Justin was at his favorite restaurant. A Cajun place called Roy’s. Roy was the name of the owner/main chef. He made the most heavenly biscuits. They were moist and lighter than air. They did not simply melt in your mouth but on the way to your mouth, the moment your warm breath hit the fork (Justin was peculiar that way; he ate everything, even pizza, with utensils. A throwback to the time when he’d worn braces). And Roy’s sauces…they were the nectar of the Gods. Roy created the most interesting combinations of ingredients (ingredients no one else would ever think to juxtapose) and teased out their flavor. Nothing was ever heavy handed, no one ingredient ever dominating the others. He used just enough of each, and every ingredient always complemented the others. The only problem was that Roy didn’t much care about healthy eating. Taste was his God, and he was its most faithful servant. He used real butter or bacon grease (never vegetable oil), and copious quantities, so every dish rose to the thousands of calories. Roy’s vegetables, too, were fattening; for example, he used bacon to accentuate the flavor of green beans. Vegetarians couldn’t even breathe the air in Roy’s. Justin came here often these days. Roy’s food was the only distraction distracting enough to wrest all thoughts of his shitty life from his mind. This night had been a phenomenal failure, so Justin was indulging in a rather complex dish, Catfish Courtbouillon. It had a million flavors (okay maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but only slight), and Justin could pick every single one of them out as he savored each bite. Together they made paradise.

Tonight Justin had done something ridiculously stupid. He’d gone to Babylon, danced, and then, when his partner invited him to the back room, he’d enthusiastically agreed. The guy had been so hot. He’d had a perfect lean body, a huge cock (if the way it had filled out his tight jeans were any indication), and dark, dark brown hair that matched the chocolate of his eyes. Justin sighed heavily as he remembered. But all was forgotten when he placed another forkful of Roy’s delicious concoction into his mouth. He sighed again, but this time in contentment. Roy never failed him.

This morning, Justin had felt a surge of confidence that he hadn’t felt in a long time. So he’d gone down to Liberty Avenue, combing the boutiques for something that would highlight his good qualities and hide his flaws. He’d been persistent. It had taken all day, but he’d found clothes he was sure would do the trick. Tight black pants that drew attention to his bubble butt, round but firm, and a shirt that was tight in the chest and loose at the waist. You see, Justin had a bit of a potbelly. More than a bit really. Justin had been trying and failing to lose the extra 20-30 pounds he’d gained for two years now. All this extra weight had gone to his midsection. His legs, arms, and ass were just as perfect as they’d always been, but his abdominal region was disgusting. The guy who’d invited Justin to the back room just confirmed this. They were going at it hot and heavy until the guy had taken Justin’s shirt off. He’d just stared at Justin’s belly for a moment. Then he’d thrown Justin’s shirt back at him and had simply walked away. No pretense to protect Justin’s feelings. After a look of disgust, he was gone. Justin had turned around in shame (the other guys in the back room were whispering, pointing, and laughing). Once Justin had put his shirt back on, he ran out of the back room and out of the club. He’d actually run, all the way to his car. Then he threw a large overcoat on and headed right over to Roy’s. He knew Roy’s was part of the problem, but he just couldn’t help it. Nothing lifted his spirits like the food there. Nothing.

Justin was now so absorbed in his food that he didn’t notice the tall chestnut-haired man who was trying to get his attention. Not at first. The man finally succeeded by tapping him on the shoulder. Startled, Justin looked up. He was immediately entranced by the man’s beautiful eyes. They were sea green flecked with gold. Justin tried to speak, but no sound came. He ended up simply gaping at the man. The man chuckled and then asked, for the third time, “Do you mind if I sit with you? The restaurant is packed, and I’m dying for some ettoufee.”

Finally, Justin found his voice. “Oh, um, sure.”

The man smiled, removed his leather jacket, and then sat down. He chuckled once more, a noise Justin thought might be the most beautiful sound in the world, and inquired, “Are you cold? Or in a hurry?”

Justin just stared at him blankly.

The man smiled, just a little. “Your coat.”

Justin blushed a deep crimson, in part as a reaction to the man’s smile and in part out of shame. Then he stammered, “Oh…yeah, I am a little cold.” That was actually far from the truth. Justin was boiling in his bulky coat, but he just couldn’t risk anymore ridicule. In it, he felt safe.

The man reached out his hand. “I’m Brian. Brian Kinney.”

Justin smiled brightly as he took the man’s hand in his. He had to, to suppress a nervous, enthusiastic giggle. Brian’s touch was electrifying. At once, Justin felt a melting sensation and jolts of electricity coursing throughout his body. Justin’s cock immediately hardened. When the hand shake had passed all bounds of decorum, Brian prodded, “And you are?”

Justin laughed, blushed a little, and replied quickly, “Sorry. Justin. Justin Taylor.” Then just as quickly, he pulled his hand away.

Brian came to Roy’s restaurant exactly once a month. He’d pig out on the richest, most delicious food in town and, then, the next day, start his three-day juice diet. No one knew his dirty little secret. Well, he should say, this one. He had many dirty little secrets, and few were privy to even one, let alone all of them. Not even his best friend Mikey. But Mikey was pretty clueless about everything. Brian made everything he was look easy. But being Brian Kinney wasn’t easy. Not by a long shot. He worked out every day, watched what he ate, and, when he could no longer take plain grilled chicken and fish and enough fruit and vegetables to choke a horse, he’d come here, stuff himself, and after a night of delicious fullness, begin his monthly purge. Mikey thought that Brian kept weight off effortlessly because of their occasional pig outs when they got high. What Mikey didn’t see was what happened after they’d splurged. As soon as Mikey was out the door, Brian would do a line of coke and hop on the treadmill. Then he’d spend an extra hour at the gym every day that week. Mikey had no clue what each bite of junk food eventually cost Brian. As it was, Brian always came an hour earlier to the gym than the rest of the gang. No one knew how much time he actually spent there. But that was okay. Brian liked astounding everyone. He’d always been able to do what others could not. Mostly because they weren’t willing to make the sacrifices Brian was prepared to make. Brian always got what he wanted. Whatever the cost.  

This was true for even the most mundane tasks. Like getting a seat in his favorite restaurant on the busiest night of the week, Friday (The restaurant was first come, first served; Brian would have liked nothing better than to make a reservation for his monthly visit, but that wasn’t possible). Most people would have waited for tables to clear or left, but not Brian. He wanted ettoufee, and he wanted it now. So he’d scanned the room for loners. There were three. He dismissed the first two because they were serious trolls, but the third, he was alright. Blond hair, attractive face. When Brian had finally gotten his attention, he was rewarded with a warm smile and the clearest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Brian was almost stunned, but, as always, he had his eye on the ball. He’d already sized the guy up and had decided that honesty with a dash of friendliness would get him what he wanted. So, for the third time, he explained his situation, but, this time, he also flashed him a soft smile. After he was seated, he even teased the young man gently and introduced himself. In general, he would never take the time to offer such niceties, especially after he’d gotten what he wanted. But…there was something about this blond boy (he couldn’t put his finger on it) that spurred Brian to do just that.

In fact, Brian went beyond simple niceties. After he had ordered but before he had received his food, he tried to start up a conversation. Unfortunately, Justin seemed as uncomfortable as he was. Brian was used to other people doing most of the talking: Mikey; Lindsay, a friend from college and the mother of his child; Debbie, Mikey’s mother and Brian’s surrogate mother; and Emmett, a friend of Mikey’s, were all very talkative. Brian was used to listening to them talk, only occasionally interjecting a snarky remark or a titillating story. Brian cleared his throat and fidgeted in his seat. Then he asked, perhaps the lamest conversation starter ever, “So do you come here often?”

Justin nodded and smiled. “It’s my favorite restaurant.”  

Brian found himself smiling back. “Mine, too.”

At that Justin quirked an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve never seen you here before…”

Brian shrugged. “I only come here once a month. The food is great, but too fattening.”

Justin nodded absently and looked down. Now it was his turn to fidget uncomfortably in his chair as he remembered the nightmare his trip to Babylon had been and pushed food around on his plate.

After a couple minutes of silence, Brian trotted out another lame potential conversation starter, “So what do you do for a living?”

This livened Justin up and brought his eyes back to Brian. “Oh, uh, I write restaurant reviews for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.”

Brian couldn’t help but be a little impressed. He’d actually read some of those. JT, the food critic, reviewed a wide variety of restaurants. He wasn’t like some food critics who only go to high-class places. He’d review restaurants that most people wouldn’t look at twice, restaurants that, at first glance, appeared to be dives (Roy’s included). “You’re JT?”

Justin smiled shyly and nodded.

Brian couldn’t help smiling back. “You’re the reason I’m here.”

Justin’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

“I decided to give this place a shot after reading your review last year.”

“Oh. Really?” Brian couldn’t help but be a little touched by the hopeful look on Justin’s face. Brian nodded, and Justin smiled again. This time a million-watt smile.

“So how did you get into that line of work?”

Justin shrugged and smiled. “I like food. I was always looking for new places to go, and once, after I’d found a truly incredible restaurant, one that few people even knew about, I got this crazy idea to write a review and send to the Post-Gazette. Two weeks later, I received a letter offering me an interview. I was hired on a probationary basis three days after that.”

Brian’s eyes widened, and he nodded in approval. He liked self-made men.

“So, um, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m in advertising.” Brian was expecting some social commentary as always seemed to come out when he mentioned work…with Debbie, it would have been about what new homophobic conglomeration (or ‘devil’) he was supporting by helping to advertise its products; with Lindsay, it would have been about how advertising’s use of the human body was creating standards of beauty that were generally unattainable, thus adding to the number of women binging and purging, starving themselves, and going under the knife;  with Mel, Lindsay’s wife, it would have been about how advertising reinforces gender stereotypes promulgated by men in an attempt to control women; with Ben, Mikey’s boyfriend, it would have been about advertising’s fueling the consumerism that was destroying America and, by extension, the world; with Mikey, it would have been about the commercialization of his favorite comic book heroes, which led to bad movies that completely ignored the comic book in question’s original storyline; and so on. Ted and Emmett were on the same page; they wanted to see more hot guys and more of hot guys (i.e., more skin).

But Justin asked simply (without a frown or a grimace), “Have you done anything I might have seen?”

Brian was so startled by the lack of judgment that he just stared for a moment. Then he replied, “I did one recently for a cell phone company with the slogan ‘the hub of the world.’”

Justin smiled and interjected excitedly, “Oh yeah…the one with the wheel drawn on the picture of the world…and pictures of people on every continent taken with the cell phone.”

“Yeah.”

“I loved that one. Using cell phone pictures was so clever! And I loved that you started with Africa…the source of all life. Nice way to de-emphasize the importance of ‘the white man.’ Perfect for this sociocultural climate.”

Brian just stared at Justin. He was beyond shocked. No one ever noticed when he produced something of social value. Most people automatically thought the worst of him, so they were very critical, even when he did something good.

Of course, Brian told Justin nothing of that. He merely smiled and muttered, “Thanks.” But after they’d finished eating, he found himself asking what restaurant Justin was reviewing next, and when Justin answered, “A French-African fusion restaurant on Situation Avenue,” he found himself asking, “Mind if I tag along?”

Justin answered with a bright smile (and his phone number).

TBC...

Justin and Brian, after many rounds of phone tag, were finally going to meet at the French-African fusion restaurant Justin had mentioned. Justin wasn’t unhappy about the delay. They had ended up talking many times throughout the week, and he was much better on the phone. As a disembodied voice, he felt much more confident. He’d explained the secret touches the chefs had made to Brian’s favorite dishes at various restaurants; Brian was extremely impressed by Justin’s highly sensitive taste buds and broad knowledge of cuisine and said so, many times. And, with Brian at the other end of the line, Justin even felt sexy. Every other day over the past week, Brian had called Justin in the middle of the night (Brian knew Justin was an evening/night person; Justin never had to wake up early) complaining that he was still awake so that Justin could lull him to sleep. Justin’s voice was low and husky and, Brian claimed, sexy as hell. Justin wished so hard that Brian would use their late-night chats to jerk off rather than to fall asleep, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that Brian found talking with him relaxing and his voice, sexy.

Now, eight days after their initial encounter, they were finally meeting at the French-African fusion restaurant. Justin had arrived early to get them seats (or so he’d told himself; in reality, he just wanted his belly to be safely hidden by the table when Brian arrived). He’d taken his coat off and put it back on several times before Brian appeared. Even with the table, Justin felt exposed without his coat on (normally, he wouldn’t have cared, but Brian was going to be there, and Justin liked Brian more than he’d liked any man since he’d hit puberty. Brian may not have used their conversations to jerk off, but Justin had. And, they’d been the best orgasms of his life.) So when Brian finally sauntered in, Justin was still wearing his coat.

Brian’s face actually brightened when he caught sight of Justin. He smiled softly and made his way across the restaurant to where Justin was seated. But he didn’t sit right away. Instead, he stood next to Justin’s chair and said, “Come on.”

Justin was baffled. “What?”

Brian laughed. “Stand up.”

Justin was growing very uncomfortable. He most definitely did not want to stand up, but Brian was insistent. Refusing him would probably just make a bad situation worse. So Justin slowly rose to his feet. Then the bad situation grew to nightmarish proportions without any help from him. Brian was taking off Justin’s coat. Justin nearly panicked. In as calm a voice as he could manage, he said, “Brian, I’m a little cold. Leave it on.”

Brian looked at him dubiously. “Justin, you’re sweating.”

Justin touched his forehead. “Oh, am I?” He really was, but he wasn’t sure it was because he was hot.

Brian muttered, “Not surprising. It’s like a furnace in here.” Then he tugged at Justin’s buttons and pulled his coat off. Unfortunately, all the tugging and pulling caused Justin’s shirt to ride up a bit, just enough to bring his potbelly into view. And Brian saw it. Justin knew he had because Brian’s eyes widened a little and he grimaced slightly. Justin turned five shades of red and sat down quickly. Brian didn’t say anything. He just hung Justin’s coat up on a nearby coat rack and joined Justin at the table. Justin was a little surprised. He’d half expected Brian to leave. At first, he almost wished Brian had left. He couldn’t look Brian in the eye, and he could tell that he was still blushing (his face was hot). At the same time, he felt flushed. Like he might faint.

Despite the widened eyes and the slight grimace, when Brian returned to the table, he acted as though he had seen nothing. He picked up the menu and perused it, finally asking, “Any recommendations?”

Justin looked up, but he was still dazed. He replied, “Huh?”

Brian chuckled. “Are the words too big for you, or are you just dazzled by my hotness?”

Justin laughed in spite of himself. Maybe Brian didn’t find him repugnant after all. Course not repugnant and attractive were two very different things.

After they’d ordered, Brian said to the waiter, “This is the food critic from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, so I’d make it good if I were you.”

The waiter paled and ran off.

Justin protested, “Brian…there was no need to scare the guy!”

Brian harrumphed. “How are they going to know they should kiss your ass if you don’t tell them who you are?”

Justin shook his head. “If the food is good, they’ll get a good review. They don’t need to treat me differently.”

Brian sighed. “You’re lucky we met. You have so much to learn.”

A second later, the waiter hurried over with a bottle of their best wine, on the house, of course. And when the food came (arriving before that of patrons who’d ordered prior to Brian’s sauntering in), they received the dishes they’d ordered and samples of three others.

Brian grinned. “Now this is how a food critic, and his companion, should be treated!”

Justin shook his head, but he smiled, too.

Brian drawled, “In fact, that chef is hot, and he’s got my gaydar pinging all over the place. I bet he’d be grateful for the chance to score some extra points.”

Justin looked at Brian in horror. He exclaimed, “Brian! I could never have sex with someone under circumstances like that!” He wasn’t sure what horrified him more, the fact that Brian thought Justin needed to use his clout as food critic to get a guy into bed or that Brian thought Justin would ever trade sex for the promise of a good review. Granted, the chef was extraordinarily hot, and Justin probably couldn’t get him into bed under normal circumstances, but still.

Brian furrowed his brow. “Why the hell not?”

“First of all, if I couldn’t get him into bed without his knowing what I do for a living, I wouldn’t want to fuck him.”

Brian scoffed, “Power’s a turn on. Plain and simple.”

Justin sighed. “You and I both know that that’s not what you meant. Going to a club and telling some random guy that I’m a food critic to impress him is not the same as hitting on the chef at a restaurant I’m reviewing. You would never fuck an underling at work, would you?”

“The hell I wouldn’t.”

Justin just gaped at Brian.

“I would tell him that my fucking him would have no impact on his career, but chances are, he’d still want me to fuck him.”

Justin sighed in exasperation. “Yeah, but he wouldn’t be doing it in the hopes of getting something from you other than sex.”

“How do you know that?”

“Just look at you. You could have the lowest-paying job with no power whatsoever and still get laid.”

“True. But I probably wouldn’t get laid as often. It’d be damn close, but power is fucking hot. And many people, when choosing between getting a promotion from a troll or the best sex of their life from a gas station attendant, would choose the troll.”

Justin swallowed hard. So that’s what Brian thought…that he was a troll who needed to use his power as a food critic to get laid. He’d pretty much figured the moment Brian had suggested that he fuck the chef, but he’d hoped that he was wrong. Justin couldn’t have been more disappointed and hurt. He wanted Brian to want him, to be upset at the thought of his being with someone else. He knew that that was unlikely ever to happen, but with all their talks and all of Brian’s compliments, he had thought maybe. “Brian, even if I were the kind of person who would use his position to get a little, which I most certainly am not, I still wouldn’t fuck him.”

“Why the hell not?”

Justin’s chest suddenly felt so tight, and his face, flushed. “I have…uh…feelings for someone, and even though I know nothing will ever come of it, at the moment, he’s all I want.”

Brian was beyond puzzled. “What does fucking have to do with feelings?”

Justin laughed. “Oh my God. You aren’t seriously asking me that, are you?”

Brian said nothing, but held Justin’s gaze.

“You have to know that the best sex can only be had with someone you care about!”

Brian continued to stare at Justin. Blankly.

“You seriously didn’t know that?”

Brian shrugged. “I’ve heard people say it, but I always assumed it was because they had no clue what good sex was. People go out of their way to please someone as hot as I am. I just assumed that most people can only get that amount of effort from someone who has feelings for them.”

Justin smiled. “Brian, it’s not about whether or not people put in extra effort; it’s about connection. Being completely in sync with another person. Take two people who are great in bed and you’ll get hot sex. Take those same people, only now suppose they’re in love, and you’ll get phenomenal sex.”

Brian muttered, “If you say so,” but something about the look in Justin’s eyes and the timbre of his voice made him wonder whether he was missing out on something. For a moment, he imagined Justin looking at him with the same expression his face had held when speaking of that other guy. Brian actually shivered. But it was a warm shiver. He couldn’t help but keep the fantasy going, imagining Justin kissing him. Slow and deep. Brian shook his head, trying to clear it of his fantasy. It had been relatively chaste, involving nothing more than a kiss, yet it had gotten him impossibly hard.    

Later, when he was fucking the chef, his mind kept drifting back to Justin. After they’d finished and Brian had kicked him out, Brian lay in bed smoking, smoking and thinking. Why had he picked up the chef of all people? Sure, he was hot, but so was the waiter and the guy at the newspaper kiosk around the corner from the restaurant. Brian hadn’t even picked the guy up while he and Justin were still at the restaurant. No. He had gone back after saying goodbye to Justin. The fuck wasn’t, like most, about grabbing the hottest guy in his proximity. In fact, the hottest guy in his proximity, before he went back to the restaurant, was hotter than the chef. No. He had chosen the chef above all other possible tricks because the chef had Justin all over him. Not literally, of course. But still, when he'd whispered into the guy’s ear, when he’d brought him home, when he’d kissed him, and when he was thrusting inside him, all Brian could think about was Justin. That realization unnerved him so much that Brian found himself dialing Justin’s number, and when Justin picked up, he said, “So tell me about this other guy. What about him makes him unattainable?”

Then before he knew what he was saying, he’d offered to help Justin get his man.

TBC…

Brian inquired, “So who is this other guy? What about him makes him unattainable?”

Justin nearly choked on his coffee (for Justin, who was a night person, it was more like afternoon). When he managed to breathe again, he exclaimed, “What?”

Brian chuckled. “Unattainable…means impossible to attain…to get…” He pronounced the last two words with a smirking drawl.

Justin muttered, though his voice contained amusement, “Asshole. I know what it means. I was just surprised by the question. You didn’t seem too interested in discussing feelings before.”

Brian conceded, “In general, I’m not.”

“So why the twenty questions?”

Labored sigh. “Two is hardly twenty.”

Justin laughed and muttered “Asshole” again, but this time adding a “Fucking.”

“I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“Oh. Um…” Justin scrambled for something to say. He couldn’t exactly be honest, tell Brian that it was he who was spoiling him for all other men. Or could he? Indirectly. Justin replied with the first name he could think of. “His name is Joe. He’s…he’s beautiful. Perfect.”

Brian chuckled. “I’m gonna need a little more.”

Justin licked his lips and replied slowly, softly, excitement prickling throughout his body, bringing waves of heat to the surface, “He’s tall and lean. He has brown hair with touches of blond and red. His skin is sort of bronze colored. He’s strong and kind of muscular, but not in an overdone way.”

“Sounds hot.”

Justin grinned broadly. “He most definitely is.”

Tongue firmly planted in his cheek, Brian asked, “Is he packing?”

Justin giggled. But then answered with faux innocence, “I doubt he carries a gun.”

Brian chuckled. “That’s not what I meant, but I think you knew that. Just in case, let me make it plainer: Is his cock big?”

Justin knew it was silly (Brian wasn’t looking at him, and he was hardly a virgin), but he colored and stammered a little. “Um…I haven’t seen it, but from what I can tell, yes…and personality wise…”

“Who gives a fuck about his personality?”

“Um, I do. That’s at least half the reason I like him so much.”

Brian protested, “All you need to know is whether he’s hot, has a big dick, and doesn’t talk too much while you fuck him.” After a very, very heavy sigh, he said, in a clipped voice, “Fine. Tell me about Romeo’s personality.”

“He’s intelligent, funny, and a little brusque, but I think he feels deeply. (then in amusement) although I’m not sure how perceptive he is sometimes.”

Brian quipped, “Well, as long as he can perceive where your dick is when he’s sucking it, does it really matter?”

“Of course it does.”

“See that’s your problem. You shouldn’t bother talking to tricks except to say, “Come on” and later, “Get the fuck out.”

“Brian! You’re terrible.”

“I’m not trying to win a popularity contest.”

“That’s good, cause you’d lose, and badly.”

“You seem to like me well enough.”

Suddenly, Justin’s chest felt tight. “Yeah, I really do.”

“So…why don’t you just go up to Joe and kiss him or offer him a blowjob?”

Justin shook his head frantically, even though no one could see him. “No. No fucking way!”

Brian drawled, “Why not? You have perfect cock-sucking lips. He’d be a fool to refuse. And after, who knows, maybe he’d take one look at your bubble butt and offer to shove his cock up it?”

“First, I’m not sure he’d be receptive to my advances, with my being…”

“A fatty?”

“Oh my God. You did not just say that!” Justin burst out laughing, though he was mortified, too. There went the hope that Brian hadn’t noticed his belly at the restaurant. “And second, I don’t want to just be a fuck to him.”

“Look, I can probably help you get him to fuck you, but I don’t know shit about relationships, and I don’t want to.”

Justin swallowed hard.

“As I said before, you have a nice ass and lips perfect for kissing or sucking dick…and you have an attractive face. And your eyes are an interesting blue.”

Justin couldn’t breathe. Part of it was the image that popped into his head of what Brian thought were perfect lips sucking Brian’s dick and part of it was the fact that Brian had effectively complimented his eyes. Brian shook his head. When the hell had he noticed the color of Justin’s eyes and why the fuck was he telling him about it? Brian pressed on quickly, hoping that his lesbianic slip would be forgotten. “But you’re a fatty.”

Justin couldn’t help but be shocked (and a little hurt) at Brian’s candor every time he said that.

Brian continued, “So we’ll go to the gym. You’ll lose weight. Problem solved. Well mostly. After that, we’ll need to go shopping. Get you some decent clothes.”

“Brian, there’s no way I’m going to the gym with you!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“It would be humiliating, and not just for me.”

Brian didn’t bother telling Justin that he wouldn’t have taken him to his regular gym.

“Is it too crazy to think he might actually like me as I am?”

Brian frowned and said nothing. Not for a solid minute. He was thinking. Then he asked, “Has he noticed you yet?”

Justin sighed. “No.”

“Then maybe.”

Justin smiled shyly. “Really?”

“Yeah, but you’d have to rope him in some way. You know, get him interested before he’s seen you or at least your midsection.”

“How do I do that?”

Brian admitted, “Well, you do have a sexy voice. How good are you at phone sex?”

Justin smiled nervously. “I don’t know…”

“That can be learned. The harder part is getting him on the phone. I guess we could de-accentuate your midsection and accentuate everything else…take a picture…then create a profile for you. Does Mr. Right frequent any of the hookup sites?”

“Uh…I’m not sure.”

“Well, I guess we could make profiles for you on all of them. But you’d need to be very specific about your description of what your dream man looks like, if you don’t want to wade through a bunch of trolls.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“When, if, he takes the bait, you give him your number before agreeing to meet him. Then you work your wiles on him with that sexy purr of yours (Justin’s breath caught in his throat at that characterization of his voice), giving him the best orgasm of his life. Then, when you meet, he’ll be more likely to hang around. Amazing orgasms are rare, and even rarer for people who aren’t me. My guess is that he’ll overlook your flaws if he thinks the sex is going to be amazing.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah.”

“But how do I know if I’m good at phone sex?”

“I guess you could show me what you got.”

Justin paled. “Oh God! I couldn’t!”

“Why the hell not?”

“Wouldn’t it be weird? You know because we’re friends?”

“It doesn’t have to be. Consider me an expert, like a doctor. Doctors don’t get turned on when examining their patients.”

Justin frowned. Then he sighed. He couldn’t help but be hurt by how certain Brian was that Justin couldn’t turn him on.  But after a moment’s hesitation (and contemplation), he smiled a little and said, “Good point. Let me give it a whirl.” Justin was suddenly very excited. Maybe Brian’s plan for “Joe” would work on him.  Maybe he could get Brian hard….and then maybe, just maybe, Brian would desire him, fatty or no.

TBC…

Brian told himself that he’d do this for Mikey, though definitely not for Emmy Lou or Ted. Of course, deep down, he knew it was a lie. He wouldn’t do this for Mikey. When Brian kissed him, he almost never used tongue, and when he did, it was usually to pull him back, if he felt his best friend slipping away. He couldn’t deny he liked the bright smile it brought to Mikey’s face (and his instant hard-on. Not that Brian would ever do anything about that. He’d thought it might be amusing once, but that had been many, many years ago). So he allowed himself the delusion. Pretending that he would have done this for Mikey prevented him from wondering why Justin was different.

Justin was red with embarrassment, but he was still prickling with excitement, too. He was most definitely not averse to imagining what he would do with Brian if given the opportunity (he’d already fantasized about that very thing on many occasions this week alone). He just needed to pretend that he was narrating a story, addressed to Brian but without Brian present. Yeah, that’s it. He could do it. Simple. Right.

Justin took a deep breath, dropped his voice a bit lower, and began, “I’m there with you. I push you onto the bed and climb into your lap.” In a near whisper, he continued, “Then I draw my lips softly against yours, just a ghost of a kiss, before plunging my tongue into your very willing mouth.”

Brian swallowed hard.  

Justin licked his lips. “I slide my hands up your chest and neck, gently tracing your contours with my fingers and then threading my fingers into your hair. I tug on your hair even as I plunder your mouth, all the while grinding my 8-inch cock against your rapidly growing erection.”

Brian’s eyes widened slightly.

“Then I break away and push you down on the bed, hard, and rip your shirt open. I slide down your body, leaving open-mouth kisses in my wake, stopping briefly to suck and bite your nipples. I slow down when I reach your waist. I look up at you, smile, and then rub your cock through your jeans.”

Brian could easily imagine that. Justin’s bright flirty smile. Brian had planned to remain silent, after all, this was Justin’s show, but he couldn’t help himself. He breathed, “So eager for my dick.”

Justin shivered. He moved the phone away for a moment so that he could get his breathing under control. Then he replied softly, so softly, “Yes, I am. So eager. But then so are you. I can hear you panting, desperate for my mouth, my tongue. The sound drives me crazy. I remove your jeans, slowly unbuttoning, unzipping, tugging. To my delight, I discover that you aren’t wearing anything underneath. But I shouldn’t be surprised. You are after all a manwhore, ever ready for a quick fuck. But that’s not what I want from you. I want to spend the entire night fucking, only bringing you to orgasm after teasing and tormenting you.”

Brian bit the inside of his cheek and slid his hand down to his groin (he was still naked from his encounter with the chef). He drew a finger slowly along his stiffening cock.  

Justin paused for a moment and closed his eyes. He moved to the bed, unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, and then lay down. Finally he continued, his voice containing a slight tremble, “I lean down and bury my face in your pubes, just breathing you in, your musky sweetness. Then I move my head upward along your dick, but not touching it, just breathing. The puffs of warm air make your dick twitch, eager for something hot and wet wrapped around it. Soon, soon, that’s exactly where my perfectly plump lips will be.”

Unbidden, a vision of those lips swam before Brian’s eyes; they glistened with saliva. Brian swallowed a soft moan. His dick was rock hard now.

“Once I reach the tip, I grab your cock firmly with my hand and squeeze hard. You moan.”

Justin had already thrust his hand down the front of his pants. Now he enacted part of the fantasy, gripping his dick firmly. He swallowed hard and then continued, his voice impossibly huskier, “I swipe the precum off the tip of your cock with the flat of my tongue, drawing it slowly, so slowly over and then around the head and, finally, finally, when your breaths form a sexy staccato, sucking on it. Hard.”

Brian grabbed the lube. He slicked his cock with it. He closed his eyes. He knew very soon Justin’s hot wet mouth would be on his dick.  

“I look up at you again. You are flushed, your eyes dark, burning.”

After a pause, he breathed, “So beautiful.”

Justin trailed off for a moment. Unbeknownst to Brian, Justin also grabbed the lube (as well as his largest dildo). But he just set them aside for the moment. He wanted to wait until the fantasy reached penetration. But Brian was already stroking his dick. He gripped it hard and stroked it slow.

Justin continued, “Then, I take your huge cock into my mouth, sliding my lips down your shaft slowly even as I swirl my tongue. I slip my hands under your ass, squeezing it and then pulling you up by it as I continued to suck your dick, forcing the tip into my throat and swallowing each time.”

Brian unwittingly moaned softly. “Mmmm.”

Justin’s eyes widened, and he smiled a trillion-watt smile.

He dropped his voice a shade lower. “When I can tell that you’re close, I sit up. You growl in complaint. As much as I want to taste you, I want your dick inside me even more. Hearing the noises you make, feeling your cock twitching and throbbing, and your muscles tense in anticipation gets me so hot. My dick is so hard that it almost hurts.”

That last part was true.  

“I pull my shirt off and then turn around, unbutton and unzip my jeans, and slip them off as I bend over. Before I know it you’re sitting up at the edge of the bed, sliding my underwear down and running your hands all over my ass. I gasp when you spread my ass cheeks and draw your tongue along my entrance.”

At that, Justin had pulled off his pants and underwear and bent his knees, feet on the bed. Now he started rubbing lube around his hole. Justin closed his eyes and bit his lip in an attempt to stifle a moan. It did little.

“You swirl your tongue around my entrance and then push it inside. Oh fuck! (Justin had just pushed a couple of fingers inside himself. Hearing Justin curse so desperately caused Brian to pant. He quickened the pace of his jerking off.) I want you so badly that I tremble a little.”

That last part was also true.  

“You pull back and suddenly you are opening me up, stretching me.”

Justin paused a moment as he did what he was imagining that Brian was doing. Then he continued, “You shove me to my knees on the floor and push my head down, running your hands up along my back and then down my ass. Then you are gripping my hips so hard I know that you’re leaving bruises on my pale white skin, but I don’t care. I fucking love it!”

Justin paused again, this time to lube up the dildo and start pushing it inside himself. Justin could barely speak at this point, but he pressed on, in between soft moans, “Now you are pushing your cock inside me. I gasp again, in surprise and pain. But soon the pain gives way to pleasure…”

Brian was totally absorbed by the fantasy. So much so that he no longer held back. He couldn’t if he wanted to. He muttered, “Ohh fuck...”

Justin mewled softly as he began fucking himself with the dildo. His voice an urgent whisper, he continued, “You are pounding into me…Oh God, yes! Your hands fisting my hair as you fuck me.”

Justin wedged the phone in between his face and his shoulder and brought his free hand to his cock. He started stroking himself even as he continued to push the dildo in and out.

“You’re fucking me…fucking me…so hard…so hard and so fast.”

As if on cue, a second later, both Brian and Justin exploded. Justin shouted, “Oh Brian….” and Brian grunted loudly. For a couple of minutes, neither spoke. They were both panting hard, their chests heaving.

Justin regained his composure first. He asked softly, though his tone was one of complacency, “How was I?”

Brian swallowed hard and ran his unsullied hand through his hair, now sweaty. Then in a husky whisper, he replied, “Not bad.”

TBC…

After Brian’s ‘assessment,’ Justin wasn’t sure what to say or do. He felt an exhilaration apart from that stemming from the fantastic (no, better than that, sublime) orgasm he’d just had, but he was also tremendously nervous. He didn’t want to end the call, and he was afraid that if he did, a discomfort would settle on them both, one that neither would be able to shake off, possibly ending their friendship or whatever.  On the other hand, he was desperately afraid of ruining their amazing experience by saying something stupid. So a few seconds after Brian’s “Not bad,” Justin found himself saying, “Oh shoot! I forgot I had something in the oven, a cake for my little sister’s birthday. I’d better go. It’s about to burn.”

Justin knew that that was one of the lamest phone call-interrupting emergencies in existence, even lamer since it was mostly untrue (his little sister’s birthday was coming up, but it wasn’t tomorrow, and though he often baked or cooked at night, he hadn’t been doing so that evening). Worse yet, it probably just reminded Brian that Justin was ‘a fatty.’ With that thought, Justin smacked himself on the head. Why hadn’t he come up with a sexier excuse? Like the building next door was on fire and he had to go save children and puppies. (Fire fighters were hot!) Justin stifled a desolate sigh.

Brian was relieved, albeit slightly annoyed. He’d needed to get off the phone (he was a little disturbed by his reaction to Justin), but he’d planned on ending the call himself. That’s how all his ‘sexual encounters’ ended. Abruptly and on his own terms. This situation had been a little different, with Justin being a friend, but still, Brian did something similar when he was hanging out with Mikey or Lindsay, and those relationships were not at all sexual. He was always the one with something else, something better or more important, to do. That had always helped to bolster his confidence…everyone was always thrilled that he deigned to give them some of his precious time, and, no matter how coarse or rude he was, they were always clamoring for more. But Brian managed to keep all that out of his tone. Though he couldn’t help but add a dig. In an amused voice, he said, “Well, Betty Crocker, by all means, tend to your cake.”

“Okay. Later.”

“Later.”  

Then came the waiting.

Day 1

Brian fucked a guy as different from Justin as one could get. A tall, muscular brunet, with tan skin, a lean, lean body, and green eyes.

Justin actually made a cake, German Chocolate, ate half of it, and then did all his errands on foot, walking about five miles in three hours (Justin hated the idea of exercising for its own sake; he liked to combine exercise with chores and errands). When he arrived home, he used a calorie calculator, discovering, to his dismay, that he had probably only burned a fourth of the calories he’d taken in. He took a long shower and jerked off, thinking about the noises Brian had made during their phone call the night before.

Day 2

Brian met Lindsay at the park and watched Gus playing in the sandbox and on the swings until thoughts of Justin crept into his mind: How young was Justin’s sister? Had he spent yesterday corralling screaming children at her birthday party? Would Justin and Gus get along? The last thought he had before rushing off to Woody’s (after kissing both Lindsay and Gus quickly on the forehead) was “Of course they would. Both my boys (what the fuck??) love to eat, and Justin is sweet and patient.” Brian usually avoided blond twinks, but that evening he’d ended up having two. The first had given him a passable blow job (during which he’d been unable to prevent himself from imagining it was Justin’s plump lips wrapped around his cock, which was probably why it hit passable; the kid kept grazing his dick with his teeth), and the second had liked it rough, encouraging Brian to shove him up against a wall in the alley and grip him so hard while slamming into him that he left bruises. Brian didn’t even say goodbye once it was over. He fastened his jeans and nearly ran (seeing the boy’s pale skin darkened with bruises, Brian became conscious of a strong, unsettling desire to similarly mark Justin).

Justin started dialing Brian’s number on ten separate occasions, never making it past the fifth number before hanging up.

Day 3

Brian drove past Roy’s three times, each time scanning the patrons for blond hair and a thick overcoat.

Justin spent two hours on the computer, trying to find out which company had produced the cell phone ad Brian had mentioned, but to no avail. He thought he could just walk by the building housing the company at which Brian worked, say around noon. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Justin thought dolefully that for an advertising company, it was pretty shitty at advertising its own products.

Day 4

Brian went to Babylon, danced with Mikey most of the night, turning away tricks left and right, until one finally captured his interest. The perfect challenge, or so he seemed. The guy didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. He had dark, dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, as well as a huge cock. And he was clearly a top. Brian was almost disappointed at how quickly he agreed to accompany Brian into the back room. When the guy took off Brian’s shirt, he smiled and slid his hands over Brian’s chest and abdomen. “Perfect. Not like that last guy I brought back here. Blond and beautiful, but his stomach…disgusting. I almost puked. I spent the next couple weeks at Boitoi after that. All the guys there are twigs. No fatties.” Brian had been losing his hard on from “blond and beautiful” onward, but he actually flinched at the last word. To everyone’s surprise, even his own, he punched the guy, so hard he went flying. The guy yelled, “What the fuck? You’re a fucking asshole!” But Brian just shrugged. Brian Kinney, the man who always had a comeback, could think of nothing to say. Except… “Your type is a dime a dozen. Go back to Boitoi if you want to fuck twigs.” But he remained silent. He glanced around, glaring, daring the shocked onlookers to talk shit, but most just looked away (some were still hoping to get Brian’s dick in their asses or mouths; they shot him suggestive smiles). But all Brian wanted to do was go home and try not to wonder why he had punched that asshole.

Justin had dinner at an Asian fusion restaurant (which served a mixture of Japanese, Thai, and Korean cuisine) and then went home and tried to write his review. The food had been surprisingly unique (and delicious), and the ambience excellent, but he couldn’t write a word. All he wanted to do was call Brian. As luck would have it, that’s when Brian called him.

TBC…

“Hey.”

Justin breathed, “Brian…” Justin couldn’t prevent the happiness he felt at hearing Brian’s voice from bubbling up in his tone, especially since he’d started to fear that the phone sex had wrecked things between them. But he tried to subdue his excitement somewhat as he added, “Hey.”

Brian cleared his throat, trying to sound like someone who was simply doing a friend a favor rather than… he refused to complete that thought. “So…we need to get started on those profiles.”

Justin frowned. “Oh…yeah. Right.”

“How about tonight?”

“Now? It’s a little late, isn’t it?”

Brian cleared his throat. “When did you wake up today?”

“Uh…4.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m the one who’ll be losing sleep.”

“Um, okay. My place or yours?”

Brian answered quickly. “Yours.” All he needed were memories of Justin at the loft to make the haunting complete. As it was, he was going out of his mind.

But once Justin showed Brian inside, he was suddenly less thrilled about the idea of hooking Justin up with this Joe person. So he set his digital camera on the coffee table and followed Justin into his little kitchen, where he was cooking.

“What the fuck are those?”

“Chocolate and Butterscotch Pancakes.”

“You’re eating carbs this late?”

“I like carbs, particularly in pancake form.”

“What are you five?”

Justin grinned. “Are you?”

“What?”

“Somehow I doubt that you deny yourself much…”

Brian shrugged. “Mostly just food.”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t see why. You’re so skinny.”

“That’s what makes every man’s head turn when I walk into Babylon.”

“If you gained a couple of pounds, you could still make heads turn. Surely you know that.”

Brian just blinked.

“Even if that weren’t true, do you really care? You only need one man, one man who loves you more than life and sees how beautiful you are, inside and out.”

Brian didn’t tell Justin that with him, what you saw was what you got, that there was no glorious inside, only outside. Instead, he muttered, “I don’t do love. Love is for…”

Justin arched an eyebrow. “Fatties?”

Brian looked down. “I didn’t say that.”

“Oh right. I forgot about ugly people.”

Brian sighed. “I was going to say lesbians, heteros, and Stepford fags.”

“Ah.”

Brian clenched his jaw. “But yeah, the overweight and otherwise unattractive kind of have to do love. They have fewer options.”

“Why is love so repugnant to you?”

