HOME RUN Chapter 1 Brian: ~~~~~~ Brian rattled the front door of the old building. It was locked and the realtor hadn’t yet arrived. He looked at his watch. He’d been in New York two days and still hadn’t found what he was looking for. ‘Where the fuck is he?’ He had two further properties to view that afternoon and he was running out of time. “Mr. Kinney, Paul Weinbach. I’m so sorry I’m late, the traffic is a bitch…” the man trotted up to the front door, keys in his hand. “Well, you’re here now so, do you mind? Only I’m pushed for time”. Having shown Brian around the interior, they wound up back on the ground floor. “As you can see, most of the renovations have been completed; additional windows, the whole place has been re-wired, new heating system and there are computer links everywhere. If you’re looking for something a little unusual, well, then I guess this is it”. The building was an old movie house. An additional floor had been put in where the seating area had once been, and it was now a very spacious property. “How come the price is so low compared to the others I’m due to see?” asked Brian, leafing through the brochure. “Someone was all lined up but it fell through at the last minute”, replied Weinbach, “which is why the lease is up for grabs again and the owners want to move fast. This only came back on the market yesterday and is bound to attract a lot of interest, so you may have to make a quick decision”. Brian walked around the floor. This was just what he was looking for and, as a bonus, the agent was pretty hot too! “So, are you interested?” “Oh, yes. I’m interested alright”. Brian had been circling the man, who now coughed nervously and straightened his tie. He stuttered, looking through the papers on his clipboard. “Well, I ….. I have a copy of the lease here, if you wanna get your lawyers to look over it…”. Brian took the board from his hands and tossed it on the floor. Deftly, he walked him backwards so he was now up against the cold marble pillar and begun to undo his belt. Brian lent towards him. “I don’t kiss”, the man said. “They all say that,” grinned Brian and he gripped him at the back of his head and pulled him forwards. He felt him resist at first, but it wasn’t long before his lips parted to allow Brian’s tongue entry into his mouth and they kissed long and hard as Brian unzipped him. Pulling away suddenly, Brian spun him around and pulled down the man’s pants and shorts. From his pocket he took out the packet of condoms and lube he always had on him. He tore open the packet with his teeth and took out the rubber. Unzipping himself, he pulled on the condom and quickly squeezed out a small amount of lube. He coated himself and, parting the man’s buttocks, he rubbed a little around his hole. The man gasped. “It’ll heat up in a minute”, whispered Brian in his ear. The sex had been relatively quick and, for Brian anyway, pretty unsatisfactory. But he’d felt a lot like this lately he realised. He’d be with a trick only to find he got bored halfway through and his mind would wander in some other direction. He was bored with Pittsburgh and with his life: the same clubs, the same men hitting on him. Even now at 36, Brian was still hot and didn’t have to try too hard. But he found he was mostly going home on his own after clubbing these days and tried to convince himself that this was how he wanted it. Time for a new challenge and it was partly this and the need for a total change of scene that had brought Brian to New York. It had been a few years since he’d had taken the plunge and had set up his own advertising agency. It had been damned hard work, but Kinnetik was now a successful and growing concern. So successful that Brian had decided it was time to open up another office, leaving Cynthia to run the show in Pittsburgh, giving him the opportunity to stretch himself. Brian signed the lease, brushed off the request to get together again and, after returning to Pittsburgh briefly to collect a few belongings, took possession of his offices. After arranging for the equipment, hiring a temporary PA and art department staff, Kinnetik New York was launched. Three weeks after that, tired of living out of a suitcase, he moved in to an apartment in the village. Justin: ~~~~~ Justin was waiting to board the plane for the US when his cell phone rang. Looking at the display his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach when he saw the name light up: Ethan. He cancelled the call. It was too late; there was no going back now. He’d left Pittsburgh, his friends and family, to go with him to Europe, where they’d been based these last years. Ethan had wowed them in the best auditoriums, playing London, Paris, Milan and Vienna. His CD’s had consistently been in the bestseller charts, both in classical and popular music and whilst touring, Justin had taken the opportunity to study the classic art of the masters. Reluctantly, he’d allowed Ethan to finance him at first, whilst struggling to make a name for himself. Though his talent for art had never been in doubt, the brain injury Justin had suffered as a result of a bashing in his late teens had left him with reduced mobility in his drawing hand, which cramped and shook after 10 or 15 minutes of holding a pencil. But Justin wouldn’t be beaten. He’d persevered, using a computer with special software where necessary and over recent years had steadily received more and more commissions for illustrations and art work for books, posters or covers for the music industry, an opening which he’d managed to exploit through his connections with his lover. But now he’d left everything behind in their apartment in Paris. He’d have to arrange to get his things shipped back to the US as soon as possible. He touched the bruise on the side of his face and winced. It still smarted. At first, Ethan had seemed happy for him when he’d started to get work. But gradually, as Justin needed to rely on him less and less, he became sulky, moody and Justin had noticed other things; money going out of their joint account with no explanation, whispered telephone calls late at night, which Ethan tried to keep from him, excuses for not being home at an agreed time. And finally, the night before, Justin had gone to the theatre to meet his partner and take him out to dinner as a surprise. Going down to Ethan’s dressing room, he found the door slightly ajar and, without thinking, had walked right in. The only light in the room was that coming from around the large mirror in which Justin saw their reflections. The young man was bent over the table, his pants and underwear around his ankles. Breathing heavily, lost in the exertion, Ethan hadn’t notice him and Justin stood transfixed, unable to move as he watched his lover fucking. He felt sick and it was all he could do not to physically throw up. It was the trick who realised Justin was there first, but Ethan could not stop, he was near orgasm and, gripping the younger man by the shoulder he let out a loud, low groan as he came. Finally, turning around, he realised Justin was there. But without a word, Justin turned on his heels and fled home: Ethan rushing in right behind him. “Babe, let me explain…” “Explain what, how your dick got up his ass?” yelled Justin. “Tell me one thing Ethan, how many more are there? Just how dumb have I been?” Justin was standing in the middle of the floor staring at him. Ethan turned away, but Justin stopped him. “You’re not walking away from this, I want to know”. Ethan brushed him aside, “Why are you making such a big deal?” he asked. “Because you once told me you wanted me to be the only one” answered Justin. “That there should be no one else and I believed you. But how long have you been fucking around?” “It’s none of your fucking business what I do, who I see, so but out!” and, without warning, Ethan had brought his hand up hard against Justin’s face, sending him reeling with the pain and shock. Justin had packed his bag immediately. Ethan had pleaded with him not to go, but, looking back, Justin realised that the aggression had always been bubbling away just under the surface, disguised by the passion he felt for his music. Justin knew he’d been played for a fool and he wasn’t sticking around any longer. He shoved the cell phone back in his pocket as he waited at Charles de Gaulle Airport for the announcement of his flight back home. It was two weeks after Brian had left for New York.