By Isilya
You're not a kid.
People tell you you're old beyond your years, stop cold when you open your mouth and the words that come out don't quite match your baby blond hair. You're used to being more than people expect, you think razzle dazzle them, tempt them, tease them and who gives a shit if from a distance you look butter smooth and innocent.
You're not a kid.
Except maybe, in this one way, when you give yourself permission not to be grown up and resigned to sentences that Brian begins and Michael finishes. You're just old enough to know you will never catch up to what they have, and just young enough that you're not going to lie to yourself and think, hey, give it a year, two years, maybe three, and you'll have in-jokes and out-jokes and *history* too.
What you have with Brian are his fingerprints on your hip-bone, your scratches on his shoulders and where Michael hesitates, you boldly go. With tongue. But you know, even on nights when Brian's panting under you, and you're sinking down inch by fucking fabulous inch, that Brian's had better sex before, had cuter boys with smoother skin and wetter mouths. And you know, even when he's looking at you with all those words in his eyes that he will never say out loud, that Brian loves Michael in a way that's less unspoken and more foundation-of-the-earth. So that even though Brian might hold your face and kiss you until you think you might dizzolve, he's telling Michael he loves him everytime he calls him a loser.
It's an uneven battle, one that you can't win, and you're just young enough to think you can steal the victory without blushing.
You're not a kid.
So when you try and convince yourself that Brian will be happier with you as his first port-of-call, even you have a few doubts. You saw what happened with Michael and David the Dull, and how dare you be arrogant enough to think that you're sufficient, that you can even attempt to fill Michael's retro Adidas shoes?
But you break it down. You can make Brian laugh, you can certainly make him moan. You're not too afraid of the Kinney Phenomenon to throw it back in his face when he needs it.
It's more than that though. It's a kind of jealous ache everytime he turns to Michael instead of you.
But it's even more than *that* - it's knowing you don't really *want* to be all up in his business, curling round him like some sort of lusty boa. If you have to explain, and you probably will, then the best you can do is that you want to give you and Brian a chance to grow, a little room to put down roots. And Michael is filling up all the available space.