Brian shrugged. “Love is bullshit. People make promises like ‘forever,’ ‘always,’ and ‘no matter what,’ but they don’t mean them. They like saying pretty words in the beginning, when the passion is still burning strong and their partner’s bad habits haven’t yet driven them insane, but look at those same people in three, five, or seven years. Then they couldn’t get it up for their partner to save their life and they’re ready to shoot him because he snores, doesn’t help out around the house, or some other stupid thing. At the end of the day, all people care about is themselves. They say that they love their partner as he is, but they don’t; they can’t. They love his potential. To keep love alive, you need to become the person your partner imagines you are or could be, some idealized version of yourself. Fuck that. If I ever did love someone, I would expect him to take me as I am. I like tricking; I don’t cook, clean, or garden; I don’t cuddle; and I don’t do dates or other couple-y things, like dinner parties.”

“That’s why love is so amazing. It makes you want to be a better person. If you ever truly experienced in-love love, I bet some of your defining qualities would change. And the right person wouldn’t ask you to be anyone but who you are. You’d just want to.”

Brian crossed his arms. “That is very, very unlikely.”

“The simple fact that you didn’t say impossible tells me that there’s hope for you yet.”

Justin smiled and thrust a forkful of Chocolate and Butterscotch Pancake toward Brian. Brian grimaced, but then, Justin smiled brighter and begged, “Oh come on. It’s yummy.” Brian didn’t know whether it was because Justin’s begging had his dick stirring or because his use of ‘yummy’ reminded him of Gus, but he found himself opening up. After he’d chewed and swallowed, Justin asked, “Well…what do you think?

Brian shrugged. “Not bad.”

Justin felt like screaming, but less so when he noticed that Brian was taking occasional bites (with his fingers). It was even more difficult to find Brian infuriating when he was licking melted chocolate and butterscotch off of his fingers.  Every time Brian did so, Justin unconsciously licked his lips. On the fourth bite, Justin’s breathing grew shallow. He chose that moment to go wash the pan. If he watched Brian for a second longer, he knew he’d end up in his lap, grinding against him.

Brian was not insensitive to Justin’s reaction to him. In fact, inadvisable as it was, he was fanning the flame. He liked knowing that whatever Justin might feel for this Joe person, right here, right now, Justin wanted him. Brian smirked and then followed Justin to the sink. He stood right behind him, his groin making contact with Justin’s ass, put his arms around Justin, and then slid them into the water, ostensibly to wash off the butterscotch and chocolate on his hands.

Justin just stared at Brian’s arms for a moment. This couldn’t be happening. He turned and looked up at Brian. He needed to know what Brian was feeling, what he wanted (though Brian’s hard cock pressed up against his ass was giving him a clue). His heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode. He turned around. Brian pulled his hands out of the water and placed them on Justin’s back. In Brian’s arms like this, their erections touching, Justin couldn’t help himself. He reached up and cupped Brian’s face. Brian’s gaze was hypnotic. So much so that Justin couldn’t breathe. He knew he wouldn’t be able to until his lips met Brian’s. They were his salvation. He pulled Brian down, closer and closer, and then glanced up at him again. For a second, Brian looked scared. But that was forgotten when Justin’s desperate desire got the best of him and he brushed his lips against Brian’s. Brian couldn’t hold back a low moan. He couldn’t hold back anything. Suddenly, the glimmer of fear Justin had seen turned into full-blown panic. He removed his hands from Justin’s waist and stepped back. Then he turned around and headed for the coffee table.

His chest was heaving. A little breathlessly, he said, “So…so we should get your profiles going. Where’s your computer?”

Justin almost cried. His cock was throbbing, and his lips still burned from the momentary contact they’d had with Brian’s. Yet he managed to reply, albeit awkwardly, “Uh…over there.”

Brian looked back at Justin and then followed the line of his gaze. Catching sight of the computer in the far right corner of the living room, he nearly ran. He only started to relax when he was safely seated behind Justin’s desk, which mercifully hid his very prominent erection.

Justin went into his bedroom, though he left the door open so that Brian could still talk to him, and started looking through his closet and drawers for flattering clothes.

“Get in here. I don’t know the answer to half these questions.”

“I’m looking for clothes.”

Brian sighed. A moment later, Brian was standing beside him. Justin had put possible outfits on the bed and was hemming and hawing over them. Brian selected leather pants, a pair of tight jeans, two shirts, and a leather jacket. Justin’s eyes widened. “Brian, I can’t wear the net shirt.”

Brian smirked. “I know how to emphasize strengths and hide weaknesses. Trust me.”

Justin frowned. This was going to be unpleasant. He just knew it.

Once they were back in the living room, Brian said, in a growly voice Justin liked very much, “Put these on” and threw Justin the leather pants and the net shirt.

“Here?”

“Where else? Are you a girl? Do you need to change in the bathroom?”

“Uh, I guess not.”

But he turned around. This was unfortunate for Brian because he got a clear view of Justin’s ass, which was bringing his cock back to life, particularly when it was bent over (Justin was inching the pants up slow; they were very tight). It had taken thoughts of Mel going down on Lindsay to deflate his previous erection. Brian sighed and adjusted himself. When Justin was dressed, he turned to face Brian, making sure to keep his arms over his belly. He was flushed and pale, more so than normal, and he couldn’t meet Brian’s eyes. Brian approached him and smiled. Justin had a nipple ring. Brian couldn’t help but give it a little tug. Then he whispered, “Hot.”

The tugging and the whispering made Justin’s nipples (and something else) hard. But not for long. Justin had an image of his parents’ doing it at the ready (he’d made the mistake of walking into his parents’ room one Saturday afternoon without knocking when he was a teenager. That grotesque image was forever seared into his brain). Brian grabbed Justin’s leather jacket and helped Justin put it on. Then he zipped it up a few inches, leaving the chest part open. He drawled, “Perfect.” Justin knew that Brian was simply admiring his work, but still, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling a surge of happiness at Brian’s using that word, in that slow sexy voice, in reference to him. He smiled brightly.

Brian snapped a few pictures of Justin standing, leaning, and even bending over, which caused Justin to blush and laugh, particularly when Brian gave his ass a smack. Afterward, Brian had Justin put the other outfit on, a tight pair of jeans and a shirt tight in the shoulders and loose in the waist. Then he took pictures of Justin standing; leaning; sitting in a chair with one leg on the floor and one tossed over the arm, giving potential dates a perfect view of his cock; and sprawled out on the couch. Then on a whim, Brian had Justin take off his shirt, lay it across his belly, and unfasten the top button of his pants. To Justin’s great surprise, that picture didn’t look half bad.

With all the posing (as well as Justin’s shyness and his habit of breaking out into million-watt smiles when he was supposed to look brooding and sexy), time passed quickly. Soon it was 3 in the morning. When Brian realized, he suggested, “Why don’t we finish up tomorrow evening?”

Justin wrinkled his nose. “Uh…I’m supposed to babysit my sister tomorrow night.”

“Here?”

Justin nodded. “Why don’t we do it anyway? I can spring my son from Muncherville. How old is your sister?”

“Seven. Wait, you have a son?”

Brian nodded. “Gus, he’s five.” One look at Justin’s wide eyes, and Brian found himself explaining, “A close friend from college wanted a baby to raise with her lesbian lover. She asked me to be the donor.”

Justin was genuinely surprised. Brian’s callous view of love and commitment didn’t jive well with his being a father. Yet when Justin thought about the way Brian was with him sometimes…gentle and caring…somehow it didn’t seem wrong.

“Okay, yeah. Bring him over anytime after 6pm. Molly’ll be here by then.”

Brian picked up the camera and scrolled until he found the picture where Justin’s chest was showing and his pants were unbuttoned. He grinned. “This is the money shot.”

Justin flushed with pleasure. Even more so when Brian suggested, “Maybe we should do a second one of these with you just out of the shower and a towel instead of a shirt over your midsection. Little droplets of water sliding down your chest.”

Being ogled by Brian gave Justin a rush of confidence he rarely felt. He found himself standing on his tiptoes, leaning against Brian’s shoulder, and whispering, “I’ve been thinking…it might be helpful if you gave me an example of what I should be shooting for when I finally get Joe on the phone.”

Brian quirked an eyebrow.

“I mean, you said my phone sex skills weren’t bad, but that would suggest that they could be better.”

Brian swallowed hard.

“Tonight’s probably a bad idea cause it’s late, but maybe tomorrow or the next night.”

In nearly a whisper, his eyes unfocused, Brian replied, “Yeah. Okay.”

After Justin shut the door, he threw himself back against it. He shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe I said that! And I really can’t believe he agreed!” Then he bounded over to the computer. In less than an hour, he had written perhaps the best review of his life.

TBC…

Brian regretted offering to bring Gus over the second he walked into Muncher Manor. Lindsay was beside herself at the prospect of Brian setting up a playdate for their son, and Mel, likewise stunned, was even more litigious than usual. Lindsay beamed and babbled, and Mel glowered and barked.

Between the two of them, all conceivable questions were asked.

“Who’s the trick?”

“He’s not a trick; he’s a friend.”

Lindsay and Mel exchanged puzzled looks. “A friend?”

“Yes, a friend.”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t check his ID.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a food critic.”

“Does he have a daughter or a son?”

“Neither. He has a sister who’s about Gus’s age.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“No.”

“Do you plan to fuck him?”

This question was met with silence.

Brian didn’t know how to answer. His first instinct was to retort, “No, he’s a fatty,” or “No, he’s a friend,” but somehow, he couldn’t quite get the no past his lips. But a yes was way too premature. Plus, he didn’t want Lindsay to think he had some ulterior motive in bringing Gus with him to Justin’s. Mel didn’t need any more ammunition. Granted, he did have an ulterior motive (he wanted to get Justin with this Joe guy ASAP…or maybe he just wanted to see the little, well, not so little, twat), but they didn’t need to know that.    

So instead of answering Mel’s last question, Brian asked one of his own, somewhat impatiently, “Is Gus ready or not?” That ended the inquisition, for the moment anyway.

Gus had taken to Molly right away. After introductions had been made, she’d said, “Come on, let’s play,” and he’d followed after her like a little puppy (into Justin’s bedroom). He hadn’t even shot his father a parting glance. An hour later, the Taylor glamour (which was, apparently, particularly effective on Kinney men) was even more evident. Gus glided out of Justin’s bedroom wearing a dress, heels, clip on earrings, pearls, a hat, a feather boa, and makeup. Clown makeup (green from eyelashes to eyebrows and red in circles on his cheeks and lips). Apparently, no one had informed Molly that less is more.

He did a little spin, during which he almost lost his balance, twice, and asked giddily, “Am I pretty, daddy?”

Brian just stared at his son. Justin looked at Gus and then Brian and promptly burst out laughing.  

Gus approached Brian slowly (he had to, to keep the heels, which were at least twice as big as his feet, on). When he reached his father, he climbed into Brian’s lap and asked again, “Am I pretty, daddy?”

Brian couldn’t stop himself from imagining posing that question as a child. He stiffened. His pop would have beaten him to within an inch of his life. Brian swallowed hard. Finally he found his voice. He rubbed Gus’s back gently and nodded. Then in a husky voice, he replied, “Very.”

Gus rewarded Brian with a bright smile. Brian couldn’t help but return it with a soft smile of his own.

Justin had been observing Brian closely during this exchange. He would have given anything to be able to read his mind or even just to ask him questions. But that wouldn’t be possible while watching the kids. Instead he offered, in a soft voice, “I’ll get him cleaned up.”

Brian nodded and helped Gus to his feet (and back into his heels). Brian smiled again when Gus took Justin’s hand and allowed himself to be led into the bathroom. As soon as Justin and Gus were out of the room, Molly walked up to the couch, where Brian was sitting, and plunked down next to him. “So you’re a boy…”

“What an exceedingly astute observation.”

“Are you and Jus friends?”

Brian nodded.

“Are you boyfriends?”

Brian didn’t respond right away. He stared at her blankly for a moment before finally inquiring, “How do you know he doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

“Silly! Jus told me. He likes boys. Do you like boys, too?”

“Yup.”

“Do you like Jus?”

“I kind of have to since we’re friends.”

Molly sighed in exasperation. But then she smiled brightly. “No! I mean, do you like like him?”

Brian suddenly remembered all the stupid notes he’d gotten in elementary school with a question (Do you like so and so?) and boxes for yes, no, and maybe.

Brian shrugged.

Molly exclaimed hotly, “You suck!”

Brian, his tongue firmly planted in his cheek, drawled, “I certainly do.”

Molly frowned. He wasn’t supposed to agree. They sat there staring at one another for a few minutes, Molly frowning, Brian smirking, until Justin returned with a makeup, dress, and accessory-free Gus (he was still wearing the heels). Justin looked at Brian helplessly. “I swear, I tried. I couldn’t get them off him.” Brian actually chuckled in response. But he thought it might be prudent to get Gus into karate.

Forty-five minutes later, they were eating pizza and watching a Disney flick. To Brian’s dismay (as if the pizza, with pepperoni and sausage, weren’t dismaying enough), when told that he could select what they would watch, Gus made a beeline for Cinderella. When the duke placed the glass slipper on Cinderella’s foot, Gus stared at the screen intently and traced his fingers gently along the heels he was still wearing.  And of course, because when it rains, it pours, after the movie, Gus wanted to dance with Molly. He spun her pretty well considering that she was a few inches taller, but he kept falling down when she tried to spin him, no doubt mostly due to the heels he was still wearing. Somehow that didn’t make the prospect of being spun any less appealing. Brian sighed. Karate wasn’t going to be enough. Nope. He’d have to convince the munchers to home school Gus.  

Justin started cleaning up, carrying the plates and the cups into the kitchen. Brian followed with the pizza box and the 2 liter of soda. Once out of hearing range, Brian muttered, “He’s magnificent, isn’t he? My little dancing queen….”

Justin laughed. “You don’t know that he’s gay or transgendered. He’s only five.”

Brian quirked an eyebrow and then turned to look at Gus once more. He was crying happily, “Spin me, spin me!”

Justin cracked up, laughing so hard he nearly dropped the plates.

Brian turned back toward Justin then. Justin was smiling at him, a million-watt smile. Brian’s breath caught in his throat. Brian held Justin’s gaze for a few moments, but then he swallowed hard and shook his head. “So why don’t you jump in the shower?”

Justin colored slightly. Did he smell?

Brian smirked. “For the last picture…”

“Oh…yeah. Okay.”

When Brian heard Justin turn the water off, he pulled out his digital camera. That brought a huge smile to Gus’s face. He giggled and ran toward Justin’s bedroom. He cried out, “The tiara!” His overwhelming desire to be photographed in Molly’s tiara rendered him suddenly graceful. However, he got confused and accidentally burst into the bathroom. Brian had been hot on Gus’s heels (afraid that he’d crack his head), so he was right behind his son when he swung the door open. Justin was standing on the rug, sliding a fluffy white towel over his midsection. Water droplets rolled down his chest. Brian didn’t even look at Gus. He just guided him, his hand on his back, toward Justin’s room and muttered, "In there." He was staring at Justin, the camera still in his hand (his other hand). Visions of Brian bending him over the sink filled Justin’s mind. He licked his lips. Taking in Justin’s mostly revealed naked form, the desperate want in his eyes, and his plump lips, glistening with saliva, Brian flushed and began to pant softly. Justin’s cock responded immediately. Brian smirked. Then he lifted the camera to his face. Click.

Justin protested, “Brian! What the fuck?” and let the towel fall over the entire front of his body.

Just then, Gus ran back past the bathroom, tiara in hand, parroting, “What the fuck!”

Brian turned to look at his son. He shook his head. Justin’s reaction was a little more pronounced: His eyes widened, and he burst out laughing.

Brian’s eyes widened, too, as he turned back to Justin. “I’m telling the munchers it was you.”

Justin held Brian’s gaze for a moment, but then pushed him out into the hall and slammed the door. Then he threw himself back against it. He was so totally fucked. He couldn’t help but obviously drool over Brian every other second, and that was hardly attractive. Yet…he couldn’t help but notice how much Brian seemed to want him sometimes, rare though those occasions might be. Maybe he should just confess that there was no Joe and make a move, telling Brian that it was him Justin couldn’t stop thinking about. Justin sighed. That would probably ruin not only their friendship but also Justin’s chances with Brian. The Joe ruse, weak as it was, was the only thing keeping Brian from bolting. Justin knew that as surely as he knew his own name. So he put his jeans on, grabbed a dry towel, which he held against his midsection, and exited the bathroom. Justin smiled brightly at what he saw. Gus was on his tiptoes (still in the heels) with his arms over his head, on which he’d placed the tiara, his hands joined at the fingertips, like a ballerina. He was smiling brightly and looking at his father expectantly. Brian was smiling a little, too, though he was trying to hide it.

Click.

TBC…  

Justin was so excited that he could barely breathe. He was sitting on his bed naked, still damp and warm from the shower, the phone laying next to him. Brian was supposed to call tonight (in just a few minutes) to show Justin his phone sex skills. He kept telling himself that he had to be cool, and, for a minute, he thought he’d successfully calmed down, but when the phone rang, he jumped. Guess not.

Justin folded his hands, threading his fingers together, to prevent himself from answering on the first ring.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four rings.

Justin picked up quickly, nearly dropping the phone in his haste, and whispered a breathy hello.  

Brian drawled, “Hey Baby, looking for a good time?”

Justin couldn’t help but stammer, “Ye-es.”

“So…what is it that you aren’t getting?”

Justin, confused, asked, “What?”

“You wouldn’t be calling me if you were getting what you need at home.”

“Oh” Justin laughed weakly. “There is no ‘at home.’ I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Ah. Why not?”

“I’ve actually only had one boyfriend.”

“What was he like?” Brian had no fucking clue what had possessed him to ask Justin about his past sexual history, but, once he had, he was actually eager for an answer, for answers.

“Um…he was a violinist. Well, still is, as far as I know. Very driven and passionate. For a while, I was his muse.”

“Hot.”

Justin chuckled. “Yeah. It was. But…”

“But what?”

“Well…his friends never really liked me. They thought I was untalented, unintelligent…un-a lot of things.”

“Clearly they were idiots.”

Justin flushed with pleasure at Brian’s protectiveness. Then he sighed. “Yeah. But Ethan didn’t think so.”

“Ethan’s a stupid name for a stupid man.”

Justin smiled. But then he sighed again. “No…he’s just like every other gay guy.”

“How so?”

“He was…I mean…I could tell that his opinion of me fell a bit with each passing day…every time his friends would talk shit about me, but he stayed with me anyway…until…”

“Until what?”

“Until I started gaining weight. That, apparently, was the unforgivable.”

Brian felt a twinge…of…something. He refused to define it.

“When did that happen?”

“A couple years ago.”

“So…was he the last guy who fucked you?”

Justin blushed. “No! But…there haven’t been many since.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

Incredulously, Brian asked, “Just three? Why?”

Justin closed his eyes and laid back on the bed. He felt…he wasn’t sure what he felt. He just…he liked talking to Brian about his sex life, or lack thereof. He liked the idea of telling Brian what he wanted, what he wanted desperately (he was also dying to tell him who, but he knew he couldn’t). “I don’t know. I mean…I could get laid a lot more, though maybe not in the backroom of Babylon, I just…I don’t know. Despite how things were in the very beginning with Ethan and me, the passion didn’t just fade; it vanished. Completely, and so quickly…and this was before I started gaining weight. I don’t know. In retrospect, I don’t think I was ever in love with him…just in love with the idea of him, I guess. I want more. I don’t want love without passion or passion without love. I want everything.” Justin took a deep breath. Telling Brian this next part was a huge risk, but that made him want to do it all the more. “As pathetic as it sounds, I derive greater satisfaction fantasizing about my dream guy while jerking off than I ever have actually being with someone, anyone, else.”   

Brian’s heart actually stopped beating for a moment. After a long pause, he declared, his voice filled with amusement, “That is pathetic.”

Justin huffed a laugh.

“So I gather that the entire attraction to Ethan was his adoration of you.”

“Probably. But…I don’t know. I don’t think that that’s a bad thing.” Fuck. He hoped it wasn’t. “It just…it needs to be based on more than looks. And ideally, mutual.”

“Adoration is hot.” Brian had always believed this, but even more now, since he’d met Justin. Though he would never admit this (even thinking it made him loathe himself), he wanted Justin to be in awe of not simply his body but all of him, like he was with this Joe person. With each passing day, Brian despised Joe more and more. Who was this guy? What made jerking off to thoughts of him better than actual sex? Whatever Brian told Justin, he didn’t actually think that Justin’s preference was pathetic. Well, it was a little, but it was also sweet…and kind of hot. The idea of wanting someone so much, so completely, that mere fantasies could bring Justin the best orgasms of his life…Brian hated himself for even thinking this, but he wanted so much to be that object of Justin’s affection.  

“So how long has it been since you’ve been fucked?”

“Six months.”

Brian was horrified. “Six months?”

“Yup.”

“You must be going crazy.”

Justin laughed. “No, not really. I have a huge dildo and an incredible imagination.”

That Brian knew well (about his incredible imagination). His cock stirred just thinking about that phone call.

“And how long since you’ve fucked someone else?”

Justin blushed a little. This conversation was becoming increasingly embarrassing, yet he kind of wanted to tell Brian. He had no idea why. Something about being completely open with someone he liked so much, wanted so much, was too tempting to resist. “A year.”

“Well, that’s just cruel.”

“What?”

“As I noted yesterday, you have a huge cock. Not as big as mine, of course. Still, you should be fucking every hot guy who’ll bend over for you. As a service to your fellow man.”

Justin chuckled. “I’ll leave that to you.”

Brian dropped his voice low. “Speaking of yesterday, you looked hot in only a towel, still dripping wet from the shower.”

Justin flushed with pleasure. He asked nervously, “You think so?”

In a growly voice, the one Justin loved so much, he replied, “I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

TBC…(soon)

Brian drawled, “So…imagine for a little while that I’m Joe…”

Justin smiled, very, very brightly. If only Brian knew how easy that was. But he waited a few seconds before answering (rather than immediately bursting out with a happy ‘done’) and kept his voice as casual as possible when he finally replied, “Okay.”

“Wait…where do you know him from?”

Justin froze. He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt as he inquired, “Uh…why does that matter?”

“It’ll help me set the scene.”

“Oh okay.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He really should have come up with the story of how they encountered each other immediately after Brian offered to help Justin win Joe’s affection. Fuck it. “Um…actually, I first saw him at Roy’s.”

“Huh. Is that where you meet everyone?”

Justin blushed so furiously he could feel his face grow hot. “I guess I just go there a lot.”

“Okay…Roy’s…wait, how do you know his name?”

Justin was halfway to panicking. He really wished Brian would stop asking about Joe. “What?”

“Well, if you never actually met him, how did you find out what his name was?”

“Oh…Roy knows him. He told me.”

“Oh. Okay. So…I’m Joe…”

Justin laughed happily. “And I’m Justin...”

Brian smiled softly. Justin was so fucking adorable sometimes. Then he shook his head and shifted into sex god mode, drawling, “I noticed you the night you first saw me, noticed your crystal-blue eyes, such a unique color…” Brian grimaced a little; why did he keep doing this shit? Justin had a similarly intense, though different, reaction. His heart stubbornly refused to beat. That was the second time Brian had complimented his eyes.

Brian continued, “…and your plump cherry red lips, perfect for sucking cock…” Now that was more like it, or so Brian thought. Justin certainly enjoyed this second compliment. It caused electric heat to course through his body, setting his very blood on fire. Brian must really want Justin to blow him (He couldn’t count the number of times Brian had said that his lips were made for sucking cock). God how Justin wanted to do just that!

“…but I didn’t approach you. You played it cool, and so well, that I didn’t think you were interested. But then, Roy told me you’d asked about me, so I convinced him to give me your address (let’s say he has it because he delivers food to you sometimes). So…one night…I knock on your door. I have to knock three times, but you eventually answer. Once you throw open the door, the reason for the delay is clear. You’re dripping wet, with a towel wrapped around your waist. You’re so surprised to see me that your towel slips to the floor. Before you can fix it, I get a good look at your perfect ass (you bend over to pick the towel up) and at your stirring cock, which is half-hard by the time you manage to cover it up. I unconsciously lick my lips.”

Justin’s dick was actually hard at this point, not half-hard, but fully erect. Acting on impulse, Justin whispered, “I step closer to you, drawn as if pulled by some unseen force, nudge your nose, look up into your eyes, and then press my lips against yours.”

Brian closed his eyes and moved his hand down to his cock (he was naked and lying on his bed; he had been since before he called). He couldn’t help but react to Justin’s undisguised, insuppressible want, though it might not be for him. That fact, fortunately, was obscured by Justin’s use of ‘you’ and ‘your.’ Brian swiped the precum that bubbled up out of his slit with his thumb and started stroking his dick. Then, in a husky whisper, added, “I push you against the doorframe and thrust my tongue into your mouth. Then my hands are tangled in your hair, and I’m kissing you. After a couple of minutes of frantic necking, I pull back. Your lips are swollen and red, slick with saliva.”

“My face is flushed, and my eyelids heavy with desire. I want you so fucking much that I feel a hair’s breadth away from combusting.”

Brian drew his breath in sharply. But then drawled, “I nibble on your bottom lip and slide my hands downward. I rip your towel off and squeeze your ass.”

Justin moaned softly. “I want you to fuck me, so very much. God I need your cock.”

Brian’s cock responded. It twitched and started throbbing painfully. Brian gripped it firmly and squeezed. He bit his lip to stifle a moan.

“I walk you backwards until we reach the couch. Then I spin you around and bend you over it. I kneel behind you and draw my tongue over your hole.”

“Mmm…” Justin had grabbed the lube and was rubbing some over his entrance. The fantasy felt so real…

“Then I push my tongue inside. I alternately lick around your hole and fuck it with my tongue, until you are good and wet, ready for me. Then I take out a condom…”

Justin’s eyes were shut tight. He had been fingering himself and now had his dildo out. In a voice that barely rose above a whisper, Justin protested, “This is a fantasy. Forget about the condom. Fuck me raw. God, I want to feel your skin on mine as you pound me.”

Brian couldn’t hold back a deep body moan then. The idea of Justin, ass in the air, spread out so wantonly, begging Brian to fuck him, and raw, was just too much of a turn on. He was now jerking off in earnest. Though slowly. He didn’t want to cum too fast, and he was already so close.

In a low, rough voice, Brian said, “I slick my bare cock with lube…”

“Forget the lube. Just fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

Oh God (Brian almost came right then…Justin actually begging was too much for him). Brian let go of his dick and quickly ran through his gallery of unsexy things…lesbians…his mother…oh that did it. Taking a deep breath, Brian grabbed his dick again and started stroking it, but very slowly.     

Brian began again. “I place the tip of my bare, unlubed cock at your hole and start pushing it inside.”

Justin did as Brian described, pushing the tip of his unlubed dildo inside him. Then he cried out, “Oh God. It hurts, but it’s such a good pain, holding the promise of your soon filling me up…and the feeling of your skin against mine, nothing in between…” Justin had no words to finish that thought. Instead, he moaned low in his throat.

Brian swallowed hard. “I wait for you to adjust and then continue pushing my dick inside you. Your being unstretched…and there being nothing in between us to dull the sensations…my cock throbs in the most delicious way…I’ve never shoved my cock in a tighter space. I’m not even sure how long I’ll last. I’m halfway to exploding right now.”

Justin started muttering then. “Oh fuck…I can’t wait! I push back hard, thrusting your cock all the way inside me.” At the same time, he pushed the dildo all the way inside him. He cried out and then moaned softly, “Oh yes, fuck yes…”

Brian clenched his jaw in an effort to hold back his orgasm. He whispered breathlessly, “I grab your waist so hard I know I’ll leave bruises, but I don’t care…I. want. to. mark. you. Then I start fucking you hard and fast.”

Justin started pushing the dildo in and out of himself hard and fast. He licked his lips and mewled. “Brian, I can’t…I can’t…”

“It’s okay…cum for me, Justin. Cum for me…”

Justin grabbed his cock and stroked it, just once. Then he was cumming…so hard…he arched his back and pushed the dildo inside him once more. “Ohhhh! Ohhhh! Brian!”

That did it. Hearing Justin crying out his name in such ecstasy, Brian exploded, with a roar. “Fuck!” Then as his orgasm shuddered through him, he whispered, “Justin…Justin…”

TBC…

Brian and Justin didn’t speak for a couple of minutes. They laid on their respective beds trying to catch their breath and slow their heartbeats. When they finally recovered, Brian asked about what he hadn’t been able to forget or dismiss since it happened, the question reverberating so loudly in his head.                        

He smiled and drawled, “Justin?” He was eager to ask his question. He was so sure he knew the answer, and he was dying for Justin to admit it, to admit that he’d been thinking about Brian the whole time they’d been on the phone, not Joe.

Justin smiled, too. He felt so incredible. It was almost a dream come true. Almost. Brian had guided him through an orgasm, a fucking amazing orgasm, and they were still talking, sort of basking in the afterglow together. Justin sighed and smiled again. Plus, Brian had said Justin’s name right after his orgasm hit. He’d whispered it, but Justin had heard it anyway. He was pretty sure he would have heard it even if people had been rioting outside or bombs had been going off in his apartment. Justin was already especially tuned into Brian’s voice (you know when you are so accustomed to someone’s voice that you can single it out of  a crowd)…and…Justin wanted so much for Brian to cum with his name on his lips that he’d been on the lookout for it.

Finally Justin answered, “Yes, Brian?”

In a faux innocent voice, Brian said, “You were moaning my name toward the end…not Joe’s. Why is that?” Brian was gloating. In this circumstance, how could he not? Brian resented the hell out of Joe, the person who could inspire such devotion and desire in Justin. Though he hated to admit it, he wanted to inspire those things in Justin, more desperately as the days passed. Of course, if questioned about it, he would simply say that it was love with which he took issue, not its application to Joe. He would say that Justin’s moaning his name, and not Joe’s, was an indication that everyone, even Justin, when choosing between what they loved and what was right there, would choose the latter every time.

Justin laughed nervously and blushed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The truth was, Justin couldn’t bring himself to call out Joe’s name. He knew he should have done just that. Not doing so was risky…could wreck everything. But…it was a lie, and in the heat of the moment, he wanted to tell the truth. In the heat of the moment, he had to tell the truth. But Justin sure as hell couldn’t reveal that to Brian. What he’d done was bad enough. So instead, he replied, as lightly as he could manage, “Oh…I was imagining that it was Joe fucking me, but…”

Brian frowned. He didn’t want to believe that Justin had been thinking about Joe. Suppressing his disappointment, he inquired, in a voice filled with amusement, though he was anything but amused, “But…what?”

Justin explained, “But…it’s kind of rude to call out someone else’s name when you’re having phone sex with a person, you know, even if that person already knows, even if that’s what they’ve planned.” Justin knew it was weak, but that’s all he could think to say.

Brian clenched his jaw. He couldn’t keep the slight annoyance he felt out of his voice. “You were just being polite?”

Justin swallowed hard. He really hated lying, especially to Brian. But he forced himself to smile and answer evenly, “Yes.”

Brian clenched his jaw again. But then he smirked and drawled, “I don’t need such considerations. I don’t have feelings to hurt.” Despite all Brian’s efforts to make his voice sound light, completely unperturbed, Justin thought he detected an edge to it, as though he were lying. As though…he thought he’d caught Justin fantasizing about him and had liked the idea and was now pissed to learn he’d been mistaken. Could it be that Brian was jealous of Joe? He shook his head. No. No, that couldn’t be…could it? Justin couldn’t help but smile, more brightly than he ever had. It probably wasn’t true…but the maybe had Justin so happy that he felt like doing some back flips or a happy dance. The question was, what now? How could he find out for sure? What should he do if it were true? Come clean? No. Justin dismissed this possibility immediately. If, and that was a big if, Brian was jealous, his jealousy was caused by Justin’s seeming desire for Joe. So the smart thing to do was to continue pretending…until jealousy drove Brian so crazy that he made his feelings clear. Until they were indisputable. Justin knew that if he laid his cards on the table too soon, Brian might deny everything and bolt. And that was the last thing Justin wanted. As difficult as playing this game was, he was certain it was the only way to get what he wanted so much, that is, Brian to be as desperately in love (and in lust) with him as he was with Brian.

Brian was having similar thoughts. Granted, Justin was a very considerate person. So he might have been telling the truth. But then, again, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he had been thinking of Brian (Brian wasn’t stupid. He knew Justin was attracted to him). The question was, how could he get Justin to admit it (somehow, accomplishing this was suddenly very important to Brian). He told himself it was simply his reputation he was concerned with, but deep down he knew that that was the biggest of lies. So he found himself asking, “Do you want to go to Babylon with me tomorrow night?”

Justin’s eyes widened. Suddenly scared (his last visit to Babylon had been so humiliating), he croaked, “What?”

“Come to Babylon with me tomorrow night. I can come over before…help you get ready…”

“Ummm…I don’t know.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Besides, there’s a good chance your boy will be there.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. If Justin were truly in love with ‘Joe,’ Brian’s saying that he might be there would induce him to go. Justin closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He couldn’t say no. So he feigned an excitement he did not feel. “Okay, yeah! That sounds great!” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d probably get to dance with Brian. His cock stirred at the thought of being so close to Brian, their bodies pressed together, their arms around each other. Justin’s breathing was suddenly shallow. He imagined Brian’s smell…his sweat…his erection poking into Justin’s ass as they danced. Well, he knew what fantasy he was taking to bed tonight…

Brian was also excited about the prospect of taking Justin to Babylon. Brian smiled, his eyes twinkling. Justin wouldn’t even remember Joe’s name after an hour on the dance floor with him.

TBC…(I might write the next part tonight…today, I’m a little depressed, and writing this story makes me so happy)

Justin was a wreck. He’d tried on everything he owned, twice, but nothing seemed right. Anything that could be considered clubbing clothes was too tight or just sat wrong on him, making him look like a whale. And he couldn’t exactly wear a flannel shirt or a sweater. He’d die of heat exhaustion while also looking stupid. He should just call and cancel. His worst fear was that he’d be an embarrassment. That Brian wouldn’t want to be seen with him. He kind of wished he still had the shirt he’d worn the last time he went to Babylon, but in frustration and disappointment, he’d taken a pair of shears to it. He hadn’t planned on ever going back to Babylon or anywhere like it.

That’s when Brian arrived. He didn’t even knock. He just walked into Justin’s apartment (Justin hadn’t locked the door) and straight into Justin’s bedroom. What Brian saw made him laugh, and loudly. Justin was under the covers (his head, too), and every piece of clothing he owned was strewn around the room, on the chair, the bed, the dresser top, the end table, and the floor.

“Come on out, Justin. You have to get ready.”

A muffled “Not going” was the reply.

Brian ripped the blanket off of Justin, who was only in his underwear. Justin just barely managed to snatch it back before Brian got another look at his midsection and everything below it. Justin almost cried when he saw how beautiful Brian looked. He was wearing a maroon shirt, half open, which displayed his bronze skin and sculpted chest, and a tight pair of black jeans, which accentuated his huge cock. His hair had a freshly fucked look. Justin swallowed hard. Brian was simply breathtaking. He deserved so much better than Justin. That was when Justin threw the blanket, which had been drawn up to his chest, back over his head.  

Brian rolled his eyes. Justin was such a princess. “Here. Put these on. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

Once Brian was a safe distance away, Justin peeked at the clothes Brian had laid out on the chair. Curious, Justin climbed out of bed. The shirt was long and loose in the waist, but tight in the chest. It had a V-neck and was a really nice shade of blue, one that matched his eyes. The material was lightweight, but not see through. The pants were dark blue. They were a soft stretchy material. Justin quickly dressed. He examined himself closely in the mirror. The shirt was so long and loose that you really couldn’t tell Justin was overweight. Plus, it showcased his neck and chest. Justin wasn’t super muscle-y, but he wasn’t scrawny (or bloated looking…not there anyway…only in his midsection), either, and he’d been told that he had a beautiful neck. The pants were so comfortable, and they made his ass look incredible. Definitely passable. Justin couldn’t trick or dance half-naked, but he didn’t look gross. Not in these clothes.

Brian walked in just as Justin smiled at his reflection. He nodded in approval, the smallest of gestures, but one that made Justin’s heart soar.

“Let’s go.”

Justin laughed. “Yes, let’s.” His enthusiasm had returned. He couldn’t wait to dance with Brian.  

**********

When Brian and Justin walked into Babylon, everyone’s head turned. Justin laughed. It was like he was accompanied by the King of England or some movie star. They walked to the bar, leaving a wake of stares and whispers. Justin felt incredibly special to have been brought by someone who was so universally wanted, but it made him a little uncomfortable, too. He was just like everyone else here, just another man who’d give nearly anything to be chosen, but Justin knew that if they hadn’t become friends, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He still might not. And…he wanted so much more than to be just another trick. He didn’t just want Brian to fuck him. He wanted Brian to love him. And he would settle for nothing less. Justin would be Brian’s friend or boyfriend, but nothing in between.   

Brian looked around. He didn’t see Mikey, Emmett, or Ted anywhere. He breathed a sigh of relief. He’d purposely come a little early so that he and Justin could avoid them. At least for a little while. He wasn’t keen to define what Justin was to him.

A little more comfortable, Brian ordered two Beams and handed one to Justin. Justin wrinkled his nose (very cutely, Brian thought), but drank it anyway. Brian laughed at the face he made after swallowing. He wisely decided on beers for the next round. A few minutes later, Justin and Brian were standing at the bar drinking the aforementioned beers when a man with a buzz cut strode, no stomped, over to Brian. That in itself was strange. Brian had never seen a gay man walk this way…very aggressive and animal-like. Panther-like he’d seen on occasion, in fact, most would describe Brian’s walk as being of this variety, but the animal this man called to mind was a gorilla. Brian’s cock immediately began to stir. From his haircut to his gait and carriage, Brian surmised that this was a military man. He would perhaps pose the greatest challenge Brian had ever faced. Danger and violence swirled around the man like an aura. If Brian could top him, without getting his ass beat or dying, the rush would be unfathomable. Maybe the best he’d ever experienced. Maybe the best he would ever experience.

The trick walked right up to Brian, looked him up and down, smirked, and then snarled, “Let’s fuck.”

Brian unconsciously licked his lips. Close up, Brian could see that, although of medium height, several inches shorter than Brian, the guy was built. He looked slight, but he was all muscle. Fuck, he was probably vise tight. Brian let out a low growl. He would rip him in two, and the trick would love it so much (Brian would make sure of that) he’d be begging for more.

Justin’s heart sank lower and lower as each second ticked by. Brian clearly wanted this man. Wanted to possess him. And Justin couldn’t blame him. Justin had been to Babylon before. So of course, he had known Brian by reputation long before they had met. The moment Brian had introduced himself, he had known. Justin hadn’t mentioned this to Brian mostly because he didn’t like gossip. He didn’t like making assumptions about people. But if his reputation were any indication, Brian was a predator who liked topping tops best. According to the scuttlebutt, Brian would fuck anyone hot, but he preferred a challenge. He liked to pursue men who usually did the pursuing, to bend them to his will (by actually making them bend over for him) using his beautiful lithe form, his growly voice, his intense hazel eyes, and his reputedly huge cock. If all that were true, this potential trick must be irresistible. Justin sighed. He should have known better than to come to Babylon with Brian. It was filled with gorgeous men, thin men. Men who wouldn’t touch Justin with a ten-foot pole. And Brian was the sexiest, most beautiful of all. Why would he want Justin if less sexy, less beautiful men did not?

Brian was all set to agree to the man’s proposal. But then he remembered Justin and glanced over at him. Justin was smiling, but his eyes were dim. He even urged Brian on, and cheerfully, “You should. He’s…he’s hot,” though Justin’s voice faltered a bit halfway through.

But then Brian felt a twinge…something was tugging at him, making his chest feel hollow. It was stupid. Brian and Justin were just friends, and Justin was in love with that Joe guy. Yet somehow, Brian couldn’t dismiss the twinge, the tugging. Somehow he knew that whatever Justin said…whatever Justin purportedly felt about Joe…that Brian’s tricking, here and now, would wound Justin. What Brian found most perplexing was that he cared.

Brian also knew that if he indulged, he wouldn’t accomplish his goal of making Justin forget Joe, not now, maybe not ever. Brian laughed. He was officially insane. He had to be. To turn away such a rare treat, the toppiest of tops, but to both Justin’s and the trick’s surprise, that’s exactly what he did. He shook his head and said, “Not interested.” When the trick didn’t leave right away, Brian growled, “Fuck off already!” The trick muttered, “Asshole” and actually pushed him before storming off.

Justin watched the trick leave and then looked at Brian in wonder. He stammered, “Brian…I…I don’t understand. Why did you refuse him?”

Brian couldn’t explain what he didn’t understand himself, so he said simply, “Let’s dance.”

Justin smiled again, but this time, a million-watt smile, and this time, it reached his eyes. Brian couldn’t help but return the smile.

Yup. He was well and truly fucked.

TBC…(in a few hours)

Brian pulled Justin by the shirtsleeve to the middle of the dance floor and then into his arms. Justin slid his hands around Brian’s neck, slowly, tentatively, all the while looking into Brian’s eyes a little shyly. Soon he was falling into Brian’s hazel depths as though in a trance.

