His hands were clenched tightly at his sides as he felt the door behind him slowly close.  It’s heavy weight rushed out the little warmth that was located inside the bar.  He took the stone steps leading up, one at a time and found himself in a dark and desolate alley.  He turned his head away from whatever horrible smell invaded his nostrils.  Lovely, he thought to himself.  He mind searched as to how he got here, but, he couldn’t remember, he wasn’t even sure if he even knew how to get back home.  It had been hours since he left and all that he knew was that he needed a stiff drink.  Now, he had had one too many and not only was he mentally impaired…he was fucking lost.  He stood on the cold concrete and looked to his left and then his right.  He sighed and admitted to himself that he was thoroughly fucked.  A single light shone above him in the small alcove where the bar was hidden, the only light situated in the passageway.  He smothered the cold anxiety that he felt creeping up his spine.  He had the situation perfectly under control.

“Now, how the fuck do I get back?”  He muttered to himself and realized too late that talking to himself was not going to help his current situation.  He groaned and closed his eyes in irritation; his cell phone was lying in his suitcase…turned off.  Not much good it did for him now.  He looked both ways again, and decided that right was the way to go.  His feet started moving, searching warmth for the coldness that had seeped in through his skin in the few seconds that he had been outside.  He reached inside his coat pocket and took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.  He had misplace his lighter, again, and in a vain attempt to find it, he stopped walking, coming just short of the exit to this damned hell hole.  

“Finally.”  He said as he looked ahead, halting his search for the moment.  From the looks of it, just ahead of him was a very old street.  So the bar wasn’t seedy, it was just ancient.  His hands fumbled in pocket after pocket, muttering around the cigarette dangling in his mouth.  A light shot forth and a steady hand guarded the flame as he reached down to light the tip.  He closed his eyes as the smoke crawled its way down his throat, nesting its cancerous poison in his lungs. 

“Those’ll kill you.”  He cracked open an eye and was met with a startlingly pair of chocolate orbs.  Not the usual brown, but deep velvet coffee, he had never seen that particular shade before.  The man stood beside him, not much taller than himself and wearing incredibly luscious smelling cologne.  He briefly wondered why he didn’t hear the man coming, let alone smell him.

“That would be kind of ironic in my case.”  The man before him smiled knowingly, almost as if he knew exactly what he was talking about.  He indulged the man and smirked at him, allowing him to be in on the little secret.

“Vincent Oliveri.”  Vincent held out his hand once he had placed the Zippo back into his jacket pocket.  He looked Vincent up and down.  A platinum band glittered in the dim light coming from the street…a platinum band fit snugly on his left ring finger.  He raised an eyebrow but extended his own hand toward him. 

“Justin Taylor.” 


<I>“We're sorry, the wireless customer you are trying to reach has-”</I> Click. 

<I>“We're sorry, the wireless customer you are trying to reach has-”</I> He growled and slammed the phone down on the cradle, abruptly stopping the detached voice that was ringing in his brain.  He had called at least ten times and had not reached the boy once.  He exhaled and counted backwards from ten.  He was not going to freak out.  He was just going to sit down, have a drink, and wait.  He could wait.  But, it occurred to John, it seemed like he would be waiting forever.

“Where the fuck are you?”  He whispered to his unseen lover.  He could see Justin standing before him, almost as if he was taunting him.  He grit his teeth and grabbed a small bottle from the fridge.  Hesitating slightly, he grabbed six.  Just his luck, they had this fridge stocked pretty heavily.  He was on the verge of wanting to kill the infuriating blond.  He was supposed to be here, with him, and not out somewhere roaming around.  He should have never let him leave.  This was supposed to be their time together and Justin was off somewhere and he was still on all that medication.  John panicked for a moment before going back to the tiny refrigerator and taking out a couple more bottles.  He sighed and settled himself in the high back chair by the window.  He twisted the cap off the first bottle and swallowed its contents quickly.  For the first time, he noticed the view of the city and how beautiful it was, John allowed himself a few moments to take in the vastness.  The view from his apartment was awful, just rows and rows of buildings.  A concrete prison that John had them caged up in.  Looking out the window here, there seemed to be a stunning illusion of freedom.  The sparkling lights that gathered and twinkled in the blackness of night were one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen.  It would be even more beautiful with Justin here beside him.  He looked around the suite, cloaked in a shadow of darkness.  John chuckled to himself; he had turned into a pathetic man waiting in the dark for his lover to return home.  He briefly thought about dressing and going to find the boy but, it was hopeless.  He didn’t have a clue as to where Justin had headed.  He had stormed out in a fit of rage and all but threatened John bodily harm if he followed him.  Yes, Justin was definitely pissed.  An emotion that John hadn’t seen in quite sometime.  He smiled ruefully while shaking his head.  

