A/N: This was written by me (Nicki) and it really sounds much better in German, but Bine did a great job with the translation, so kneel at her feet next time you happen to stumble over her ;-) 

And special thanks to Alex (adrtylilsecret) for saving Justin's ass ;-) and elyxer for the wonderful and very fast beta job 

Bless You!

POV: Brian

In our bed there are strict rules, and for a change, I´m not referring to the times we spend fully awake and extremely active here. Nope, this is all about balancing sleep and a peaceful night's rest, two not so obvious things if one shares his house with a creature that in its earlier life must have once been a hybridisation between a spider monkey and a hyperactive squirrel.

Therefore, rule Number 1: We keep at least a proper dildo-length distance from each other.
Officially measured by Ivan, my very own double headed, 14-Inch Dildo, imported from Russia. 
And Justin respects this rule strictly… probably because of his enormous respect for Ivan and his penetrating powers. Yes, in a manner of speaking he passed the 14-Inch mark only once, and in the days that followed, he walked through the loft carefully, moving like a big stork…after Ivan had clarified the factual circumstances once again.

Yeah, some of you might think that this is a little drastic, but believe me, it’s absolutely necessary.  Because nothing is more devastating for hot ' James Dean naked on the hood´ dreams than a whimpering creature that clings to you with naked feet and hands gripping like extra intensified velcro, or like the mud on a rubber boot.
	
And with that in mind, I realised immediately that something did not go as planned that night, when suddenly a fuzzy squirrel appeared next to James Deans divine body, sniffed three times while running in a circle, sneezed strongly and then disappeared again.

But I was about to get in nearer contact with James´ backside, so I tried to ignore the bad feeling I was getting, pushed forward and completely lost every coherent thought within the next second . 

And yes, it was great. 

It was one of my favourite dream fantasies in which James wore nothing but this lightly crumpled hat with dust on the brim and one absolutely worn out pair of 501 jeans, which fell around his old spurred boots. And he moaned and did this thing with his lips, right then, I decided to re-enact this dream sequence with a camcorder next time, you know… for creating hot video material. 

"Oh yeah, Bri. Deeper. Ahh." he groaned as I slammed into him really hard and smiled and slapped his absolute perfect butt. That made him cry out and he started making these whimpering sounds in this almost suffering manner, and I got a little irritated. "James? Is every-" I wasn’t able to finish my panted question, before a chill of cold horror ran down my back. There it was again. The fucking squirrel! The damn brute, climbed like a seriously injured alpine climber over James Dean's hat brim, dug its tiny velcro paws in it and blinked at me with it’s sad puppy eyes. With it’s BLUE fucking puppy eyes!

I frowned in the same way I always do, when I'm really disgusted about something and then quickly shut my eyes to focus on James' innermost parts and on the point where I was buried in him. And yes, it worked. I positioned myself in a new angle, held his hips really tightly and started with my Brian Kinney special 'You’ll have to sit on a god damned air cushion for the next few days, padre` program. I thrust, and thrust and thrust a little harder and only got a little out of rhythm as this small appeal for help penetrated my ears. 

"Brian! Hold me!"

A fucking squirrel emergency call, sent out by a fuzzy animal which seemed to have huge problems to holding onto Mister Dean's hat brim, almost as if he were caught in a typhoon. 

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, took a deep breath and slammed forward again. And again and again...

"Brian!"

... and harder and deeper...

"Brii-an!"

... and even deeper and with more emphasis...

"Brii-aan... please!"

... and a hint to the left and...

"It hurts!"

Huh? I half opened an eye, saw alpine-squirrel and how it pleadingly held out its paw in my direction.  It looked so pitiful like it was using the last of its strength to keep from falling into a deep abyss.
And what did I do? Well of course. I stopped immediately in the middle of a thrust which would have certainly hit home, groaned a frustrated `Damnedfuckingshit!`, reached forward, rescued the dumb rodent and just wanted to start strangling it a little for punishment, as I – as only my luck would have it - woke up with the feeling of a warm, clinging body on mine, before I even got the chance to take a last craving glimpse of Jimmy's auspicious posterior. 