Brian did not have Justin’s compunctions. He slid his hands around Justin’s waist and then immediately down to his ass. Justin blushed prettily. Brian then squeezed Justin’s ass. He liked that he made Justin nervous. And nervous Justin was. Being in Brian’s arms, so close to him, with Brian’s hands on his body, more specifically his ass, Justin was on fire. Brian pulled Justin’s groin flush against his and leaned his forehead against Justin’s. Justin shivered and closed his eyes. Brian tangled his fingers in the blond’s longish hair. Just then Justin’s eyes fluttered open. The look therein actually stopped Brian’s heart. Justin’s eyes were dark and intense. Brian had the strange feeling that Justin could see right through him then, perceiving things of which Brian was only half aware. Brian swallowed hard and then traced his fingers lightly along Justin’s neck. He had the softest skin. Justin drew in a shuddery breath and leaned into Brian, burying his face in Brian’s neck. He just needed to be…closer. To feel more intensely the warmth of Brian’s skin, to be enveloped in his scent. Similarly motivated, Brian let his hands slip to Justin’s shoulders, and he leaned his cheek against Justin’s head, just breathing Justin in.

Justin’s body was all a tingle. He kept telling himself just to enjoy the feeling of being so close to Brian, to remember for later, when he could jerk off a few times, but doing so was quite difficult, especially after a couple of drinks. In this moment, he wanted Brian more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything, so much that he thought he might explode, or cry. What the fuck had he been thinking when he had agreed to come?

Justin looked up at Brian, his face flushed, his lips parted slightly. Seeing Justin like this, so obviously turned on, Brian experienced a mixture of feelings. He was hard, and had been since a couple minutes after they’d started dancing, but that wasn’t so strange. Brian was a very sexual man and extraordinarily responsive. And…he wouldn’t broadcast this, but he’d be hardpressed to deny that, whatever Justin’s physical flaws, Brian was attracted to him. Their almost kiss (a gentle brush of their lips) and the two phone sex calls had proven that. Course, that wasn’t saying too much. He was attracted to a great many men. But when Justin looked up at him with those big blue eyes, which held the keenest vulnerability, need, and want, Brian was sort of struck. Suddenly faint and flushed. What he wanted most then wasn’t Justin’s lips around his cock, though Justin had incredible lips, or to be buried in Justin’s ass, though Justin had a perfect bubble butt. What he wanted most then was just to feel Justin’s lips pressed against his own. To thrust his tongue into Justin’s mouth. To kiss Justin until he was moaning and breathless.

Yet despite all this, Brian couldn’t help but feel sort of vindicated by what he saw in Justin’s eyes (though, truth be told, Justin had done nothing wrong, except want someone else more than he wanted Brian). That ended up being the feeling Brian acted upon (few who knew Brian would have been surprised by this; he was full of pride and vanity, and most could see nothing inside him beyond these two qualities). He smiled, his eyes bright. Yes, seeing Justin like this was a vindication, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. So Brian licked his lips as he traced Justin’s gently with a finger. Brian smiled a little more brightly when Justin shivered in response to Brian’s gentle touch. Then he spun Justin around and pulled the blond back against him roughly. He placed his hands on Justin’s waist and started grinding against him as they swayed. Then he nuzzled Justin’s neck. They were so close that Brian could actually hear Justin’s erratic breathing. Brian wouldn’t admit this, even under pain of torture, but he was so turned on then that his cock throbbed painfully, and he was beginning to fear that a little more grinding would do him in, possibly causing him to cum in his pants.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, Justin was in a similarly awkward position. So after making it through just three songs, Justin abruptly stepped out of Brian’s arms. Breathlessly, he sputtered, “I…I have to go.” Then he headed for the door, so quickly he was almost running. Brian considered remaining where he was, finding a couple of tricks and letting them relieve him of his now painful erection. He knew that that was the smart move. But somehow he found himself chasing after Justin instead, a move that surprised not only him but also Mikey, Emmett, and Ted, who, unbeknownst to Brian, had arrived at the club a few minutes before Justin rushed out (It would have surprised pretty much anyone who’d ever interacted with Brian). The one person it did not surprise was Justin. So when Brian caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulder, Justin knew exactly who it was. He knew the kinder, gentler Brian, the man who, despite the slight nausea it had caused him (he generally disliked overly feminine men), had told his five-year-old son he was very pretty to make the boy smile; the man who had offered to help Justin gain ‘Joe’s’ affection, though he was not even slightly the romantic type; the man who had seen the parts of Justin that were beautiful, outside and in, despite the fact that he was overweight; the man who had turned down a trick he clearly wanted because he was with Justin.  

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Justin froze and whispered, “Brian.” He let his head fall and turned around slowly. He was so embarrassed by his behavior. He couldn’t even look at Brian. Brian was feeling something similar. He wouldn’t call it embarrassment or guilt… he wouldn’t have been able to give it a name at all, but he was suddenly no longer eager to tease Justin until he ‘cracked’ and admitted that he wanted Brian more than Joe. He just wanted Justin to be okay. To smile again. What he didn’t want was Justin to run from him, for the night to end. So he smiled softly and asked, “Are you hungry? We could get some take out from Roy’s and go to your place.”

Justin was so relieved and happy that he had to blink back tears. He nodded. “That sounds great.”

TBC…

As soon as Brian and Justin arrived at Justin’s apartment, Brian asked, “Would you mind if I took a shower? I’m a little sweaty from Babylon.”

Justin was actually a little excited by the prospect of a naked Brian in his apartment. But he tried to keep his voice light as he said, “No, go ahead.”

Justin figured that he would unpack the food while Brian was in the shower. However, a couple minutes after Brian had headed to the bathroom, Justin realized that he’d forgotten to give Brian a towel. He grabbed one from the linen closet and headed to the bathroom. He was just going to reach into the bathroom and put the towel on the counter, but then he caught sight of Brian naked (in the mirror; he had a see through shower curtain). Justin knew it was wrong to stare, but he couldn’t look away. Brian had his eyes closed and his head tilted back. Rivulets of water flowed down his bronze sculpted chest, down to his (Justin guessed) 9-inch cock. It was half-erect. Justin unconsciously licked his lips. He did look away then (well down at his feet). He was suddenly flushed and his breathing, shallow. The second he lowered his head, Brian opened his eyes. He caught the movement in the mirror in his peripheral vision. Realizing that Justin was watching, Brian decided to put on a show. He couldn’t help himself. Deep down, maybe not so deep down, he wanted Justin to want him, wanted Justin to desire him above all others. He kept his eyes forward. He didn’t want Justin to know he was aware of his presence (then surely, Justin would rush off in embarrassment). He grabbed the soap, lathered up his hands, and slid them over his cock. That’s when curiosity got the better of Justin, and he raised his head once more. He was so surprised by what he saw that he dropped the towel, which hadn’t quite made its way into the bathroom yet.    

Brian started stroking his cock, with both hands, but then sent one down to his balls. When he was so hard that his dick ached, he grabbed the soap, relathered, and slid his hands over his chest, over his nipples, pinching them gently, and then down his abdomen. Justin’s cock was hard now, too. It throbbed and ached. God he wanted to be the one touching Brian’s beautiful body.

Suddenly Brian turned around and called out, “Hey Justin! Could you come here?”

Justin picked the towel up quickly and after a few seconds, entered the bathroom. He set the towel on the sink, and asked, “What is it, Brian?”

Brian turned a little, so Justin could get another look at his cock, still hard, and then turned away again (he smiled; Justin was bright red now). Brian reached through the curtain with the soap and inquired, “Could you soap up my back?”

Justin was close to panic. “What?”

Brian asked again, as nonchalantly as he could, “Could you soap up my back? I really don’t want to get backne.” He fake shuddered.

Justin bit his lip, but then replied nervously, “Um…okay.”

Justin took the soap and thrust his hand (with the soap) into the shower to wet it. He lathered up his hands and set the soap on the tub’s edge. Finally, he placed his slightly shaky hands on Brian’s back, near his shoulders, and started rubbing. As he washed, he traced every contour, every muscle with his fingers. Brian shivered. He let his head fall. Justin’s touch was so gentle, yet firm, and his hands, his fingers, were everywhere. On his shoulders, on his upper arms, on his back, and on his lower back, just shy of his ass. Brian suddenly wondered how Justin’s hands would feel stroking his cock. Would they be as gentle? As firm? As thorough? Justin had been washing Brian’s back for several minutes when he realized he’d passed all bounds of decorum. He immediately pulled his hands away.

“All done” he said with a shaky voice.

Brian turned around. “Thanks.” He smiled when he saw Justin’s eyes, trained on his cock, widen slightly. Justin swallowed hard and then turned around. “Umm…I brought you a towel.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Justin departed. Once Justin closed the door, Brian finished jerking off. He had to bite his lip so hard he drew blood to keep from moaning loudly when he came.

A few minutes later, Brian emerged wearing only jeans. Justin looked at Brian, at his still damp chest and Brian’s waist (the top button of his jeans was undone), and sighed. Tonight was going to be a long night.

After they ate, they started watching an old Marlon Brando movie they’d found while flipping through the channels. Justin fell asleep halfway through, his head resting on Brian’s lap. Brian watched the rest of the movie alone, periodically running his fingers through Justin’s hair.

When it was over, Brian gingerly moved Justin’s head from his lap onto the couch. Then he lifted Justin into his arms and carried him into the bedroom. He laid Justin on his king-sized bed and carefully removed his shirt and pants. He couldn’t resist sliding a hand down the curve of Justin’s neck, down his chest, and over his belly. Brian didn’t flinch or grimace. All he could think was that Justin was still beautiful. That he still wanted to fuck the blond, and, though he would deny this to anyone who asked, badly. Brian smiled wickedly and ran a finger over Justin’s cock, through the fabric of his underwear. Justin moaned softly, and his cock jumped.    

Brian decided that it was too late to drive home…that he’d just stay there. So after slipping Justin under the blanket, he climbed into the bed and joined him under it (the blanket; he’d wisely kept his jeans on). A few minutes later, Justin rolled over into Brian’s arms. Then he started (like he was surprised) and opened his eyes. He looked directly at Brian, into his eyes, and breathed, “Brian.” Then he grabbed Brian by the face with both hands, pulled the man roughly to him, and thrust his tongue into Brian’s mouth, kissing him deeply. Brian slid his hands to Justin’s ass and pulled him closer even as he kissed him back. Justin’s soft lips, the way he smelled and tasted, the passion with which he kissed Brian…all these things drove Brian wild and scared the shit out of him. Then Justin broke their kiss and nestled himself snugly in Brian’s arms. It was as if he’d been asleep the whole time. Brian, breathless, chest heaving, and flushed, just stared up at the ceiling. He would need to put distance between them. He didn’t like the way that kiss had made him feel. He had liked the way it had made him feel physically (of course), but not the rest. Justin moaned softly and snuggled closer. Brian swallowed hard and held him tighter. Tomorrow.  Brian would start putting distance between them tomorrow.

TBC…  

Justin woke up in bed alone. He sat up and glanced around. He gasped a little when he pulled the blanket off and found himself in only underwear. He didn’t even remember going to bed, let alone stripping down. And he usually slept on the right side, but he was on the left. The last thing he could recall was…watching some old movie with Brian. Justin’s heart leapt. Had Brian carried him in here? Justin’s eyes widened, but then he laid back down and ran a finger from his waist along his bare chest to his neck, a shy smile on his face. Had Brian removed his clothes? Justin smiled even brighter, imagining Brian touching him…looking at his naked body. Suddenly, Justin’s chest constricted (and he sat up again). Brian had seen him almost completely naked…nothing hiding his flaws, well flaw. Justin sighed and hung his head. No wonder Brian had left. He’d probably taken one look at Justin’s ginormous belly and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Justin let himself fall back onto the bed, arms out, brow furrowed, but then, suddenly, he smiled and pulled the blanket back over him. He’d had the most vivid, most wonderful dream last night. In it, he’d kissed Brian…and Brian had kissed him back, so eagerly. In fact, Brian had crushed Justin’s body against his, pulling him so close and kissing him so deep. He had even grabbed Justin’s ass.

Justin heaved a contented sigh. All around, yesterday had been amazing. So fucking amazing. Brian had turned down a trick because they’d come to Babylon together, they’d danced (Justin had buried his face in Brian’s neck, and Brian had slid his hands all over Justin’s body…his neck, his shoulders, his waist, and his ass. Brian had even nuzzled his neck and grinded against him), and, later, Justin had seen Brian naked, wet, and hard (and he’d touched him, sliding his soapy hands up Brian’s back, along his shoulders, and then down, down, down…to just above his crack. Justin’s hands automatically strayed to his groin then. He slipped his hand into his underwear, gripping his dick firmly and then squeezing it hard. Just remembering last night had Justin so close to orgasm that he moaned (and loudly). Then, he started stroking his dick, and, his voice a breathy whisper, he moaned, “Fuck me, fuck me, Brian. Yes, yes, harder, oh harder…”

Just then Brian appeared in the doorway. He was wearing jeans and nothing else. Justin’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Brian barefoot and bare chested. Brian asked nonchalantly (Justin had no idea whether it was feigned), “Did you call me?”

Justin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he realized that that was really Brian, that Brian was here and Justin had his hand on his dick, that he’d been masturbating to thoughts of Brian and even calling out his name. He turned crimson. “Uh…hi…I mean, good morning, Brian. I…I wasn’t sure whether you were still here, so I called.”

Brian nodded slowly (again, Justin couldn’t tell whether Brian were mocking him). “Yup. Still here. I’m making coffee.”

Justin nodded and replied, as evenly as he could manage, “Oh cool.” But he still hadn’t moved. He was so very glad that he’d pulled the blanket back over him when he had laid back down the second time.

Brian stared at Justin blankly for a moment. Then he laughed. “Are you planning to get up anytime soon?”

Justin stretched (moaning a little as he did so). “Yeah, just give me a couple of minutes. I need to wake up.”

Brian looked at Justin like he was nuts, but he retreated into the kitchen. Justin pulled his hand out of his underwear and then rolled over and groaned into his pillow. His brain was going a mile a minute. Had Brian heard what he’d moaned? Or just his name? Could he see Justin’s hard on through the blanket? Did he wonder where Justin’s other hand was? This situation was so fucking humiliating.

Unexpectedly, Justin rolled over onto his back, his eyes wide once more, but a smile now creeping across his lips. If Brian was still there, then that meant he’d stayed over…that he hadn’t fled in horror after undressing Justin. It meant that…(Justin looked over at the rumpled sheets and the dented pillow on the right side) instead Brian had crawled into bed with Justin. Justin’s heart was suddenly beating so hard in his chest, and he was having difficulty breathing. That had to mean something, right? Brian could simply have slept on the couch…or gone home…Justin would have doubled over then (if he’d been standing): Had Brian held him?

Justin didn’t know the answers to any of his questions. But contemplating them was only making his hard on worse. So he started thinking about the girl he’d kissed when he was still confused (back when he was 15). He remembered her pushing his hands up to her breasts. His stomach turned. That did it. His cock was suddenly flaccid. Justin took a deep breath and jumped out of bed. He threw on shorts and a baggy T-shirt and headed into the kitchen. He’d gotten as many answers as he was going to get from the bedroom.

********

Brian had no idea why he was still at Justin’s. After the kiss last night, he’d decided that he needed to put distance between them. But ever since he’d waken up holding the little twat, he’d been telling himself that that would be unfair to Justin, that it would hurt him. Deep down (maybe not so deep down), Brian knew that was an excuse (the truth was, when Brian’s eyes had first fluttered open and lighted on Justin, he’d smiled, fucking smiled, and pulled Justin closer; he’d even nuzzled Justin’s neck before finally disentangling their arms and legs and crawling out of bed). In fact, Brian’s excuse was almost as troubling as his need for one. Since when did Brian-Fucking-Kinney give a shit about feelings, his or anyone else’s (except Gus’s)?

Brian didn’t know. He also had no fucking clue why he was making coffee as he waited for Justin to wake up. Brian hated that he had known where to find the coffee and coffee filters…and the mugs. He hated that he felt so damn comfortable here, comfortable enough to walk around in jeans and nothing else. He’d even gone down to the newsstand on the corner for a newspaper and had started reading it in the living room. The fact that he remembered that there was a newsstand nearby and that he was content to spend his morning at Justin’s was slightly disturbing, but what was even more disturbing was that he’d dressed for his foray outside and then had stripped back down to his jeans when he’d returned to the apartment. Perhaps more disturbing yet…he’d known where Justin kept his extra key (whatever Brian had said to the contrary during their second phone sex call, Justin’s door locked automatically, so Brian had needed to grab the extra key from beneath the second potted plant (from the left) to open the door).

This relationship was getting way too domestic. That fact wouldn’t have troubled Brian so much (Brian was almost as comfortable at Mikey’s) except that he could no longer deny (to himself at least) that he wanted to fuck Justin. And…not just once.     

TBC…(soon)

When Justin entered the kitchen, Brian, who was pouring two mugs of coffee, began moaning softly, “Fuck me, fuck me…Yes, yes, harder, oh (he held this syllable for a few seconds) harder (his voice broke on this word)…”

Justin blushed deeply, let his head fall, and squeezed his eyes shut. Brian smirked, put the coffee pot back on the burner, and moved behind Justin. He slid his arms around Justin’s waist (causing Justin to jump a little and Brian’s eyes to dance) and leaned his cheek against Justin’s. Justin was an even brighter red now, but only partly due to shame. Brian whispered (against Justin’s neck), “Who were you thinking about when you had your hand on your dick? When you were stroking it and moaning?”

Justin wondered how it was possible that he didn’t know…how could he have heard every word but his own name?

Brian prodded, “Joe? Or someone else?”

Feeling Brian’s lips (and the warm puffs of his breath) against his skin and hearing the huskiness in Brian’s voice, Justin shivered.  

Brian continued, his voice dropping a shade lower, “Who is it that you want to fuck you?”

Unexpectedly, Brian spun Justin around then so that they were facing each other. Justin was panting, his eyes open now, but directed toward the floor. Brian lifted Justin’s chin slowly with a finger until their eyes met. Justin’s held a curious expression…a combination of surprise, excitement, and fear.

When Brian had started teasing Justin, that’s all it was. Teasing. And not just teasing, but teasing Justin (as opposed to himself). He wanted to see the blond blush and maybe even hear him stammer. Embarrassing Justin like that always gave Brian (and his cock) a thrill, but now, seeing Justin blushing, panting, and trembling a little…leaning so close to him that he could feel the heat coming off Justin in waves…so close to his perfect lips…so plump and cherry red, he suddenly forgot all about his initial goal. In this moment, all Brian wanted was to feel Justin’s lips (and body) crushed against his, to taste him again, to squeeze his luscious ass again, to fist his silky blond hair again.

Brian licked his lips and leaned a little closer. In response, Justin drew his breath in sharply and then licked his lips, too. His eyelids drooped. His cock was so hard again, achingly hard, maybe harder than it had ever been. In this moment, all Justin wanted was for Brian to kiss him, like in his dream, but he was so scared. Even terrified. He never knew when Brian was just teasing him. Justin wasn’t stupid, and he’d have to be to believe that Brian thought of him in only a platonic way. He had seen Brian’s cock swell (Brian wore such tight pants all the time), on more than one occasion after touching Justin, and he knew that Brian had been jerking himself off during both their phone sex calls. But…Brian still hadn’t made any real move. Was this it? Would Brian finally kiss him? Would Brian want to fuck him? Just thinking about the possibility (imagining himself bent over the couch, Brian thrusting into him sinuously), Justin shivered (a full body shiver). His eyes fluttered closed and then open again.

Brian leaned in even closer. Justin couldn’t hold back a soft moan. But it was somewhat muffled when Brian’s lips reached Justin’s. Brian’s hands went immediately to Justin’s ass and Justin’s into Brian’s hair. They both pulled each other closer by the respective parts they were holding, while also thrusting their tongues into the other’s mouth. There was no pause…a second after their lips touched, their tongues were struggling…not for dominance. Just for more…for more of what set their bodies on fire…for a deeper connection…Brian and Justin were ravenous for something that could not sate but only stoke their desire.    

Then Justin was fumbling with Brian’s jeans, struggling to unbutton and unzip them, desperate to feel Brian’s erection, to stroke the man’s dick. He kind of wanted to drop to his knees and suck Brian off, but he was too nervous. Plus, he never wanted the kissing to end, one because it was sending heat and electricity coursing through every part of his body (causing him to feel all melty and floaty) and two because he couldn’t keep this going if Brian looked at him. He would be so embarrassed and unsure of himself if he felt Brian’s penetrating gaze on him. He didn’t want to answer questions (like what does this mean? or what does this say about your feelings for Joe?), not his own or Brian’s. He knew that he would respond way, way too honestly right now. He would exclaim, “It means that I’m falling in love with you…that I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything…Joe doesn’t exist; he never did. I just didn’t have the balls to tell you I wanted you...that I liked you.”

When Justin’s hand finally found Brian’s cock, he squeezed it tight, causing Brian to moan into Justin’s mouth, swiped the precum off the tip, and then started sliding his hand along the shaft. Justin gasped (and almost, almost broke their kiss) when he felt Brian’s hand sliding into his shorts and then on his cock. And when Brian began to jerk him off, the heat and electricity intensified to such an extent that he felt dizzy.

And Brian…he was taken aback. He was so surprised by the intensity of Justin’s passion, Justin’s want, and his own, as well as the plain old happiness he was feeling, that it was like all his filters and walls had been temporarily deactivated. At the moment, he didn’t have the brain capacity to judge anything, not even himself. Not really. He merely observed, with unusual detachment, that he’d never before kissed anyone this deeply or this long, that he hadn’t jerked anyone off or been jerked off by anyone since high school, and that he’d never been more turned on in his life. He also noted that Justin had been the first one to take their make out session to a new level and that that made him happy, even ecstatic. Justin clearly wanted him. So much that not even the mention of Joe could stop him from indulging. To that, his only response was the observation that that knowledge caused his chest to ache a bit…and some hole inside him to shrink…some part of him to feel less empty.

Then they were both cumming and kissing each other even more desperately. Only when their orgasms had ceased shuddering through them did they break apart, but only for a second, long enough for their arms to slide around each other, for them to fall together in a cum covered, sweaty heap (though they were still standing). They held onto each other tightly, so tightly, neither knowing what would come next, what they wanted to come next. They were spared this consideration, this decision, by the shrill ringing of the phone. Justin pulled away and then just stood there for a second, his mouth open slightly, as though he might say something, his eyes wide and afraid, but no words came. Brian smiled softly then, his eyes twinkling, which caused Justin to relax and smile back. Then he went to answer the phone. It was a telemarketer. Justin didn’t say anything. He just hung up. Then he went into the bedroom and stripped off his clothes, wiping the cum off with them. He then put on a new pair of shorts and a new T-shirt and grabbed sweats he thought might fit Brian, as well as a washcloth, which he dampened. When he returned to the living room, Brian was standing right where Justin had left him, only now in only a thong. Justin blushed a little and handed Brian the washcloth and the sweats.    

Then he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Brian drawled, “Sorry’s bullshit” and smiled. Then he cleaned up and dressed. Unsure what he should do or say, Justin sat down at the computer and turned it on, but then got up to get the cup of coffee Brian had poured him. When he returned, Brian was at the computer. He had a browser open.

He asked, “When’s the last time you checked your email?”

Justin  shrugged. “I don’t know. Two or three days.”

“You have 75 new emails.”

“What?”

“All from the dating Web sites where we posted your profile.”

Justin didn’t speak. The last thing he wanted to think about was their plan for Justin to snag the imaginary ‘Joe.’

Brian was quickly skimming through the emails. Justin just stood behind him, drinking his coffee, hoping Brian would soon lose interest. After a few minutes, Brian stated woodenly, “Looks like you got your man.”

Justin’s head shot up, and he nearly choked on his coffee (he’d been taking a sip when Brian had spoken).

Brian asked, the tone of his voice unreadable, “This is him, right? Joe. Tall and lean. Brown hair. Golden skin. Strong and somewhat muscular. Decent sized cock.”

Justin’s eyes widened. A man named Joe of that description had indeed emailed him. Justin still hadn’t recovered the power of speech. He could only gape.

Brian continued, again in that unreadable tone, “Wow. He sounds perfect for you. He’s a chef at some fancy French restaurant downtown. He’s ‘a snuggler.’ And he’s ‘had his fun.’ Now he ‘wants to find Mr. Right and settle down.’”

Justin closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He only had one thought, “No, no, no, no, no, no…”

TBC…(please let me know what you think of the first-middle part...I spent so long working on it...and I'm dying for feedback)

Justin had no idea what to do. He didn’t want to lie to Brian by saying that this guy was the Joe, but the guy fit the description Justin had given Brian perfectly. Surely Brian would be suspicious if he said that this Joe wasn’t the right one. Plus, he didn’t want the sudden appearance of a Joe to ruin their budding…whatever the hell it was. Justin managed to put off saying anything by suddenly crying out, “Fuck! I was supposed to meet by mom for breakfast!” He asked Brian whether he’d like to accompany him because he felt sure Brian would decline and decline he did. Brian put his shirt, shoes, socks, and coat on, opting to wear Justin’s sweats home (Justin offered to wash Brian’s jeans). Then Justin walked Brian to the door. On an impulse, Justin hugged the man, pulling Brian into his arms, burying his face in Brian’s neck, and holding him tight. He even whispered, a little shyly, “Before…was…fucking amazing.” Then he pushed a stunned Brian out the door so he could “get ready.”

Justin spent the next few hours doing chores. If he was going to obsess about what to do now that a Joe had emailed him (and after Brian and Justin's hot make out/jerk off session), he’d at least have a clean apartment. When he’d cleaned and organized everything he could possibly clean and organize, he sat down at the computer. The page with his email on it was still up. Only now he had yet another email from one of the dating Web sites. Justin’s first impulse was to close the page, but the person’s name caught his attention: Barney Inkin. Barney Inkin. After a couple of minutes, a bright smile broke out on Justin’s face. Barney Inkin was an anagram for Brian Kinney. Justin wondered, could it really be Brian?

He opened the email.

Hey, Beautiful,

You look hot in your pictures, especially the one with you licking chocolate off of your cheek.

Justin froze for a second; then he quickly opened another tab and typed in the address for one of the dating Web sites where they had posted his profile. He went straight to his picture gallery. His chin nearly hit the floor. He saw a great many pictures he hadn’t posed for. There was one of him holding both of Gus’s hands walking him to the bathroom. He had a huge smile on his face, and he looked…kind of good. Yet another depicted him holding Molly in his arms, dipping her and singing along to the song they were dancing to. Ironically, the song was “Dancing Queen.” Brian was dancing with Gus as Justin danced with Molly. Brian had been so sweet, spinning Gus over and over again, eliciting gales of giggles from his son. Another still showed Justin sleeping on the couch, his face nuzzling someone’s leg. Justin’s first thought was that he looked kind of cute in that picture. His second was, was that Brian’s leg? If so, that must have been from the night before. Justin sort of melted in his chair, a silly grin on his face. Apparently, Justin had fallen asleep with his head on Brian’s lap. Not only had Brian allowed it, but also, he’d found it a moment worth photographing. And fuck he was fast. He must have uploaded and posted it this morning. Finally, Justin saw the one “Barney Inkin” had mentioned, in which he was licking some chocolate off of his face, right above the corner of his mouth. That must have been from the first night Brian had brought over the digital camera, when Justin had made chocolate and butterscotch pancakes. Justin smiled and shook his head. How had Brian managed to take the picture without Justin’s knowing about it? Justin would have been embarrassed (he did look kind of goofy) if he weren’t so touched. How many pictures had Brian taken of him? Justin turned back to Barney’s email.

I can’t help but imagine your talented tongue doing other things.

(Justin flushed with pleasure. His cock stirred.)

Check out my profile, and if you like what you see (or read), IM me.

Barney

Justin immediately clicked on Barney’s username (to get to his profile). There was, of course, no picture.

Relationship status: not applicable

Kids: 1

Smoke: Hell yes

Religion: Hell no

Drink: As often as possible

Body type: The type you would like against yours as I’m pounding your ass

Height: This is kind of irrelevant. Wouldn’t you rather know how big my cock is? (9 inches. Seriously.)

Hair: See above

Eyes: See above

For fun: fucking and sucking, travel, clubbing, trying new things

My job: executive

Favorite things: cock

Last read: the newspaper

About me: I would never admit to liking to snuggle. People who shout it from the rooftops are usually lazy in bed (I say in bed because they are rarely, if ever, adventurous enough to discover the pleasures of fucking against a wall, on the floor, in the shower, in chairs, on desks, etc.). On the other hand, not only am I adventurous, but also, I excel at everything I attempt, especially fucking and sucking. I may never surprise you with an indoor picnic, but I will go that extra mile to get you off, even to the point of your blacking out. I would never buy his and his bath towels or go antiquing (or to a bed and breakfast), but I will actually listen to you and try to help you solve any problems you might be having. I never make promises I can’t keep. I don’t lie, ever, though I might not be forthright (particularly where feelings are concerned). I would most definitely never say that “I’ve had my fun” and that “I’m ready to settle down” (and would you want me to? that screams BORING), but I might be open to having a boyfriend in a non-conventional, non-defined way, someone I fuck more than once and with whom I occasionally watch movies or try out new restaurants.   

Sports and Exercise: I go to the gym every day, but I despise sports (unless you count fucking and sucking)

Interests: photography, filmmaking (of a sort), old movies

Education: bachelor’s degree

Pets I like: Are sex slaves considered pets?

Pets I have: None… they would ruin my designer furniture

Sign: Taurus

Politics: I like money

Justin beamed. That had to be Brian. It had to be! He'd pretty much quoted Joe's entire email. Justin checked Barney’s online status. He was available. Justin took a deep breath, smiled even brighter, and clicked on the link to IM “Barney” (using the Web site’s internal messaging system).

TBC…(I have a ton of work to do, but when I’m done, I’ll write the IM conversation)

JT_loves_to_69: Uh..hi.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Your username is hot.

JT_loves_to_69: I’m actually a little embarrassed. A friend of mine chose it for me. So…um…I got your email…

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: (grinning) I figured.

JT_loves_to_69: (blushing a little) Sorry. I’m not used to “this.”

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: This?

JT_loves_to_69: You know…online dating…corresponding with people I don’t know.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Ah. Given your level of discomfort with cyberdating…what is it that brought you to the cybercesspool of desperate men?

JT_loves_to_69: (laughing) Desperation? No…um…I don’t even know. I mean, there was a reason, but now…

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Now?

JT_loves_to_69: Now that reason seems kind of silly.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: How so?

JT_loves_to_69: Well…I was hoping to get someone’s attention…not just someone, but a particular person.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: How’s that working out for you?

JT_loves_to_69: I’m not sure. I mean, I got his attention, but things are getting complicated.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: How do you mean?

JT_loves_to_69: It just seems like this plan (posting my profile on dating sites) will end up preventing me from getting what I want.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: What do you want?

JT_loves_to_69: I want…

JT_loves_to_69: I want you to tell me why you emailed me.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: That’s a sad, sad attempt to change the subject.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: But I’ll play along.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: I couldn’t stop staring at that picture of you, the one where you are licking chocolate off of your face.   

JT_loves_to_69: Really?  

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Really.

JT_loves_to_69: In your email, you said…well, I mean, do you…do you really think I’m beautiful? Or is that what you tell all the guys you’re trying to hook up with?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: I most definitely do NOT call other men beautiful. Not generally.

JT_loves_to_69: So…

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: That is some persistent fishing.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: But again, I’ll play along.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Yes, I think you’re beautiful.

JT_loves_to_69: Why?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Are you seriously asking?  

JT_loves_to_69: Yes. I’m not sure why anyone would.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: (heavy sigh) It’s hard to put into words.

JT_loves_to_69: Try. Please.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: That would be more effective if I could hear your voice.

JT_loves_to_69: Please… (in a breathy whisper)

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: That’s a little better.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Okay. In the picture, you have this goofy look on your face…like you’re struggling to reach that spot of chocolate, but you seem so happy, too. You display such un-self-conscious silliness…and yet, at the same time, with those pouty lips of yours…and (I can’t believe I’m actually using this word) sparkling blue eyes (I think I’d piss you off all the time on purpose just to see them flash in anger)…you’re hot.

JT_loves_to_69: (frowning) Pouty? Isn’t than an adjective usually applied to women’s lips?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Lips are lips are lips. They don’t have gender. Pouty = full, plump, made for sucking cock

JT_loves_to_69: You sure seem focused on getting your dick sucked.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: 1) Show me a man, gay or straight, who isn’t. 2) While looking at the pictures where your ass is featured prominently, I was quite focused on burying all nine inches of my cock in it.

JT_loves_to_69: You probably wouldn’t be so eager to shove your cock down my throat or in my ass if you got a good look at the rest of me.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: What do you mean? Do you have a hump?

JT_loves_to_69: No!

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: A second head?

JT_loves_to_69: No!

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: A third nipple?

JT_loves_to_69: No!

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: A club foot?

JT_loves_to_69: No!

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Then what? What’s so monstrous about you?

JT_loves_to_69: You’re making me feel a little silly about saying this, but, in the real world, it matters. A lot. I…I’m a bit pudgy.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Pudgy?

JT_loves_to_69: Yeah…I weigh 20ish more pounds than I should. Than I used to.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Ah.

JT_loves_to_69: Ah? That’s it?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: What do you want me to say?

JT_loves_to_69: Uh…I don’t know. Thanks for the chat, but I have to run?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Do I seem superficial?

JT_loves_to_69: Actually…from your profile…maybe a little.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: You got me there. I’m extremely superficial.

JT_loves_to_69: But everyone is to some extent. Our society wouldn’t put such a high premium on youth and beauty if that weren’t the case. And I’m far from the ideal.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: I wouldn’t say “far from.” You’re a blond with blue eyes, an incredible ass, and luscious lips. That’s pretty fucking close.  

JT_loves_to_69: Do you have any flaws?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Physical ones?

JT_loves_to_69: Yeah.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Nope.  

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: But…a friend of mine has forced me to rethink some things…

JT_loves_to_69: Like what?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Like maybe that saying “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” isn’t bullshit.

JT_loves_to_69: I have to admit I find that surprising…

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: You aren’t the only one.

JT_loves_to_69: So how did he get you to that conclusion?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: (heavy sigh) I don’t know…

JT_loves_to_69: Bullshit!

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Is it getting hot in here?

JT_loves_to_69: So…are you going to answer the question?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: He’s…imperfect (physically)

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Well most gay men would say that anyway. But…I don’t know. After spending some time with him…and some highly inappropriate phone calls and dancing that was damn close to sex (for people who are just friends), more and more, I find myself wanting him.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: (heavy sigh) And not just wanting him, but wanting only him.

JT_loves_to_69: Wow. I…don’t know what to say to that.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: It’s most definitely a fucked up situation.

JT_loves_to_69: How so? (other than the obvious)

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: He got me wanting him, but he doesn’t want me…I mean, I know he’s attracted to me (who wouldn’t be?)…we’ve even fooled around a little, but…

JT_loves_to_69: But what?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Well, like I said, he wants me, but he doesn’t want only me. That kind of desire he reserves for some other guy. Some ridiculously pathetic guy. Granted, he’s not bad looking…and they have some things in common, but…

JT_loves_to_69: But…

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: I don’t fucking know. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit. Normally, I’d be glad. Then I could fuck him and move on. But 1) I’m not sure he’d even let me fuck him…Like I said, we’ve fooled around, but I’m not sure he’d let it go farther. Not now. He’s…I don’t know…a fucking romantic. A one-person person or some shit. I might have been able to fuck him before, but now that he’s actually talking to Mr. Right…and 2) Even if he did let me fuck him, I wouldn’t do it. Not if it was just once…existential crisis time…who the fuck am I? I never believed in love. I believed in fucking. It’s honest. It’s efficient. You get in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit. But now…with him…I don’t think fucking would be enough…I don’t want to be something he gets out of his system before walking hand in hand with Mr. Right off into the sunset.

JT_loves_to_69: Holy shit! You have to tell him.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: No fucking way.

JT_loves_to_69: You have to! If whatever you’ve shared has brought such a turnaround in you, it must have had some effect on him…maybe he thought he wanted this other guy, but now he just wants you.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: I don’t talk about feelings. And if it’s right (again, who the fuck am I?)…shouldn’t he just get it?  

JT_loves_to_69: He might wonder, but I’m betting he doesn’t know for sure and is afraid to say something…you said you were friends…maybe he’s afraid to lose you altogether, you know, if he’s wrong. Plus, you said he’s imperfect…maybe he doesn’t realize that the way you see him has changed. Maybe he thinks you could never really want him because of his flaws.

TBC…(I hate to end this part here, but I have even more cruddy work to do. I’ll try to do another part later tonight. I might actually be able to…the end is in sight…)

Brian was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Though in the guise, flimsy though it might be, of Barney Inkin, Brian had just admitted things to Justin that he was barely able to admit to himself. In fact, he’d gotten a little carried away, confessing things to Justin that he’d worked very hard not to admit to himself, namely his fear that Justin wouldn’t fuck him now that he’d received an email from Joe and his desire for more from Justin than a one-time fuck.

Brian had barely allowed himself to acknowledge that he wanted Justin, chubby or no, that he liked Justin any way he came and perhaps more than he would’ve if Justin had been thinner. Justin was fucking adorable when he was cooking: While he’d been making the pancakes the other night, he’d danced around a little bit to the radio, shaking that perfect ass, and he’d smiled so brightly and laughed so happily. Brian wouldn’t unwrite that part of Justin for anything. Brian had also begrudgingly acknowledged that he wanted only Justin, no one else. That was a particularly bitter pill to swallow. But what could Brian do? It was impossible to ignore the fact that he hadn’t tricked in a week. That he had no urge to trick. That, in fact, the very idea of tricking was unpleasant (mostly..that army guy had been incredibly tempting). The last thing Brian needed was to see Justin’s beautiful blue eyes on the face of every blond he “encountered.” Brian refused to ask himself why (when he was still tricking) he’d started to choose only blonds.  

Brian decided to change the subject. He’d already revealed too much.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Do you want to meet sometime?

JT_loves_to_69: What?

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: (chuckling) Is that a particularly hard question?

JT_loves_to_69: I…

Justin was suddenly scared. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Barney wasn’t Brian. But how could that be? Everything in Barney’s profile had screamed Brian…and Barney had an ‘imperfect’ friend who, he was discovering, he wanted despite his imperfections. A friend who supposedly had a thing for someone else. And Barney and his friend had fooled around, but hadn’t yet fucked. Sure it was possible that Barney and his friend had had the same experiences as Brian and Justin, but how likely was it? Plus, Barney had quoted parts of Joe’s email in the About Me section. It had to be Brian. It just had to be.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches:  You…

JT_loves_to_69: I thought you had a thing for your friend…

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Whether I do or not is irrelevant; he likes someone else.

JT_loves_to_69: You don’t know that for sure. He might’ve said that before, and it might even have been true, but feelings change.

Brian thought, a little bitterly, “Don’t I know it.” He tried to change the subject again.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: So…is that a no?

JT_loves_to_69: Uh…I don’t know whether meeting is a good idea.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Why?

JT_loves_to_69: Well…first off, I’d feel bad. If you like someone and he likes you, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that. Second…I have feelings for someone, too.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Who? The guy whose attention you were trying to get by posting your profile on dating Web sites?

JT_loves_to_69: Technically, no.

Assuming Barney was Brian, Justin had to answer no. Justin might have been trying to get Brian’s attention through this ‘plan,’ but Brian had assumed that he was trying to pique the interest of ‘Joe.’

Did Justin like him, and not Joe? Brian’s heart actually stopped beating for a second. Brian needed, like he’d never needed anything before, to touch Justin, to kiss him, to make him cum. He had a sudden brainstorm.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Fuck feelings and words and other people. Let’s just fuck.

JT_loves_to_69: What?

Justin couldn’t breathe. Brian wanted to fuck him. Tonight.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Let’s just fuck.

Justin’s entire body flushed with pleasure, and he smiled; despite the strangeness of the situation, perhaps, in part, because of it, Justin’s pulse quickened. Brian was clearly not ready to tell Justin how he felt…to show him. But if the Barney persona allowed Brian to do that, Justin wasn’t going to argue.

JT_loves_to_69: Umm…okay.

Barney_Inkin’s_9_Inches: Meet me at 189 Belmont at midnight.

JT_loves_to_69: Okay.

At 12:01am, Justin walked into the empty warehouse at 189 Belmont. It was pitch black in there. Justin stiffened. His nervousness was quickly becoming fear. Cold, brain-numbing fear. What if Barney wasn’t Brian? What if he was a mass murderer? Justin was about to bolt when he caught sight of something glowing at the very back of the warehouse. A candle. As stupid as it probably was, Justin moved (slowly) toward the light. If Barney was Brian, this could be the most incredible experience he’d ever had. He couldn’t risk missing it.