Hopefully, next time he would know better.  Who would of thought that the blond would react so extremely to such news?  He should have been fucking giddy with excitement.  Shouldn't he have?  John clenched and unclenched his jaw, at the hundred and one excuses that Justin rapidly threw at him for his unhappiness.  

“Bullshit…” That was what it was, or so it seemed to John.  Complete and utter bullshit.  John drained the next bottle and threw it onto the beige carpet of the hotel room.  Moment after moment that Justin didn’t come through that door, John became increasingly more frustrated.  He grabbed a pack of cigarettes thrown precariously on the coffee table, noting that this was a perfect time to light up.  The first hit off the cig relaxed him enough to try to tell himself that Justin would calm down and come back to the hotel room…and John would be here.

John had hours to think about what to do with the boy before he finally showed up.


Justin looked at the stranger sitting before him.  After they had finally moved back onto the street, Vincent had asked Justin if he would like to join him for a cup of coffee. Justin thought that it might settle him down somewhat, at least enough to handle whatever freak out John was probably having.  So what if the charming Italian was with him?   What did it matter?  So he accepted Vincent’s invitation and allowed the man to lead him to a small diner.  They had arrived and had been sitting in what seemed to Justin uncomfortable silence for the past fifteen minutes, sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.  Justin rolled his eyes and dully noted the song playing over the speakers situated in the corners of the diner.  It seemed ironic that David Bowie’s Young American was the background music to this as of yet, silent conversation.  He grimaced and looked at Vincent, whose expression mirrored his thoughts.  After a sip of the God-awful coffee, Justin let his mind wander away from his companion.  He didn’t think that he had ever been so mad at John before.  Justin smiled despite himself, the first test of their relationship.  He almost laughed out right at the term ‘relationship’.  He stroked the small steaming cup and watched Vincent watching him.  Why had he agreed to come with this guy, again?  Sure, he was hot, but Justin wasn’t really up for anything the older man was concocting in his head right now. 

“What are you doing in Vermont, Justin?”  Vincent’s hands were clasped in front of him; his cup placed to the side, untouched.  Vincent’s eyes were unflinchingly staring at him, cutting through Justin, trying to see what was inside.  He squirmed in his seat and looked away.

“My, uh, boyfriend wanted to come.”  Justin cut his eyes back up to Vincent and his face hadn’t changed after Justin had said the dreaded ‘B’ word.  He momentarily wondered about the man’s own spouse, glancing at the ring.  Vincent could almost feel Justin staring at it and he reached down and twisted it on his finger.  It was a nervous habit Vincent had and he found it quite hard to stop himself from doing it.  

“Mine’s in Paris.  I’m out here on business.” Apparently not.  Justin resisted the urge to groan.  He wanted to ask why he wasn’t with him but, he realized that asking the man personal questions would just permit him to do the same.  Maybe if they stayed away from the subject of lovers…

“What are you doing here, I mean, business wise…” Vincent smirked and settled back into the vinyl seat, taking a position that sent out a relaxed vibe. 

“I’m not really in Vermont.  Just escaped for a few days.  I’m a photographer.  Just doing something for a friend of mine.  Well, I guess you can call him that.”  Justin nodded and mimicked Vincent’s movements from before, setting the older man more at ease.

“You like your job?”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to do this all my life.  The human body just absolutely amazes me, it’s so hard to capture sometimes…but, I wouldn’t quit for the world.”  

“Yeah, I know what you mean."  Justin looked over at the counter and watched the young woman working pull up her hair.  She gave an aggravated sigh in the general direction of the man that had been harassing her since they arrived.  Justin smiled at her knowingly.  

“How?  What do you do?”  Vincent hadn’t meant to make the question sound disrespectful but, regretfully it came out that way.  The boy before him was detached, staring off into space as Vincent asked his question.  For some odd reason, this interested him enormously.  Vincent leaned forward and looked directly at Justin.  

"There aren't any half naked men dancing in the street out there, are there?"  Justin let out a brief chuckle before turning back to him.  

“Do you really think that I would be sitting in here with you if there were?”

“Ah, you’re just using me till something better comes along.”  Justin swallowed the bitterness that accompanied that statement.

“You bet your ass.”  Vincent leveled his gaze on the boy, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table. 

“You want to come to my hotel room?”

“Alright.”  Vincent pulled out a crisp ten laying it heads up on the table, took Justin’s hand and lead them both out the door.



“I brought you some of Ma’s leftovers.”  Micheal sat the brown paper bag on Brian’s counter.  Brian had been missing in action for the past week and his best friend had finally gathered enough courage to come and see him.  As far as Micheal knew, Brian had been absent since he had found out that Justin had gone to Vermont with that John.  Micheal smiled.  He was starting to accustom himself with saying ‘that John’, just like his mother.  The night that Justin had come over had forever changed the way Micheal looked at the boy.  Micheal saw the heartache and despair and just the general weariness of the boy.  He didn’t understand why Justin would stay with the man if it just led down a road of unhappiness.  He had never understood Justin.  Had never understood the both of them.  Brian had stood there beside him, almost ready to fight Justin’s battles.  So, Micheal was surprised when Justin stood on his own and took whatever they had dished out to him.

