....a peaceful quiet.

We stood there in the darkness not knowing what to do next. Endings are beginnings.... steps in a new direction after a full-stop. I had chosen a path now and we would walk it together.

As I moved, he loosened his arms and I turned to face him. My memory of his face lit by the flames was all I needed. I bent down to kiss him...a silent "thank you." His cheek was damp; he had cried at the end. We stood facing each other, hand-in-hand, then stepped forward and embraced.

"Brian, I..." I brushed my thumb across his lips to cut-off the words. It was my turn to speak...a time for a freed heart to finally say the words that had choked me for months.

He felt me inhale to speak, perhaps....his lips so close to mine, our chests in-contact. I tried to speak, but my voice faltered.

"I know," he said. "I know."

"No, don't," I said, stepping back a little. "You always say that to let me off-the hook...and to prevent that difficult silence. You've felt my love...you've acknowledged my love for months. My saying it now, as some sort of capitulation, demeans it, I think. . I've told you many times...'actions speak louder than words.'" I slipped my hand under the front of his t-shirt and slid my fingers up along his side...warm skin against my palm. I felt his hand on my shoulder in the darkness. "Being capable of loving is so much more important than being able to say it. Let me show it the way I feel it," I continued.

"I...I don't have a condom with me up here," he stammered softly...almost embarrassed. "But I can go back down and get one."

"No," I said. "Stay." I slipped my other hand under his shirt and stripped it slowly up his torso and over his head.

"I want to see you. It's too dark," I said, pulling out my lighter and lighting one of the kerosene patio torches. It sputtered, then flared into its trembling flame. He stood there, as if transfixed, while I slipped off my loafers and socks, unbuttoned and removed my shirt, and stepped out of my pants. He had seen me naked many times, but he always examined my body like an artist looking for some new contour to draw. And I looked at him, as if for the first time also. He was not a trembling, unsure boy...but a man bathed in golden light. I stepped closer again...then sank to my knees on the tarred roof and untied his running shoes. He used my head as support as he lifted each foot to let me remove his shoes and socks. His feet were as beautiful as his hands. Looking up at him now, I hooked the fingers of each hand in the waistband of his sweat pants and slid them down his thighs. His cock sprang free, already partially turgid. I had it in my mouth before his pants were totally off his ankles. The feeling of his maleness engorging in my mouth was second-only to cumming in erotic intensity. His fingers in my hair guided my subtle motions. I didn't want him to cum...just to feel me there, arousing him.

I stood. He reached for me, palming my cock and weighing it like he was selecting a piece of fruit. "Like this?" he questioned with a slight smile, rubbing the shaft with his thumb.

"I've thought about it," I replied. "I'm always very careful...always have been. My AIDS-test 3 months ago was clean...and I haven't had unprotected sex since then. If I care enough about myself to be careful, I care even more about your safety. If we're both extremely careful, there's no reason why, on special occasions, we can't do it as God intended." (I suddenly imagined Father Scanlan, my Catechist, tossing uncomfortably in his grave.) Justin smiled and nodded his assent. Then he stepped forward and kissed me. We embraced as equals...partners...lovers.

"I've never done it without latex," Justin said softly. "But I've wanted to...with you."

I broke the embrace and led Justin to the waist-high parapet at the roof's edge. We looked over the edge into the blackness of the alley. I stroked his lithe back with my hand. "Right here," I said. "No one can see us...but I don't care if they do." I stepped behind him and slid my hands from his shoulders down his arms to his wrists, positioning his hands a shoulder's-width apart on the edge. My chest touched his back briefly, and he squirmed against me. Then reversing the direction of my hands, I traversed his arms back to his shoulders then down his lats to his hips, pulling his torso toward me. I knelt and positioned his feet even further from the wall and spreading them wide. He leaned, supporting himself on straight arms, head rolling from side-to-side as if trying to speed the process. I stepped-up between his legs letting my cock slide along his ass-crack to his lower back, letting him feel how deep it would eventually go. His ass lifted in assent. I leaned forward over him then.... my chest against his back, my arms bracketing his, my hands next to his on the parapet. I kissed the back of his neck as if to say "We're ready." Rolling my pelvis downward, I dragged my cock along his crack until my slightly up-curved stiffness forced the head into his cleft. He shuddered and reached back with one hand behind my head, as if pressing there would force my cock into him. And he swayed gently from side to side as if to wedge me into him. With no additional guidance, my cockhead found that small "well" outside his sphincter...I could feel the increased warmth on the sensitive, velvety skin. He fit me just right. My pre-cum lubed him.