Oh yes. I felt an instantaneous interaction with Ivan the dreadful coming.

"Justin!" It was a mixture of growling and hissing, but seemed to miss its effect, because the fucking brat only pressed himself tighter against my chest.
A little forcibly I tried to escape this ambidextrous attempt to cuddle, pushed the boy back onto his own side of the bed (which of course was only a generous loan!) and felt that my anger cooled down to some extent, as he curled into a small pile of misery, mumbling inarticulately. Something about `tummy ache`, `cold` and `not so well`.
Hmm. Yes, after closer consideration the little twat really looked somewhat different as when I left him hear five hours earlier, with the loving words "Three times is enough. It's a school night. Now sleep already!". Paler in some way and urgh... all sweaty. Great. It couldn't be that he was-

"Brian'h... I thin’g I'm sig..." it sniffled as if on command somewhere out of the pillow, where his face was buried. "Can´h we pud off Ivan’ h ahtil tomorro'? Please?"

H-hm. I had to admit I was impressed of my educative faculties. The boy was in fact well trained.

"Hm." I gave him my blank answer, to exclude every sign of worry, but sat (as pissed as possible) up and moved a little closer to his side. Where I recognized immediately that he not only looked sick, no, he even felt so. His face was oddly cold and wet and the rest of his usual so entertaining body seemed to glow. "You're warm all over." I noticed, took the corner of his blanket and pulled it illogically over him.

"Brian?" He rolled his face out of the pillow.

"Hmm?" I only leaned so close to him, because he spoke very quietly. He smelled good. Like apples and fresh bread.

"My head hurts..." he mumbled and looked at me, with his large, blue 'Please help me' eyes.

"Hmm." I laid down again at a safe distance. But... I reached out with my left hand and knotted it loosely with his fingers. I mean, what could I have done otherwise? He was allergic to all the medicine in this house and I definitely wouldn't sit here and pity him. Besides, he really seemed to like my 'comforting' hand, because he pulled it closer and directly to his chest, where he embraced it with his whole body, like a fucking teddy bear.

And I -of course- rolled my eyes and sighed in deep annoyance … before my thumb began to rub over the back of his hand, for no special reason.

... and I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night, while the little twat beside me snored noisily with his plugged nose, whimpered from time to time and produced a little spit puddle on my pillow.
 
                                                          ***


"Justin." No reaction.

"Hey, Justin." A small sigh from him and a little insistent shaking from my side.

"Justin wake up!" He whimpered and rolled away from me.

"Damned twat, get your lazy ass out of my bed!" Well, you could say, after a sleepless night and an interrupted James Dean-sex dream my mood wasn't its best at 7 a.m. … Especially not, when on said morning, one gaze in the mirror clarified, that I in fact looked almost like thir- twenty-nine and twelve months. On a fucking morning, which I had a very important meeting with one of the most important clients of the agency. On a morning which my brilliance was demanded! My incomparable charm! And, damn it: My fucking hot looks! This aspect could be in fact very helpful with some of my... harder clientele. 
And I felt utterly, ruthlessly abandoned by all these three attributes, as I now stood here with my bad looking hair (I mean hello? Nobody had ever seen Brian Kinney with something other than perfect hair!), deep shadows under the eyes and a really disgusting snot stain on the sleeve of my $ 380 Valentino jacket, which remained there stubbornly, since the sleeping twat in bed, thirty minutes ago, had a ruthless sneeze attack.  
He had sniffled, made a rattling-gurgling sound, wriggled his nose, like he had watched this horrible show with the witch far to often, and- before I had even the slightest chance to categorize his absurd behavior, or to avert my (by no means worried!) gaze, he catapulted a complete truckload of slimy body fluids across the room. 

I was so perplexed for the first few seconds that I totally forgot to kill him for that. And as I, eventually remembered, it was to late, because he rubbed the back of his hand over his nose, curled into a small ball, mumbled a polite 'Bless you' in his sleep and looked in this process so... innocent, that I certainly would’ve reported myself at Amnesty International, if I had killed him with my apple knife.