When Justin finally made it to the light, he saw that the candle was sitting on a desk. And on the desk was a note.

Justin,

When you’re ready for me, blow out the candle. Don’t speak. Words are completely unnecessary here.

B  

Justin was nervous and scared and excited. He took a deep breath and blew out the candle. He was standing in complete darkness. He couldn’t even see the desk anymore, though he knew it was just a foot away. He shivered in anticipation.

Suddenly someone grabbed him from behind. Justin jumped a little, but quickly melted into the person’s embrace. He was nuzzling Justin’s neck and holding him tight around the waist. Justin smiled. It had to be Brian. This man smelled just like him (and seemed to be the same height). Then the man spun Justin around and crushed their lips together. He threaded his fingers through Justin’s hair and growled softly as he pulled Justin closer and plunged his tongue into Justin’s mouth. He kissed Justin senseless (until Justin’s cock was throbbing, leaking, and aching) and then started licking and sucking on Justin’s neck and earlobe. When Justin was panting and a little dizzy, he began laying open-mouthed kisses down his neck and (after he’d unbuttoned Justin’s shirt, a little frantically Justin thought) down his chest. When he reached Justin’s stomach, he ran his fingers all over it, gently. Justin clenched his fist to stop himself from running. He couldn’t help but be uncomfortable by all the attention his imperfection was receiving. But when the man started laying open-mouthed kisses all over it, Justin relaxed. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Then the man traced his belly button with his tongue, causing Justin to giggle, which, Justin thought, caused the man to smile.

Justin’s breath caught in his throat when the man unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pushing them and his underwear down to his ankles. Another wave of dizziness washed over Justin when the man deepthroated his cock. The man sucked and swallowed his cock until Justin’s entire body was throbbing. Then, unexpectedly, he moved behind Justin, eliciting a whimper from Justin; he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed, that is, until the man started running his hands all over his ass, so gently, almost reverently, and, finally, spread his ass cheeks and drew his tongue over Justin’s entrance. Justin couldn’t stifle a soft moan or, when the man pushed his tongue into Justin, a loud shout, “Ohhhh!” The man tongue fucked Justin until Justin was a little wobbly on his feet and then moved back in front of him. He took Justin’s cock back into his mouth just as he pushed a couple of fingers inside Justin. When the man swallowed around Justin’s cock just as his fingers reached Justin’s prostate, Justin actually mewled (and placed his hands on the man’s shoulders so that he would remain upright).

The next couple of minutes were a bit hazy. The man sucked and swallowed Justin’s cock almost desperately while fingering him, and Justin…Justin had something akin to an out of body experience. He felt melty and floaty, but not individual sensations (like the wet heat surrounding his cock or the firmness of the man’s shoulders beneath his fingers) and then he was exploding, his body returning to itself, catching fire, and burning, burning, burning. Justin was still slightly dazed when his orgasm ceased shuddering through him, but he thought he felt the man slip his hand in his, threading their fingers together and squeezing. Then the hand was gone; the man was gone. Justin was standing in the middle of an abandoned warehouse alone, his pants and underwear around his ankles.  

Despite the chill creeping up his body (his ass and cock were still slicked with spit, and it was a cool night), despite the darkness, despite the late hour, despite the disarray he was in (his clothes half off, his lips still red and swollen from the man’s kiss, his hair still mussed from the man’s running his fingers through it), despite the fact that he was now alone, Justin had a silly grin on his face. The man had sucked Justin’s cock, without reciprocation, without fucking, and had even held his hand. He’d even treated his flaw with something very like reverence. That was love, wasn’t it?

Justin smiled, remembering what the note had said: “Words are completely unnecessary here.” With his actions, Brian had expressed everything in his heart, as clearly as if he had written the words in the sky.

Brian loved him.

TBC…

After leaving the warehouse, Brian drove straight to Babylon. Once there, he bought a beer and leaned back against the bar, scanning the crowd with narrowed, intense eyes, but an empty expression, like Brian-Fucking-Kinney was wont to do; however, he had great difficulty selecting a target, quickly finding fault with everyone his eyes lighted upon. Too tall. Too short. Too feminine. Too bulky. Not bulky enough. And so on. He downed his beer in frustration. Then he called Anita (after which he turned off his phone). Fifteen minutes later, she showed up with a variety of intoxicants, ecstasy that she swore was the most potent she’d ever stocked and a few other things. Brian purchased (and took) everything. Twenty minutes later, he was feeling A LOT better. He smiled as he scanned the crowd now. And when his eyes landed on a guy with longish blond hair, pale skin, and, from what he could tell (though he was far away), a nicely rounded ass, he immediately strode over (well…it was more like a half-walk, half-run, but Brian wouldn’t accept that characterization; Brian-Fucking-Kinney didn’t run, not even half-run). When the blond man turned around, Brian’s face fell, as he discovered that it wasn’t Justin (the realization that Brian had been hoping to see Justin was quite a shock to him), but he dismissed his disappointment. He was feeling good, and this guy was close enough. Brian wouldn’t allow himself to complete that thought (to admit that the blond resembled Justin enough for Brian to derive pleasure from fucking him). So, blissfully ignorant (relatively speaking), Brian grabbed the man by the belt loop and pulled him toward the backroom.   

Once Justin had recovered enough to pull up his pants, he headed back to his car. He put the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it. He just sat there for a while. After his encounter with “Barney,” Justin was dying to see Brian. But he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. Brian clearly had issues expressing romantic interest (desire for more than a fuck, like, and love), and Justin didn’t want to push him. But…he really, really wanted to see Brian. So after sitting in his car pondering his quandary for a while, about twenty minutes, he called Brian’s home phone and then his cell. There was no answer at Brian’s apartment, and the cell went right to voice mail. Justin cursed and started tapping on the steering wheel nervously. He could just go to Babylon, which was most likely where Brian was, given the lateness of the hour, if he wasn’t with Justin or home. Justin sighed. Babylon was probably the place he was least comfortable, and he was definitely not dressed for it (he was wearing loose-fitting blue jeans and a plain black shirt), but, in the end, his desire to see Brian far outweighed all other considerations, all other fears and anxieties. So he took a deep breath and turned the key.

Brian pushed blond not-Justin up against the wall in the backroom and slid his hands from the man’s chest to his abdomen, frowning when he reached the man’s abdomen. All taut muscles. Brian quickly spun the man around and slid his hands over the man’s ass. Now that was much better. He had a near-perfect bubble butt. Near perfect. Brian half-groaned, half-muttered, “Fucking Christ” and turned to leave. He was definitely going to have to lodge a complaint with Anita about the potency of her E. At a sufficiently high dosage, he shouldn’t care about faces and how the abdomen and ass of one guy compared to that of others. He should care only about finding a tight, tight space to shove his cock. That’s when he saw “a ruckus,” as Emmy Lou would have termed it. Someone had tripped, the crowd around the backroom door had parted, and the men forming the crowd were all whispering to their neighbors. Brian moved closer. His eyes widened when his eyes lighted on the aforementioned fallen man. It was Justin. Suddenly Brian felt a cold heavy lump in his stomach. Had Justin seen Brian with the blond not-Justin? Had he been so upset that he had tripped in his haste to get away?

Justin had looked all over Babylon for Brian…the dance floor…the bar…and when he didn’t see his quarry, he had reluctantly headed toward the backroom. He tried to prepare himself, just in case Brian was with someone. Justin could understand if Brian was tricking. Justin imagined that, if that were the case, he was trying as hard as he could to pretend he was still as much the local gay lothario as ever, still as uninterested in relationships as he’d ostensibly always been. Justin had even attempted to take that as a compliment, a comfort…clearly Brian had feelings for him…so if Brian felt the need to go directly to Babylon from their encounter in the warehouse…Brian’s feelings for him must be so strong that they scared him. But when Justin saw Brian running his fingers down the blond guy’s torso, his flat, perfectly muscled torso, Justin was overwhelmed by a wave of nausea so great that he immediately spun around and actually fled, translation, he ran. Unfortunately, he tripped (on someone’s foot) while wheeling around, twisting his ankle and landing hard on his face. Justin, blushing a deep crimson, moved to a sitting position. Then he closed his eyes. He could hear the laughter and the murmuring, and, fuck, what he wouldn’t have given to be invisible at that moment. Just long enough to escape. That was especially true when he opened his eyes and saw Brian looking down at him. Justin was about to stand up, when Brian reached down with both arms and actually picked him up, one arm under Justin’s legs and one around his back. Justin blushed a deeper crimson (if that was possible) and protested, “Don’t, Brian. I’m too heavy!”

Brian shook his head. “Actually, you’re not.” Then he carried him over to one of the two staircases leading up to the catwalk and set him down on the fourth step up.

The E was truly as potent as Anita had claimed, though Brian had had his doubts but a few minutes before. He came to that conclusion when he felt a sudden urgent need to tell Justin that he’d taken the trick in the backroom to fuck him, but that he’d changed his mind at the last moment, that he had come to realize that he no longer wanted perfection, just Justin, or, rather, that Justin had come to mean perfection for Brian and that anything that strayed, even a little, from that template was imperfect and thus unsatisfying. He stared at the blond, trying to form the words, but he couldn’t. The best he could manage was to grin and say, in a husky drawl, “I’m glad you’re here.”

TBC…(soon)

The best Brian could manage was to grin and say, in a husky drawl, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Justin looked around a little uneasily. Everyone who’d seen him fall was staring at him still, but, now, curiously. Brian-Fucking-Kinney had never, to their knowledge, carried any man anywhere. In fact, he never took non-sexual interest in anyone but his best friend and sometimes his best friend’s friends. Justin swallowed hard and then asked Brian, hesitantly, nervously, “You are?” Justin’s stomach was doing flip flops. Did that mean Brian wasn’t disappointed that he wasn’t currently fucking the blond guy?

Brian nodded, his eyes wide and bright, and he inquired, his voice suddenly soft and full of concern, “How’s your ankle?” He even lifted Justin’s foot into his hands (causing Justin to laugh as he fell back a little; fortunately, he moved his arms behind him quickly, quickly enough to avoid banging his head). Then he pushed Justin’s sock down and caressed the injured part gently. Justin shivered, smiled, and blushed, all at the same time. He closed his eyes for a second to ride out a particularly delicious shiver and then let them flutter back open, half-saying, half-moaning, “Actually, it…it feels a lot better now.” Brian stroked Justin’s ankle a few more times and then pulled his sock back up and returned Justin’s foot to its original position. “Can you dance?”

Justin nodded. “I think so.”

Then they were on the dance floor, brightly colored lights spinning and flashing and washing over them. The heat coming off the other dancers’ bodies and Brian’s body in waves, Brian’s body pressed so tightly against Justin’s, the lights spinning and spinning and spinning, the scent of Brian musk enveloping Justin, the electricity sparking everywhere Brian’s hands and fingers traveled (Justin’s ass, his back, his neck, his hair) and then pulsing through Justin’s body to the beat of the music, and the feel of the soft, slightly damp skin of Brian’s neck, in which Justin’s face was buried, was nearly overwhelming for Justin. Justin would have been thrilled to learn that Brian was experiencing a similar physical awakening, all his senses heightened, prickling and bristling, as well as a similar feeling of being engulfed, seized.

Justin’s heart was pounding so hard in his chest, and he was trembling. He brushed his lips gently against Brian’s neck. When Justin felt Brian shiver, he swallowed hard. Then he traced the tip of his tongue along the curve of Brian’s neck, and, when Brian slid his hands back down to Justin’s ass and squeezed it hard, Justin moaned and then starting sucking Brian’s neck, right at the pulse point. He drew the tip of his tongue along Brian’s ear and then nibbled and sucked on Brian’s ear lobe. Then Brian’s hands were tangled in Justin’s hair, pulling Justin back a little and tilting Justin’s head, Brian’s eyes burning into his. Then Brian drew Justin closer. Closer and closer and closer. So slowly that Justin suddenly ached all over. Then Brian pressed his lips against Justin’s and then, then, Brian thrust his tongue into Justin’s mouth. And they weren’t dancing anymore. They were standing in the middle of the dance floor, making out like horny teenagers, grinding and pulling hair.

Then suddenly Brian’s hand was in Justin’s, fingers threaded, as Brian led Justin out of the club, leaving a wake of astonished onlookers, including Mikey, Emmett, and Ted. And then Brian pushed Justin up against the passenger’s side of his jeep, and his tongue was back in Justin’s mouth, and his hands were everywhere, on Justin’s ass, on his abdomen, on his chest, pinching his nipples, on his neck, and then back in his hair, pulling Justin closer, kissing him deeper, pressing his hard cock against Justin’s and rubbing up against Justin. Justin could barely breathe and, what breath he had, he used to moan, and loudly.

Then Brian broke their kiss, and, his cheek pressed against Justin’s, his voice, husky, so husky it caused Justin to shiver and tremble, he whispered, “I need…”

Unfortunately, Justin would not learn, not tonight, what it was Brian needed so desperately, and desperate Brian was, judging by his plaintive tone, because that was the moment when blond not-Justin caught sight of them. He hissed, “You blew me off for him? A fucking fatty?” Brian whipped his head around, toward the voice, and glared daggers at blond not-Justin until he stomped off, but the damage was done. When Brian turned back, he noted that Justin had paled. His eyes were lifeless, and he had moved as far away from Brian as he could, shrinking back against the jeep. His eyes were not cast down, but he wouldn’t look at Brian, not even when Brian whispered softly, “Hey.” In fact, that’s when Justin started to leave, heading toward his car.

Brian just barely managed to catch Justin’s hand and pull him back. He grinned and drawled, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Justin still wouldn’t look at him, and he didn’t answer, not in words. He just shrugged.

Brian sighed. Then, on some strange impulse (he kind of wanted Justin to meet Debbie), he asked, his voice bright and hopeful (if you can believe it), “Do you want to go the Liberty Diner? They have the best hamburgers, juicy and delicious, and lemon bars that a…guy I know, Emmett, says are “scrumptious, simply delightful.” Maybe you could do a review.” Brian was suddenly eager to watch Justin moan softly in pleasure and smile broadly as he ate one of Deb’s famous burgers…licking his lips and maybe trying to lick ketchup off of his cheek. Brian felt a strange amusement bubbling up through him…giving him the urge to giggle. He wisely suppressed that urge.  

Justin still wouldn’t look at Brian. He shook his head and replied, in a gravelly whisper, “The last thing I want to do right now is eat.”

Then suddenly Brian pushed Justin up against the jeep once more, his body pressed so tightly against Justin’s. But this time, it was more abrupt, a little fiercer. Justin gasped. Brian lifted Justin’s chin up with a finger. His eyes were wide, but serious, as he growled, “Just be yourself. Anyone who dismisses you because of your weight isn’t worth your time.”

Justin just gaped at Brian. It was suddenly so hard to breathe and impossible to speak.

Then Brian stepped back and grinned. “So…shall we?”

Justin swallowed hard. But he nodded, too. Then he licked his lips and said, “Umm…yeah. Let’s go.”

Brian tossed Justin his keys and informed him, “You’re driving. I had a little too much…of everything.”

Justin smiled brightly and walked around to the other side of the jeep.

TBC… (I might write the diner scene this evening. In case you’re curious, Mikey, Emmett, and Ted are going to end up at the diner, too)

Justin was a little nervous. Brian had only ever taken him one other place (Babylon), and both Babylon and the Liberty Diner were on Liberty Avenue, which, these days, might have been the center of hell as far as Justin was concerned. Justin would normally have been more comfortable (he would be much less on display at a diner, where he could sit down and where his belly would be hidden by the table), but he was still on edge from the fall and that blond trick’s insult. Plus, Brian would probably know people there, and Justin hadn’t met any of Brian’s friends yet…well his other friends.

But Justin shouldn’t have been worried. Either that or he should have been very, very worried. Once out of the car, Brian hopped over to Justin and grabbed Justin by the shoulders, guiding him toward the Diner’s door, but then actually slid his arms around Justin’s chest, wheeled them around, and backed them through the door. Then he whipped them around again and guided them toward his regular booth. Justin was a little embarrassed by this, but he was enjoying being in Brian’s arms too much to complain. When they reached the table, Brian slid into one side and pulled Justin after him by the hand. When they were both seated, Brian threw his arm around Justin and pulled him a little closer. Justin couldn’t help but beam (and be grateful for whatever it was Brian had taken). But he blushed, too, when he noticed everyone else noticing them. The diner was pretty busy, about half full, and the eyes of every patron and most of the wait staff were on Brian and Justin. Justin supposed that the staring had something to do with Brian’s arm being slung over Justin’s shoulders.

Brian appeared blissfully unaware of the staring, but he wasn’t. He simply didn’t care. Any other time and he would have. Brian had spent years cultivating the perfect persona, the perfect mask; it had protected him for a while, but, unfortunately, over time, it had come to own him. He was expected to act in a certain way, and when he did not, almost everyone, even his best friend Mikey, took this unusual behavior as a sign of weakness. And Brian-Fucking-Kinney wasn’t weak. Even Lindsay, the mother of his child, a person he’d been friends with almost as long as he’d been with Mikey, policed deviations in his behavior. She had certain ideas about him that must always remain in place if the world were to continue to spin on the correct axis. But Brian wasn’t stupid. He understood full well that she had the same agenda as Mikey. If she couldn’t have Brian, she didn’t want anyone to have him. Brian could never want the things she had wished he would want. With her. His doing so would serve as a betrayal of such proportions that she might come to hate him. Brian had known this for more than a decade, but he never thought it would matter. He never expected to settle down with one person, not even Mikey, though he sometimes implied that that might one day come to pass. Maybe it was cruel, but Brian needed Mikey and his devotion as much as he needed Lindsay and hers. He’d never planned to have a partner, let alone a family. Technically, he did have one, one including his son, but Brian was keenly aware that he was a bit player. Mel and Lindsay were actually raising Gus. Brian was merely a figurehead. The sperm and the money. He was also keenly aware of the power Lindsay had over him when it came to Gus. She could rescind his visitation with Gus on a whim. It wasn’t even official. Brian had long ago signed away all rights to his son (shortly after his birth). No, Brian didn’t have a family in the general sense, and he’d assumed he never would. Therefore, he depended on Lindsay, Gus, and Mikey (and to a lesser extent Debbie and Vic and to an even lesser extent Emmett and Ted) to fill whatever holes that deficit of partnership and family created. The loneliness he sometimes felt…at night, after he’d kicked out the last trick, the loft felt so dark and empty.

But now, there was Justin. Brian wasn’t sure what that meant. Justin didn’t fit into any of the approved categories. He wasn’t a child (like Gus), a friend in which he had no sexual interest, or, rather, a friend in which he no longer had sexual interest, weak as it might have initially been (like Mikey and Lindsay), an acquaintance he spoke to only when he was desperate for companionship (though he’d never admit he needed companionship; like Emmett and Ted), a partner in crime/business associate (like Cynthia, his female analog, who understood Brian in ways few others could), or a surrogate parent (like Vic and Deb). Justin shared some quality with all of them, yet he possessed some that no one else in Brian’s life possessed. He was someone Brian felt the need to protect (like Gus), someone who desired him, to some extent (like Mikey and Lindsay), someone Brian turned to for companionship (like Lindsay, Mikey, Emmett, and Ted), someone who understood what he did career-wise, that he strove for not only money and career advancement but also artistry, perfection, and, occasionally, social value (like Cynthia), someone who taught him life lessons (like Lindsay, Vic, and Debbie)…but beyond that, Justin was someone Brian could just be with (without getting high first), someone who took him seriously, in spite of his reputation, someone who expected more from him. And, of course, someone Brian desired more than he’d yet desired anyone. Someone who might truly have ruined him for everyone else. Someone…he could see himself…

maybe…possibly…

growing old with…

And this thought wasn’t born of a fear of dying alone; it wasn’t something he never actually believed would come to pass but that he let remain ‘possible’ so he could continue barreling through life without serious thought about the future.

Brian wasn’t sure what Justin would think of that…he wasn’t even sure what he thought of that…but it was pleasant…and it kind of felt like hope.       

TBC...

When Brian walked into the Diner, attached to someone (who wasn’t Mikey or Gus), Debbie’s jaw almost hit the floor. A minute later, when they were seated and Brian slid his arm around that someone’s shoulders, she gaped so much that she lost her gum. It wasn’t until Kiki stepped in the aforementioned gum and exclaimed, “Ewww! Deb!” that Debbie shook her head, closed her mouth, grabbed two menus, and headed over to the booth in which Brian and his…companion were seated. Once there, she cleared her throat and set the menus in front of them. Debbie was at a loss. She normally just barreled right into conversations, but this behavior was so unprecedented for Brian that she was quite literally rendered speechless.

Brian looked up at her curiously, tilting his head and smirking, but Justin, completely unaware that Brian knew the waitress or that she was behaving as though she were possessed, smiled at her warmly and said, “Could I have a cup of coffee?”

Debbie nodded and replied softly, “Sure, sweetie.”

Then she left, walking slowly toward the coffeemaker. Brian called after her, “If you care, I’ll take a coffee, too.”

Justin chastised him, “Brian!”

Brian leaned into Justin and whispered, placing his lips against Justin’s ear, “I know her. She’s my best friend’s mother.”

Brian’s soft lips and the warm puffs of air caused by his whispering caused Justin to shiver and giggle at the same time. Brian was quite pleased with that response, so much so that he raised the ante, nibbling on Justin’s ear lobe. Justin’s eyes fluttered closed and then open, and he licked his lips. Brian and Justin were so engrossed in each other that neither of them heard the bell on the door, signaling someone’s entry. Thus, they were both startled when Mikey, Emmett, and Ted squeezed into the seat across from them.  

Justin’s eyes widened, and he froze, but Brian recovered quickly, smiling his lazy, overconfident smile.

Mikey didn’t even look at Brian. He simply glared at Justin. Then he said, “Who’s the twink?”

Emmett elbowed Mikey and then extended his hand. “Ignore Grumpy. I’m Emmett, the picklepuss is Mikey, and that’s Ted. We’re…uh…Brian’s friends.”

Brian leaned in and whispered to Justin, “PP is my best friend.”

Justin laughed brightly but then smiled a little nervously when he focused once more on the three newcomers. Finally he replied to Emmett, “Hi. I’m Justin.”

Emmett, Ted, and even Mikey inclined their heads a little, waiting for Justin to declare what he was to Brian. But they waited in vain. Emmett prodded gently, “So where do you two know each other from?”

Neither Brian nor Justin responded, but as it turns out, they didn’t have to. Mikey interrupted, “So Brian, since when do you feed a trick before fucking him?” Mikey had seen Brian chasing after this blond kid a few nights ago and had seen Brian kissing him at Babylon that night. He didn’t understand what was going on, but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

Brian gave Mikey a dark look and, in a low growl, replied, “Justin’s not a trick.”

Debbie returned then with Brian and Justin’s coffees. A little more animated now, she asked, “You’re Justin?”

Justin smiled and nodded.

“Gus mentioned you.”

In chorus, Brian and Justin asked, “He did?” (They looked at each other and smiled when they realized they’d spoken simultaneously, but then turned back to Deb).

“Yup. He told me that he ate pizza at your house and watched Cinderella, that you had a cool sister, and that…you were Brian’s new boyfriend.”

At this, Brian quirked an eyebrow, and Justin smiled (and blushed).

“He kept calling you daddy Jus, which pissed Mel off to no end.”

Brian smirked. He liked pissing Mel off, even indirectly. Mikey interjected, “You corrected him, right?”

“What?”

Mikey sighed in exasperation. “When kids get stupid ideas in their head, you’re supposed to correct them.”

Deb placed a hand on her hip. “How could I correct him if I didn’t know he was wrong?”

Everyone turned to Brian and Justin now, awaiting confirmation or denial of this information.

But Brian wasn’t about to let anyone put him on the spot. Talking to the munchers about Gus and Molly’s “playdate” was bad enough. Instead, he asked, “Could you bring Justin a cheeseburger, medium (he looked at Justin, and Justin nodded), and fries? I’ll just stick to coffee.”

Justin muttered, “Yeah right. You’ll end up eating half my fries.” Then when Brian glared at Justin, he laughed, loudly, causing Brian to crack a smile.

Mikey watched this exchange with increasing discomfort. He suddenly felt like he might puke. Emmett and Debbie looked at each other and smiled, brightly. Maybe Gus knew what he was talking about after all. Ted just stared at the two of them, his eyes wide.

Brian interrupted all of this by calling out Deb’s name.

She shook her head and replied, “Huh?”

“Cheeseburger…”

She chuckled. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Turning to Emmett, Ted, and Mikey, she asked, “Do you want anything?”

Emmett smiled and shook his head. “Just a front row seat, but I already have that.” He even rubbed his hands together.

Ted replied, “Coffee,” and Mikey pouted and said, “Nothing.” Debbie ruffled his hair, earning her a complaining “Ma!” Then she took the menus and went to put Justin’s order in.

Once Debbie was gone, Mikey hissed, “Since when did you start introducing tricks to your kid?”

Brian bit the inside of his cheek, trying to rein in his annoyance, but it did little. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Mikey with wide serious eyes and snapping, “How many times do I have to say it?” He pointed at Justin. “Not a trick.”

Mikey shook his head incredulously. “Well, he can’t be your boyfriend. We all know that Brian Kinney doesn’t do boyfriends.”

Brian shrugged. “Maybe that’s changed.”

Suddenly Emmett piped up, “That wouldn’t be the strangest thing I ever heard.”

Everyone looked at him quizzically. He continued, in whisper, “I heard that Brian punched some guy in the back room.”

Brian sent Emmett a warning look, but he just kept going. “The guy had brown hair and brown eyes, a real hotty. As I heard it, Brian took the guy into the backroom to fuck him, but then the guy said something  and Brian slugged him and stormed out!”

Brian sighed and looked down.

Justin looked over at Brian, concern in his eyes and on his face. “Is that true, Brian?”

Brian nodded.

“What happened?”

Brian shook his head. He growled, “Not here.”

“What? Why?”

Suddenly, Brian pushed Justin out of the booth, grabbed his hand, and pulled him outside.

“Brian? What’s going on? Why did you punch that guy?”

Brian snapped, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Justin stopped (they’d been walking toward the jeep). Brian stopped, too (they were still holding hands).

Brian stared at Justin, his expression blank. He blinked. Justin looked at Brian intently, trying to understand. Suddenly, he grew cold. “Wait…a brunet with brown eyes.”

Brian sent Justin a pleading look. “Don’t.”

In a near panic, he inquired, “He said something about me, didn’t he?”

Brian let his head fall.

Justin shook his head in wonder. His voice barely rising above a whisper, he said, slowly, “And you punched him…”

Brian hadn’t been looking at Justin, so he was startled when Justin suddenly pushed him up against a wall and kissed him. Brian responded at first, kissing Justin back hungrily, but, a few seconds later, he pushed Justin away (a little). Half-panting, half-talking, he asked, “What is this?”

Justin licked his lips and shook his head. Then he said, his voice so husky that it caused Brian’s chest to constrict, “I just need your lips on my lips, your tongue in my mouth. Please.”

Brian swallowed hard. Then he complied.

After Brian and Justin had been gone a few minutes, Mikey asked peevishly, “Are they coming back or what?”

Emmett patted his shoulder. “I don’t think so.”

TBC…

Justin threaded his fingers into Brian’s hair and plunged his tongue deeper into the man’s mouth. He kissed Brian hungrily, so hungrily. Though blissfully happy, he was also frustrated. And that frustration nearly drove him insane. No matter how hard he pressed his body against Brian’s, no matter how deeply he thrust his tongue into Brian’s mouth, he knew he’d never be close enough, knew he’d never feel connected enough. He doubted even that sex would give him what he needed, what he desired with every fiber of his being.

He wanted Brian so much in this moment, more than he’d ever wanted anyone or anything, that his entire body trembled. He broke their kiss and looked into Brian’s eyes. That just set his body to trembling even more and his chest to aching. He wanted to do a million crazy things. To push Brian to the ground and impale himself on Brian’s erect cock. To lick, suck, nibble on, and bite every single inch of his skin and then ride him, right here and now, without shame, in front of God and everyone. To tell Brian that he loved him, that he was desperately in love with him. So desperately.

What Justin did not know was that he didn’t have to say the words. Brian could read them in his wide scared eyes, on his flushed face, all over his tense, shaking body, and in his shallow, labored breathing. What Justin would never know was how close Brian came to beating him to the punch. To confessing that he was experiencing feelings he’d never even believed existed. That Justin was quite simply the one.

But the idea that Justin, that any person, was irreplaceable…destiny…the point of everything, of an entire life, paralyzed Brian with fear. People had to come and go. Brian kept not only lovers but also his best friends and his son at arm’s length. He didn’t like the idea of needing to see anyone every day, let alone a…boyfriend or whatever. Of needing only one man’s body, only one man’s kiss, only one man’s warmth in his bed. He didn’t want to wake up reaching for anyone. Because people couldn’t be trusted. No one. Whatever her feelings for Brian, Lindsay was committed to Mel, and someday, Mikey would be committed to someone else. Friends passed in and out of a person’s life, their importance ebbing and flowing. And children…Brian loved Gus, but he was being raised by other people. Brian preferred that. He didn’t want to need even his son, not the way he would if he spent every day caring for him. Children grew up, went off to college, and started their own families. That was it. People…lovers, friends, and children came and went. A person could only really depend on him or herself. He or she would leave this world as he or she had entered it. Alone. Other people pretended that this was not the case because the world was too big…the nights too dark and long. They needed to feel connected. They shrouded themselves in relationships of all kinds, pretending that they weren’t alone, but at the end of the day, at the end of their lives, they were. Everyone was always alone. Believing that that was not the case was delusion. Bullshit. If Brian told Justin how he felt or even allowed Justin to tell Brian what was written clearly in his eyes, what he was obviously dying to tell him, Brian would want to hold onto Justin and never let go. But eventually, he would be forced to. People came and went. That was the natural order to life.

Brian couldn’t do this…whatever this was. He just couldn’t. But…he had no idea how to end something that hadn’t even really begun, not without losing Justin completely, and he was just as incapable of that, of forcing Justin all the way out of his life as he was of making Justin his world.

Then fate stepped in. Brian happened to glance over Justin’s shoulder and saw a familiar face. Brian looked down and clenched his jaw. His chest felt so hollow, so empty. But he had to stop this thing, this thing that was careening out of Brian’s control. Brian licked his lips and swallowed hard, pushing back the nausea that rose as the seconds ticked by, as he realized what he had to do. He lifted his eyes slowly, but smiled when they reached Justin’s.  Then he turned a stunned Justin around and whispered into his ear, “Looks like this is your lucky night.”

Suddenly Justin couldn’t breathe. It was Joe, the man from the dating Web site. Justin turned back around when Brian started pulling away. He shook his head, protesting, “No, Brian. No…I…” But Brian was walking away. Justin was desperate to stop him. He cried, “Wait!”

Brian let his head fall. Then he swung around. Slowly. When he lifted his head and his eyes met Justin’s, Brian silently implored Justin to let it go…to let him go. Not to force him to say hateful, horrible things…things he didn’t mean…things he could never mean. Not about Justin.

Justin stammered, “I don’t understand…”

Brian’s eyes were empty now, as empty as his chest still felt. He deadpanned, “I was helping you practice for the real thing, but now the real thing is here.” Brian smirked. Then he drawled, “Time to hop out of the nest and fly, little bird.” He nodded his head toward Joe, who was still standing next to the diner watching them, watching Justin, who he had recognized from his pictures, looking hopeful. When Justin saw him standing there, the eager expression in his eyes, he felt ill. Brian’s were no longer empty, though his expression was blank (a feat only Brian could manage). He again silently implored Justin to take the out. To pretend with him that they were only friends, that they had only ever been friends.

With that flash of intensity in Brian’s eyes, Justin understood. He understood everything. He wasn’t too surprised. He’d known how skittish Brian was. He’d known that Brian needed the idea of Joe as much as Justin had. That they’d both been afraid, unable to be honest. Now Justin was ready, dying, to take a chance, to tell the truth, but Brian…

Justin nodded slowly and blinked back the tears that were fighting to escape. Then, in a voice filled with unshed tears and feigned excitement, he said, “Thanks for everything.”

Brian, whose own eyes were glistening, shook his head. In a husky whisper, he replied, “It was my pleasure, Sunshine.” He had no idea what possessed him to call Justin that. It just…fit, and Brian needed…something. Some connection with Justin that was his alone. The pet name…nickname…whatever, almost pushed Justin over the edge. He wanted so badly to jump into Brian’s arms and kiss him until he took everything back, until he admitted that he had feelings for Justin. But Justin knew that that would only make things worse, cause Brian to push Justin even further away. So instead, he swallowed hard and said, “I’ll call you later.”

Brian still smiling softly, nodded. “Can’t wait to hear all the details.” Justin clenched his jaw, but then plastered a fake smile on his face and pivoted. He walked right up to Joe, grabbed his arm, and muttered, “Let’s go.”

Joe smiled broadly and replied, “Okay!”

Brian watched Justin and Joe leave. Joe was chattering away. “I can’t believe I just happened to see you here! I started to think that you weren’t interested, you know, because you never emailed me back.”

Brian sighed and leaned back against the wall. That’s when Emmett, Ted, and Mikey came out of the diner. Mikey trotted up to him eagerly. “Brian! We thought you’d left!” Then in a complacent, snide voice, he observed, “I see you shook off the twink. Good for you! He wasn’t really your type, was he? You usually go for the super buff manly types.”

Emmett had been watching Brian closely. He was leaning against the building, staring at the ground…and he looked weird. If Emmett hadn’t known better, he would have said that he seemed defeated…even a little sad. He hadn’t said hello to them, not even to Mikey. He often ignored Emmett and Ted, but he never ignored Mikey. He didn’t even appear to be listening to Mikey. Not until Mikey, rambling on, said, “Plus, he was kind of a fatty. Were the pickings at Babylon really that slim?”

Then he looked up sharply, his eyes dark and a little scary. He growled, his voice so low, “Shut up. Shut the fuck up!”

Then he stormed off. He didn’t even head to the jeep. Apparently, he was planning to walk home.

Mikey jumped to follow Brian, calling after him, “Brian, wait!”

But Emmett grabbed Mikey’s arm. Emmett’s eyes were wide, and his voice low, almost a whisper. “No. let him be.” He stared after Brian for a moment, but then shook his head and guided Mikey in the other direction.  He suggested, “Let’s go home and watch a movie. Maybe The Way We Were.” He was suddenly in the mood for a sad love story.

TBC…Don't hate me...it's temporary, I promise. Justin won't give up so easily, and Brian...well...he's scared, but soon, his need for Justin will force him to overcome his fear.

Joe tried to kiss Justin. They’d just turned the corner. Joe pushed Justin against the building and pressed his body against Justin’s. He was rarely this forceful, this impulsive. But Justin was beautiful. So beautiful. A little chunky, but Joe didn’t mind. All he could see were Justin’s plump red lips and his light, light blue eyes, sparkling in the darkness. Joe looked into those glittering orbs (yes, he was smitten to the point of wishing to write bad poetry) and smiled. Somehow he missed the discomfort lying therein. He took the flush creeping up Justin’s neck as arousal rather than anxiety and annoyance and anger. Then Joe leaned in. Slowly. So slowly. Now that he’d cornered his quarry, he didn’t want to rush. His entire body tingled with increasing intensity as he drew nearer.  

When his lips were a hair’s breadth away from Justin’s, and his cock already throbbing, Justin turned his head and even pushed the man away. Joe was momentarily stunned. But he persisted. Perhaps Justin simply didn’t like kissing. A shame, but not a deal breaker. He stepped closer and rubbed Justin’s cock (which was still hard from his encounter with Brian) through the fabric of his pants. Joe whispered, “You’re hard, and fucking huge.” He laughed softly. “I guess pictures don’t lie.”

When Joe squeezed Justin’s cock, Justin drew his breath in sharply and then started panting. Justin’s stomach turned a little. He didn’t want to be enjoying this. He wanted every part of himself to reject that which he didn’t truly desire. Joe whispered huskily, “Let me suck you off.”  

Justin didn’t know how they’d gone from light chit chat to blow job propositions, in just a couple of minutes, though, admittedly, it took a lot less time at Babylon. Just a glance and the thought, “You’ll do.” Justin didn’t know he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been a boyfriend most of his adult life, short a time though that had been, and after that, he’d been heavier and therefore less attractive.  

Justin actually considered saying yes. He was angry and hurt, and he felt completely rejected. Bitterly, he thought, Brian had probably gone back to Babylon, or to some other club, to pick up a trick. To fuck someone else. Brian had been playing with Justin for weeks, probably still tricking the whole time. It wasn’t fair. So Justin leaned back against the wall and let his eyes flutter closed as Joe frantically unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Justin licked his lips and swallowed hard when Joe swiped his tongue over the head. Then Joe wrapped his lips tightly around Justin’s cock and started drawing it into his mouth. When the tip hit the back of Joe’s throat, Justin moaned softly. But a flash drew Justin out of the warm sea of pleasure into which he’d been drifting. Brian tracing Justin’s belly button with his tongue. Followed by a giggle, his, and then a smile, Brian’s. He blinked a few times to quell the tears that that memory had brought barreling to the surface, shook his head, and pushed Joe away. He hastily pulled up his jeans and fastened them, muttering, “Sorry, I can’t do this” and running toward Babylon (where his car was parked). Joe called, “Justin, wait!” But Justin didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back. He just kept running.

Tonight had been incredible, with Brian sucking him off in the warehouse, dancing with him at Babylon, and holding him close at the diner. And whatever else had happened, Justin didn’t want to forget that. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted Brian and, however pathetic it was, only Brian. He had to figure out what to do. He couldn’t let Brian run from him, from them. A few minutes later, he was driving home. He sighed sadly when he passed the diner. But then he smiled. Brightly. He’d caught sight of Brian in the distance, walking. Justin slowed down and pressed the button to open the passenger’s side window. Then he called out, his voice a sexy purr, “Hey, baby, need a ride?”

Brian just blinked. Then he asked, his voice flat, empty of everything, “Where’s Joe?”

“Get in the car, Brian. Let me drive you home.”

Brian shook his head, and in that same empty voice, replied, “I feel like walking.”

Justin clenched his jaw, threw the car in park, and jumped out. He pushed Brian up against the nearest wall and hissed, “You are so fucking infuriating!”

Then he crushed his lips against Brian’s and thrust his tongue into his mouth. Brian didn’t kiss him back. He just stood there, motionless.

Justin pulled away and sighed. “What the fuck, Brian? I know you want me. Twenty minutes ago, you were all over me and so hard I could have felt your erection from Mars.”

Brian quirked an eyebrow.

Exasperated and embarrassed, but smiling, Justin said softly, “Well, you know what I mean.” He sighed and shook his head. He looked down for a long moment, but when he lifted his eyes, everything was gone, but that thing Brian had done all this to prevent Justin from expressing. The words.

In a small voice, trembling with vulnerability, Justin began, “Brian, I…”

Brian interrupted, his voice sharp and angry, “Don’t.”

Justin flushed in embarrassment. “What?”

“Don’t.” Then more softly, a hint of desperation in his voice, he added, “Please…don’t.”

Justin knew it was stupid. And it ran counter to everything he’d thought when he’d done what Brian had wanted him to do, when he’d gone off with Joe. It was just so hard keep the words in. He was tired of lies and pretence. Of games. He just wanted to lay his cards on the table. But, looking into Brian’s now-dead eyes, he was scared. Fucking terrified. So, in the end, he lied. “I…I couldn’t do it.”

Relieved but confused, Brian asked, “What?”

Justin laughed nervously. “You know me…too shy.”

Brian’s chest tightened. He didn’t really want to know, but, at the same time, he did. So his words came out in a stammer. At first. “Wh-what happened?”

Justin turned red and looked down as he confessed, “Joe wanted to suck me off. Even had my dick in his mouth…but…”

Brian gritted his teeth. The image of Mr. Perfect down on his knees sucking Justin’s dick had Brian seething. It took everything in him to reply evenly, “But what?”

“I couldn’t do it.”

Brian released a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. He smiled, his voice lilting. “Surely you’ve had your dick sucked before.”

Justin laughed and blushed an even deeper red. “Of course…but…”

Brian couldn’t keep the edge from coming back into his voice. He was most definitely conflicted. He was glad Justin had stopped things with Joe, but he didn’t really want to hear why. He needed Justin to leave him out of everything, but, at the same time, he felt like punching someone, particularly an attractive, boring cuddler, every time Justin mentioned Joe. He prompted, a little reluctantly, “But…”

Justin closed his eyes. He didn’t want to answer. Because he couldn’t answer honestly. Because he’d have to lie, and however relieved Brian might have been that Justin wasn’t forcing him to face his feelings, to admit them out loud, the lie might hurt him. Justin knew he shouldn’t care. Brian had brought this on himself. He’d pushed him into Joe’s arms, urging Justin to fuck him. However, despite everything, he did care. Course…if he were to have any hope of someday being Brian’s…

Brian, getting impatient, repeated, “But…”

“But…I couldn’t do it.” Justin swallowed hard. Then he continued, “He’s too beautiful. Too perfect.” Justin covered his face with his hands (because what he was about to say couldn’t but make him smile and blush; what he was doing was pitiful, and he knew it). “What if…when it comes down to it…I suck…and not in…”

Tongue-in-cheek, Brian supplied, “A positive life-affirming way?”