“Thanks.”  It was inaudible, even in the sharp silence of the loft.  Micheal looked over his shoulder and saw his best friend of sixteen years sitting on the couch, looking every bit of his thirty-one years.

“I guess you aren’t hungry.”  Micheal took out the contents of the bag, it wasn’t much but then Brian had never really been a hearty eater.  He crumpled the bag and threw it in the stainless steel garbage bin on the way over to where Brian was sitting.

“Not really.”  He threw Micheal a glance as he sat down in the chair opposite the couch.  Brian smirked at the look Micheal shot him as he lifted the half empty bottle of Beam to his lips, taking another healthy swig.  

“When was the last time you ate?”  To be honest, Brian couldn’t remember.  Maybe it was earlier today, maybe it was three days ago.  Who had time these days?  He had a business to run, well, partly run.  All right, so he wasn’t really working on any major accounts at the moment.  That stupid photo shoot had been pushed back another week.  More of the same shit he had been doing when he had been an executive.  He just wanted to sit here and wallow.  But, he couldn’t do that with Mikey there.   

“Earlier.”

“Liar.”

“What does it fucking matter?”  Brian snarled, getting up abruptly and heading towards the kitchen.  Maybe he was a little hungry and the smell of Deb’s food was driving his stomach crazy.  He could spare a few bites, maybe that would get Micheal moving closer to the door.

“I don’t know, you fucking tell me, Brian.  Why the hell are you sitting here?  Getting smashed out of your head?  Stalling for time until you decide to call a new trick?”  With his back to Micheal, Brian rolled his eyes and silently mocked his best friend.  He turned around and met Micheal’s furious gaze with his own bored one.

“It’s none of your fucking business, Mikey.”  He tried to make the remark cut his friend, cut deep enough to stop this ridiculous and unneeded conversation.

“Well, I’m making it my business…is it because of Justin?” It seemed with that remark, Micheal wasn’t afraid of his tone, let alone his obviousness to drop this fucking conversation.

“No.  My life sure as fucking hell doesn’t revolve around that blond twink."  He grabbed one of the plastic containers, making as much noise as he could around the small kitchen, he huffed and puffed and slammed the microwave door shut as hard as he could.  

“Ma called him yesterday, got that fucking John.”  Brian spun around, leaning his frame against the cold counter.  He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look as uninterested as he possibly could.  Had he died earlier?  Was this hell?  Where were Jack and Joanie…fucking Claire and her spawns of Satan?  It only seemed right that the other fuck-ups in his family should be here during this moment of torment.  He glared at Micheal again.  Micheal let his façade slip and let a small smile slip over his lips when Brian uttered his next words.  

“So what?  They’re a fucking couple now.  He’s probably screening his calls.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.  Uh, he isn’t <I>that</I> John is he?”  He had been meaning to ask Brian that question ever since last week.  The queer rumor mill was scandalously brutal on the young Justin Taylor and word of his non-romance with the fiddler and his dangerous connection with the pusher made Micheal’s head spin.  Surely they weren’t talking about the same Justin Taylor, twink extraordinaire and naive teen that ran circles around Brian only years before.  They couldn't be talking about that fucking John Bonheim?  How many were in Pittsburgh?  There could be-      

“One and the same.”  Micheal looked at him with undisguised shock.  He was confused as to how Brian was just sitting there, calm as a fucking Buddhist monk, telling him that his ex-boyfriend uh, whatever, was with a fucking drug dealer.  There was a solution to all this.  Brian was fucking insane.  Gone out of his fucking mind.  Mental.  That was the answer.  Micheal’s mouth moved…if only he could get the words out.      

“Damn.”  Apparently, this was the only word he could form.

“Yeah...”

“That’s fucked up.”  Micheal distantly heard the beeping from the microwave and watched Brian turn around and grab some glasses and plates from the cabinet.

“What did he say to your mother, or better yet, what did she scream at him?” 

“She wouldn’t fucking tell me.  Just told me to congratulate ‘Sunshine’ when he got back …whatever the hell that means…” Micheal jumped when the sound of glass breaking echoed through the loft.



Justin closed his eyes as strong tanned hands pushed him roughly on the bed.  Somewhere in the clouded fog of his brain he heard expensive cloth tearing, maybe it was his…or maybe it was Vincent’s.  Where those his hands grasping sweet flesh in order to get closer to bared skin?  He realized that he needed the contact, needed to feel that heat when he, himself felt so cold.  Grunts echoed softy in his ear and hands touched his burning skin and he swore he could see the bright glowing marks they left behind.  He groaned, arching his back to keep contact with the man looming before him.  