But never mind how this awful day had started, it had to get going somehow and so, treating him with the rest of my remaining reserve, I took the blanket from the brat’s body and clarified again that it was time for his scholastic education.

"You have 15 minutes. Go shower and then come into the kitchen to drink your juice."

What?! Of course I give him juice for breakfast. I'm not a monster.

And Justin understood my clear orders excellently, even while half asleep.  Eventually, he climbed out of bed on autopilot, gave me a slobbery peck on the cheek together with a snorkeled “Moh'ning Bria'hn.” and with slow steps disappeared into the bathroom.

Good boy. Colds are for accountants and lesbians. Not for proud Irish men and their... temporarily room mates.

But yes, whatever. I was really satisfied, even smiled slightly as I heard the flushing of the toilet, shortly followed by the running from the water of the shower, and made my way to the kitchen to consume my morning glass of guava juice.

Twenty-one minutes later the stupid juice bottle was empty, the water in the shower still running and Justin hadn't reappeared. Just great. If this little twat thought he could waste time in there to miss his class, he was damn fucking wrong!

Of course, I began to state this fundamental opinion as I marched, with long strides and little self control, in the direction of my bathroom. 

"Justin it's nearly eight, dammit. Don't you have a fucking broom closet in school where you can jerk off?! You will come out of there. Now!" I was even polite enough to knock three times on the closed door, before my patience wore out and I stepped in without permission. And for a moment, I was a little disoriented in all the steam and fog, surrounding me immediately. But really only for one moment, because I have the platinum membership in the local baths. There was absolutely no naked butt who could hide in oh so high humidity from my eagle eyes... and certainly not the joyful globes of my uninvited house guest.

I have to admit I hadn't calculated on finding him rolled up like a hedgehog on the blank floor in front of the shower, instead of in it.

"Justin, what the hell are you doing down there?!" I bent down to him and he blinked as he felt my hand on his forehead.

"I'm almosd ready..." he said before he lost the fight against gravity, and couldn’t hold up his head any longer .

Shit. If this damn brat thought I would let him go to school in this condition, then he was damn fucking wrong!

"Come on." I helped him up from the ground, swore because my jacket now wasn't only slimy  but soggy as well, and carried the kid back to bed.

"Bria' hn," he struggled a little as I stuffed the blanket left and right taut under his body. "I have to go to school."

I ignored his sniffled words and adjusted his pillow. "Bria' hn..." he tried to put his head up for one last time, before I shoved it with emphasis back onto the feathered pillows. "I ged in troubl’ if I don' d show ub!"

I sighed. Why did this kid always have to be so complicated?! "What’s the number of your school?"

"You wand’ to call?" His red fever cheeks glowed amorously, which I, of course, ignored and lifted my left eyebrow, until he finally pointed with a shaking forefinger in the direction of the desk. "Id’s in m book'."

I sighed again, because this whole situation really wore me out, and then left the kid whimpering and sweating in his blanket cocoon to make a few phone calls.

The number of the St. James academy stood out in neat blue gel-pen -.Justin Taylor-handwriting under "Important contacts". In a $3.50 Wal-Mart notebook with a lesbian 'Baby in butterfly costume' binding. And I had the urgent need to burn that thing into a sterile pile of ash, while I dialed the number and waited for someone to pick the damn phone up.

"St. James academy, Dr. Perkin’s office, Miss Miller speaking, how may I help you?" A cheery secretary voice twittered in my ear a few seconds later, and I cleared my throat to change into my best business voice.

"Kinney here.  I have a sick report."

"Ah  yes. And which student are we talking about, Mister Kinney?"

"Taylor. Justin."

She was typed something on her keyboard before speaking again. "And which grade is Mister Taylor?"

Which grade? I frowned and looked a little clueless to the bedroom. Judging by the kid’s body height, he couldn’t be much further along than 6th grade. I was fairly sure that he’d told me some time about his soon to be graduation, so... "Ah... I don't know. Don't you have that kind of information somewhere in your documents?"
 
Miss Miller seemed to be a little irritated after this question. "Mister Kinney, may I ask in which relation you stand to the student?"