"No lube," I whispered in his ear.

"Yesss," he hissed. "I can take you. It feels like you've got enough flow for both of us."
He tensed as I planted my feet. "But not too slowly. I want to feel you in me now."

As I began to roll my pelvis and penetrate him, the feeling of his hot sheath around my shaft was overpowering. I raked my teeth along the ridge of his shoulder, partially to divert his attention from any pain, but partly because it felt so wonderful to me. The softness and moistness of his interior...the intense heat...the pulsating tightness as he alternated between the pain reflex and the desire to open. The walls of his rectum rippled over me...not like the first time when I had to force my way in. This time his ass was swallowing me with repeated relaxation and contraction. He was not only accommodating it, he was welcoming it...celebrating it. I felt a brief flash of the old penetration/dominance urgency, but it subsided quickly as I focused on making the experience most pleasurable for Justin...and for me. It was the warmth of completeness...of one-ness...of union.

Justin moaned softly. I felt him tremble beneath me. His head sagged as he relaxed, then arched back as I penetrated deeper. His mouth sagged open. I kissed his cheek.

"Oooooh, you feel SO GOOD inside me," he groaned. "I never knew it could feel like this!"

I was half-way into him when I started to withdraw a bit. Letting him adjust to the added friction. At this depth, my cock-tip raked over his prostate with the ridge around the mushroom head....and he shuddered again.

I surged into him with another thrust as I lifted one hand from the ledge and crossed it under his chest gripping his shoulder from the front. My biceps bulged under his pit as I drew him against my chest and used my arm to piston my cock into him deeper. As more of my weight settle onto his back, Justin replaced his hand on the ledge.

"I haven't done 'bareback' for a long time. Your ass feels SO wonderful!" I growled through clenched teeth. The last time had been with John...and I tried not to think about it. I used my abs to begin the slow in-and-out surging then; his ass gripped me tightly on the outstroke as if he were trying to keep my inside. More pre-cum made the friction less, but his tightness remained. Each in-stroke was a token of my passion...I increased the depth with each stroke; each outstroke reminded me how important he was to me...he took the initiative and gripped me, matching my passion with his. Not competing, but trading love-for-love in an intense physical way....a give-and-take.

Again Justin tried to remove his hand from the parapet, this time to grip his own cock, but his remaining arm began to buckle, so he grabbed the edge in an attempt to steady himself. In turn, I released the ledge with my remaining hand and crossed it over my other arm on his chest, squeezing him between my upper arms and applying all my upper-body weight to his back. He rocked back and forth with the impacts of my thrusting.

"M-m-more," he stammered, "Give me...I...harder...I need..." He ended with a moan loud enough to echo in the alley below and a few other mindless noises...brutally erotic. I felt his knees almost buckle. Planting my feet firmly, I began to lift his bent body to an upright position. As his hands left the parapet, his arms hung out to the side, elbows locked, wrists limp...a total submission...not to me, but to erotic rapture. As he reached the vertical, I leaned back, arching him over my chest as my pelvis rolled upward and he was skewered on my up-thrusting cock. His legs were shorter than mine, requiring that he either rise onto his toes or be lifted off his feet entirely. His back slid a few inches down my torso as my cock sank in the final distance. My hand slowly stroked down his soft, flattened, sucked-in belly....and I surrounded his cock with my fist, jacking him slowly. I felt his ass spasm on my shaft like a swallowing throat. In this position, my heavy breathing lifted him just enough so he rose and fell on my cock, rubbing the tip against his soft interior.

"Breathe, boy...don't pass-out on me," I whispered...and I pressed his chest with my encircling arm. I felt him struggle for a breath, then moan again on the exhale; he was crying now and speaking gibberish. I released his cock to bring my hand to his cheek, speaking words of encouragement at the same time. "Come on, Justin...stay with me...I want you to cum with me"... and then I returned my hand to his cock and began stroking it as if it were my own. Faster, then slower...tighter, then looser...altering the touch so he was constantly aware of the pounding stimulation.

"Cum with me," he begged, mindlessly repeating what I had just told him. "Share it with me. Fill me. I want to feel it. Let me feel it inside me. Love me."

I fucked him harder then, using my arm to lift him and press him down onto me...using the muscles in my interior to make my cock throb deep inside him...a trick I learned in the backroom. The intensity matched my feelings...

"Love me the way no one else ever will!" he moaned. "...the way no one else ever CAN!!"