Justin turned around, away from Brian, and nodded. “Yeah.” What he was doing was so wrong. But, in this moment, he needed Brian to fuck him like he needed air to breathe. He’d do whatever it took.

Brian smirked. This was perfect. He could do Justin ‘a favor’ without worrying about breaking any of his rules. He could fuck Justin as many times as he liked, and neither of them would need to make any heartfelt confessions. Justin wasn’t a trick. He was…a friend. Brian would simply be giving his friend a helping hand. He moved closer to Justin, nudging his ear with his nose, and whispered huskily, “Maybe I pushed baby bird out of the nest too soon.”

Justin shivered at the contact. When Brian moved from behind him and headed toward the car, Justin smiled brightly, but shook his head. He was pathetic. They were both pathetic. Well…Shakespeare’d said it himself: “The course of true love never did run smooth.”

So Justin walked around to the driver’s side. Then he asked, as coolly as he could manage, “Your place or mine?”

“Yours.” Brian didn’t want to fuck Justin in his bed. Not where he’d had anyone else. Though, of course, he was unlikely to ever admit that, not even under pain of death.

TBC…(later tonight, I promise)

If Justin could have laughed, he would have had a nice long chuckle at himself. But he was too tense to even smile. The irony was, what Justin had said about Joe might end up being true about Brian. Justin was so excited and nervous (bordering on frightened). Brian was too beautiful. Too perfect. Justin was afraid he could never measure up, never please him. Worse yet, Justin would have to be completely naked in front of him. So following the five-minute drive back to his house, he was well on his way to a full-blown panic. In fact, when he opened the car door, he nearly fell out, he dropped his keys (twice) when he was trying to unlock the apartment door, and he bumped into a table while trying to switch on the lights. If Brian hadn’t have caught Justin, slipping an arm around his waist, he would have tumbled to the floor for sure.

Justin was already trembling a little. But the trembling just got worse when Brian whispered into his ear, “Relax, Sunshine. It’s just fucking.” Justin poured all of his willpower into trying to follow Brian’s advice, but, apparently, nothing less than divine intervention (and that of a higher power than Brian) would stop the trembling.

A moment later Brian spun Justin around in his arms. Then he growled, “Did you kiss him?”

Justin was so surprised (by the spin and the question) that he barely managed a “What?”

Brian smiled. He liked how easy it was for him to throw Justin. He repeated slowly, seductively, all the while looking into Justin’s eyes, “Did­. You. Kiss. Joe?”

Justin flushed, partly in embarrassment (he really didn’t want to talk about Joe…to be reminded about what he’d almost let Joe do) and partly in pleasure (Brian was sooo jealous). He answered firmly, as firmly as he could manage, “No.”

Justin could see a hint of a smile cross Brian’s lips before they came crashing down onto his. Then Brian’s tongue was in his mouth, his hands in Justin’s hair, pulling and clawing as Brian tried to close what little space remained between them. Justin slid his hands around Brian’s neck to get the leverage he needed to kiss Brian back as forcefully. Brian’s lips were so soft, yet firm, his mouth so warm, and his kiss so deep and passionate that Justin’s heart kept stopping. He never wanted this moment to end. Especially when Brian started grinding against him. That caused waves of the most intense, pleasurable heat to rain down and course through him. He was still trembling, and the disparate sensations, hot and cold, shaking and tingling, combined to make him feel as though his body were a live wire, rippling with electricity. He felt so alive, yet so completely out of control. At that point, if Justin hadn’t been gripping Brian’s neck so tightly, he would have slid to the floor, his body a pile of Jell-o. Unfortunately for Justin, they did eventually break apart, but their kiss left them both panting and breathless and Justin’s entire body tinged with red. He’d never been more turned on in his life.

And Brian? He’d never kissed anyone as often or as long as he’d kissed Justin, now or ever. He generally considered kissing the first volley in his effort to conquer, particularly with so-called straight guys (or notorious tops). But kissing Justin was nothing like that. He enjoyed it, so much, more than he’d ever be comfortable admitting, but the whole time, Brian felt as though he were struggling…he wasn’t quite sure against what or why. Maybe just struggling to remain a separate person, to not be conquered himself.

Justin looked into Brian’s dark, intense eyes, now a deep brown, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure what to do (obviously he knew the mechanics of sex, and had done a fair amount of fucking in his life, but this situation was like facing a buffet of all your favorite foods…he didn’t know what to ‘sample’ first). He inquired, a little nervously, “Do…do you want me to suck your dick?”

Brian licked his lips as he ran a finger over Justin’s own (Justin wanted to do a back flip when he felt Brian’s cock jump at the words ‘suck your dick’). Brian most certainly did want those plump lips wrapped around his cock. But not yet. He needed to be inside Justin as soon as possible. So he mumbled, “Later” against Justin’s lips before thrusting his tongue into Justin’s mouth once more and picking him up. Justin wrapped his legs around Brian’s waist, let his eyes flutter closed, and then allowed himself to fall back into the dizzying heat, kissing Brian hungrily as he carried Justin into the bedroom.

Brian actually crawled onto the bed, still kissing Justin, before letting go. Justin whimpered softly when Brian disengaged, trembling even harder in response to the chill Brian left where his searing lips and body had once been. Still Justin smiled, his eyes sparkling. This was really happening. That is, until Brian started to pull Justin’s shirt off. Then his eyes widened and filled with fear. He sat up quickly, moving so that he was sitting on the side of the bed, facing away from Brian, his legs hanging over the edge. Brian got up on his knees, observing Justin closely as he rolled his lips into his mouth. Brian needed to get Justin over his body hang ups. And fast. He watched Justin pull his shirt off and toss it onto the floor, noting his terrified expression when Justin glanced back. Then he watched Justin stand up and remove his jeans (and shoes and socks). Finally, he watched Justin turn toward the headboard and lie down. Justin had managed to keep his stomach out of sight the entire time. Brian ran his hand slowly upward along Justin’s back, relishing in his soft skin, but then he brought his hand back down and slapped Justin’s ass. Justin laughed in pleasure and shock. Brian whispered huskily, “Roll over.”

Justin raised his head in alarm. Then he asked breathlessly, “What?”

Brian repeated, a little more loudly, “Roll over.”

His voice desperate, Justin protested, “But Brian…”

“I want to see you…and, more importantly, I want you to see me.”

Justin buried his face in his pillow for a moment, but then, hesitantly, he rolled over. He couldn’t even look at Brian. Not until Brian climbed off the bed and started stripping. The second he saw Brian unveiling the first inch of his beautiful bronze skin, Justin’s eyes were glued to his body. He was so mesmerized that he didn’t even think to cover his belly.

Watching Brian undress was better than watching him wash in the shower. Soon, Justin would be able to touch every inch of Brian’s beautiful body, not just his back. It was even better than jerking off to Brian’s voice or jerking Brian off…soon that huge cock would be deep inside him, filling him up, pounding into him. With that thought, Justin’s cock started to throb and precum bubbled out of his slit. When Brian was completely naked, he lifted his arms over his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and smiled. Then he narrowed his eyes and climbed back onto the bed. The silky blond hair on Justin’s arms, legs, and chest, so light it was almost invisible, bristled in anticipation as Brian climbed over him. When Brian reached Justin’s head, he kissed Justin’s lips gently and then fell to the side, his head resting on his arm. He stared at Justin intently for a moment, but then rolled onto his back. Then in a husky whisper, he demanded, “Ride me.”

Justin swallowed hard, but sat up on his knees. Brian moved to the center of the bed. Justin straddled him. Justin couldn’t even look at Brian. His stomach was right in Brian’s face. He grabbed a blanket off a chair next to the bed and wrapped it around his waist. Only then could he lift his eyes. His face was beet red. But Brian wasn’t having any of that. He whispered, “Don’t hide. Confidence is hot.” Then he started pulling the blanket away.

Justin protested, his voice tinged with desperation and fear, “Brian, don’t. Please.”

Brian ignored him. He pushed the blanket off Justin and ran his hands down Justin’s sides to his ass and then back up over his belly. Justin stared into Brian’s eyes the entire time, looking for the faintest flicker of disgust. But all he could see was desire. Justin’s breath caught in his throat when Brian’s eyes met his once more. Still looking deep into Justin’s eyes, Brian threaded his fingers into Justin’s hair and pulled him down, down, down, until their lips met. Then he plunged his tongue into Justin’s mouth, kissing him hungrily. He kissed Justin deeper and deeper, drawing him closer and closer. When Brian finally broke their kiss, Justin was a little dizzy, his lips red and swollen. Yet he managed to grab the lube and a condom from the nightstand. He rolled the condom onto Brian’s hard, leaking cock and slicked it with lube. Then he started impaling himself on it slowly. Brian slid his hands down to Justin’s ass, squeezing and rubbing, but not pulling Justin down, though he was dying to do just that.  

When Brian was ensconced in Justin, the moment they were fully joined, Brian’s eyes widened and he actually moaned, and loudly (Justin was so fucking tight), an abnormal response for him during sex. Brian usually managed to remain silent while fucking, except for some occasional panting. He didn’t like his partners to know whether or not they were pleasing him. He liked to be completely in control. At that same moment, Justin, in contrast, shut his eyes tight and threw back his head, his breathing shallow and almost soundless. After a few heartbeats, Justin started moving again, slowly riding Brian’s dick, his eyes closed the whole time. Brian watched, rapt. Justin’s mouth was open slightly, his skin damp and flushed. When Justin licked his lips, which were still red and swollen, Brian lost it. He flipped Justin onto his back, lifted Justin’s legs onto his shoulders, and began thrusting. Not fast, but deep. Meanwhile, he licked the sweat off of Justin’s skin. This quickly progressed to sucking on every inch of skin Brian could reach. Justin’s neck, his chest, his shoulders…then came the biting. But nothing sated Brian’s desire to consume Justin. And Justin’s soft moans, roaming hands, and that intense look in his now-open eyes just caused the ache in Brian’s chest to grow. Brian stared at Justin for a moment, gaping a little. As ridiculous as it sounded, Brian felt like he was falling, like Justin’s eyes, no longer filled with fear or even simple lust, but something transcending everything physical, were drawing him in. Brian couldn’t breathe, and his heart stubbornly refused to beat. Then he was kissing Justin, clawing at his shoulders, pulling hair, all the while thrusting into Justin, deeper and deeper, harder and harder, faster and faster. They were sweating and writhing and moaning through kisses, no longer conscious of anything but desperate need and the single inferno of heat coursing through both their bodies. Then they were cumming, still kissing, moaning louder, and clawing at each other like animals. Brian didn’t even remember touching Justin’s cock, but it erupted all over his chest nonetheless. Then they were holding onto each other so tightly, like their lives depended on it, and gasping for air. Squeezing their eyes shut to stave off dizziness, to reorient themselves.

Once Brian regained his balance, he carried Justin into the bathroom. They showered until the hot water ran out, running soapy hands all over each other’s bodies and kissing, sometimes soft and tender, sometimes rough and desperate. Brian couldn’t get enough, of touching Justin and especially of kissing him. If he’d thought about it, his urgent need for that kind of connection would have scared him, would have sent him running. As far and as fast as he could possibly go.

After two blow jobs and a few more fucks, Justin was laying in Brian’s arms. The sun was starting to peek over the horizon. In the dim light, Justin gazed at Brian, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Justin’s chest ached, and he felt a little like crying, though he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Instead he whispered the words that had been thrumming through his body all night, the words he thought might eat him alive if he didn’t express them. In the softest of whispers, so soft he could barely hear his own voice, he breathed, “I love you, Brian. So much.” Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

TBC…

Brian didn’t sleep at all while in bed with Justin. He closed his eyes and waited until Justin fell asleep and then opened them back up and pulled him close. He spent the next few hours touching Justin, running his fingers lightly over his arms and back, nuzzling his neck, and brushing his hair out of his eyes. Brian watched him sleep and listened to him breathe. And he thought. He let himself ponder possibilities he never would have considered before Justin: being a boyfriend, promising fidelity, expressing the strange feelings Justin’s mere presence in his life was causing him to experience. He contemplated the repercussions of doing nothing, continuing to pretend to be just friends with Justin. Would Justin become frustrated and end their whatever the fuck it was? Would he pursue Joe in earnest, sharing the details of their courtship in an effort to get Brian jealous? Would Brian be jealous?   It pained Brian to admit, even to himself, that he would be. Most definitely. But Brian Kinney didn’t do jealousy. And whatever he’d said to Mikey, drunk on alcohol and Justin (Justin’s soft moans still ringing in his ears, Justin’s scent lingering in his nostrils, and Justin’s kisses and caresses still burning Brian’s skin), Brian Kinney didn’t do boyfriends. He didn’t do love. He didn’t do fidelity. Or promises of any kind. He was in way over his head, and he knew it. So he did what he had to, to stave off hyperventilation and suffocating fear: He carefully extricated himself from Justin’s arms and legs, dressed like the apartment was on fire, and got the fuck out of there. He didn’t leave a note. But, in spite of himself, he did kiss Justin’s cheek and run his fingers through Justin’s hair one last time. And it would be the last, Brian had decided. Clearly he couldn’t be just friends with Justin, but he couldn’t be something more, either. His only option was to abandon ship. Before he drowned.   

******

“Daph! God, it’s been months since you called!”

“Sorry, the village I was working in didn’t even have land lines let alone cell phone towers.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole. I know the people in Namibia need health care more than I need my best friend…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Men suck.”

“Uh..I hate to break this to you, Justin, but you’re a man.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So who’s the asshole?”

After a heavy sigh, Justin breathed, “Brian…”

“What did he do?”

Justin threw himself into his recliner, leaned his head back against the head rest, and closed his eyes. “I don’t know…stuff…things.”

Daphne sat down on the nearest curb and started brushing sand and dirt off her legs. She hadn’t had time to wash or change before her plane had departed so she was still wearing khaki shorts and a short-sleeved white blouse made of lightweight material, still sweaty, still covered in the sand and dirt that always seemed to be everywhere on the edges of the Central Plateau, carried on the wind from the adjacent desert. Daphne laughed softly. “Uh…you’re going to have to be more specific.” She couldn’t help but smile, and brightly, when Justin sighed once more. Even heavier than the first time. He was such a drama princess.

“It’s so complicated. And stupid…I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Come on, just tell me. And give me the short version. My plane leaves in an hour, and I have to go back through security.”

“I met Brian at Roy’s.”

“Oh God, Roy’s! I’ve missed that place sooo much. Tomorrow, you and I are going. I’m going to order two whole meals and eat every bite. Even if that means I’ll gain ten pounds.”

“Sounds good to me. Maybe…eh…never mind. So I met Brian at Roy’s, and we sort of became friends. But I was attracted to him. More attracted to him than I’d been to anyone else. Ever.”

That wasn’t surprising. Justin lived to desire, and not like most men. His desire had emotional/intellectual components. A pretty face alone rarely did it for him.

“I mean…I was fantasizing about him constantly.”

Again, not too surprising. The only surprise was that the object of his desire was a real person, and not some hot actor. During sexual droughts, Justin often had fantasy relationships with minor celebrities whom he admired. The longest had been a comedian with political leanings. Intelligent, talented, and, in Justin’s eyes, beautiful. That fantasy relationship had lasted an entire year, by Daphne’s count.

“And he was attracted to me, too, but he’s kind of a player. He’s never had a boyfriend. He’s never wanted one. And he’s sooo beautiful. Way out of my league. He asked me why I didn’t date or trick…that kind of put me on the spot because he was the reason. So I made someone up. Someone who’d never want me, but whom I wanted all the same. Then Brian decides to help me land the guy. It’s weird, but that actually brought us closer. We kept using the made-up guy as an excuse to fool around.”

“Huh?”

“For example, I said I was worried about being able to give good phone sex, so we did that a couple of times. You know, for practice.”

“Oh Justin…”

“I know. I’m sad as hell. And I don’t know…a lot of things happened…half the time, I was ‘practicing’ for the made-up guy, and half the time Brian was jealous and fucking with me. But then, a few days ago, Brian and I had sex, and not just once. We spent the entire night fucking…”

“Let me guess, he ran for the hills after that.”

Justin ran his hand over his face and sighed. “It’s my fault.”

“What? Why?”

Justin swallowed hard. “Because…because I couldn’t keep my fucking mouth shut.”

“What did you say?”

“That I loved him.”

“You told a commitment phobe that you loved him?”

“Yes. But I mean, I thought he was asleep. And I don’t know for sure that he wasn’t. But he hasn’t called me since…”

“Did you call him?”

“No! Hell no! I mean, if he’s freaking out, that would be the worst thing I could do.”

“I’ve always found honesty to be the best policy.”

Justin huffed a laugh. “And how many healthy, long-term relationships have you had?”

Daphne smiled. “You made your point.”

“Lying and game playing are a fact of life in relationships. Don’t get me wrong…you and I are usually the same. We fall hard and pour our guts out, and, then, the guy flees like it’s the scene of a crime. Or…stays and treats us like crap. This time, I’ve been trying something different, and it seemed to be working, but I just don’t know if I’m up to it. As much as I want him, and, fuck, I do, and as much as I love him, and, again, I really, really do, I think I should probably just throw in the towel. I have enough memories to get me through a thousand orgasms, and I bet fantasy-Brian’s much better at relationships than flesh-and-blood Brian.”

“Justin, how many times do I have to tell you? Living in your head and hiding from the world is sooo unhealthy.”

“I know…It’s just…getting over Ethan was so hard. I mean, he was an asshole, and our relationship was toxic, but I still have nightmares about him sometimes. Seeing him and his new boyfriend together. They’re always so happy…and they mock me. Maybe I’m just not boyfriend material.”

“You so are! You just pick the wrong guys.”

“The heart wants what it wants.”

“Exactly, and your heart does not want fantasy-Brian. Fantasy-Brian is not Brian. You shouldn’t settle for anything less than the real thing.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore. I was kind of winging it as it was. And now…I’m tired. So tired.”

“Look, I’ll be home by tomorrow morning. I’ll come over. We’ll have a few pots of coffee and figure it out. Shit, I didn’t realize it was so late. I gotta go. Stop freaking out. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Okay?”

Justin sighed again. This time more softly. “Okay.”

TBC…later tonight or tomorrow       

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. SMASH.

Brian’s alarm was now in a million pieces on the floor.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. THUD. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” CRASH. The offending object, a one-of-a kind and extremely expensive chrome and glass Mies van der Rohe end table, was now bent and broken. Brian had thrown it so hard against the wall that most of the glass was, not in shards, but dust. It looked like one of the piles of glitter littering the dance floor just before close at Babylon. Brian  hopped the rest of the way to the bathroom. The hot water did little to ease the pain. In fact, by the time Brian exited the shower, his (big) toe had swollen up, and his nail looked reddish-black. Brian rolled his head in a half-circle backward to get the kinks out of his neck (he’d been sleeping funny lately, waking up with various aches and pains every day this week). The shower had been almost useless (except at getting him clean). Brian tested his toe, putting more weight on it. Less than a second later, it was back in the air. “Fucking Christ!” He might have to go to the emergency room.

Brian managed to dress, all except his right foot. He couldn’t get a sock on, let alone a shoe. Brian would need someone to drive him first to the hospital and then to work. Brian pulled his cell out of his pocket and hit 1 without thinking. After two rings, a sleepy voice answered, “Lo.”

Brian shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d forgotten that he bumped Mikey to 2 shortly after meeting Justin. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Brian was at a loss. Should he simply hang up? Say hello? In the end, he opted for the latter. Justin would know that he’d called from the caller ID anyway.

“Justin, it’s…”

“Brian?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You sound funny. Are you in pain?”

Brian smiled a little in spite of himself (and his aching foot). From their first dinner together, Justin had been able to read him and understand him in ways people he’d known most of his life couldn’t, didn’t. But then he sighed. He wasn’t supposed to brighten like a light bulb just talking to Justin. He wasn’t supposed to feel a dull ache in his chest because they hadn’t spoken in a few days. He didn’t even know what to say to Justin. He’d snuck out the morning after they fucked, like a coward, although that was kinder than the goodbye he usually gave his sexual partners (“See you never” or “Get the fuck out”). And…he’d been avoiding Justin since. Again, cowardly. But Brian thought it kinder than brushing Justin off.

In a near panic, Justin asked, “Brian? Are you still there?”

Brian decided to be honest about the reason for the call. Excluding the fact that he’d dialed Justin’s number by accident, why he didn’t even want to contemplate. “I think I broke my toe. I need someone to drive me to the hospital.”

“I can come right over, but I need your address.” All Brian heard in Justin’s voice was concern. No disappointment. No anger. No hurt. Brian wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disconcerted by this reaction.

“I can call Mikey if you want to go back to sleep…”

“No, no. I’m up. I’m up.”

“51 Tremont. Apartment 6.”

“K. See you soon.”

Brian hit the end button, hopped over to the couch, and lay down, propping his right foot up on a couple of cushions. With the press of a button, he’d shot his plan to shit, and his resolve was weakening. With the press of a button, he’d shot everything to shit. Brian had kept Justin away from the loft because he didn’t want thoughts of Justin to plague him everywhere he went, but now, Justin was on his way here. Ten minutes later, the bell sounded. Brian pulled himself to his feet, or, more accurately, to his foot (his left one), and hopped over to the door. Brian buzzed Justin in without a word of greeting. Now that Justin was actually here, Brian’s unease was growing exponentially. Brian slid the door open and leaned against the jamb, pounding his fist lightly against the door. Normally, he would have been pacing, but that was out of the question at the moment.

Justin breezed past Brian, setting a bag of…were those frozen peas? on the coffee table, a move that would have had Brian reeling if he hadn’t been leaning on the door jamb. Brian hopped around so that he was facing Justin and gasped a little when he realized that Justin was now directly in front of him, very close, and smiling, like all was right with the world. What the fuck? Brian was full of anxiety, and Justin was completely relaxed, or so it seemed. Brian was starting to get annoyed. Why wasn’t Justin nervous? And what was up with the fucking peas?

Justin slid next to Brian and wrapped an arm around his waist, throwing Brian’s arm around his shoulder and guiding him to the couch.

“Lie down.”

“What?”

“Lie down.” Justin’s tone was firmer now, and, for some strange reason, Brian responded to the authority in it, following his instruction. Justin lifted Brian’s legs, sat next to him on the couch, gently lay Brian’s foot on the two cushions, which were now on Justin’s lap, and started examining his toe.

“You probably don’t have to go to the hospital. You just need to elevate your foot, ice it, and take some ibuprofen. But you should stay home, at least until the swelling goes down.”

“What, are you Florence fucking Nightingale now?”

“No. But my best friend Daphne is. That’s what she told my mom to do when she broke her toe kicking my dad.”

Brian’s eyebrow shot up.

Justin chuckled. “My dad used to be a kickboxer. He told her to kick him. He was bragging about still being as in shape as he was in college. And maybe he was. She did break her toe on him.”

Justin got up, gently placing Brian’s foot back on the cushion once he was standing, carefully set the peas on top of Brian’s foot, and then went into the kitchen in search of a glass. He returned a moment later, handing Brian a glass of water and two pills.

“Here.” He lifted Brian’s legs again, repositioning himself, the cushions, and Brian’s foot. Then he picked up the remote. “Want to watch some TV?”

Brian just stared for a moment, but then said, “Sure.”

Justin clicked it on and began channel surfing. “Ooo, The Price is Right. I bet you’re really good at guessing.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “I’m in advertising, not marketing or sales.” He shrugged. “But yeah, I am.”

TBC…I might write a bit more later

During a commercial break, Brian asked, “So have you heard from Joe?”

Justin was beginning to hate that name. He muted the TV and shrugged. “Yeah, he emailed me the day before yesterday.” That was a total lie. It wasn’t so hard now, not after Brian bailed on him. Justin was certain, in a way he hadn’t been before, that Brian wanted him to lie. And now he fully understood the consequences of telling the truth.  

Brian nodded slowly. “What did he say?” Justin’s heart leapt when Brian’s voice faltered (on ‘what’).

“He said that he was glad he’d run into me and that he hoped we could go out one night.”

“Ah.” More slow nodding. “What did you say?”

“Nothing yet.”

“You should tell him yes.”

“Are you hungry? I’m famished.”

“I could eat.” Justin was relieved. He didn’t want to talk about Joe anymore. In fact, never again would work for him.

“There’s an excellent organic bakery not too far from here. The bagels are so soft and tasty, you don’t even have to toast them. And their strawberry cream cheese has real strawberries in it. Delicious.”  

“Works for me.”

**********

A minute or two after Justin left the loft, his cell phone rang. “Hello.”

“Where the hell are you? I’ve been knocking for ten minutes!”

“Shit Daph, I’m sorry. There was…an emergency.”

Daphne sighed. “A Brian emergency?”

Justin hung his head. He was so pathetic. “Yeah. He broke his toe, and he actually called me.”

“And you just ran right over?”

“Yeah. But I’d just woken up…”

“He woke you up, too?”

“Yeah. Look I know I’m sad. A sad, sad, sad man. But it was the first time he’d called in days. I thought he was done with me.”

“I brought bagels. Your favorite kind.”

“From Noah’s?”

“Yup.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. Funny thing…I’m actually headed there, getting bagels for Brian and me.” After a pause, he added, “I could just give him the bagels and leave.”

Daphne huffed a laugh. “No way are you doing that. You’re just suggesting it, knowing full well that I’ll let you off the hook.”

“Maybe. Okay. Yeah.”

“You don’t deserve me.”

“I know.”

“So…call me after you leave Brian’s.”

“You’re an angel.”

“Whatever.”

**********

Brian knew he should have said he wasn’t hungry. That, in fact, he was tired. Then Justin would have left, and Brian could have gone back to trying to pretend he didn’t exist. But of course, that hadn’t been working out too well. He hadn’t been tricking or sleeping. And at work, he’d screamed at Cynthia so loudly and so long (for something minor) that she’d gone home and refused to come back until he offered her a raise.

Now that Justin was here, he didn’t want him to leave. And he could have made that happen so easily. He could call any one of a number of men who would come right over and start sucking him off, with Justin in the room. Surely that would send him packing, probably forever. Especially if he chose a skinny blond. And break that cool Justin was miraculously exhibiting. The problem was, as unnerved as Brian was, he didn’t want to hurt Justin. Something about Justin brought out his protective side. Very inconvenient.

Even if Brian were capable of being honest with Justin, which he certainly was not, honesty wouldn’t help. If he said, “This isn’t working out,” Justin would simply say, “What isn’t working out? We’re just friends.” This is why he’d always had the no-fucking friends rule. Fucking friends was complicated and generally involved feelings. Well that was blown to shit. Brian could just keep pushing Justin toward Joe, but that he could only make a half-assed effort to do. He didn’t want Justin with Joe. And none of this would get Brian’s dick sucked. He couldn’t trick if he was mooning over Justin. And he couldn’t go on much longer without sex, or he’d end up breaking everything in the loft and losing an assistant. He could just start fucking Justin regularly, trying to keep it casual, but that, again, was impossible. Like it or not, Brian cared about Justin, and he’d lost the urge to fuck anyone else (at least temporarily). And fucking Justin and no one else meant, by definition, that he was in a relationship. Those were his choices. Be in a relationship with Justin or try to forget Justin existed and spend a few weeks breaking things and alienating people even more than he already did. Pretty crappy choices.   

Brian ended up trying not to think about what he was doing. Ten minutes after Justin had left to get bagels, Brian decided to change into jeans and a wife beater. So he hopped over and into the bedroom, grabbed the aforementioned clothes and set them on the bed, and then started removing his suit. Justin rang the bell the second Brian was naked. Brian smiled. He had perfect timing. Then he hopped back over to the loft door and slid it open. Justin’s eyes widened the second they lighted on Brian.

This caused Justin to flush and shiver. Now that had been the reaction Brian was expecting when Justin first entered the loft. Nervousness and desire. Brian’s eyes darkened, and he smirked as Justin raked his eyes down Brian’s chest and belly, stopping at Brian’s groin. Justin unconsciously licked his lips. Brian spoke, but Justin didn’t hear him, not until Brian had called his name a few times. “Justin. Justin. Justin.”

“Huh?”

Brian chuckled.

“I said, ‘I was changing when you came back. I left my clothes in the bedroom. Mind getting them for me? I really don’t want to hop back over there.’”

“Oh sure.”

Justin was not going to lean in, brush his lips against Brian’s, and push his tongue inside Brian’s mouth. Nope. He was not going to drop to his knees and suck Brian off. Nope. He was not going to beg Brian to fuck him. Nope. He was going to toast bagels and watch daytime TV. He was. Really.

TBC…(very soon)

Brian honestly believed that his being naked would be all the inducement Justin needed to make a move. On any other day, he would’ve been right. Today, he was wrong. Dead wrong. As much as Justin wanted Brian, and he did, so much that every inch of his skin prickled, Justin didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. Not this time. If Brian wanted Justin, he would need to come up with his own crappy excuse, be the one to initiate things. Yup. Justin might be in love with Brian (and overweight), and Brian might be beautiful and way, way, way out of Justin’s league, but Brian clearly desired Justin (his cock, which was half-erect already, though only a minute or two had passed since Justin had returned to the loft, was proof enough of that)…and Brian had wanted to see his body, all of it, when they’d fucked…he’d even touched Justin’s midsection, caressing it and (as Barney Inkin) placing open-mouthed kisses all over it. Brian had also declared, “Confidence is hot.” So Justin was going to act confident and aloof. Like he was not the least bit stirred by Brian’s nakedness. Even if it was a big lie. Even if it killed him (Justin had been a bit melodramatic these days, since he’d woken up alone after their night together). Justin flashed Brian a warm but chaste smile as he handed Brian his clothes and immediately turned to enter the kitchen. Not even looking at Brian, he asked, “I got plain, poppy seed, and honey wheat bagels, as well as strawberry, honey walnut, and sun-dried tomato and dill cream cheese. What’s your poison?”

Brian just stood there, by the door (it was still open), holding his clothes. What the fuck?

“Brian?”

Brian shook his head. Then he growled, “Whatever.” He suddenly had the urge to kick something.

“You really don’t have a preference?”

A very clipped “no” was his response. Then he had an idea. He slid the loft door closed and turned toward the kitchen. “Justin, I need help.”

Justin looked up. “Huhn. Dressing?”

“Yeah.”

“Ummm…okay.” Justin tried to keep his eyes on the floor as he walked over to Brian. He definitely did not notice how the sunlight streaming in through the windows accentuated the bronze of his skin (or brought out the red and blond in his hair). Nope. Or how lithe he looked now that he was out of his suit. Nope. Or how erect his nipples were from the chill in the room. Nope. Or how his cock was now fully erect, a drop of precum glistening on the tip. Nope, nope, nope.  

Brian’s smile had returned and his annoyance receded.

Brian handed Justin his jeans. Justin looked at Brian, allowing his eyes to flit down his body, and swallowed hard. Then he kneeled. Justin wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Kneeling in between Brian’s legs to dress him was both comically surreal and torture. Brian placed his hands on Justin’s shoulders to keep himself steady. Justin shook his head and bunched up the right leg of the jeans, picked up Brian’s injured foot, and carefully slid it through the opening. Justin laughed. That was something he’d often done for his sister when she was a toddler.

“What?”

Justin shook his head. “Nothing.”

Brian quirked an eyebrow.

Through giggles, he replied, “Really nothing.”

Justin gingerly set Brian’s injured foot down and did the same with Brian’s other leg. Then he stood. Brian placed both hands around Justin’s waist so that he didn’t fall, and Justin started inching Brian’s jeans up. The whole time he was looking into Brian’s eyes, trying to breathe. Brian, of course, was smiling. Particularly when Justin’s hands brushed over his ass, and Justin turned bright red.

Justin whispered, “I think you can do the rest yourself.”

But Brian shook his head. “You’d better, just to be safe.”

Justin swallowed hard again and looked down at Brian’s groin. Then he grabbed Brian’s cock, which caused Brian to draw his breath in sharply and Justin’s dick to start throbbing, tucked it into Brian’s jeans and zipped and buttoned them. Finally, Brian handed Justin his shirt. Justin sighed. Then he slipped it over Brian’s head and waited for Brian to push his arms through the arm holes. Brian was moving like molasses. Clearly, he was trying to torment Justin. To torment him into doing something stupid. Like kissing his surprisingly soft, yet firm lips. Like licking the curve of his neck and then sucking and nibbling on every bit of skin he could reach. Like sliding his hands over Brian’s small firm ass and grinding his erection against Brian’s. But. But Justin wasn’t going to be the one. Not this time.

When the scent of Brian and the warmth of his body had driven Justin nearly insane (this time, he no longer had the urge to laugh, just cry), Brian finally finished sliding his arms through the armholes.

Justin tugged Brian’s shirt down gently, tracing his fingers along the expanse of Brian’s chest and abdomen as he did so. His body was on fire, and he could barely think or breathe. Which is why Brian was so shocked when Justin did a quick about face and flew back into the kitchen, almost running he was walking so fast.

Fucking hell.  

Brian watched Justin incredulously as he took one bagel out of the toaster (which Brian didn’t even know he had), put another in, and started smearing cream cheese on the first.

Fucking hell.  

Brian hopped into the kitchen, reaching Justin’s side just as Justin tossed a quarter of one half of a plain bagel covered in strawberry cream cheese into his mouth.

He hissed (though he was smirking), “What the hell are you doing, Sunshine?”

Brian’s use of the pet name he’d given Justin made Justin feel even warmer all over. He really wanted to jump the man, even more now, but, instead, he finished chewing and swallowed. Then he answered weakly, “Eating.”

“Eating?”

“I was hungry. Aren’t you?”

“We can eat later.”

Justin’s stomach did a flip-flop. Say what, now? But Justin wasn’t going to let Brian off that easy. Justin gestured toward the toaster. The second bagel had just popped up. “They’re toasted already. You can’t untoast a bagel, Brian.”

“Fuck the bagel.” Then he tossed the bagel Justin was eating and the bagel that had just popped up into the trash.

Justin complained, “What…”

“In fact, fuck all the bagels!”

Brian grabbed all three bags and was about to toss them in the trash when Justin grabbed Brian’s wrists. “Okay, wait. Let’s not get carried away.” Justin carefully took the bags of untoasted bagels out of Brian’s hand and set them on the counter. The second he’d done so, Brian grabbed Justin, pulling him into his arms. Justin smiled. “If you wanted to fuck, you should’ve just said, “Let’s fu—.’” The last sound came out muffled as Brian plunged his tongue into Justin’s mouth.

TBC…(I know. I’m the most evil person on the planet, etc., etc. But now, I’m hungry, so I need to take a break)

Brian moved them closer to the island and, in (his injured state and) his haste to push Justin against some hard surface (and to bend him over the aforementioned hard surface), actually fell into Justin. Justin grabbed Brian by the waist to steady him, but then turned them around so that Brian was leaning against the island. So eager was Justin, so full of pent up longing and desire, that he yanked Brian’s wife beater over his head and unzipped, unbuttoned, and pulled Brian’s jeans down and off in a matter of seconds (though he was careful with Brian’s injured foot). Such an onslaught it was, Brian had to hold onto the counter to keep himself upright. That was even more true when Justin dropped to his knees and deepthroated Brian’s cock.

“Oh FUCK!” Four days was the longest Brian had gone without sexual activity (orgasms involving others) since puberty; Justin’s lips were…fucking perfect, soft, but firm and plump; and Justin was sucking and swallowing like his life depended on it. Two Oh FUCK’s later, Brian was blinded, thrusting, arching, and exploding.

Afterward, Brian had clung to Justin, his face nuzzled in Justin’s neck, breathing him in. Then they had retreated to the bedroom, Justin walking and Brian hobbling, toe, heel, heel. Once in bed, Brian had removed Justin’s clothes and, Justin sitting up, leaning back on his arms, alternately licked, kissed, nibbled, and sucked on nearly every inch of Justin’s skin. He’d fucked Justin slow after that, alternately kissing him deep and licking and sucking on Justin’s lips. Brian had never cum harder in his life. Then he’d fallen asleep with Justin’s head resting on his chest, his fingers tangled in Justin’s hair.

Brian woke up alone. He unconsciously ran his fingers over the wrinkled sheets where Justin had lain. Then he sat up, slid to the edge of the bed, and stood, careful not to put too much weight on his right foot. He hobbled to the bedroom door and down the stairs. And then into the living room, which was bathed, no, drowning in dying light. Brian sighed and looked around. He looked at the couch on which they’d sat to watch the Price Is Right. At the spot by the door where Justin had dressed Brian and at the spot by the kitchen island where Justin had undressed him a few minutes later. Brian usually regarded his living space as minimalist and tidy, but, now, it just seemed…empty. And cold. Nothing but bagels (and formerly frozen peas) to remind Brian that Justin had ever been there. Whatever Brian had wanted or thought he’d wanted, this…this wasn’t it.

“So you just left?”

Justin nodded slowly, Daphne thought, a little desolately. Justin and Daphne were sitting side by side on the couch, their feet up on the coffee table, a bowl of extremely buttery popcorn set between them, a muted movie on the TV.

“Why?”

“I guess I just realized something today.”

“What’s that?”

“Brian expects things to just come to him. To come and to stay until he says it’s time to leave. But that’s not the way to make him mine. The way to win him is to play his game.”

“His game?”

“Yeah…and it won’t be easy. It’ll probably be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Is he worth all this trouble? All this effort?”

Justin flashed back to Brian holding Gus in his lap and telling him (softly, so softly) that he was “very pretty”…to Brian carrying Justin through the crowd at Babylon after he’d tripped…to Brian saying, “Just be yourself. Anyone who dismisses you because of your weight isn’t worth your time” after the blond trick had insulted him…to the look on Brian’s face when Justin had figured out who Brian had punched in the back room. And then came the sense impressions. The tickling of Brian’s tongue tracing his belly button…the feel of Brian’s hand in his at the warehouse…the burning flush on Justin’s skin everywhere Brian’s fingers roamed…the electricity Brian’s mere proximity caused to spark…the choking weight in Justin’s chest and the melting weightlessness he experienced whenever Brian leaned in to kiss him. And the pictures he hadn’t posed for…the moments they’d shared that Brian had found worthy of preserving: Justin holding both of Gus’s hands walking him to the bathroom, Justin holding Molly in his arms, dipping her and singing along to “Dancing Queen,” Justin sleeping on the couch, his face nuzzling Brian’s leg, Justin licking chocolate off of his face…

Justin could barely breathe. “He is. God, Daph, he really is.”

“So what do you do?”

Justin shook his head. Then he furrowed his brow. “I…I’m not sure. Play as hard to get as I can manage, I guess.”

Daphne patted Justin on the shoulder. “I can help you with that! It’s easy.”

“Is it, now?”

“Yup.”

“Well then enlighten me, oh wise one…”

“One, don’t call him. Ever. Two, when he calls you…”

Justin groaned. “If he calls me…”

“He will. Trust.”

Justin burst into a fit of giggles. “Okay, Ted Casablanca. You have got to stop reading his gossip blog. Seriously. You never guess any of his blind items anyway!”

“I…so? I like reading about famous people and the hijinks they get up to…even if I don’t know who’s doing what…”

“Or whom!”

Daphne crossed her arms. “Yeah…whatever…so, um, two, when he calls you, let it ring at least three times before answering and always pretend you’re on your way out the door. Three, and this is the most important, do not, I repeat, do not fuck him.”

“But…”

“No!”

“Not even…”

“No!”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“Okay, fine. Finish.”

“What if I leave right after, like I did today?” Justin smiled hopefully.

“NO! No fucking of any kind under any circumstances. Not until he admits he’s your boyfriend.”

Justin sighed. “But…”

“No!”

Justin rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Fine.”

“Wait, where was I?”

“Four.”

“Four…what was four again…oh yeah. Four, go out with Joe.”

“What? No! No, no, no.”

“You have to! Brian is super jealous of him, right? I mean, he created an online persona just to bash Joe, right?”

Justin smiled brightly. “Yeah. And he made a ‘date’ with me as Barney.”

“There you go. He keeps saying that he wants you with Joe, but your actually being with Joe is another thing altogether.”

“True.” Justin sighed.

“This was your idea. The only way to win him, you said.”

“I know…I know.”

Justin sighed again and got up from the couch, walking slowly, zombie like, to the computer. He pulled up one of the dating sites, the one Joe had emailed him from, and clicked Joe’s username. Then he clicked send message.

Joe,

I’m sorry about the other night. I guess things were moving a bit too fast for me. But…I’d like to see you again. Maybe we could go out sometime.

Justin

“Done.” Justin suddenly felt nauseous.

Brian lay in bed, watching the shadows lengthen until they vanished.