What the hell?! I squinted my eyes. "I don't think this information is relevant for a sick report!"

She cleared her throat. "Well, Mister Kinney, as a matter of fact, only legal guardians or the students themself, if they’re of legal age, are authorized to report a nonattendance. Are you a legal guardian, sir?"

I really wasn't in the mood to discuss my status in Justin's life with this woman. "Listen Miss Meyer-"

"Miller."

"Yeah, what ever. Justin is living with me and can't come to school today. So either you tell his teacher that he's sick, or you report him as an abductee to SETI. I don't care."
,
"Mister Kinney, I'm afraid in this case I have to insist on an official certification from his doctor." the secretary answered a little indignant.

Angrily I changed the phone from one hand to the other.  "What the hell for?! I don't need a fucking doctor to tell me that the kid is sick!"... no, I only needed to look at my slobbered sleeve.

"Well it is necessary for our documents, sir."

Frustrated, I ran a hand through my hair and really wanted to rip her a new one, but it was Justin's school I was talking to and I figured an accusation of personal insult and threatened murder wouldn't be very helpful for his further education.

"Fine. I’ll bring you the stupid certification in later and who knows maybe I'm in a good mood and you'll even get a Polaroid of his stomach contents!" I ended the call and threw the phone on the couch. "Bitch!"

"Bria 'hn?" it cheeped and snuffled from the direction of the bed. "Ev´rything´ alrighd?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah..." In utter irresoluteness, I began to march a small furrow in my wonderful hard wood floor, until I had a plan ready for the rest of the day. 
Then I called Dr. Brown, my personal doctor, to make an appointment for later this morning, and called the office to let Cynthia know, I would come in twenty minutes late.

"Justin?" I ran back into the bedroom and spoke loudly and clearly audible, while changing my jacket. "I have an important meeting, but after that, I’ll come back here and drive you to Dr. Brown."

"Who’s thad?" it mewled from the pillow.

"My family doctor. Your school wants medical verification." I ran around to collect my things, a cell phone, wallet and my car keys and bent down to the nightstand to scribble down my direct number on a piece of paper. "Here. If you need anything, you call here." I stuck the note to the face of my alarm clock and stuffed the corners of the blanket one last time under Justin’s back. "Try not to throw up in the bed. Later."

"Ok." the kid whimpered and blinked at me with glassy blue eyes. "Lader. Don'd worry aboud me."

"I won't."
 
... and I didn't. I didn't even thought about that kid. Not for a second. Not on my way to the parking garage, not on my way to the office and certainly not when Cynthia called me into my first meeting. Only when Mister Van Flaten began to present his new product, a headache medication on a biological basis, suitable for allergy sufferers, temporarily the distant picture of a small, suffering squirrel appeared in my mind and I cleared my throat and asked the client for a short break.

"What's up?" Cynthia wanted to know a little perplexed. "Is something the matter?"

"Hh? No, no. Everything's fine." I waved my hand and pointed at the phone on her desk. "Can you connect me to my home please."

"Home. Your home?"

I nodded impatiently. After all, my client was waiting and I surely didn’t have time to stand around here the whole day. "Do it already!"

"Okay, okay." She gave me her typical 'Now the boss has finally lost his mind' gaze and dialed the number, before she handed me the phone.

It tooted. Eleven times. After the 12th time, I’d already looked through the yellow pages for the number of the emergency service, or the fire department or who ever was responsible for little twats in extreme emergency’s, as eventually a weak, "Hello? Here by K' hinney, Justin'  Thaylor on dhe phone’." was to be heard.

"Justin! Where the fuck have you been? I had it ringing for like a thousand times!"

"Hello Bria'hn." I could almost see his fevered smile and glowing cheeks, and paradoxically my anger level sunk a little.

"I've slepd a liddle."

"Hmm." Well okay I could generously accept this excuse. "Good. Go back to bed and continue. I'm home in three hours."

"Okay Bria 'hn. Don’d worry aboud me."

"Hmm. I won't."

... and I didn't. I was only a little faster with finishing my work, because I really didn't want to stay longer in the office than absolutely necessary.

                                                              ----------------
tbc