My hand was having its effect on his cock...I could feel him shudder, then stiffen, then inhale to moan again...and then I felt his convulsions around my bare cock, milking me with white-hot heat. His first shot hit my chin as my face hung over his shoulder. The remainder went somewhere, I don't know where...because his pulsating muscles brought me to my climax immediately. I staggered forward, almost crushing him against the bricks as I shot my load deep into his quivering ass. The impact knocked the wind out of both of us. We gasped together, fighting for breath. I kissed the back of his neck, his shoulders, his ear... as I finished filling his ass with my white-hot lava.

Time stopped. Neither of us was aware of much for a minute or two. I can remember brushing my sweaty forehead against his hair. I remember the sensation of my hand covered with his cum, dripping down my fingers. I released his cock and brought the fingers to my lips, kissing his fluid off, and then offering it to him. He sucked my fingers hungrily as if to replenish his cum-supply. I remember some of my cum leaking out of his ass and down his inner thigh...then dripping onto my foot.

As our breathing regularized, I kissed his neck more tenderly. Standing there in the darkness,...with flickering light casting shadows around us...I knew that we were different than before. I felt as if I had shared something, not simply delivered it. It was different with Justin...

"You never need to say it, Brian." He was reading my mind again. Justin tilted his head back to try to kiss me, but he only managed to brush my cheek. I turned his head with my hand and found his lips. We kissed, saying more in that moment than some lovers say in a lifetime. As our lips parted, his breath fluttered against my lower lip. "I'll never make you say it...because the words would only remind me of this moment, and their inadequacy in expressing what you've just shown me...told me...would make them pale by comparison. I'll choose your love this way, anytime."

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The author's postscript.

The titles of the four sections of this work are sections of the Roman Catholic Requiem Mass for the Dead. (Technically, "In Paradisum" is part of the interment liturgy.) The themes of death and redemption are powerful and appropriate for this story.

As some of you know, most of what I've written is autobiographical...but perhaps it's why I feel I know Brian Kinney so well. Writing the first three sections of this work..."Requiem Aeternam", "In Paradisum", and "Dies Irae"...was easy. I lived the story. Writing the conclusion was more difficult, because, to resolve these issues for Brian, I was forced to resolve them for myself...to try to restore my self-worth...and to make myself an acceptable gift again. A few people have been instrumental in this process.

First...my biggest thanks to Randall Morgan, who is the voice of Justin in "Lux Aeterna." This was a joint-effort. Much of the dialogue was copied verbatim from two role-playing chat sessions. He is the essence of Justin, not only in his authenticity in Justin's speech patterns, but in his persistence as well...he is a tenacious terrier. When the second of the two chat sessions was accidentally lost, I was tempted to give-up; I suppose I really had given up. We could never reproduce the genuine-ness and intensity of our original try. It had been a gut-wrenching experience for me. Randall insisted that the work be finished...and he reproduced, from memory, the essence of the missing dialogue including some of the most powerful lines in the conclusion. Without him, I never would have finished. It was a "labor of love"...and I felt it...and shared it just like Brian. And although he was speaking to Brian, as Justin, Randall was speaking to me too, as Randall. He tried to make me whole, just like Justin cared for Brian. There was so much love, there was plenty to share with the readers. And the biggest difference between Brian and myself is...I can tell him I love him.

Also, a "thank you" to Michael Mele. He chatted with me at-length after the first installment, which was intended to stand alone. When he realized the story was autobiographical, he insisted that I work-it-through to a conclusion...for my own benefit. He can be opinionated and hard-to-please sometimes, but his heart is ten times bigger than his bluster. His guidance and encouragement (and nagging) helped me to undertake the task I've described above. He was the first to outline the plot; he insisted that Justin was capable of bringing about a transformation. It never would have happened without your insistence, Michael.

And to Les, who always laughs (and moans) in the right places.

And finally, to Julie, who would love me whether I wrote or not...a thank you for the concluding sentences. How to end my story was a dilemma in-light of Brian's continuing reluctance, in-canon, to verbalize his feelings. Like Brian, I'm a firm believer that "actions speak louder than words"...and his love for Justin has been evident to me since the earliest episodes. But Julie "let me off the hook" by letting Brian be Brian...and letting Justin be supportive and understanding. Could there be any doubt....even if Brian NEVER said "I love you?" I don't think so. Julie validated my feelings....and simply said "I know."

The two volumes DO exist. They sit next to my computer keyboard as I write this. I have ripped out the first page, just to prove to myself that it is possible. Shortly, the remaining pages will be ripped-out, one-by-one, and burned...but in a solitary ceremony. This is something I need to do myself. My "John Brigham" still lives, but he is dead to me now. Randall, Michael, Les and Julie are right...it is time to move-on.

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