TBC…

Wednesday night

Justin,

I was so pleasantly surprised to receive your message. I thought the worst after what happened the other night. I’m sorry I came on so strong. It’s just…I don’t know. You looked so beautiful. And it seemed like fate, my just running into you like that. How about we get together on Friday? You can come to the restaurant where I work. I’ll cook you something special…give you the best table in the house, in our private room. It’ll be incredibly romantic…a little violin music, candles, the best French food in town (if I do say so myself), and you and me. It’ll be perfect! Let me know. Soon. I’m excited already. I don’t want to jinx this by getting too far ahead of myself, but I think we could really have something special.

Joe

Thursday morning

Justin was lying in bed, naked. He’d woken up at sunrise for no apparent reason and couldn’t go back to sleep. He looked out the window. The sky was light orange and dark grey, and the water towers stood black against the skyline. Justin sighed and rolled over onto his left side and closed his eyes. But sleep wouldn’t come. He tossed and turned for twenty minutes before he decided that what he needed was an elaborate romantic Brian fantasy (e.g., Brian holding Justin in his arms and nuzzling his neck or Brian finally confessing his love for Justin)…and, if that didn’t relax him enough to send him off to dreamland (with images he hoped would seep into his dreams), a sexual Brian fantasy and an orgasm that would nearly rend him of his consciousness. One or the other always did the trick.

At such times, Justin would even narrate. He liked hearing his voice all husky, whispering words he wished he could say, words he wished Brian would say.

“I’m dining with Joe at the French restaurant. Brian finds out where I am. I don’t know how. Maybe he comes to my apartment, and Daphne is there. Yeah, Daphne would definitely tell him. And Brian would come…whatever he says, he’s SO jealous of Joe.”

“Brian would see me and Joe dining over candlelight, in a private room, and he’d clench his jaw and glare. He was SO threatened by the fact that Joe is a chef. And he knows I love, no adore, food. Almost more than sex. He’d see me mmm-ing over whatever Joe cooked…maybe poached salmon with black truffles…with a creamy white wine sauce. I’d lick some off my cheek. Brian would lick his lips unconsciously then. Like he did when I licked chocolate off my cheek that one time. Joe would leave the room….maybe to get more wine. Or dessert. Yeah chocolate mousse. Brian would hide behind the door until Joe disappeared, and then he’d come in, grab my hand, and pull me out. He’d drag me to the bathroom and lock the door. Then he’d push me up against it and lean in, invading my personal space. He always does that. He’d declare cockily, ‘You don’t want Joe. You want me. Only me.’”

“I’d have to resist, though I wouldn’t want to. Part of the plan, you know. I’d shake my head and look away. I’d have to, since I’d be telling Brian a bald-faced lie. ‘No. I want Joe. I’ve always wanted Joe.’”

“Brian would step back a little, regarding me coolly, and smile. ‘Really?’”  

“‘Yes, really! You know that. You’ve known that since day one.’”

“‘No, what I know is that he’s a pretext. He’s always been a pretext.’ Fantasy Brian is a little smarter than flesh-and-blood-Brian”

“‘That’s your ego talking. You’re used to all guys wanting you. You can’t handle anyone wanting someone else, more than they want you, anyway.’”

“‘Uh-uh.’”

“I would cross my arms and glare at Brian defiantly.”

“‘I saw the look on your face.’”

“‘What look? When?’”

“‘Every time you sucked me off.’ Okay, so Brian would exaggerate. I’ve only done it twice. But still…”

“I would sigh and turn around. My face would burn because I’d know exactly what he was talking about, though, of course, I’d pretend I didn’t. ‘I assure you, whatever you think you saw, it was your imagination.’”

“Brian would grab me by the shoulders and spin me around. Then he’d smirk. ‘I don’t think so, Sunshine.’”

“‘So…what? What look did you supposedly see on my face?’”

“‘Reverence. Bliss. Sucking my dick nearly got you off. You worshipped me. You worship me.’”

“‘Whatever.’ But I’d look down. I wouldn’t want him to see the fear in my eyes.”

“‘And that line you fed me about Joe being too perfect, too beautiful to fuck…that was bullshit. If you’d wanted him, really wanted him, you wouldn’t have come running back to me.’”

“I’d huff a laugh. ‘That was a coincidence. I didn’t expect to see you.’”

“‘Whatever you say.’”

“I’d just turn away again.”

“‘I’ve seen you tremble and blush, for me, but that never stopped you from kissing me, jerking me off, sucking my dick, riding it. Sure, you stammered, dropped things, and tripped. But you still fell into my arms. Every time. You’ve never been able to help yourself. You’re a slut for me. Admit it.’”

“God, I so was! But I’d laugh and spin around. I’d pretend Brian was wrong. ‘You are such an asshole! And SO fucking full of yourself.’”

“Brian would just smirk.”

“‘I have to get back to my date.’ I’d reach for the lock then (to turn it), but Brian would pull me back, lean in, and whisper in my ear, ‘That snoozefest? Listening to violin music…talking about the three-story house and white picket fence he’s always dreamed of and the 2.5 kids he wants to adopt.’”

“‘And a date with you would be better?’”

“‘I don’t date.’”

“‘Figures.’”

“‘But…’”

“I’d raise an eyebrow and turn to face him. Brian would be a little uncomfortable. I’d be able to tell because he wouldn’t meet my eyes.”

“‘But…if I did…I’d eat dinner off of you.’ Brian would look up then, his eyes burning.”

“‘Is everything always about sex with you…’”

“Brian would shrug. ‘I like sex…’ More downcast eyes. ‘But no. I’d lick sauce off your belly button, your cheek, the back of your knee…I’d make you laugh. It’s not that Joe’s boring, though I’d bet you a thousand bucks that he is. With the right person, boring stuff isn’t boring.’”

“That would nearly knock the wind out of me. ‘Brian,’ I would breathe.”

“Then Brian would grab me by the waist. He’d pull my body hard against his and kiss me like I was a fountain, drinking so deeply, like he’d been on the verge of dying before my lips met his.”

Justin sat up then, leaning back against one arm and reaching for his cock with his free hand. His cock was hard and leaking. He started jerking off. Slowly. In Justin’s imagination, Brian was licking the curve of his neck, the tip of his tongue trailing along it so slowly, causing a half-shiver, half-tickling sensation, and then Brian was nibbling on an earlobe. Then more kissing. “Fuck, Brian,” he moaned. “God, yes.”

Suddenly, Justin’s bedroom door swung open. Daphne stepped through and sing-songed, “Rise and shine!” She was grinning broadly. Until her eyes lighted on Justin. His eyes were closed. His back was arched, and, of course, he was stroking his dick. Daphne turned away. “Oh God! Justin! Cover up!”

Justin released his still very erect cock and opened his eyes. Then he sighed and fell back onto the bed. The blanket whooshed as he pulled it over himself. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

“I did! You didn’t answer, and the door was unlocked.”

“You need to go back to Africa.”

“Justin!”

“You’re seriously cock blocking me! First you say I can’t have sex with Brian…and with your pop-ins, I can’t even jerk off!”

“Geez! Fine. I’ll call first next time.”

“Thank you! Now…could you, uh, go get coffee or something?”

Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Gross!”

Justin just blinked.

“Fine! I’ll get coffee. But jerk off fast. The coffeeshop is just around the corner.”

Meanwhile, across town, Brian was sleeping. But not peacefully.

He was tossing and turning, though very much asleep.

In Brian’s dream, Justin was looking at him, but he seemed different somehow. Like a shell of a person. His eyes cold, almost dead. They were at the loft. Justin was standing on the other side of the door (in the hall), and Brian was in the doorway, leaning back against the jamb.

"You don’t want Joe. You want me. Only me."

Justin intoned, “I wanted you. I fantasized about you. I fell in love with you.”

Pause.

“I had my shot. And I lost. It happens. Now I have to try as hard as I can to want something else. Someone else.”

Pause.

“I need to learn to want someone else.”

Brian opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. What could he say? Justin was better off without him. He knew that. They both did. But when Justin turned to leave, why did Brian feel like there was a hole in his chest? And not just a hole. A black hole. Sucking everything down into it, leaving nothing but a cold emptiness in its wake. Without even thinking, Brian grabbed Justin’s shoulder, pulling him back. The ache in his chest eased a little. “Wait,” he rasped.

Justin looked up at him. His eyes still empty. Not saying anything. Not moving even a fraction of an inch. Completely still. Waiting. But expecting nothing.

“I…” But Brian didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t give Justin what he wanted, what he needed, but he didn’t want him to leave. Weakly, he asked, “Why can’t we just…”

“Just what? Fuck sometimes? Maybe I should just accept whatever you’re willing to give me. But I’m an all or nothing kind of person. I don’t want to share you with hundreds of other guys.”

“As if,” Brian blurted out.

“What?” Justin’s eyes were narrow now. Flashing. No longer dead.

Brian sighed. “My dick isn’t cooperating. I’ve barely tricked since we met.”

Justin blinked a few times. He was panting now. He looked afraid. “Really?”

Brian shrugged and looked down. “I need...”

“What?”

“I need this…this funk or whatever to end. I need to go back to being Brian-Fucking-Kinney, stud of Liberty Avenue. People are already starting to talk.”

“You have so much more to offer than your body.”

Brian looked at Justin sharply, an unspoken “no,” an angry “no,” in his eyes.

“You’re more than an amazing fuck, Brian. And if you’d just...”

Brian snapped. “Just what?”

Justin gestured helplessly and sighed. Then he continued, his voice barely rising above a whisper, “If you’d just let me love you, you’d see that. You don’t need hundreds of devotees. Just one. One who’d love more than your body. If you’d just let me in, I’d worship you forever.”

Brian felt like someone had knocked the wind out of him. But still, he managed to scoff, “Forever is bullshit.” He leaned back and reached for the handle. He needed Justin to stop talking. Even if that meant shutting the door in his face.

“Let me in, Brian. Just let me in.”

Brian awoke clutching his pillow, dream-Justin’s words echoing in his head.

“Let me in, Brian. Just let me in.”

TBC…later tonight

Later Thursday morning

Daphne and Justin were in Justin’s living room talking and drinking coffee. Justin was now clothed, in jeans and a T-shirt, the T-shirt, in fact, that he’d lent Brian the morning they’d jerked each other off.  Justin had seen it in Brian’s hamper the day he’d gone to Brian’s loft and had taken it. He still hadn’t washed it. It smelled like Brian.

“Email him back!”

Justin grimaced. “Do I have to?”

“Yes! You want Brian to be your boyfriend, don’t you?”

Justin sighed and let his head fall to his shoulder. He inhaled deeply, breathing Brian in. Then he whispered, “So much.”

Justin groaned, set his coffee cup down (the red one Brian had used that same morning they’d jerked each other off), and then dragged himself over to the computer. He pulled up one of the dating sites, the one Joe had emailed him from, and clicked Joe’s username. Then he clicked send message.

Joe,

Sounds great! Is 6 o’clock alright? Which restaurant do you work at?

Justin

Justin wanted to end the evening as early as possible. Maybe he’d even make it home in time to catch the second half of Medium.

Even Later Thursday morning

After a shower and a jerk-off session most definitely not inspired by images of a certain blond’s plump cherry-red lips wrapped around Brian’s cock, Brian made coffee, and then, after it was done, he wandered over to his desk. He was morbidly curious. He went to Justin’s profile on one of the dating Web sites. He logged in as Justin and clicked the link taking him to Justin’s inbox. He saw three emails from Joe (three he hadn’t seen anyway). The last one was dated this morning, a few minutes ago in fact. Brian closed his eyes for a moment. He shouldn’t read Justin’s emails. Not because it was wrong, but because it was pathetic. Brian sighed, opened his eyes, and clicked on the third email. Pathetic as doing this might make him, Brian had to know.

It read…

Justin,

6 o’clock would be perfect! I work at Bon, on Third and Broad. I’m going to make you the best meal you’ve ever eaten! I’m so excited! See you tomorrow!

Joe

Jesus. Could this douchebag use more exclamation points? Brian marked the message as unread, closed the page, and then ran his fingers through his hair. Fuck. The snuggler was gonna cook for Justin. If Brian had been hoping Justin would decide Joe was a douche, which Brian certainly had not, it seemed unlikely to happen now. So Justin was dating him. Good. That’s what Brian wanted Justin to do.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Things were going exactly as Brian had hoped.

Thursday afternoon

Brian was sitting at his desk at the office, flipping a pen over and over in his hand.

Cynthia popped her head in the door. “Have you seen Smith? The other representatives from Branson Hotels are ready to leave, but he disappeared.”

Brian tilted his head toward his groin and smirked. “Tell them we’re just ironing out a couple of details. He’ll be right out.”

Cynthia shook her head. “You got it, boss.” With a giggle, she was gone.

“I guess we’d better hurry this along.” Brian threaded his fingers through blond hair and started thrusting upward, pushing his cock into Smith’s throat. Brian noted with annoyance that Smith’s hair was coarse. It was bad enough that his lips were thin. Brian closed his eyes, revisiting his fantasy from that morning and thrusting faster. Soon nothing mattered.

Friday morning

Brian rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, more specifically the part of the ceiling in the living room with the curvy track upon which four triangular-bell-shaped bulbs were fixed. Brian had moved them last night, shoving all four together on one side of the track. He’d moved his desk, but it had been too dark there. The last few days, Brian had been especially sensitive to lighting. That is to say, he’d suddenly needed more of it. He never used to mind sitting in the dark. In fact, he’d preferred it. Until a few days ago. Specifically, the evening Brian had awoken to find Justin gone. Ever since, Brian had needed more light. So much light. He’d even purchased another track lighting fixture. An electrician was coming to install it this afternoon. Brian had offered the guy double for a next-day appointment. He was suddenly desperate for more light.

Brian jumped. “What the fuck?” He ran his hand over his cheek. A droplet of water was rolling across it.

Brian scanned the ceiling above him for leaks. There were none that he could see. Jesus. Had he woken up crying? He’d had yet another bad dream. The second in as many days. And they were getting all Twin Peaks on him (and, apparently, turning him into a lesbian).

In the dream, Brian had watched Justin walking away with Joe. It had happened just like it had that night last week outside the diner. Then it had started raining umbrellas. No lie. In fact, several had fallen on Brian’s head. What was most peculiar was that Brian had gotten wet, even though no rain had been falling from the sky. Just umbrellas. Next thing Brian knew, he was sitting at a plain wooden table, one that looked exactly like the kitchen table at his mom’s house. He’d been holding a decorative light bulb. One of the ones that look kind of like the top of an ice cream cone. He’d stood and tried to screw it into one of the chandelier fixtures, but the base of the light bulb was too big. Then a cop had knocked on the door. He was there to return Brian’s Paddington bear. The bear’d had a sling on its arm.

That last part had actually happened to Brian. When he was five, he’d lost his Paddington. One minute he was clutching the bear in the crook of his arm, walking through a mall holding his mom’s hand, and the next it was gone. A few days later, a cop (a friend of one of his uncles, Brian later learned) had come to the door, carrying a Paddington bear. Its arm was in a sling. The cop had explained that Brian’s bear had fallen and hurt its arm. That he’d been in the hospital for the past few days, but that he’d asked to be taken home once he was better.

Brian had been so happy and relieved. He’d cried after losing the bear. He hadn’t wanted to eat or play. How could he? His bear wasn’t scared of Jack. He helped Brian be brave when his dad went into one of his drunken rages. He told him that, one day, he’d be big and strong. That one day he’d stop being afraid. That, after that, he’d never be afraid again.  

It wasn’t until Brian was 12 that his sister told him that his favorite uncle, his father’s brother Ray, had arranged Paddington’s return (She’d used it as further evidence that he was stupid). But Brian had never been allowed to have anything good. His dad had made sure of that. Just a year after Paddington’s return, Jack had ripped it limb from limb. Paddington’s stuffing had gone everywhere. His mother had complained for weeks afterward that she was still finding bits of Paddington’s insides all over the place.

Jack had made Ray go away, too. One night when Brian was six, Jack and Ray had fought. So loudly Brian had woken up. He and Paddington (that was a month before Paddington’s untimely death) had crept to the top of the stairs and looked down. Jack and Ray were yelling and screaming and pushing each other. Then they’d started throwing punches. Jack had then ordered Ray out. And Ray had left. Brian never saw him again. Two days later, social service people had come to the door. They’d asked Brian a lot of questions and then they’d left, too. A few weeks after that, Paddington had been murdered. And a few months after that, Brian’s mom had told him that Ray had died in a car accident. Brian’s dad wouldn’t let them go to the funeral.

Brian’s mom was always telling him about God’s will. That God always gave people lives that they deserved. So at seven, Brian had decided that God had taken a dislike to him. It was His will that Jack was his father. That Jack hit him and yelled at him and would never let him have anything good. His will that Ray had left and then died. Seven-year-old Brian had decided that God, like Jack, would always make everyone leave.

Brian hadn’t thought about Ray or Paddington in a long, long time.

Clearly Brian wasn’t indulging in enough of the various intoxicants he typically indulged in. He almost never remembered his dreams because he usually passed out rather than falling asleep. That had been happening with less frequency since Justin had come into Brian’s life. Brian had even started calling Justin to lull him to sleep with that purring voice of his. Fucking pathetic.

A lot of things had been happening with less frequency since Justin had come into Brian’s life. Brian had started going to Babylon less. Indulging less. Tricking less. Even spending less time with Mikey. Mostly because of the less frequent clubbing, indulging, and tricking. Mikey wouldn’t understand. Fuck, Brian didn’t even understand. Worse yet, Brian had been eating more and exercising and purging (through juice diets) less. Yesterday, he’d weighed himself. He’d discovered that he’d gained three pounds. That, more than anything else, showed Brian that his life was spinning out of control. He needed to do something. He couldn’t become some sexless, crying lump. So Brian dragged himself out of bed and onto the treadmill. Then he turned it on and started running.

Brian gritted his teeth as he ran, but then cursed, “Fuck!” after a few seconds and stepped off. His foot, particularly his big toe, was killing him. He walked over to his desk and started searching through the drawers. He smiled when he found what he was looking for, a bottle of pills Anita had sold him a few months ago. He took one. Soon he wouldn’t care how much his foot hurt, and he’d be able to exercise for hours.

Brian grabbed his cell phone and hit 3. “Hey, it’s Brian. I don’t have any meetings scheduled, so I’m going to work from home today. Could you bring me the Branson files after lunch?” He hit the end button and then stepped back on the treadmill. He started off by walking. He wouldn’t try running again until Anita’s wonder drug kicked in.    

Friday evening

“Michael?”

“No…”

“I’m sorry. I hit one on my boss’s cell phone expecting it to be his best friend…He must have goofed up while reprogramming his phone.”

Michael. Best friend. “Wait…are you talking about Brian Kinney?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Yeah. This is Justin. We’re…um…friends.”

“Oh.” Cynthia’s eyes widened. But she proceeded to tell Justin what she’d planned to tell Michael (Brian had put this guy as number one on his speed dial. Who was she to argue?). “Brian’s been taken to Mercy. We’re not sure what happened. He was running on the treadmill. He fell or something. He has a concussion and a couple broken bones in his foot.”

“Oh God! I’ll come right away.”

TBC…

A few minutes before Cynthia’s call, Justin was sitting at the table in Bon’s private room. Soft violin music was playing, a tall, thin vase with two red roses stood in the center of the table, and Joe had just set out a few dishes. Justin’s eyes widened. He didn’t recognize any of the dishes. Joe had truly gone all out.

Justin sighed. He couldn’t do this. “Joe, everything looks beautiful, but … I …”

Joe could feel it coming. He was about to be dumped.

Justin looked down. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. This was a bad idea.” Justin stood quickly and moved to leave, but Joe tugged on Justin’s sleeve. “Why?”

Justin turned around slowly and sighed again, more deeply this time. “I…I’m in love with someone else. But he…”

“Doesn’t love you back?”

“No! No. He does. He just…he’s a severe commitment phobic.”

“Ah. And what? You gave up on the guy, but then changed your mind? Or were you hoping to make him jealous?”

Justin couldn’t meet Joe’s eyes.

“Ah. Well don’t stop now. ”

Justin looked up. “What?”

“You haven’t even tried to try.”

“What? Look, I should go. I’m truly sorry for misleading you.”

Joe stood then and grabbed Justin by the shoulder, pulling him so that they were facing each other. He just stared for a second. Then he swallowed hard and said, more enthusiastically than he meant to, “Use me.”

Justin’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Use me. I don’t mind.”

Justin gaped for a moment. Then he said, “You should. You should mind.”

“Nah. Haven’t you ever seen a romantic comedy?”

“Que?” Justin smiled, but it was a muted smile.

“In romantic comedies, the protagonist tries to get one guy using all sorts of machinations, and, meanwhile, another guy, the guy the protagonist is meant to be with, is by the protagonist’s side. The whole time that he’s helping, the protagonist is falling for him. By the end, they both realize that the other guy, the original guy, is moot.”

Justin crossed his arms. “Name three.”

“Legally Blonde, The Wedding Date, and She’s the Man.”

Justin laughed. “Whatever…this isn’t a movie, Joe.”

Joe shrugged. “Then you have nothing to worry about.” Then in a softer voice and with imploring eyes, he added, “Use me.”

“No.” Justin shook his head and stepped back. “You seem like a nice guy…you should spend your time pursuing someone you can actually get.”

Joe grinned. “You think I can’t get you? Thems fightin words.” 

Justin huffed a laugh, but then shook his head again and looked down. “You don’t get it. I’m in love with someone else. Madly in love with someone else.”

Joe shrugged. “So you think. But if you and this other guy were meant to be, you’d just be together. Love should be easy.”

“You’re on crack! Haven’t you ever read Shakespeare? A Midsummer Night’s Dream? ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’”

Joe pushed Justin’s shoulder lightly. “I’ll pit my romantic comedies against some crusty old tome any day of the week.”  

Justin crossed his arms again, this time adding a fierce look. “You’ll lose.”

“If that’s true, again, you have nothing to worry about.” Now Joe was crossing his arms, too.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. I feel bad enough for agreeing to a date when my heart wasn’t in it.”

“Let me worry about me. You just worry about you and your boy…what’s his name?”

“Brian.”

“Alright. You worry about you and Brian, and I’ll worry about me.” He actually gestured first at Justin and then at himself. Then he grinned and pat Justin on the shoulder.

That’s when Cynthia called…

To Cynthia, Justin said, “Oh God! I’ll come right away.” Then to Joe, he said, “I’m sorry. I have to go. A friend of mine had an accident.”

“So let’s go.”

“What?”

“Brian’s the ‘friend’ in the hospital, is he not?”

“Yeah. Wait. How’d you guess?”

Joe sighed heavily. “The look of sheer terror on your face.”

“Oh.” Justin smiled nervously and tilted his head. He was about to debate the using Joe idea some more, when Joe perked up again, declaring, “This is the perfect opportunity.”

Justin waved his hands, shook his head, and backed up. “I can’t think about plots now. I have to get to Brian.”

“No thought necessary. Come on. I’ll drive. I have a Jag.”

Justin shook his head once more. But he followed.

*******

Brian groaned. His eyes fluttered open. He was lying in a hospital bed. He looked over at his foot. It was in a cast. Both his head and foot ached, so much so that Brian could barely stand it. He felt like his entire body was on fire. Brian lifted his hand to his head. It was bandaged. What the fuck?

A short nurse with close cropped red hair and glasses walked into the room. “You’re awake. Good.”

Brian tried to speak. His mouth was so dry. He barely managed to rasp, “Hurts.”

The nurse rolled a tank of nitrous oxide into the room and waved the attached face mask in her hand. “Not for long.” She placed the face mask over his mouth and instructed him, “Breathe normally.” After a couple of minutes, she removed the face mask and placed the tank in the corner.

Brian suddenly started giggling. The nurse, smiling now, approached the bed. “Are you feeling better?”

Brian grinned. “Am I floating? I feel like I’m floating.” Then he squinted and asked, “Justin? How’d’ya know I was here?”

The nurse patted Brian’s hand and scurried out.

Her heart broke when Brian called after her, “Justin…don’t go.”

*******

Justin approached the front desk in the ER. A blonde woman with cold blue eyes and bright red lipstick was ‘manning’ it. “Hi. A friend of mine was brought here. His name is Brian Kinney.”

“Are you a relative?”

Justin gestured (with both hands) impatiently and narrowed his eyes. “No…I just said we were friends.”

“Then I can’t give you any information.”

Justin closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Then he opened them again and said, in a softer, slower voice, “Please, I’m really worried.”

“Sorry.” But she didn’t look the least bit sorry. Justin turned away and sighed. He jumped a little when he saw a short nurse with red hair standing in front of him. She’d seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

In a whisper, she said, “Were you asking about Mr. Kinney?”

Justin whispered back, “Yes.”

More whispering. “Are you Justin?”

“Yeah … has … has he been asking for me?”

The red-haired nurse nodded.

Justin’s heart leapt.

The nurse started walking away. A few seconds later, she turned and, still in a whisper, but of the impatient variety, asked, “You coming?”

“Oh! Yeah.” Justin quickly followed, with Joe in tow, though, of course, Justin had forgotten all about him the second he’d set foot in the ER.   

When they were far enough away from the front desk that the ice queen wouldn’t hear, Justin asked, “So how is he? What happened?”

“Apparently he was running, though he had a broken toe. The running exacerbated the first break and then he fell (running at top speed) and broke two other bones in his foot, as well as giving himself a concussion. We set the broken bones and put a cast on his foot. He was in some pain, so we gave him something. You can take him home, but you or someone else will have to stay with him, waking him up every hour.”

“Won’t that be hard with the painkillers?”

“What we gave him was mild. And just enough to cut through the pain. He’s still awake.”

When they reached Brian’s room, Justin finally remembered that Joe had come in with him. He turned around, and, sure enough, Joe was standing behind him. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little…”

“It’s perfectly understandable. The … (deep sigh) man you love is in the hospital.”

“Well, um, thanks for the ride. I think I’ll get a cab for Brian and me after all the paperwork is filled out.”

Joe smiled. “That’s good…couldn’t fit three people in the Jag anyway.” Out of the blue, he grabbed Justin, pulling Justin into his arms. He squeezed him tight and then released him. A quick “I’ll be seeing you” and he turned and left. Justin stared after him in shock for a moment. Then he, too, turned, but in the opposite direction, and entered Brian’s room.

Justin bit back a gasp. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Brian until that moment. Brian was half-smiling, half-laughing, his eyes bright, but he had a bandage on his head and a cast on his foot. Worse yet, he seemed thinner, and his eyes had circles beneath them. Apparently, Brian hadn’t been sleeping well. Justin swallowed hard and forced himself to smile. He moved to sit in the chair next to the bed. Brian wasn’t laughing anymore. But he was still smiling. Justin reached out his hand (his first impulse was take Brian’s in his or to rub his arm), but he hesitated and started pulling it back. Then Brian did something Justin would never have expected: He grabbed Justin’s hand while Justin was still pulling it away. And threaded their fingers together.

Justin’s eyes widened. He unconsciously licked his lips.

Brian was still smiling (grinning broadly), but his voice broke a little as he asked, “Were you on a date?”

Justin sighed. After what seemed like an eternity (to Brian), he replied, “Yeah.”   

“D’ja get any?” With every word, Brian’s voice became more of a drawl. His words all running together.

Justin laughed nervously. “What?”

“Y’know. D’ya fuck him? The snuggler.”

Justin just shook his head.

“You should’a. He’s a’right.”

Justin shrugged and said, his voice soft but playful, “If I’d wanted to fuck him, I would have.”

“Pfft!” Brian waved his free hand at Justin. “You looove fucking. And you’re good at it, too.”

Justin smiled brightly. He blushed and looked down. A second later, he jumped slightly. Brian had reached out his free hand and, with a finger, lifted up Justin’s chin. “Don. I wanna see.”

But a moment after their eyes met, Brian looked away. He furrowed his brow. For a few seconds, his face wore a confused expression. Then he looked back at Justin. Brian hissed, “You didn fuck him cause you like him!” But his eyes held no anger. Something more like sadness, and sad would have been the appropriate tone for his words. What the fuck? Nothing matched. Jealousy was accompanied by laughter, bright smiles, and dancing eyes. Sadness by a caustic tone. None of that would have worried Justin if Brian were sober. But drugged up Brian was generally less able to throw his emotions like ventriloquists throw their voices. Justin didn’t think Brian was trying to dissemble. He was just … mixed up. Justin was even more confused when Brian morphed again. He was laughing and smiling once more. He repeated, incredulously, “The snuggler. Fuckin asshole. Tried to snuggle you standing!”

Justin smiled again, too. Much more brightly this time. Brian was fucking adorable when he was on whatever-the-fuck this was. Well when he wasn’t slightly dark and scary (then he was sexy as hell, Justin thought). That million-watt smile induced Brian to pull Justin toward him by the hand, the hand still holding Justin’s. Justin resisted. A little. “Brian…what?”

“Com’ere. I’ll snuggle you right.”

Justin laughed. Loudly. “What the hell did they give you?” But he let himself be pulled into the hospital bed with Brian. “Brian … careful … careful … of your … your foot.”

Justin was now nestled snuggly in Brian’s arms. He was the little spoon, though he kind of thought he should be the big spoon, you know, cause Brian had a hurt foot and all. Brian had both arms around Justin’s waist and had pulled Justin’s ass against his groin. Justin resisted the urge to push back against him. He just let himself be snuggled. He was a little worried that Brian might suddenly come to his senses and push him off the bed, but eventually, he relaxed. Brian had held him but once (that he knew about), and that was after lots of drugs and even more fucking and sucking. 

But Justin tensed up when he felt hairs brush against his neck. And then skin pressed against his. Finally warm breath. That caused Justin to shiver. “I like…like floating. This isn’t bad, but I still prefer fuckin.”

That had Justin laughing and then whispering, “Me, too.” But too softly for Brian to hear.

“So you gonna bust me out?”

Justin moved to stand.

“No..no! Come back!”

Justin heard no vulnerability in Brian’s voice … still, the words. They almost stopped him, but Justin figured he shouldn’t be in bed with Brian when the nurse returned. And she should. Any minute now. The words … Brian’s words were the key to what Brian was feeling. Was it opposite day? He shook his head and kept moving, being careful not to kick Brian’s foot (he was still wearing shoes). When he was finally erect, he replied, “Yeah. The nurse said I could take you home if I make sure you don’t fall asleep for more than an hour at a time.”

“Sleeping’s for suckers anyway. Don’t like dreamin.”

Justin sat down again. Brian slipped his hand back into Justin’s and threaded their fingers together. But he did it without looking. That (the not looking part) actually made it a little difficult for Brian to find Justin’s hand. Brian was staring into Justin’s eyes. Brian’s seemed dark and cold. Empty. And suddenly, too. No longer dancing. Justin would have chuckled (about the difficulty Brian was having coolly taking his hand), but the expression in Brian’s eyes scared him a little. Worried scared. What emotion was he unwittingly masking now? “Why do you say that? About dreaming?”

“Sleeping’s for suckers anyway. Don’t like to dream.”

Justin swallowed hard. “Brian, you just said that a second ago.”

“Oh.” Now he was grinning again. “I like floating. You know what’s funny?”

Justin tried to smile.

“Someone taking an iron to your arm.”

Justin suddenly found himself incapable of speech.

Brian giggled. “Irons are for clothes!”

A wave of cold nausea washed through Justin. That’s when the nurse returned, with a clipboard in her hand.  

Brian and Justin were at the loft. Justin was standing in front of the fridge, with the door open. Brian leaned against Justin and slid his hands around Justin’s waist. “Whatcha doin?”

“Looking for something to feed you. Have you eaten at all today?”

“Nope. Eatin’s for suckers.”

Justin surveyed the contents of Brian’s fridge. Little bottles of something liquid. Poppers. And ketchup.

Justin giggled. “What’s the ketchup for?”

Brian shrugged and backed up (hopping on his good foot).

Justin chastised him. “Use the crutches. You don’t want to break anything else do you?”

Brian sighed heavily. “No, Ma.” Then he grabbed the crutches, shoved them under his arms, and plunked and swung toward the couch.  

Justin followed, still smiling, ketchup bottle now in his hand.

Brian stopped (he’d reached the couch), plopped himself down on it (first sitting on his butt but then lying on his back), and handed Justin the crutches.

“So…the ketchup? What’s it for again?”

Brian grinned. “I didn’t say. Nice try.” Then his tongue firmly planted in his cheek, he replied, “It’s for my dick.”

Justin wrinkled his nose. “Ewww…”

“Nah. I think … I think it’s from the last owner. Or maybe Mikey, Mikey, brought it over … I dunno.”

“Alright then. Into the trash it goes.” Justin walked back into the kitchen, tossed the ketchup, and then started looking in cupboards.

“Nothing to find, Sunshine. Just give up. Order … order … what … Thai. Yeah, Thai. Menu’s in … in the drawer.”

Justin guessed that Brian was right, but looked in the cupboards anyway. He was curious. He found plates, bowls, cups, and mugs. A box of extra large lubed condoms. A bottle of chocolate sauce. A jug-like package of basmati rice.

A jug-like package of basmati rice?

Justin burst out laughing. “Okay…I get the condoms and the chocolate sauce…but basmati rice?” Justin swung around and peered at Brian expectantly.

Brian shrugged. “Maybe I got it to go with the peas.”

Justin laughed. “What?” But he stopped laughing when he opened the freezer and found … frozen peas (and three bags of bagels minus the one Justin had toasted and had tried to eat). More to himself than anything else, Justin exclaimed softly, “You kept the peas. And the bagels. I figured you’d toss them.”

“Waste not, want not … or …some fucking thing.”

Justin swung around and stared at Brian for a long moment. So long Brian started to fidget uncomfortably. “What?”

Justin swallowed hard. “Nothing. I was just thinking I could go to the store and get some cream cheese, orange juice, and coffee. You have a coffeemaker, right?”

“Yeah…uh…” Brian waved his hand in the general direction of the kitchen. “In there…somewhere. A lower cupboard … maybe.”

“I think I saw a store a few blocks from here.”

“Call for Thai. Easier.”

“It’s only a few blocks. And as you said, waste not, want not.”

“I’m full of … full of shit.”

Justin chuckled, ending with a sigh. Then he exclaimed brightly, “Plus, those bagels are the best in the city.”

“You and your fuckin … bagels.” Brian trailed off.

Justin walked over to the couch. Brian, was, as he expected, asleep. Justin’s breath caught in his throat. Brian was quite simply … beautiful. Even more so when he was sleeping. He looked so … innocent. Something he most definitely did not seem when awake. Justin slid his hand along Brian’s cheek gently and pushed a lock of hair off of his forehead. His chest constricted. Justin removed his hand quickly and shook his head, as though to clear it. Then he grabbed Brian’s keys and headed for the corner store he’d seen on the cab ride over.

Brian awoke to the smell of coffee and the feel of something soft and mushy against his lips. He poked his tongue out. Sweet and salty. He opened one eye. Then two. Justin was rubbing a finger covered in something pink against Brian’s lips. Brian poked his tongue out further and then licked Justin’s finger clean. Strawberry cream cheese.

Justin was kneeling on the floor next to the couch (in between the couch and the coffee table). On the coffee table was, oddly enough, for Brian, two mugs of coffee, two glasses of orange juice, and two little plates, each containing a bagel slathered in cream cheese. Justin handed Brian one half of a bagel.

“Here.”

Brian shook his head and declared, a little petulantly, “Don’t want.”

Justin giggled. “What, are you two?” But then his face got all serious. “You need to eat something, Brian.”

“Getting fat.”

Justin sighed. “If you’re fat, what am I? Obese?”

Brian rolled his eyes. He grabbed the bagel half, bit off a quarter of it, and shoved it back into Justin’s hand. “Happy?”

Justin smiled. “Yes. Want some coffee?”

Brian shook his head and stuck his hand back out. “Juice.”

“My aren’t we bossy? What do you say?”

Brian grinned and wiggled his fingers. “Now.”

Justin laughed and handed him a glass. Brian drank the juice in two gulps and handed the glass back. Then he adjusted his body until he was more comfortable.

“Feel better?”

“Actually, yeah.”

Justin smiled brightly. Then he looked down for a second. When he looked back up, his expression was grave. “So…what were you talking about earlier? In the hospital? You said something about …” Justin’s voice broke. “… dreams … and …”

Brian shook his head. “Rather talk about your ass.”

Justin couldn’t stifle a giggle. “What??”

“Your ass.”

Justin just blinked.

Brian swung his arms out, grinned, and then drawled, “Shall I compare your ass to a summer’s day?”

Justin hid behind a pillow, still giggling, but louder now.

“It’s lovely and more temp’rate…”

Justin let out a muffled “Oh my fucking God!” (his face was still buried in the pillow)

Brian started slurring even more. “Way more temp’rate. Ser’sly…it’s hot. All round ba firm … soft. Love touchin it … specially when I’m fuckin you hard. Love lickin it … biting it … sliding my tongue in betw…”

Suddenly Justin emerged from beneath the pillow. Brian looked over at him. He’d stopped talking mid-word. His mouth was still open slightly. And his eyes were half filled with amusement, half with seriousness. Justin couldn’t take the sight. He immediately squeezed his eyes shut and started giggling again. But they shot open again when Brian slid his hands down the back of Justin’s pants.

“No underwear … naughty Sunshine.”

Justin started panting and muttered softly, “Fuck.”

Brian grinned. “Yeah. Zactly.” He caressed Justin’s ass a bit more and then squeezed it. He groaned in complaint when Justin reached behind him and removed Brian’s hands. Brian looked on in horror as Justin stood and then moved to sit in a chair. On the opposite side of the coffee table.

“Wha? Why?”

“I want to talk about what you said at the hospital.”

“Pfft!” Brian crooked a finger at Justin and waggled his eyebrows. “Com’ere. I wanna stick my tongue, and something else, in your ass.”

Justin looked down and blushed a pretty pink.

“Well, I wanna talk.”

Brian frowned. He really looked at Justin then. He was wearing a lightweight blue v-neck cashmere sweater. It matched his eyes. And black pants that, when Justin got up for more coffee, Brian noted, really accentuated his ass. And no underwear.

He’d dressed that way for the snuggler.

And now he was rebuffing Brian’s advances.

Brian’s frown deepened.

Well Brian wasn’t going to take this lying down. Though he was, in fact, currently lying down. He sat up and removed his shirt. Then when Justin neared the couch again, refilled mug in hand, he tossed it right at Justin. Justin sidestepped the flying garment. It landed on the floor. Laughter bubbling up through his voice, Justin asked, “What are you doing, Brian?”

Brian shrugged. “Hot.”

Justin resisted the urge to agree, “Yeah you are.” Instead, he headed back to the chair opposite Brian. Brian frowned. Only for a second though. Then he said, “I’m hungry. Can’t reach.” He even grunted a little and tried to try (reaching).

Justin stopped and spun around. “Oh…here.” Brian grinned when Justin was back on the floor in between the table and the couch. Well, when Justin wasn’t looking. When he was, Brian tried to appear waif-y. Justin attempted to hand Brian the half of the bagel he’d eaten part of, but Brian just leaned forward. Justin smiled as he slid part of it into Brian’s mouth. Brian took a huge bite purposely so as to get cream cheese on his face and then chewed dutifully.

Justin bit his lip, trying to stifle a million-watt smile. “You have … a little something …over there.”

Brian didn’t respond. Not in words. Instead he tilted his head and stuck his cheek forward.

Justin colored slightly and looked around. “Um … I … don’t have a napkin.”

Brian didn’t budge.

Justin turned a deeper shade of pink as he muttered, “Um … okay” and then licked the cream cheese off of Brian’s cheek.

The second Justin started to pull back Brian turned his head and kissed Justin’s lips. That stopped Justin’s retreat. He let himself be kissed (just a brush of the lips at that point) and then stared at Brian afterward.

Brian took that as a sign to press, so he kissed Justin again, this time pushing his tongue inside Justin’s mouth. Slowly. Justin moaned so softly it was barely audible and started kissing Brian back. And moaned again. This time, a moan that seemed to be wrenched from deep within him, and not of his own accord.

Brian slid his hands along the curve of Justin’s neck and then threaded his fingers into Justin’s hair, pulling him closer and pushing his tongue deeper into Justin’s mouth. A minute and then two slid by.

Brian had kissed them both to the point of panting and dick hardening when Justin dropped the piece of bagel he was still holding. He broke away and looked down. “Fuck. My pants.” Then he jumped up and ran into the kitchen.

But of course, it was just an excuse. When Justin reached the sink, he slid his hands over the edge and looked down. Trying desperately to regulate his breathing, slow his heartbeat, and will his dick to soften. Whatever he might say or do, Brian was in no condition to fuck. And Justin had promised Daphne he wouldn’t. And…she was right. Justin knew that. Allowing Brian to pull him in and push him away at the drop of a hat, on a whim, was stupid. Brian would never value him if he didn’t value himself. Justin had resolved not to settle for anything less than all of Brian, and he meant to keep that resolution. Even if it killed him.

And it very well might.

TBC…

Justin took a deep breath and headed back into the living room. His eyes widened when he saw Brian digging through his desk drawer.

“What are you doing?”

“Lookin…”

“For what?”

“Pills…”

“Are you in pain?”