“It’s so much better, you see?  We’re floating…”

“Yeah…” Vincent Oliveri was right, the power of drugs made any situation better…ten fold.  This was not the first time Justin had experienced the wonderful allure of a drug-tainted ecstasy but, this was definitely one of his better trips.  Writhing on the bed, barely coherent, barely in touch with his surroundings or the feelings that the other man was stirring inside him.  This was the first time in a long time that Justin felt extremely good.  Good enough to want it again.

“Lift your hips.”  The words were a hairsbreadth away from Justin’s ear but, they felt like they were coming from miles away.  And the voice, it sounded so inviting, so tempting that Justin had to comply.  Had to lie down for the beast again.  It was his job to lie down, to bow down to the one he served, to be served, to spare the pains of others, to be sacrificed.  To give his body to the one thing that would take it all away.  He smiled as a wave of pleasure rushed over him, followed by the after shocks of a tremendous awakening.      

The windows in the hotel room were open, letting the bright full moon light come into the room.  There was more than a chill in the air but, the two lovers took no notice of it.  Whatever cold coming in contact with their skin was banished away with the heat from the other.  Their bodies, two otherworldly beings were entwined as one, a sacrifice to the Gods watching from above.  Pure beauty and bliss intertwined their souls, knotted their confused, sated minds.  This was their paradise, their higher plane.  At least in this moment, in this hotel room.

And in the back of his mind, Justin could hear Bowie.


“Another one.”  Brian was grateful for the low light that Woody’s provided.  Another night, drowning his sorrows in a lonely glass of beam.  This was so fucking pathetic.  But, he couldn’t really bring himself to care.  It wasn’t like the place was fucking packed; it was four o’clock in the goddamn morning after all.  Perfect time to get shit faced.  

This was, of course, a celebration.  Of what exactly, Brian wasn't sure.  Somehow between the seventh and eighth straight shot, he had gotten a little confused on the details.  Something to do with Justin and his little fucking supplier.  Brian rolled his eyes before allowing his head to drop to the hard wood of the bar.  That was bullshit and no matter how hard Brian tried to understand it, it seemed just beyond his grasp of comprehension.  He raised his head slightly.  Why was he here?  Something about Mikey…something he had said.  But, what the hell was it?

He sat up completely, offering his empty glass to the bartender that was walking by.  He sighed and snatched it away from the man, making a show of refilling it for him. 

“Ya gotta a ride, Kinney?”  

“Don’t fucking worry about me.  I’m fine.”  The man rolled his eyes before walking away.  “You know if you were a good fucking bartender, you’d let me slur out my drunken troubles, but no…I gotta come to the bar where they don’t give a piss about my name.”  Brian giggled at the joke and quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed his drunken outburst.  Thank God, the place was dead.  It seemed now was the perfect time to head on out.  It couldn’t get much more pathetic than this.  

Just as he had hit the speed dial for the much reliable Micheal, his mind wondered back to the question that had plagued it earlier.  Something about Justin…that Micheal had said.

“…Hello?”  A groggy reply.  Oops.  Looks like he woke up the good professor.

“Need to speak to Micheal.”  He heard a sigh come over the other line, rustling and a transfer of the receiver.

“…Hello?”  

“Mikey, do a friend a favor and come pick me up.  I’m a bit...uh...incapacitated.”  Brian fought the urge to giggle as the word slurred off his tongue.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”  Brief silence followed an aggravated sigh.  “Where the fuck are you?”

“Woody’s.”

“You had better be waiting out front, because I am not going in to fucking get you.  I swear to fuckin-” Brian pulled the phone away from his ear as Micheal continued his rant.

“Thanks, Mikey.”  Brian snapped his phone shut, disconnecting the biting remark from the other side.  He’d deal with Micheal later.  He exhaled loudly and winked at the bartender, indicating that the drinks would be going on his tab.  As he made his way outside, his mind went back to the earlier question.  The celebration and as to how the fuck it had to do with Justin.  He promised himself that he would be staying out of the bars for a while; his mind was turning into gray mush.  He tossed the question over and over in his mind.  Maybe he was blocking it out; maybe it was something that he didn’t want to remember.  Why would he be trying to knock himself into oblivion if it was something that was worth remembering?  Jesus, but this was going to bother him all night…

The night air sobered him slightly.  Enough to sit down on the cold concrete steps of Woody’s waiting for his designated driver to show up.  He failed to see the flaw in all of this.  To busy with the images and sounds he was going over in his mind to figure out what was puzzling him.  Something to do with Justin…something Mikey said.  

“Fuck…” He muttered as the sound of angry tires hit his ears.  Looks like Micheal's here.  He got here in record time but, Brian wasn’t worried about that.  “…He fucking got married…” His mind was on bigger things.