The smells of coffee, stale peanuts, and luggage surrounded Brian and Justin as they dragged their black sleek suitcases across the airport floor. Briskly walking to gate sixty-five, Brian practically mowed over a three year old whose mother scowled at him as he strode by. “Speed it up, would you?” He said to Justin, who kept falling a few steps behind thanks to the wheels on his suitcase constantly turning over. Justin muttered a sentence under his breath while Brian stopped, pausing to wait up for him. “There we go sunshine, come on, hurry that bubble ass up. I still need to buy your ticket at the counter and check in.” “And I still have to eat some fucking breakfast. Why did you wake me up so late this morning?” He grumbled, angrily trudging alongside Brian. “Shh, shut up and don’t you dare humiliate me in front of my co-worker,” Brain hissed out of the corner of his mouth as he discerned himself from an aggravated Justin. Presenting a benign smile as they reached gate sixty-five Brian held out his hand, greeting Roland. “Glad you could make it Brian,” Roland warmly returned the shake, “I was a little worried to hear that Greg got sick but I knew you’d pull through. And who’s this?” He nodded towards Justin. “Oh,” Brian seemed to have momentarily forgotten him, “my husband, Justin. He just begged and begged to come and I couldn’t say no…” he trailed off, smiling a sickingly sweet smile at Justin. “It’s nice to meet you,” Justin expertly cut in, “and I didn’t beg,” he shot Brian a warning glance, “Brian invited me — I hope it doesn’t cause any problems?” “Not at all,” he replied as Brian roamed past them to check in and buy another ticket. Wanting to make a good first impression Justin offered his best feature to Roland; his vivacious sunshine smile. It worked. Roland politely returned the smile; thinking. So this was Brian’s husband. Brian never talked openly of his marriage but as his eyes soaked in the blonde’s appearance he could not imagine why not. Justin was fucking gorgeous. The shiny soft looking hair, perfectly shaped face, captivating blue eyes, and despite the clothes he wore; a body he would not mind undressing. Suddenly he realized Justin’s lips were moving; shaking him out of his revere. “….have you been to Maine before?” “Hm? Oh, yes, of course. It’s a beautiful state, you’ll love it I’m sure. Do you travel a lot with Brian?” Justin flushed under Roland’s intense stare. Was there something on his face? Did he look weird? Damn Brian for not waking him up early enough to look decent. “Not really, he — he usually,” “Hey,” Brian jogged to Justin’s side, shoving a ticket in his hand, “got your ticket, and first class is boarding right now so let’s go.” “Alright,” Roland agreed, handing Brian his boarding pass. The three men entered the plane, walking down the aisle searching for their seats. “Here we go; seats A1, A2, and A3,” Roland gestured to the three leather chairs. Storing their small suitcases in the overhead compartments, Brian observed in horror as Roland scooted by Justin to get to his seat; hands bracing themselves on Justin’s hips when he brushed past. What. The. Fuck. Was that touch really necessary? He literally had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from backhanding Roland and yelling at Justin for not telling him to fuck off. A second horrid thought plagued Brian; did Justin ENJOY feeling the older man’s hands on him? Did they plan on joining the mile high club together? “Well shit,” he settled in the aisle seat, mind overcrowded with paranoia. “Are you okay?” Sitting in the middle Justin touched Brian’s hand, concerned. “Fucking fabulous. If the stuartess comes around order me a diet coke and vodka, would you?” Justin frowned in disapproval, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea Brian — it’s barley eight o’clock in the morning!” “Don’t,” he sneered, “tell me what to do.” Reclining back in his chair Brian closed his eyes, “Just be a good little wife and do what I say.” Justin burned with humiliation. There was no way Roland - who was sitting on his left next to the window - could have missed the exchange of words. And it was embarrassing. Embarrassing when Brian acted superior in public; defacing him in front of anyone. The feeling of wanting to run and hide was not uncommon but burying his head in the sand, so to speak, would make the situation worse than it already was. Justin had to stay, had to face Brian. Speaking in a lowered voice in Brian’s ear, he whispered sharply, “Order your drink yourself, and stop calling me your little fucking wife.” Brian’s eyes snapped open shifting to connect with Justin’s. “I can call your fat ass whatever the fuck I want.” “Peanuts?” A gleaming white smile outlined in bright red lipstick distracted them both as a stuartess held out a basket filled with packets of peanuts. “I’ll take one,” Roland reached over, picking a packet up, “thank you.” “Would you gentlemen like one?” “Why not,” without so much as a glance, Brian plucked up three, “after all Justin, you must be starving and I know how much you enjoy eating — believe me, it shows.” Justin sucked in a shaky breath. Brian always had to take it too far. “For God’s sake, don’t tell me you’re going to fucking cry Justin. You’re so pathetic.” Roland, busying himself with his bag of peanuts, widened his eyes hearing the contents of Brian and Justin’s conversation. Working with Brian taught him that the man was fastidious, guile, and willing to desecrate any obstacle that stood in his way. However there was something about the way he treated Justin that was blatantly wrong. But it was not his place to interfere even though the tears streaming down the blonde’s face could hardly be ignored. Somehow he knew there had to be more to the story than a simple lovers spat; but it wasn’t until forty-five minutes later he saw something that shocked him.