“No. But iss-sn’t it better to be proactive?” He smiled one of his ubersexy smiles (well Justin thought they were ubersexy) … slow and lazy … and then slipped two pills into his mouth. Then he hopped back toward the couch. But Brian was sweating, and his eyes were hazy, like he couldn’t focus. Justin noted that Brian was hopping a zigzag and seemed out of breath. Justin cursed, “Fuck, Brian …”

“Nosso fast, there, Sunshine … I do the fucking …” He even pounded his chest for good measure, which threw him off balance. Justin caught Brian and steadied him. He laughed as slid his arm around Brian’s waist and tossed Brian’s arm over his shoulder. “You’re supposed to use the crutches. Doctor’s orders.”

“Fuck the crutches … well … not really. The top part’s gotta be five … five or six inches WIDE. Ouch. An tha’ other part’s too small …”

Justin shook his head. “Brian, do you really think I’m planning to fuck myself with one of your crutches?”

Brian swung his head to the side and looked at Justin. Genuinely astonished, he asked, “No?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, tha’s good. One side’s too big … th’other too small.” Brian grinned. His eyes twinkling. “But me, I’m jus right …” Brian giggled as Justin guided Brian back onto the couch. “Jus right … even gos your name on it …” Once Brian was lying flat again, he grabbed Justin’s hands (Justin was still leaning over, having just deposited Brian) and tried to pull Justin on top of him. Justin growled softly in frustration and stepped back. But Brian was still hanging on. Justin had to peel each of Brian’s fingers off of his hands, and, when he had, Brian sighed and crossed his arms, muttering, “No fun. No fun t’all.” Then he looked up at the ceiling. “Fuck. Missed my pointment with the lectrician.”

Justin sat back on the chair, the chair Brian now despised (the chair Brian had decided he would toss when he could see straight again), and inquired, “Electrician? What did you need one for?”

Brian pointed up at the ceiling. “To ‘stall another track thingy.”

Justin followed the line of Brian’s arm, which was pointing in basically the right direction (it was wobbling a bit).

Brian sighed. “Paid him extra, too … oh well.”

“Why do you need another one?”

Brian huffed a breath through his nose like a dragon (he wouldn’t mind breathing fire just now) and frowned. He let his arm fall. “Too dark!”

“Brian, you have plenty of light in here.”

Brian shook his head side to side, all the way right and then all the way left (Brian looked a little like a five-year-old, Justin noted. He smiled at the thought).

Then Brian declared, “Nope. Too dark. No Sunshine at all.”

Justin stiffened. “What?”

Brian answered on an exhale, very softly, “No Sunshine,” and looked ahead of him, though his eyes had lost focus. He wasn’t looking at anything Justin could see.

Justin laughed nervously. “Brian … it’s really bright in here during the day, and, at night, well, of course there’s no sun.”

Out of the blue, Brian returned his eyes to Justin and exclaimed, “Ha! Splain why it’s here now then.” Brian grinned impishly.

“Ummm … ” Justin looked over his shoulder and then back at Brian. “You see sunshine now?”

Brian nodded firmly twice. “Can’t you? Iss right there.” He pointed in Justin’s direction. Justin wasn’t sure whether Brian was pointing at him or at the window behind him. Brian’s gaze seemed to be focused at a point a little above Justin’s head.

Brian lowered his head so that he was looking right at Justin now, narrowed his eyes, and crossed his arms. “So how was tha date?”

As if on cue, Justin’s cell phone rang. Justin dug it out of his pocket. He sighed. It was Joe. Justin bit his lower lip and looked between Brian and the phone a couple of times. If he sent the call to voice mail, Joe might just keep trying. If he turned the phone off, his mom or Daphne might call, particularly his mom (Molly was always getting herself hurt), and he’d miss it. He decided to answer, if only to stop Joe from calling again.

Justin half-said, half-whispered to Brian, as if Joe could hear him, though he hadn’t yet answered, “One second.” Then he stood, walked into the kitchen, and hit the send button. In the same half-talking, half-whispering voice, he said, “Hey. What’s up? This isn’t really a good time.

Brian grimaced. It had to be the snuggler. Otherwise, Justin would talk normal. Brian kicked at his crutches, which were leaning against the coffee table. One slipped and fell onto the floor.

“Look, Joe. I …”

Yup. Brian grimaced again, but then, when an idea came to him, he smiled. He kicked at the crutch that was still leaning against the table. Only harder this time. Brian kicked it so hard in fact that he sent it careening across the floor and into a pillar, taking one of the coffee cups down with it.

Justin jumped when he heard the crash. He turned around.

“I gotta go. Talk to you later.” He hit end and ran, actually ran, back to the couch. Justin was frantic. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Brian put his best pretend hurt face on and shook his head. He lifted his good leg and said, “Burns.”

Some coffee had indeed spilled on him, but it was warm, not hot. But Justin didn’t know that. A fact that sent him scrambling into the kitchen for a bowl of water, ice, and a wash cloth.

As soon as Justin wasn’t looking, Brian grinned. A shit-eating grin.

TBC…

Justin was slowly going insane. Of that, he was completely convinced. Brian had already removed his shirt (a black wife beater), and now, because of the coffee spill, Justin was ‘forced’ to remove Brian’s pants, a black pair of yoga pants (made of lightweight cotton). To Justin’s delight and frustration, Brian wasn’t wearing anything else. So as he dunked, squeezed, gently lay the washcloth on Brian’s leg, where the hot coffee had landed, and repeated, he was trying very hard (excuse the pun) not to stare at Brian’s growing (and now very obvious) erection. Brian wasn’t helping. But a few minutes before, when Brian’s cock was (safely) flaccid, he’d begun telling Justin a story. At first, Justin had thought Brian was finally going to open up about his dreams. That had, of course, been a ruse.

“So last night, last night, I had a terr’fying dream. You were in it.”

Justin looked up in surprise.

Brian’s eyes fluttered closed and then open. Then he continued, in his slowest, laziest drawl, “Yeah … you were naked and leanin o’er me. Your dick was hard, rubbin up against my leg, you were so close, leanin so close, that your hair, your hair, brushed against my face. Then leanin in closer, so those perfect lips of yours, perfect for sucking dick, were almost touchin mine, you said, ‘I wanna fuck you.’”

Justin shivered then, a full-body shiver, and let his eyes flutter closed and then open. Brian grinned. He pressed, his voice soft and husky, “You wanna fuck me?”

At this point, Brian’s cock was fully erect, to Justin’s delight and frustration (as mentioned above). So was Justin’s, a fact not lost on Brian.

Brian repeated,  “You wanna fuck me?”

Justin gaped and turned five shades of red. He was suddenly so hot (in every sense of the word). “What?”

Brian whisper-drawled a third time,  “You wanna fuck me?”

Justin swallowed hard. His voice, when he found it, was even softer and huskier than Brian’s (and he was trembling, again a fact not lost on Brian, as Justin was sitting on the couch, leaning against Brian’s legs). Justin asked, “Do you want me to?”

Brian shrugged. “Nah. But you can bring those plump lips o yours o’er here and suck my dick.” He even crooked a finger at Justin.

Justin actually managed to turn brighter red, and his body burned even hotter.

A smile crept across Brian’s lips. He teased, “You know you can’t resist me … com’ere. Suck my dick.”

Justin tossed the washcloth back into the bowl. He couldn’t lift his head if his life depended on it. He was humiliated. Just the idea of fucking Brian had had Justin so hard that he could barely see straight. What was even more humiliating (than Brian’s taunting him with it) was that Justin was a bit of a cumwhore when it came to Brian. And Brian knew it. Hence … the fact that Justin’s dick had not grown flaccid as a result of his embarrassment. The idea of sucking Brian’s cock was nearly as hot as the idea of fucking him.

Really looking at Justin now, Brian’s expression grew serious, and his voice soft, no longer teasing or husky. He said the sweetest thing he could manage (being uncharacteristically vulnerable all of a sudden), “I really wan to fuck you. That’s why I was pretending.”

Justin raised his head then. “Pretending?”

“That the coffee burned me.”

Justin snapped, “You ass!” (But he wasn’t really angry, at least not about the pretense). Then he dumped the contents of the bowl all over Brian’s groin. To Brian’s great pride, his cock managed to stay erect for a few moments, despite the fact that the water was ice cold, before deflating. That’s when he remembered he should be angry. He yelled, too late to be really frightening, “What the fuck, Sunshine?” The Sunshine made the exclamation even less so.

Justin didn’t respond. Not in words. Instead, he tossed Brian a towel and blinked. His face was wooden, his expression empty.       

TBC…

Previously…

Justin snapped, “You ass!” (But he wasn’t really angry, at least not about the pretense). Then he dumped the contents of the bowl all over Brian’s groin. To Brian’s great pride, his cock managed to stay erect for a few moments, despite the fact that the water was ice cold, before deflating. That’s when he remembered he should be angry. He yelled, too late to be really frightening, “What the fuck, Sunshine?” The Sunshine made the exclamation even less so.

Justin didn’t respond. Not in words. Instead, he tossed Brian a towel and blinked. His face was wooden, his expression empty.     

Then Justin reached down (to the coffee table) for Brian’s cell phone. He was closed off and determined. At that moment, he kind of wished he’d never met Brian. Just as Justin’s fingers slid around the cool metal, Brian asked, a little nervously, “Whatcha doin, Sunshine?”

Justin actually flinched at that. He stated coldly, “Calling Mikey.”

“Wha? Why?”

Justin still refused to look at Brian. “Someone needs to be here with you. Make sure you don’t die.”

Brian was beginning to panic.

Just stay.

Brian had missed Justin so badly. And now Justin was here. But he wanted to leave.

Just stay.

Brian was toxic. He knew that. Still …

Just stay.

When Justin didn’t read Brian’s mind, instead peering at the cell phone screen and pressing a button repeatedly, most likely cycling through numbers, Brian said aloud, his voice slightly shaky, “Just stay.”

Justin looked up, momentarily stunned. Suddenly Justin was reminded of Brian’s earlier plea (in the hospital): “No … no! Come back!” But this time, there was … some strange expression in Brian’s eyes. Something soft. Even child-like.

As annoyed as Justin was … as much as but a few moments ago the last thing he’d wanted to do was to look at Brian … now … now he couldn’t stop.

That was it.

The irony.

Brian was a seemingly endless combination of impossibilities.

Impossibly, Brian wanted Justin.

Impossibly, he felt ‘something’ for Justin (Men like Brian didn’t lick belly buttons … well, not generally).

Brian was impossibly strong (read ‘cold’) and impossibly weak (read ‘vulnerable’) … well sometimes.

But Brian would never want Justin to fuck him (Justin thought bitterly).

Would never ask Justin to be his boyfriend.

Yet he would spend time with Justin … lots and lots of time … doing date-like things.

And he would get jealous of rivals for Justin’s affection.

But could he ever say I love you?

Or even, I want to date you?

Could he be faithful?

No. (He must have heard Justin’s slip after they’d first fucked. And he’d run as fast and as far as he could. Justin sighed and chastised himself. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.)

No.

And double no.

Would that be enough for Justin?

He didn’t know.

But … he couldn’t force himself to leave.

Five seconds ago, nothing could have kept Justin here; now, nothing could keep him away.

“Com’ere,” Brian drawled.

Justin blinked slowly, set the phone back onto the table, and approached Brian. Brian pulled Justin down until he was lying on the couch next to Brian, facing away from him. Brian was still wet. Justin didn’t care. Brian threw his arm around Justin and promptly fell asleep (not too surprising with the drugs and all). Justin could tell from his rhythmic breathing. And the drool.

After a few minutes, Justin rolled over—no mean feat (without falling off the couch). Justin just looked at Brian. Brian was beautiful. Even sick. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow, and his hair was sticking up at odd angles. And his face was stubbly. But his lips looked so perfect. Not full, but well shaped. Justin groaned softly. He couldn’t resist. He drew the tip of his tongue slowly over Brian’s upper lip and then nibbled gently on his lower one. Brian moaned and pulled Justin closer.

Justin nuzzled himself against Brian’s chest. But he didn’t sleep. He just listened to Brian breathe. And tried not to think. Tried not to be hurt (by Brian’s messing with him … by the things Brian could never give him).

Brian started to stir about thirty minutes later. He moaned again, but this time, the moaning was different. Not warm and sleepy (like it had been when Brian pulled Justin closer). Not the animal-like moan Brian made when they fucked.

But whimpery.

Suddenly Brian cried out, “Stop. Don’t. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Stop. Please.”

The last word sounded like it had been wrenched from somewhere deep inside Brian. And painfully.

Brian started thrashing then. His face was suddenly flushed. Tinged with red and covered with a thin film of sweat. His hands were balled into fists, and his eyes were shut tight (rather than simply closed).

Justin was stunned into paralysis, staring in horrified fascination. Until Brian slipped a hand into Justin’s and threaded their fingers together. Justin slid his free hand to Brian’s face, caressing it gently and whispering, “Brian. Brian. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Brian didn’t rouse. He thrashed even more and held Justin’s hand tighter. Brian shrunk away from Justin (bodily) even as he continued to hold Justin’s hand. And tight. He cried out again, “No. Please. No!” and started to pant. Then he sat up, eyes open wide. He nearly knocked Justin off of the couch. In fact, he would have but for the fact that he was still holding Justin’s hand.

Brian blinked a few times and looked around confused.

Justin swallowed and licked his lips, but his voice still came out in a rasp. “What … what were you dreaming about?”

Brian shook his head slowly and lay back down. He swallowed and coughed and then whispered, “Cigarettes. An iron. A dark closet.”

Justin grew cold. His chest was suddenly so hollow. He moaned, “Oh God.”

But Brian … he was oddly calm. He breathed, “Come’ere.” He didn’t wait for Justin to respond. He simply pulled Justin to his chest and wrapped his arms around him. Tight.

Brian was hot and dripping with sweat, and his heart was beating so fast. Too fast. Nearly pounding out of his chest.

Justin didn’t know what to say. How to make anything better. He stammered, “I … ”

But Brian cut him off. “Don’t talk. Just let me …”

Brian didn’t need to finish. Assuming he’d planned to. Justin whispered quickly, “Okay.”

They didn’t talk.

Justin listened to Brian’s heart beat until it was slow and steady again.

Dun.

Dun.

Dun.

It was lulling. Hypnotic.

Justin’s eyes finally fluttered closed.

So Justin didn’t feel Brian’s fingers in his hair. Or on his face. His arm. His shoulder. His chest. Didn’t feel Brian pulling him closer. Holding him tighter. Didn’t feel Brian press his lips gently against his forehead.

A shame.

TBC…

Justin woke up with a start. It was bright out. He jumped up (to a sitting position), nearly falling over, but righting himself. “Fuck!” He immediately began shaking Brian (his right arm). “Brian, Brian, wake up.” Brian didn’t budge. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Justin leaned down, placing his ear against Brian’s mouth, listening for breathing. Justin didn’t hear anything. But he did feel something wet and wiggly snake up his ear lobe and then into his ear. Justin jumped up again, but this time losing his balance, toppling backward and landing on his butt. He lay down all the way and wiped his ear dry. In a whisper, he said, “Yuck.”

Brian suddenly appeared, hovering over Justin. “You loved it.”

Wasn’t this a familiar scene? Justin on his ass and Brian above him looking amused. Okay, not always. “Pfft. Whatever.” But he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Only for a second. Then he was on his feet, arms crossed, face stern. “So you’re not dead. Good. That means...”

Brian leaned back on his arms then. In that moment, the sun streaming through the windows fell on him in just the right way, making his skin seem to glow, the red and blond highlights in his chestnut hair glinting. Justin gasped (instead of finishing his thought). His eyes trailed slowly down Brian’s body, from the half-smile playing on his lips down past his chest and stopping at Brian’s cock, which was, of course, erect.

Brian drawled, “That means … what?”

Justin swallowed audibly and shook his head before finally looking up and into Brian’s eyes. “Huh?”

Brian laughed. “You were saying?”

Justin tugged at the bottom of his shirt and looked away. “Oh … uh … I should probably go.”

Brian flourished toward the door and allowed himself to fall back onto the couch. The second his head hit the pillow, he closed his eyes.

Justin hesitated for a moment (temporarily paralyzed by something inside him imploring him to stay), but then he said, “Okay. Um … I’m gonna go” and shuffled slowly toward the door.

Brian opened his eyes and nodded. No emotion registered on his face.

Justin swallowed hard and increased his pace. When he reached the door, he hesitated again, but then pulled it open. “Bye.”

Brian’s voice was almost a croak. “Later.”

Justin sighed, walked through the door, and slid it shut. But he didn’t head toward the elevator or the stairs. Instead, he leaned back against the door and sighed heavily. He was inwardly kicking himself. He could so easily have stayed. He should have. He shouldn’t have waited, hoping that Brian would ask him not to leave. Again. “Just stay,” Justin whispered. Brian was injured and having nightmares. That alone should have been enough to keep him there. But Brian had asked him not to leave the night before. He’d pulled Justin into his arms and held him. Justin’s chest ached then. So much that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Brian had given him an opening, and he’d been too stubborn to take it, or at least to use it for all it was worth. What if this was it? As bad as it was to say or think, Brian’s accident … well both accidents had been opportunities. Opportunities for them to see each other, for one of them to do something to break the silence … or whatever … that had started after they’d first fucked. But …so far neither had been willing to be that vulnerable. Well … until last night. Justin ran his fingers roughly through his hair and growled softly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What if Brian’s (Justin imagined) drug-induced plea had been all the opening Justin would ever get? Had he squandered it? Justin groaned. Most definitely. Should he go back in? Say he forgot something and then just stay a while … hoping Brian would be too relieved to call him on the ruse? Justin clenched a fist. No. Whatever opportunity he’d had was gone. He drew in a shuddery breath and headed for the stairs.

That’s when the door flew open. Seriously. Justin swung around.

Brian was standing in the doorway, leaning on his crutches, fully dressed (though shoeless and sockless). He started in surprise when his eyes fell on Justin. “You’re still here …”

Justin tugged at the bottom of his shirt again and cleared his throat. “Oh yeah, uh, I thought I left my phone in the loft, but, um, then I found it.”

Brian cleared his throat, too. Then he said, “Well … good. I was hoping to catch you.”

Justin’s eyes widened.

Brian cleared his throat again. “I just remembered that I have Gus tonight. He’s been asking to see you and Molly.”

Justin’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Really?”

Brian nodded. “So … if you don’t have plans tonight … ?”

Justin inadvertently jumped a little (he didn’t mean to act so excited … he damn sure didn’t want to … or even to feel that excited. But he did. No doubt about it). Then he looked down. He tried to school his expression and shrugged. “Yeah … I mean, I guess …”

Justin peeked up at Brian. Brian was actually smiling. Not a smirk or a half-smile. A real one (well, minus the teeth).

“Say 6?”

Justin shrugged. “Sure …”

“K…”

“K…later.”

“Later.”

Brian slid the door shut. And Justin … he grinned and started doing a happy dance. Mid ass wiggle, the door slid back open. Justin froze and turned three shades of red.

Brian’s smile had turned into a smirk.

Fuck. Justin closed his eyes for a moment and silently prayed Brian hadn’t looked at him through the peephole.

Amusement bubbling up through his voice, Brian asked, “Did you say something, Sunshine?”

Justin shook his head fervently. “Nope.” Then he turned and ran for the stairs.

Brian laughed. Loudly.

Justin ran faster.

TBC…tomorrow

Jennifer Taylor crossed her arms. “No.” She was standing in her kitchen next to the country blue counter, which complemented the country rose walls and matched the wallpaper running parallel to the ceiling and the floor. It depicted little girl dolls in pink prairie dresses holding blue flowers in little pots.

Justin whined, “Why not?”

Jennifer, arms still crossed, shrugged. In a rising tone, she replied, “Your sister and I have plans.”

Justin stared at his mother. A minute and then two went by. He didn’t blink. Not even once.

Jennifer let her arms fall and spun around. “What, we can’t have plans?”

More staring. Still no blinking.

Jennifer wheeled back around. “Why does it have to be tonight anyway?”

Justin started to answer, “Brian…,” but he didn’t really know how to finish the thought, so he let the word, Brian’s name, hang in the air. His voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Brian?”

Justin didn’t like the way his mother spat the word out.

“You want permission to take your sister on a date?”

‘No … I mean … not exactly. He has a son. It’d be a playdate. Kind of. And she’s met them before. The last time I babysat for you.”

“Ohhhh. Is that the Gus Molly’s been babbling about?”

Justin nodded.

Jennifer laughed. “I thought she’d made him up. A boy in heels. Who would have thought?” Less amused, she continued, “So who is this Brian anyway?”

“Just Brian, mom. Not this Brian.”

“Okay. Okay. Who is Brian anyway? Someone you’re dating? And if so, why haven’t I heard about him?”

Justin let his head fall and sighed heavily. “We’re not exactly dating … I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing …”

“Language!”

“Sorry.”

In a softer tone, Jennifer asked, “But … you want to date him?”

Another heavy sigh. “Yeah.”

“Well … that’s all well and good, but I don’t think using your sister …”

“I’m not using her.” After a sharp look from his mother, he backtracked. “Okay, maybe I am, but she loves Gus. They were inseparable.”

Jennifer shook her head. Then she started lecturing. “Kids need consistency. If Brian isn’t a permanent fixture in your life, I’m not sure getting her attached to his son is a good idea …”

“Friends come and go for her all the time. Three months ago, she couldn’t stop talking about Sarah. How she was so funny and so smart. They had slumber parties every weekend and were constantly on the phone. But now…”

“That’s not the same. Plus, she’s still recovering from your breakup with Ethan.”

“Oh my God! She is not! She never liked him. She was always freaked out by his goatee. He’d walk in, and she’d go running the other way.”

Jennifer sighed mournfully.

Justin raised an eyebrow. He asked hesitantly, “Do you miss Ethan?”  

Jennifer laughed. “No … no. I mean, he was okay, but … Maybe she didn’t like him, but still, too much is changing in her life, and she needs consistency.

“You mean Ethan and Sarah? Come on, mom. That’s flimsy even for an obsessive-compulsive parent like you?” Jennifer’s eyes widened, but Justin just barreled on. “So what’s your actual bitch?”

Jennifer chastised Justin again, but there was no anger or annoyance in it. Not this time. “Language.”

Justin muttered, “Sorry” automatically, but he was mostly waiting.

“I just … you were so upset after Ethan left. Relationships are hard enough without bad beginnings. If things are so up in the air that you’re using your sister to get to him … maybe you should find someone else …”

Justin ran a hand through his hair. “Part of me wishes I could. I mean, there is someone else … someone who seems to have no difficulty expressing his feelings for me …”

Jennifer gaped.

Justin let his hand fall to the counter and started playing with the edge, squeezing it and then running his thumb over it. “It’s not what you think.” Justin spoke faster and faster. “I’m not dating that other guy or anything. He just showed interest. Well … I kind of went out with him …but just once, and I left early.”

Jennifer huffed a laugh.

Justin buried his face in his hands. When he looked back up, he was slightly flushed. “The whole situation with him, Joe, is kind of messed up … but it just proves that all I want is Brian. No other guy, no matter how great, will make me happy.”   

“Happiness isn’t everything …”

Now it was Justin’s turn to gape. “What?”

“You need to take a lot of other things into consideration.” Jennifer looked away then. She was kind of staring into space. “I mean … do you like this guy because there’s an element of danger … because he’s not predictable? Because he’s kind of wild? Maybe he makes you feel alive, awakening in you something you thought was long dead …”

“Uh …”

Jennifer didn’t hear Justin. She continued without pause, “But you have to think about the long run. Who’ll get hurt? How will it affect your family?”

“Mom … who are we talking about?”

Jennifer looked back at Justin. “What?”

“Who are you talking about? Brian is all that … does all that. But there’s no way you could have known. And I really doubt my relationship will negatively affect you, Molly, or dad.”

Jennifer cringed visibly on the last word.

“Mom, is something going on between you and dad?”

Jennifer closed her eyes and shook her head. Her voice now a husky whisper, “No. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Justin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head then. “Oh my God! You’re having an affair?”

Jennifer waved her hand and looked at Justin sharply. “Shhh… your sister might hear.”

“Who is he?”

Jennifer stared at Justin intently, as if deciding (or trying to decide something). Finally she sighed and said, “One of her teachers.”

“What?”

“Her music teacher. He rides a motorcycle. Has long hair. Is way, way too young for me. But …”

Justin huffed a laugh. His voice was filled with amusement. “But what?”

“He kissed me. At the last parents’ night. Your father was ‘working,’ of course, so I took Molly by myself. We got to talking in the music room. Molly was off playing with Sarah. He … I don’t know. He was talking to me about Molly’s progress, and then, he just stopped and stared at me. He said, ‘You’re so beautiful.’ And then somehow we were kissing. He had me pushed up against the wall.”

Justin wrinkled his nose. “Please, mom. I’m getting a visual …”

Jennifer laughed. “I felt completely out of control. And way, way out of my league. He’s so young and handsome. And I …I’m, well, I’m hardly a girl anymore. I could almost be his mother. It couldn’t possibly work. It would be messy and painful … But I just … I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Justin smiled and shook his head. “I know exactly what you mean. Wait… Does dad know?”

“God, no. He wouldn’t notice if I dyed my hair green and gained 50 pounds.” Jennifer ran a hand across her forehead and sighed mournfully. “You know what? Go ahead.”

“What?”

“Take Molly tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s better this way.”

Justin kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, mom!”

Jennifer laughed bitterly. “Don’t thank me. A playdate won’t change who he is.”

“Mom?”

Jennifer looked down and ran her hands over the bottom of her blouse, smoothing out a wrinkle. “I … I was thinking about taking her to a children’s musical her music teacher recommended. He … he might have mentioned that he’d be taking his nephew, you know, tonight.”

Justin laughed. Loudly. “Oh my God! You’re as bad as I am!”

Jennifer actually giggled. Then she blushed.

“Don’t let me get in the way … fuck … what am I doing?”

Jennifer didn’t even notice the swearing.

“I should probably cancel … using Molly to see Brian is kind of pathetic.”

“No, no. The musical was a stupid idea. Like I said, a playdate won’t change who he is. He’s Molly’s teacher and almost young enough to be my son. And … it was just one kiss a few months ago. I doubt he feels the way I do.”

“Mom …if he mentioned that he’d be at that musical … he probably wants to see you outside of school. People use pretexts like that for a reason. When they want to see you but, for one reason or another, don’t feel like they can just ask.”

“How could he want me? I have crow’s feet, and I’m not as thin as I once was.”

Justin replied matter of factly, “If he didn’t want you, why would he have kissed you? Why would he try to see you outside of school?”

Why indeed?

“No, you take her, sweetie. Maybe you’ll have better luck with your bad boy.”

Justin complained, “God, mom! You’re seriously killing me.”

But he was smiling, too. Suddenly all of the games they’d been playing (the playdates, Barney, and the dating ‘practice’) didn’t seem so bad. Suddenly, what Brian wanted seemed crystal clear. Suddenly, Justin felt like a fool.  

Across town…

Brian hit two on the speed dial. A few moments later, he asked, “Can I have Gus tonight?”

TBC...tomorrow

Justin stood outside Brian’s door, holding Molly’s hand. Molly was prattling. Justin wasn’t listening.

“So when I was playing with my dolls, in my dollhouse, I was thinking. What if there’s a giant or something, you know, playing with us. I mean, what if I don’t wanna do what I’m doing? How would I know?”

Molly looked up at Justin, but he was staring at the door, motionless and gaping (a little).

Justin was … well, it’s hard to say. The audio (in his head) was a mixture of static and that emergency broadcasting tone. With video to match: Brian naked, wet and soapy. “I’m glad you’re here.” Brian grinning. “I need …” Brian whispering. A tongue tracing Justin’s belly button … fingers entwined...Justin exploding in the dark. Tripping … keys falling … an angry kiss and a little astral projection.  Brian moaning, Justin riding him. Sunshine glinting on Brian’s sweatslick skin as he fucked Justin slow. God, so slow. The ache of dying light as Justin pulled the loft door closed. “Just stay.”  

Molly tugged and then yanked on her brother’s hand. “Jus. Jus! You aren’t listening!”

Justin turned his head and inclined it downward. “Huh?”

Molly rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “You suck.”

Justin recoiled slightly. “What? Why?”

“You’re just like Sarah’s big sister. She had ‘boys on the brain,’ too. So booooring. Always waiting for Ben to call and doing her nails. She never wanted to play. Not even Clue. And Clue sucks with only two people … Did you knock?”

Justin flushed (his face went from zero to beet red in just two seconds). “Uh, no.” He knocked softly.

“You’re stupid.” Molly paused, bringing the full weight of her glare to bear on Justin. Then she added, “Seriously” and started pounding on the door. After five or seven good pounds, she yelled, “Let us in!”

While Molly was philosophizing (and Justin was ?????), Brian was growling. Gus liked red better than white (the colors), so he’d insisted (quite loudly) at the supermarket that they get marinara sauce rather than Alfredo. He’d chanted, “Red, red, red, red, red, red, red!” Complete with drums (Brian had been unable to prevent him from grabbing two metal spoons, conveniently hanging from the corners of every aisle—thank-you-so-fucking-much. So Gus had been sitting on the floor—Brian refused to get a cart—pounding with both spoons, a clang for every red).

Even then (Brian’d been about ready to pull out his hair—at that point, he was desperately trying to repress the ‘pasta selection scene’), he couldn’t help but laugh. Gus was so like him. He wanted what he wanted and he wanted it right-the-fuck now.

Fast forward to the loft … Gus was kneeling on a stool he’d dragged up to the stove. He’d climbed up and bellowed (yes bellowed), “I wanna pour! I wanna pour!” Brian was currently behind Gus, holding onto his waist so that he didn’t go head first into the pot as he poured the marinara in. The jar was plastic. Brian would never make that mistake again (the first time, it was a ketchup bottle, but you get the idea. The spatter ruined his favorite suit—a grey Armani, part of the new fall line. Brian had worn it exactly twice). As Gus poured, he was oooing and mmming, so Brian didn’t hear Justin’s soft tapping. He did, however, hear Molly’s pounding. That came as such a surprise and with such force, that Brian jumped a little, just enough that Gus lost his grip on the jar, which he’d had difficulty holding this entire time because his hands were so small. It went tumbling one half turn (into the pot), landing on its base, in a puddle of marinara sauce and sending (the fortunately still cold) sauce skyward. Gus managed to dodge. Brian nearly lost his grip on Gus and got a faceful.

Then came the yelling (Molly this time). “Let us in!”

 TBC…sorry this is so short…I want to write every day, but often, what I end up writing is a half or a quarter of an update…then I hesitate to post it and end up skipping days, which sucks…so…screw it.

Brian pulled the loft door open. He had a squirming Gus under one arm, a crutch under the other, and marinara sauce all over his face (seriously—he had some on both cheeks, his forehead, and his chin). Molly pointed and giggled. Justin barely managed to hold back a laugh. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling though. And brightly.

Brian seemed … Justin didn’t know … more like Brian before the Diner incident. When they were building rather than falling apart.

Brian wasn’t grinning. In fact, he was frowning. But his eyes held a light that had been largely missing for some time (even when he was loopy from painkillers and a concussion). Replaced with a dimness, a dark edge.

Brian broke Justin out of his contemplative trance with a jaunty, half-annoyed, “You wanna help me here, Sunshine?”

Sunshine.

Justin laughed, shook his head, and replied, “Yeah sure,” taking Gus into his arms.

But he flushed as he stepped past Brian. Brian had half-whispered, “How do you know I didn’t mean the sauce?”

The best Justin could manage was an “Oh” that was nearly indistinguishable from a puff of air.

Brian left him hanging, turning then to Molly with a mildly contemptuous, “You again.”

Molly crossed her arms and huffed, “I was gonna say the same thing.”

Brian hid his smile behind his hand as he hopped to the left and pulled the door closed. Molly marched inside and took a tour of the loft.

Gus immediately started struggling. “Down now. Down.” Justin complied, and Gus toddled after Molly. He followed her around silently at first, but then tried to catch her eye and said, “Hi.” But Molly kept up her business-like façade until she was back in front of the door.

Brian raised an eyebrow and gestured with his hand. “Well?”

Molly concluded, “You need more stuff. Are you poor?”

“Hardly.”

“People are gonna think you are. And why is everything black, silver, and brown? Those colors are boring. No one’s gonna wanna visit.”

Justin laughed and chastised, “Molly!”

“What? It’s true. He has a boring, empty place. He’s not even nice. Do you have any friends? I bet you don’t. Except Justin. But he’s stupid.”

Justin laughed even harder then and chastised her more vigorously, “Molly Ann Taylor!”

“What? Mom always says to tell the truth.”

Brian grinned and patted her on the back. “Your mom’s right.”

Gus tugged on Molly’s shirt then. When Molly glanced down at him, he said, “Hi” shyly.  Brian smiled at that (and Justin noticed. Of course. Made him feel all warm and fuzzy). Molly didn’t say hi back, opting simply to suggest, “Let’s play. Are there any games or toys around here?”

Gus immediately ran toward the bedroom. “My daddy keeps his toys in here.”

Brian tried (and failed) to catch him. In fact, he nearly toppled over in the attempt. Justin felt even warmer (though less fuzzy) when he stopped Brian’s tumbly descent, sliding his left arm around Brian’s waist. Justin felt warmer still when Brian placed his right arm around Justin’s neck. And he started to tremble slightly when Brian moved closer and looked at him, holding Justin’s eyes with his. Brian’s held amusement and something else. Something that caused Justin’s cock to stir. Well, until Molly ran out of the bedroom holding an 8-inch dildo and yelling, “Hey, my mom has this toy, too!”

Brian burst out laughing (really laughing, a rarity for him when he was stone cold sober). Justin squinted and grimaced, turning away with an “OH!” That just made Brian laugh harder. But he did make his way over to Molly (plunking and hopping—he had just the one crutch with him), wrest the dildo out of her hand (and wrest he did—she didn’t want to let go), and snatched the S&M mask off of Gus’s head (it was one of those leather masks with a zipper mouth and eye holes that covers the entire head). Then he plunked and hopped over to the bedroom, tossed the dildo and mask into his ‘toy box,’ and plunked and hopped back into the living room. Brian giggled (actually giggled) when he saw that Justin was supervising as Molly washed her hands in the kitchen sink.

Fortunately (well, kind of), the activity in the kitchen reminded Gus that he’d been pouring sauce into a pot before, and he was eager to resume that task. He jumped, clapped, and giggled, and then cried, “Ooo, I wanna pour.”

Unfortunately, the stove had been on the entire time, and some of the plastic had started to melt, as Justin discovered (he’d peeked inside after Gus’s cry). He pushed the pot onto the back burner, shut off the front burner, wrinkled his nose (cutely, Brian thought) and said, “I think we’d better order pizza.”

Brian was smiling (vaguely, as he was wont to do when he didn’t want others to know how happy he was), until he plunked and hopped over to the stove and took a look. Some of the plastic had melted against the side (which was ribbed…Brian had thought it was quite amusing in the store…now, not so much). He’d never get the plastic off. He was so frustrated that he forgot he had a faceful of marinara and proceeded to brush his free hand against his forehead and then started carding his fingers through his hair. It took him all of three seconds to realize his error. He jerked his hand away, looked at it, and growled, “Fuck.”

Molly pointed and ooo-ed (he was sooo in trouble, or so she thought). Without even thinking, Justin retorted, “Language!”

Brian quirked an eyebrow, and Justin gaped, turned three shades of red, and mumbled, “Sorry. Uh … my mom says that all the time.”

Brian nodded slowly, his eyes wide and amused. Justin wished he could crawl into a hole and die. Well until Brian said, “I’m going to take a shower. Keep the munchkins away from the big boy toys, would you?”

“Oh!” Then as images of Brian in the shower surfaced, he said absently, “Uh … sure …” and smiled softly.

But a few moments later, when Brian had made it halfway, Justin jumped and shouted, “Wait!”

Brian turned.

Just ran over to Brian, all concerned. “Your cast! You can’t get it wet.” The nurse hadn’t said so, but Justin was sure he’d heard that somewhere.

Brian sighed, turned, and resumed his exit. “I have plastic in the bathroom for … well … I have plastic in the bathroom. How do you think I showered this morning?”

“Oh.” Deflated now, Justin mumbled, “Right.” He wasn’t hoping Brian would need his help. Nope.

Brian shrugged (and bit back a smile). “But you can come watch if you want … scrub my back … or whatever …”

Justin’s heart skipped a beat, and his breath came in gasps. Suddenly, it felt like they were back to square one, before an actual Joe entered the scene, before the sex, before the I love you, before the game became painful. Building rather than falling apart.

TBC…

Justin was pawing through the take-out menus he’d found in a drawer in the kitchen. Literally. He was pushing each aside (toward him and a little to the right) with a graze of his hand, rough and quick, like he’d never developed fine motor skills, or he’d morphed into a cat.

Molly and Gus were sitting on the couch. Gus sat proudly. His feet hung three inches above the floor.

Molly looked around dubiously. She didn’t think she’d like living there. “We have a cat at my house. Do you have any pets?”

“No, no, no.” Gus shook his head furiously. “Mama says no.”

“Hmmm.”

“What’s his name?”

“Huh?”

“Cat.”

“Oh Oscar. We found him in the trash.”

Wide eyes. “In the garbage?”

Molly nodded solemnly. “Someone threw him away. Jus says that that’s why he’s ‘bitey.’”

Wider eyes. “He bites?”

Molly shrugged. “A little. It’s more like gnawing. It doesn’t hurt. Much. And he does it a lot less now.”

Even wider eyes (they were as big as saucers now). Gus drew his breath in sharply. Molly laughed. That was what Daphne called “the pearl clutcher.” She half expected Gus to exclaim, “Oh my!” and reach for his neck. He did exclaim … not “Oh my!” but rather “He bites you??!”

With each rejected menu, Justin’s nose got crinklier. By the time he reached the end, he was sporting a French fry. Justin was appalled that a man with such generally exquisite taste could have absolutely none when it came to pizza. Domino’s? Papa John’s? Pizza Hut? Justin shuddered. Then he called Amici. The sauce was divine, and the mozzarella fresh.

He remembered back to the first time he’d ordered from there. He’d tried to ask for double pepperoni. Franco had pretended not to understand. Justin had turned bright red, partly in embarrassment, partly in anger, and almost hung up in frustration. The next time Justin’d called, he hadn’t even asked for a single order of pepperoni.  Franco had teased him, “No salame picante? No double?”

Molly nodded her head firmly. She kind of liked it when Oscar bit her. Nowadays, he did it slow and almost gently. Like that was one way he expressed his love for her. It meant they had a special connection. “Yup. But Jus says…”

Justin’s head sprang up.

“…bitey cats need the most love.”

Justin swallowed hard.

“I don’t like dogs. They smell bad.”

“And drool.”

Kids were dumb. But right about now, he almost wished he were one.

“You wanna see my mouse? It moves all by ‘self!”

Justin tried to tune Molly and Gus out. Tried. He ran his hand along the counter, first the top, cold and smooth, and then the edge, and sighed. Why was Brian taking so long?

“Squeak, squeak. I’m a little mouse. I’m gonna get the cheese!”

Justin drummed his fingers on the marble and glanced around, trying to pretend even to himself that he wasn’t sneaking looks into Brian’s bedroom hoping for a flash of bronze skin. Brian’s body, warm and damp. Justin shivered. So hard that it actually hurt.

“What are’ya doing?”

Molly shrugged. “What my mom does when she sees a mouse…” She spun the broom (it was about as tall as she and silver and black, of course, but light) with one hand like it was a baton (she couldn’t wait til she was old enough to join color guard. She practiced every day with whatever she could safely twirl) and then sent the bristley part back onto the floor right on top of the mouse’s head.

“Hey!” Gus held the button down. “You can do it, Sweetie!” (Sweetie was the mouse’s name).

Justin accidentally glanced at the kids (while casting his eyes around the loft, pretending not to be looking for Brian). Gus was crawling on the floor toward the broom. Molly moved it every time he drew near, keeping it, and Sweetie, just out of reach. Justin muttered, “Molly, give him back his mouse.” Molly rolled her eyes and sighed, but lifted the broom. Gus’s eyes lit up and he crawled doubletime to retrieve her.

In the course of glancing around, Justin chanced to look up and saw that Brian had managed to get someone in to install his new track lighting. Another hard shiver. And something else. Pleasant and painful. It kind of tickled his insides. He was suddenly dizzy. “Too dark. No Sunshine at all.”

“Isn’t she cute? She has a pink tail with a curl! Like a pig!”

Molly sighed with her entire body.

“Oink, oink.”

Should she tell him he was playing with a cat toy?

Brian was similarly plagued (with memories and questions). He was standing in the bathroom. Sort of. More like leaning. He was remembering Justin’s slippery hair and warm (always a furnace), almost velvet skin. Brian couldn’t get enough the night before. He felt like he’d been tripping or something. Somehow just ghosting his fingers or lips against (or very near) Justin’s skin made him feel … funny. As though it were his skin being touched or teased. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, creating a tickle-burning. But the burning was weird. Not quite the same as when he desired some trick. Or Justin. (Brian tried to ignore the distinction). It was more like a flush or a fever. But not unpleasant.

Remembering … Brian’s brain took that as a request for a repeat performance. Brian had to sit down on the toilet so he didn’t fall. He had no idea what he was doing. What he wanted to have happen. He just wanted Justin around. But now that Justin was here … Brian had no idea what his goal was. Brian always had a goal, an agenda. Always. But with Justin … he had no idea. He’d never had any idea. He was simply moving from one whim to another.

“Oink, oink.”

Justin flew into Brian, more specifically into Brian’s arms. Somehow, in all the hullabaloo, Brian had thought to toss his crutches. In fact, if Justin wasn’t mistaken, Brian had opened his arms to receive him. Unaccountably, Justin’s skin burned.

Brian bit back his automatic retort: “What would your boyfriend say?” He didn’t want to talk about Joe. Not now. Not ever. And most of all, he didn’t want to joke about Justin’s being with anyone else, let alone the snuggler.

“You look like a tomato!”

Wait … got ahead of myself … first there was a kiss and a bat (the flying kind) …

The flutter of wings. The yawning of metal (the heater?). A whoosh and an arc of black, like paint tossed into the air.

“What the hell?”

Molly placed her hand on her hip, wagged her finger at Justin, and in a fair approximation of her mother’s voice reproved him: “Justin (pause for effect) Taylor! Language!”

Gus rolled over onto his back (he was still on the floor playing with Sweetie) and said, “Ooooooooo, you’re in trou-bbbllleee!!” Then he started giggling.

Justin ignored both Molly and Gus. He turned his head right and then left and then tilted it back, each time staring for a few seconds, trying, somewhat desperately, to descry the interloper.

More finger wagging. “Don’t ignore me, young man!”

More giggling.

Flap. Flap. Flap.

The interloper (was it a bird? a bat?) dove in Justin’s direction. Justin cursed (“Fuck!”) and turned his head slowly, scanning the air.

“You’re only digging yourself deeper, young man! That kind of language is inappropriate for young ears!” (and to Gus) “Cover your ears!”

Gus, still lying on the floor, happily complied.

Exasperated, Justin hissed, “Molly, please!” and unbuttoned his shirt.

A thoroughly shocked Gus dropped his hands (from his ears) and pointed! “Not in the living room! Mommies yell at you for that.” He nodded solemnly and turned a little red. The last time he’d taken his clothes off in the living room, during a party, his mommies wouldn’t let him eat any cake. Not even a little.

Bare to the waist now and clutching a cuff in one hand, Justin started waving his shirt into the air. A soft, soft, soft cotton, it glided and curled, never once meeting its target.

Flap. Flap. Flap.

Long sleek ‘wings’ and a furry belly. The interloper was a bat, Justin now realized. It dove and glided in Justin’s direction. Justin ducked.

The kids hearing the flapping for the first time, Molly dropped her hand (the wagging finger hand) and looked up, her eyes wide with terror, and Gus, still lying on his back, started screaming.

Brian, who was still in the bathroom sitting on the closed toilet, deep in contemplation, stood (on both feet) in alarm when he heard Gus scream, yelled (he nearly yowled the pain was so acute), and fell back into a sitting position. When the pain subsided (dropped to a manageable level), he lifted himself up again, this time more carefully (using the sink to steady himself) and balanced himself on his good foot. He grabbed the clothes he’d set on the sink and dressed as quickly as he could.

Justin yelled, “Into the bedroom!”

Molly grabbed Gus’s hand and pulled him to a standing position. Gus protested, “No, wait, I need to get Sweetie,” and wriggled until his hand was free. He dove for the mouse but in his haste sent it skittering across the floor. Molly shrugged and ran for the bedroom, but kept the door open and yelled, “Come on, hurry up!”

Justin scanned the room again.

Gus crawled across the floor so quickly his knees started to hurt, all the while alternately looking up nervously and searching the floor desperately for Sweetie. He breathed a sigh of relief when found her underneath the couch (next to a balled up wife beater and a coffee mug). He cupped her in his hand and stood.

Justin, growing more and more tense with every second that passed, and the kids’ screaming and panicked movements, waved his shirt at anything that moved, shadows, a lone fly, Gus …

Gus, carefully shielding Sweetie, screamed again and ran for the bedroom door.

The bat dove once more, this time whooshing toward Gus.

Molly, panicked, yelled, “Come on, hurry up! Hurry up!”

Gus nearly tripped on the stairs he was so scared and he would have had Molly not caught him and pulled him inside, immediately sliding the door shut, with a loud thwack. Molly, still holding Gus, threw herself back against it (the door). Just when she’d caught her breath, her eyes regained focus and landed on a still damp, but clothed Brian looming over her and Gus, balanced on one foot, arms crossed, looking annoyed (and he was extremely annoyed, now that he saw both kids were safe). For the first time that night, Molly screamed.

Brian glowered.

Molly stepped to the side and slid the door open.

Brian grabbed his crutches and moved through and down the stairs.

Molly waited until Brian was a foot away from the stairs and then slowly slid the door shut, though she kept it open a crack. She peered through. Mimicking Molly, Gus sat down on the floor and peeked out. He even held his hand out so Sweetie could see, too.

Justin, finally giving up on his shirt, which had barely managed to graze the bat, let alone fell it, tossed it behind him. It landed on Brian’s head. Brian, still unaware of the imminent danger, grinned, pulled Justin’s shirt down over his face (though he still held it), and watched Justin in amusement as Justin grabbed the broom Molly had been playing with (he just remembered it was there) and start swinging it wildly.

Molly watched, too, squinting her eyes and scanning the living room and kitchen.

After a few minutes of swinging, Justin let the broom fall, the handle sliding through his now damp hands. The metal squeaked. Breathing heavily (in gasps), Justin ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair and closed his eyes.

A few seconds after Justin stopped swinging, Molly finally caught sight of the bat. She ripped the door open, stepped over Gus (nearly tripping), jumped the stairs (Brian started a little at that), and ran past Justin yelling “I see it! Over there!”

Justin’s eyes snapped open. “What? Where?”

Gus, seeing it now, too, ran out into the living room and began jumping and pointing. He went off like an alarm: “There, there, there!” Then he grabbed a pillow off the couch and threw it in the bat’s general direction. But he put too much of a curve on it, so it flew to the left, hitting Brian in the head. Brian frowned and narrowed his eyes. Gus hung his head and muttered, “Sorry.”

Justin, oblivious to everything, was staring in the direction Molly had run, but couldn’t see the bat. After a minute, he asked again, even more frantically, “Where? I don’t see it!”

Molly pointed. “There! By the bookcase” and Justin sent the broom aloft again and swung. He actually hit the bat this time, sending it careening through the air and into the loft door (it hit with a loud thump and fell to the ground), but Justin swung so hard that he spun around and lost his balance.

Justin flew into Brian, more specifically into Brian’s arms. Somehow, in all the hullabaloo, Brian had thought to toss his crutches. In fact, if Justin wasn’t mistaken, Brian had opened his arms to receive him (and pulled Justin closer, until Justin’s face was buried in Brian’s neck). Justin’s skin burned.

Despite all his body’s responses, which if they could articulate a desire would have urged (most desperately) Justin to remain exactly where he was, and indefinitely, Justin tried to step out of Brian’s arms. His embarrassment trumped everything: the hairs on his arms, his legs, and the back of his neck, which prickled, producing simultaneously the most uncomfortable and the most delicious sensation, his slowly hardening cock, his even more ragged breathing, his rapidly beating heart, which had stopped cold the second Brian grabbed him and had raced faster and faster with every second Justin’s lips lay on Brian’s neck, on Brian’s warm, damp skin.

But Brian refused to release him. Brian held Justin tighter and lifted Justin’s chin with a finger. Their eyes met. Justin suddenly felt like he were both falling and melting. Brian laughed. “Sweaty and half-naked and flying into my arms…” He unexpectedly stopped, midsentence, biting back his automatic retort: “What would your boyfriend say?” He didn’t want to talk about Joe. Not now. Not ever. And most of all, he didn’t want to joke about Justin’s being with anyone else, let alone the snuggler.

Gus giggled. “You look like a tomato!”

At that, Justin grew even more tomato-y.

TBC…in a day or two

Things that are okay when Brian and Justin were alone or with the kids weren’t necessarily okay all the time.

This understanding loomed always. Like waiting for the other shoe to fall.

It didn’t.

It didn’t.

But then, just when Brian got sort of comfortable, it did.

Brian’s humiliation and fear returned, and with an intensity and a quickness that he found nauseating.

One might ask, and rightly so, what could occur to bring about this devolution.

After all, Brian had taken Justin to Babylon and (in front of friends and past and potentially future tricks) grinded against him (albeit after dressing him in slimming attire). He’d eviscerated two rude near-tricks and nearly done the same to Mikey when they’d disparaged Justin’s body. And he’d insisted, with a sensitivity that shocked him most of all, that Justin hide nothing when they fuck. But Brian hadn’t simply gotten used to Justin’s “flaw.” He hadn’t drowned it with a hundred justifications, with a list of all Justin’s other “charms.”

Nope.

Brian blamed the dating site “project.” In the course of accoutering and positioning Justin to best effect … and photographing him, Brian had looked at Justin from every conceivable angle.

He’d stared at Justin’s perfectly shaped ass …

… his seemingly perfectly smooth back … that was in fact, downy, covered as it was in fine, soft blond hairs that glowed when the sun hit Justin just right … a patchwork of pink and ivory … dotted with chestnut freckles and the occasional deep, deep brown mole (three, to be exact) …

… the slight twist to his spine (Brian guessed from a mild case of scoliosis) …

… the curve of his neck, which, with the light behind Justin, and the tens of little hairs thereon, seemed to glow (in nimbus-like fashion) …

… the three gray hairs right by his left temple and the two tiny freckles just under his jaw. (Yes, Brian had zoomed in that close.) …

… his plump perfectly shaped lips, glistening and parted slightly …

… the flush in his cheeks, that often drifted down to his shoulders and chest … and accompanied by an almost ethereal sheen …

… and, when Brian put the camera on “accent,” Justin’s face, in fact his entire body, suffused with an otherworldly glow …

And the rest?

When Brian looked at Justin’s abdomen from the side, he saw the “tires” … and from the front, the young Santa belly (Justin was quite a bit less “jolly” than Santa) … but Brian also saw his smooth ivory skin, not a hint of color (Justin wouldn’t be caught dead naked in the sun), his nipple ring, glinting gold, and his belly button, his somewhat gaping belly button, which always caused a hint of a smile to creep across Brian’s lips, especially after the Barney Inkin episode in the warehouse.

Brian saw it all, and the sight didn’t cause him to flinch, to hesitate, or to grow nauseous (all reactions Brian’d had, though with decreasing frequency as time passed). Not even a little. Brian saw all of Justin and simply wanted him. Just as he was. Without hesitation or reservation. And he wanted Justin around. For a long, long time.

Stupid dating site, stupid Joe, stupid camera.

All this was passing through Brian’s mind when he saw Justin swinging his soft cotton shirt and then the silver and black broom at the bat. So when Justin flew into Brian’s arms, Brian held on, and tightly, and then he slid his hands up Justin’s back (relishing in the smoothness of Justin’s skin and tracing Justin’s slightly twisted spine lightly with a finger, which caused Justin to shiver, and, then like a domino effect, Brian with him) and along his neck (upsetting the tens of hairs rooted there and eliciting from Justin a shudder-y gasp) and finally buried his fingers in Justin’s longish blond hair. In fact, he proceeded to fist Justin’s hair. Then he pulled Justin close, suddenly, fiercely, drawing, no rending, from Justin a half choked gasp, and slid his lips over Justin’s. Into them would be more accurate. Brian had noted, time and time again, with, at first, a frightening discomfort, how well they fit together. How well all their parts fit together.

That’s when it happened. Molly and Gus hissed and screamed. (Molly hissed. Gus screamed.) “EWWWWWWWWWWWW!” Then Molly swung around in disgust, as she did so letting out an exasperated sigh (one worthy of Jennifer Taylor). Gus covered his eyes and then peeked sideways through his fingers.

But that’s not “the thing” that happened.

“The thing” (the world-changing, moment-wrecking thing) that happened was that someone threw the loft door open, or rather, slid it open, but hard, so hard it bounced and caused the very walls to shake and the slam to reverberate. Gus jumped, but kept his eyes trained on his dad and Justin. Molly turned toward the intruder and crossed her arms.

That someone (the intruder) was Dylan. As a semi-frequent visitor, he had the code and the key.

So there it was … or rather, there they were. Humiliation and fear. Back, and so visceral, Brian felt faint and like puking.

Not right away, of course. Before Brian could react to Dylan’s reaction, Dylan had to react. And react he did.

But first an introduction …

(You are no doubt asking, who the fuck is Dylan?)

One could describe him in a lot of different ways.

An Australian with a thick accent and blond hair.

(his hair) not short. Not long. Maybe two inches shorter than Justin’s. His hair was so blond it was almost white and looked perennially crimped, like he’d put it in a passel of braids before bed, unplaited them upon waking, shook his head a few times, and then left the apartment (sometimes even wrapping it in a hair tie, thus fashioning what appeared to be a bun).

Super tan.

Tall, but an inch and a half shorter than Brian, which Brian was always emphasizing, hovering over the man whenever possible and grinning.

Built but not a muscle head.

A soccer player and a surfer (when in the appropriate clime).

Former international student.

Brian’s college roommate …

… classmate …

… professional and sexual rival …

… and of course … lover.

Though Brian wouldn’t have used that word. But trick wasn’t appropriate, either.

Dylan was an advertising executive. He’d moved to New York immediately after graduating college and almost as immediately landed a job at the biggest advertising firm there.

Brian hated Dylan.

Dylan was less successful in back rooms than in board rooms. This was where Brian reigned supreme. They’d participated in an uncountable number of conquest contests over the years, and Brian always won. Hands down.

Dylan hated Brian, too.

Oddly, they also liked each other. One could easily call them “frenemies.” Though, to be fair, that was pretty much “how Brian rolled.” Only Lindsay, Mikey, and Justin failed to meet the definition.

A couple or few times a year, Dylan appeared at the loft, without notice, without asking. Brian and Dylan would fuck and then go out on the prowl. They’d spend the next two days fucking, in orgies and conquest contests, and then Dylan would disappear, with as little fanfare as when he arrived.

Back to the present … Dylan gaped and then (when he’d recovered sufficiently) laughed. What was Brian doing kissing (kissing!!!) a fatso? “Bri, you doing court-ordered community service, noaw?” In his thirteen years in the United States, Dylan's accent had remained just as it was the day he first set foot in the Pitts.

Molly dropped her arms, but then brought one back up, placing her hand on her hip.

Brian had been too preoccupied with Justin to hear the EWWWWW or the door (slam-slide shut). But he heard Dylan’s lilting brogue. He lifted his head, but didn’t turn it. He, and every part of his body, was frozen.

Justin suffered no such condition. But he was dazed. He had been too preoccupied with Brian (Brian, Brian’s firm, yet soft lips, Brian’s fingers –still– tangled in his hair, and –and– Brian’s erection, which was pressed against his own –even now) to hear the EWWWWW or the door (slam-slide shut) or Dylan’s lilting brogue. He only knew that Brian’s lips were no longer on his. His eyes fluttered open, and he murmured, “Hmmm …”

Finally (now that “the show” was over), Gus let his hands fall (he’d been mesmerized by the kissing). Molly stomped over to Dylan and started interrogating him, “Who are you? Why are you here? Why is your hair in a bun?”

Molly’s interrogation sent Justin crashing back to the real, non-floaty world. He snapped his head toward her and nearly jumped when he saw that they had company. He moved to grab Molly.

Brian, finally remembering himself, let go of Justin, stepped back, took a deep breath, and then pivoted. Dylan smiled. Flashed his dimples. Completely ignoring Molly (from his perspective, a glaring mean-looking girl), he quipped (to Brian), “Did you have a slash on another Jack?” Molly didn’t like being ignored. She promptly kicked Dylan in the shin, hissed, “I’m calling 9-1-1,” and made a run for the phone (the land line).

Dylan yelped and cried, “What’s up with the littlies?”

Another sigh (from Brian). Dylan didn’t know Brian had a son. In fact, Dylan knew almost nothing about Brian’s personal life (since graduation anyway). They fucked. They didn’t talk.

Justin caught Molly mid-leap and pulled her back against him. Gus was now facing Dylan, though still standing a foot or two behind his dad and Justin. He stared at Dylan (from his perspective, a scarecrow robber) with wide, unblinking eyes and pet Sweetie.

He said to her, still staring at Dylan, “The robber talks funny.”

Sweetie didn’t respond.

TBC...

Justin was standing on a huge black and gray mottled rock near the Ohio River. The sun, high in the sky, shown down through big puffy clouds. Dripping gossamer flowed into the cool water.

“Affirm that your metabolism is strong. Lift your left arm and right leg. Extend your left arm. Let your energy flow through your arm, into and out of your fingers. Come back into the posture called the child's pose.”

Justin got down on his knees and leaned forward.

“Breathe into that posture.”

Justin breathed in and out slowly.

“Relieve yourself of stress. Relax your head neck and shoulders. Slowly lower yourself down to the ground.”

Justin lay on his belly.

“Lift yourself into the cobra posture.”

Justin arched his back.

“Look up. Clear your muscles of stress and tension. This a great way to bring your body back into balance.”

“OW!” Justin tilted his head sideways and peered, squinting through the bright sun.

“A great way to bring your body back to harmony and equilibrium.”

Justin crawled to a sitting position and swung around. He pulled his ear phones out. “Daph! Why'd you hit me?”

Daphne sighed dramatically. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Justin stood and started stretching. He lifted his arms straight up and put his hands on his hips and stretched left and then right. “Bringing my body back to harmony and equilibrium.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Justin pushed past her. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to start my run.”

Daphne grabbed Justin's arm, holding him fast. “Jus...”

Justin wriggled free, but made no move to leave.

Daphne tilted her head and frowned, but it was more sad than angry or frustrated. “How long are you going to keep this up?” He'd lost more weight in two months than was healthy. If he kept this up, he'd end up in the hospital.

Justin set his jaw and shrugged.

Daphne sighed. “My three months is over. My flight's tomorrow.”

Justin sniffed and nodded slowly, his eyes losing focus.

“I could put in for an extension.”

Justin shook his head and patted her shoulder. He paused, leaving his hand on her shoulder for a second or two, and then gave it a gentle squeeze before drawing his hand away. “No, no. You're needed there.” He set off at a run.

Daphne sighed yet again, more deeply this time, and sat down. “Oh Justin.” A cloud passed in front of the sun, darkening the sky. Daphne shivered and rubbed her arms.

***********************

Brian blinked awake and then groaned. There was something heavy, two heavy somethings, on his left arm and right leg. He lifted his head and glanced around. Another groan. A red head (not the scary ginger type with pasty skin and freckles, but with auburn hair and olive skin) was curled up on his left side, his right flank lying across Brian's arm. A guy with jet black hair and pale skin was curled up below him, his head resting on Brian's right leg. Brian groaned again and then extricated himself from the pile of man-flesh. None too carefully. He yanked his arm and leg out from under them so fast they both tumbled sideways and he nearly hit the floor. He just barely managed to catch himself on his nightstand.

“Alright. Party's over. Get the fuck out.”

More groaning. This time not Brian's. Brian ran his fingers through his hair and walked into the kitchen (walk might be too kind. He swayed and stuttered like a zombie). He heard the loft door slide shut just as he managed to get the guava juice out of the fridge and take a gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shoved the bottle back in. He turned, nudging the fridge door shut.

He muttered, “Fuck.”

The loft was littered with half-naked guys, empty booze bottles and broken vials (he discovered this by stepping on one, which elicited a wince and a growl), and all of his furniture was either upside down or lying on a side. He walked through the detritus, kicking the men, none too gently, one after another.

“Get the fuck out. Come on. Get up. Up and out. Up and out.”

By the time he made it to the windows, the floor was creaking with the weight of still-drunk men crawling, standing, and staggering to the door.

He turned around only when the creaking and slamming (of the door) stopped.

Then he staggered back to his bedroom and crawled into bed.

********************

Justin resisted the urge to collapse on the side of the road. He'd run three and a half miles at a brisk jog but then sprinted the last half mile. His entire body, head to toe, was suffused with red heat and he gasped and coughed as he tried to catch his breath. He was just about to jog around the block (as a cool down) when his cell rang. Justin pulled out his phone and flipped it open (he was an old school star trek fan). It was a text from Joe.

Babe—ethiopian tonight?

Justin sighed, flipped the cover back down, and started to run (not jog). He could do a couple more miles.

********************

Sweetie (the mouse) was NOT sitting on her friend Gus's dresser or nestled snuggly in his arms as Gus slept. She was NOT at school with him. She was NOT peering at people and places and things from the lofty vantage point of his uplifted hand. She would have been sad (if she could feel—she was after all just a toy mouse, and not even a people toy). She was sitting under Brian's couch covered in dust and hair (a mixture of chestnut and blond). Two months ago, she'd careened across the floor (helped along by her wheels) and under the couch and had sat there ever since, despite Gus's persistent phone calls to his dad. She might have been heartened by the desolate messages Gus left if she could hear (and had feelings). She might have been offended and shocked by what had been transpiring at Brian's apartment since THAT FATEFUL NIGHT if she could see and hear and feel (and had a clue about social mores). But more likely she would have laughed. One thing she would have already have noted (again if she possessed a living body and the requisite mental capacity) was that humans, especially adult humans, were foolish. Even stupid. They rarely knew what they truly wanted or what was good for them or if they did, they pretended not to know. Pride was usually the culprit. Brian (and Justin—though she could not have known this even with a living body and the requisite mental capacity) had been behaving in the most ridiculous manner possible to save face. They both sought “normal,” Brian trying to “get back to” it and Justin to “find” it.

********************

Poor Gus was lost. Without Sweetie (and Molly and Justin but especially Sweetie), everything was wrong. Ice cream tasted like ashes in his mouth. Sunshine made him sad. He started to hate show and tell and school and playing. He spent most afternoons and evenings (when his moms weren't trying to lure him back to life and fun with stories and games) sitting at the window staring out into space and cradling the phone. Sometimes he used it to call his dad. He knew that number by heart. But mostly he willed it to ring. For Sweetie to use it to find him. He'd taught her the number. Every day before they left the house, he reminded her.

Then one afternoon, another FATEFUL DAY, something changed.

The phone in Gus's hands, the phone Gus cradled from schooltime to bedtime, the phone that always lay dormant, the phone Gus's moms really only kept out of habit (they both had cell phones)...RANG.

Bringggg. Bringggg.

Gus was so surprised he jumped two inches and almost fell out of the windowseat.

Gus pressed the on button and whispered excitedly, “Sweetie?”

“No stupid. It's Molly.”

TBC...

Grinding gravel.

Panting.

Crunch. “Uhn.”

Crunch. “Uhn.”

Crunch. “Uhn.”

Justin was a steam engine.

He wasn't pushing his feet down. The road was lifting them up.

The beauty of simplicity.

Crunch. “Uhn.”

If I don't love you, you can't hurt me.

Crunch. “Uhn.”

If I don't love you, no one in your life, no one you respect, can hurt me.

Crunch. “Uhn.”

If I only want what I have, what I can easily get, I'll never be disappointed.

Crunch. “Uhn.”

If I take everything at face value, I'll never humiliate myself.

Crunch. “Uhn.”

**********

Brian stepped under the water.

Keep it simple, stupid.

Kelly Johnson's fourth rule of management.

Clarence “Kelly” Johnson led the team that created the P-38 Lightning (aircraft). He won his first aeronautical design contest at age 13. And he shook off his grade-school “nickname” (Clara) by tripping a boy who called him that so hard the boy broke his leg. That's how he earned his next nickname, the one he chose to keep: “Kelly.” Kelly was Michael Kelly, star of some song, a hot Irish guy every girl he saw wanted.

When Brian was young, toddling young, his uncle Ray would tell him stories about Richard Bong, the fighter pilot who took the Japanese by storm during World War II, in his P-38 Lightning. But the person Brian ended up truly idolizing, the man he chose to emulate, was the man who designed the P-38.

Keep it simple, stupid. That was just one of the lessons he learned from Kelly.

Hit em hard. Push through. Don't allow yourself to be humiliated. Be tough instead.

Fucking is simple. Anything else, everything else, is lesbian bullshit.

“Spaghetti night. Littlies. A boyfriend. And a tub a'lard at that. Fuckin dag...”

Brian's vision dimmed with each accusation. He couldn't breathe.

The range burned neon. Relief. A cataract of throbs. Screams. “Fucking pussy.” Then everything went dark.

Brian balled his fists. His nails bit painfully into his skin. He stretched his fingers out. His tendons grew taut, near to breaking.

He wanted to be Kelly, not Clara.

So he got tough. Pushed through.

Brian leaned his head against the wall...drew his index finger lightly along the oblong metal faucet.... Nudged it to the right.

Farther.

Farther still.

Relief.

Throbbing.

This time, he didn't scream.

And he could finally breathe.

**********

Justin barreled through the door and dropped his keys. Nowhere near the counter. Lifting his wrist that high, that fast...not happening. Justin's body burned, throbbed. He threw himself back onto the couch, even though he was dripping. He grunted. His eyes stung. He wiped his face on the pillow. He nearly slid to the floor, but he caught the couch arm with his foot. He ripped the envelope open and somewhat inelegantly extracted a little piece of paper. It was index-card size.

One summer evening...I found a little boat tied to a willow tree within a rocky cave, its usual home. Straight I unloosed [the] chain, and stepping in pushed from the shore...It was an act of stealth and troubled pleasure...leaving behind...small circles glittering idly in the moon, until they melted all into one track of sparkling light...

Justin turned the paper over. And over again.

Huh. Seems unfinished.

Then he re-read the message. As though that would make more magically appear

Justin groaned and slid his hand over the back of the couch. He pushed down, lifting himself up.

Another groan. A grimace. A zombie walk to the desk.

Justin collapsed into the chair and nudged the mouse.

He typed like a cat plays the piano. Still he managed to type the first several words. It was enough.

A grunt. A nudge. A click.

Wordsworth's Prelude. Well, part of it. "The Stolen Boat episode."

But now, like one who rows, proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point with an unswerving line, I fixed my view upon the summit of a craggy ridge, the horizon's utmost boundary; far above was nothing but the stars and the grey sky...lustily I dipped my oars into the silent lake, and, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat went heaving through the water like a swan...

Justin rubbed his forehead. He itched his elbow. He re-examined the piece of paper, still in his right hand. Aloud, he pondered. “Okay...so this guy joy rides a boat one night. He leaves the cave in the dust...not literally...the track he leaves isn't made of burnt rubber but moonlight. So he's got an ego thing going...he decides he's gonna go to the end of the earth.”

[then] from behind that craggy steep...a huge peak, black and huge...upreared its head. I struck and struck again, and growing still...the grim shape towered up between me and the stars, and still...strode after me. With trembling oars I turned and [rowed] back to the...willow tree...

“So...as he's going along he sees a mountain...it's big and dark...growing...morphing into a monster. Dude gets scared and runs back to the cave...”

for many days [after], my brain worked with a dim and undetermined sense of unknown modes of being; over my thoughts there hung a darkness, call it solitude or blank desertion. No familiar shapes remained, no pleasant images of trees, of sea or sky, no colours of green fields; but huge and mighty forms, that do not live like living men, moved slowly through [my] mind by day, and were a trouble to my dreams.

“Unknown modes of being. Monsters haunting his dreams...”

Justin could no longer feel his hands. His feet. His arms or his legs. Just the sudden ache in his chest. He flew out of the chair and snatched the envelope off of the coffee table. He tumbled in his haste, landing on the floor. He didn't even notice, so focused was he on the envelope. He examined the front side. The back side. The inside. Nothing.

He wished he could dust for prints. He felt sure he'd discover that they were Brian's.

TBC... 

Gus actually smiled for the first time in two months. “Molly!!! I thought I’d never see you again.”

“You aren’t seeing me. We’re on the phone.”

“Oh, right. I miss you. And Sweetie. She’s lost. Wait, how did you get my phone number? Is Sweetie with you? I taught her the number.” He was very proud of that.

Molly sighed. “No. I don’t know where she is, but we’ll find her. We’ll fix that. We’ll fix everything.”

“If she didn’t tell you, how did you get it?”

“I asked my music teacher for help. He has a friend at Little Red Primary.”

“That’s MY school!” He giggled.

Molly sighed. “I know. You told me. He talked to his friend and got him to find your number.”

“Cool! So how are we going to find Sweetie?”

“It’s simple. We’re going to have a playdate.”

“We are? I don’t know. My daddy hasn’t been around much lately. He never calls me back. I call him every day and I ask him about Sweetie. I even tell her how much I miss her, in case she’s listening to the machine. I wait, and I wait, but nobody calls.”

“Look, I don’t have time for this. Just give me your address.”

“Oh. Okay. I live at … wait. I have to go on the porch and check the number. I forget.”

Molly sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose (something she’d picked up from her archnemesis Brian). Boys were SOOO stupid sometimes.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Molly’s plan had taken … was taking a lot of doing, but it was really quite simple. Fake cry in front of her music teacher a few times and see if he could help her find Gus. She knew he would want to help her because he liked her mom. She’d seen them kissing in the music room, and boys only kissed people they liked. Then ask Daphne to take her to Gus’s to ask if they could all go to the park. Then convince Daphne to take them to Brian’s. Call Justin telling him where she was and lying (saying she’d got there on her own). Then tell Brian to stop being stupid while awaiting Justin’s arrival. Phase one was complete. If only she had thought of it sooner, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad. But she couldn’t think about that now. She had to just keep moving forward as her mom always said.

Now she dialed Daphne’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Molly.”

“Molly, sweetie, why are you calling? Is Justin okay?”

“No. You’d better come over.” Justin had not been okay in 60 days. She’d counted.

“Oh God! Is he hurt?”

“Yes.” Every time she asked about Brian, Justin refused to answer and got all teary eyed.

Click. Daphne ran to her car.

Molly didn’t know this, but Daphne was scheduled to leave that day. On her way over, she canceled her flight and called the outreach coordinator and asked for a month-long extension.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A minute or two after bolting through the Taylors’ door, Daphne burst into tears. Then she started laughing. “Molly!! You can’t do that! You scared me to death.”

Molly widened her eyes on purpose and gave Daphne a wtf look. “What? You said, is Justin okay? Well, he’s NOT. He’s been miserable for 60 days. He’s always crying or mad or just sits there like a lump on a log. He never cooks. He never eats. All he does is exercise. And go on dates with Joe.” Molly scrunched her nose light she’d smelled something gross. “Joe is creepy. And boring. And stupid. He talks to me like I’m three. ‘Do you want me to tickle-wickle you?’ Ugh! Seriously? Justin even made a face at that one. He doesn’t smile at Joe like he smiled at Brian. He doesn’t laugh hardly at all anymore. We either need to fix Justin or trade him in.”

Daphne sighed. She couldn’t have agreed more. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Be awesome! I got Gus’s number. Gus is Brian’s kid. I called him, and he gave me his address. So you just take me there and ask if the three of us can go to the park. They have to trust you. You’re a doctor! But instead of the park, we go to Brian’s house. Then we slap him around a little bit. Presto chango, problem solved!”

Daphne shot her a dubious look. “Sweetie, these are adult problems.”

Molly put her hand on her hip. “Oh no!! I get enough of that from mom and Joe. If I hear the word ‘inappropriate’ one more time, I’m going to scream!”

Oddly enough, Phase two of Molly’s plan went off without a hitch. It had been so long since Gus had smiled and laughed, which he did the second he saw Molly (and didn’t stop). He just stood there grinning and giggling and holding her hand. And Molly had mentioned ‘casually’ that Daphne was a doctor for Doctors without Borders and had been in Africa for a few years (and was Justin’s best friend and an honorary member of the Taylor family). Lindsay and Mel got Daphne’s cell number and said just for a few hours, but gave permission. They were kind of happy to have a break. Brian hadn’t been over much and hadn’t been taking Gus for ‘excursions,’ not in a while.

Onto Phase three. While Daphne was chatting with Lindsay and Mel, she took Gus (and his treasured cordless phone) out onto the porch. Then she dialed Justin’s number.

“Hello!”

“Hi, Jus. It’s Molly.”

“Hey Mollusk. What’s up?”

“I’m lost and alone.”

Gus’s eyes widened. She wasn’t lost. She was on his porch. And he was with her. He started to remind her of that (he didn’t want her to be scared), but she put her finger to her lips to shush him.

“What?” Justin got up from the table and walked outside, where it was quieter.

“I went to Brian’s by myself. But now I don’t know how to get home.”

“Holy crap. Okay, just where exactly at Brian’s.”

“In the hallway upstairs.”

“Oh okay. Just stay there. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m coming.”

Click.

He didn’t even say goodbye to Joe.

“Molly, you told a fib. Two fibs. You’re gonna get in trouble.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Minutes later they were headed to Brian’s neighborhood.

Unfortunately, Gus couldn’t remember the number. Only the street name. So they walked the entire length of it before reaching Brian’s building.

More unfortunately, Justin was nearby when Molly called. So he got there first.

When he didn’t see Molly in the hallway, Justin knocked. Actually, he pounded. He was so terrified that something had happened to Molly, he wasn’t even freaking about the fact that he was about to see Brian for the first time in 60 days.

And when Brian opened the door, he was so surprised (and some other pleasant emotion he would rather not have tried to name) that he didn’t much care what had brought Justin there or about anything beyond that moment. He slid one hand behind Justin’s neck and pulled a stunned Justin into a rough, desperate kiss.

A couple of minutes later, Molly and company arrived.

Neither Brian nor Justin noticed until Molly let out a whoop. “Suck it, appropriate Joe!”

Justin and Brian abruptly broke apart. Justin wore an expression of horror. He couldn’t believe what he’d done not only to Joe but also to Molly – she was in danger, and he’d let himself get caught up, sucked in Brian’s gravitational pull. Brian noted the horror and backed away slowly, almost to the kitchen.

Justin wheeled around and kneeled, pulling Molly into his arms. He held her tight. “How did you get here? Are you okay?” He was so engrossed, so overwhelmed with fear and relief that he didn’t notice Gus or Daphne at first. That wasn’t really his fault. They were still in the hall when Molly burst in. Brian was the first person to see them. “Gus? What are you doing here?”

Gus ran to Brian. “Daddy!!!!”

Brian picked him up. Gus wrapped his arms around Brian’s neck and hugged him tightly. Then he asked, “Where’s Sweetie?”

“What?”

“Is she here? Can I look?”

Brian sighed. “The loft is really messy. You just sit up here for a few minutes. I’ll look, okay, buddy?” Then he grabbed a garbage bag from a drawer and started tossing much of what was on the floor in it.

Justin looked up when he heard Gus. “Daph? Why are you here? I thought your flight was today. What’s going on?”

She smiled nervously.

Justin stood up. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Molly was about to speak when Gus interjected, “Molly’s fixing everything!”

Brian, currently crawling on the floor pulling bottles and condoms from under the couch and the chair, paused to look at Molly.

Justin crossed his arms. “Molly? What are you fixing?”

Molly mimicked Justin, crossing her arms, but adding a defiant look. Then she declared, “You.”

Brian quirked an eyebrow. He continued to pick up, but he was listening closely.

“What do you mean me? I’m not broken.”

“Whatever.”

Suddenly Justin’s tone softened. He was truly perplexed. “Molly? What is it you think is wrong?”

“EVERYTHING.”

Justin turned a little bit pink and shifted uneasily. He was pretty sure he didn’t want an audience, particularly not this audience, when he heard what Molly had to say. “Let me take you home. We can talk about this there.” He reached down to grab her hand.

Molly dodged and moved deeper into the loft. “Oh no! It took too much for me to get you here.”

Justin’s stomach was all tied up in knots at this point. “Why is it important that I’m here?”

Molly took a deep breath. Then she said, “You’ve been hurting yourself. I’m not the only one who thinks so. Both mom and Daphne are worried. You don’t eat. All you do is exercise. You’re different. You barely smile or laugh. You don’t cook. You get mad and sad ALL the time.”

Justin caught Brian’s eye. He had finished picking up and was now staring at Justin, mouth open, eyes wide. Justin felt like he was about to hyperventilate. He looked back at Molly. He tried to smile brightly, but it didn’t quite happen. “Molly, I’m fine. Really.”

Molly stomped her foot. “You’re not. I’m not stupid. I have eyes. I have ears. I see you crying when you think no one is paying attention.”

Justin turned crimson. This was a nightmare.

“And what about us?”

“What?”

“Gus and me. Just because you and Brian are mad at each other doesn’t mean Gus and I aren’t still friends.”

Gus nodded emphatically.

Justin couldn’t help but smile at that. A genuine smile.   

Suddenly, Brian yelled, “Aha!”

Everyone turned to look at him. Brian smiled weakly and held Sweetie aloft.

Gus smiled and clapped. “SWEETIE!!! Down, down, down, daddy!”

Brian dusted Sweetie off as he walked back to the counter, set Gus on his feet, and then handed the mouse to him. Gus started whispering to Sweetie and hugging her.

Then he approached Daphne and asked, “You’re Daphne? Justin’s best friend?”

She nodded.

“How is it that you have Gus with you?”

Justin added, “And Molly?”

Daphne took a deep breath. Then she said, “Molly and Gus really wanted to see each other. Molly asked me to take her to Gus’s house, and his moms let me take them both out. We are supposed to be at a park, but Molly begged me to take them here.”

Justin narrowed his eyes at Daphne. “You knew she was scheming and you went along with it?”

Daphne threw up her hands. “She was worried. I was worried.”

Justin ran a hand over his face.

Brian suggested, “There’s a park a couple blocks from here. Why don’t you take them there? We can join you in a little bit.”

Justin looked back at Brian, his eyes wide and intense, and shook his head.

Molly said, “Just make up already. Everything got bad when you started fighting.”

Justin sighed. Then he kneeled down and hugged Molly. “If I do this, it will make you happy?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, we’ll talk. But I can’t promise any more than that.”

“Okay, Jus.” Then she looked back at Brian. Her eyes darkened. To him, she hissed, “Don’t be stupid!”

Brian chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”

Daphne escorted Molly and Gus out, shutting the door behind them. Brian and Justin were alone. Justin remained where he was. He was embarrassed and nervous and angry and hurt. He didn’t think he could even look Brian in the eye.

Brian didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. So he walked up behind Justin and put his hands on Justin’s shoulders.

Justin wheeled around, stepped back, and hissed, “Don’t touch me!”

Brian nodded slowly and took a few steps back. Then he said softly, “You should eat. Exercise less.”

Justin crossed his arms. His face lost all color. Then he laughed a bitter laugh. “Huh. After what happened the last time I saw you, I can’t fucking believe you’re saying that!”

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth. His eyes lost focus for a moment. Then he looked up at Justin, pain evident in his eyes. “I …” He took a deep breath. “Nothing I say will change what happened.”

Justin laughed. “What happened? You mean when you claimed I was the babysitter? Or when you and your ‘friend’ hosted a week-long orgy? Or when you called me after he left to say you thought our being ‘friends’ was a bad idea? Clearly things have gotten back to normal for you if the state of the loft when we arrived is any indication. So WHY THE FUCK would you kiss me? Or send me an unsigned note with a scrap of poetry?”

“I … might have been … hasty when I called.”

Justin shook his head, raised his hands, and started backing away. “You are going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that!”

“Dylan caught me off guard.”

Justin’s chest hollowed out. “And you were ashamed of me, ashamed for him to see you with me.”

Brian shut his eyes tight for a moment, but then opened them and looked directly at Justin. “Yes.”

Tears sprung to Justin’s eyes. He turned away. Then he walked quickly to the door.

Brian’s stomach twisted. His chest ached. He didn’t want Justin to leave, but he didn’t know if he could say enough to make him stay. He wasn’t sure he should try. But if what Molly had said was true, Justin wasn’t happier without … their whatever. He blurted out, “Wait!” just as Justin’s hand reached the handle.

Justin froze. He just stood there, hand extended, not moving. Leaving was causing actual physical pain, but what else could he do? He wanted so much from Brian, but he was certain he could never, would never, give it to him. Yet … some small part of him still hoped … He sighed deeply. Fuck it. He turned back around and crossed his arms. Waiting. But not patiently.

This situation was so surreal. Justin’s facial expression, tone of voice, and body language … the way Brian felt, what he said and did, it was like they were reenacting some of the nightmares Brian had been having since he’d fled the morning after they’d first fucked. The recurring nightmare where Justin is about to leave and a black hole opens up in Brian’s chest, threatening to swallow him whole. Despite that, Brian can’t tell Justin what he wants, needs to hear. He shuts the loft door instead. Sometimes Justin pounds on the door. Sometimes he just disappears.

“Look I … I don’t know if I …” Brian growled and then cursed. “Fuck!”

Justin continued to stare. He said nothing. Did nothing.

Brian bit the inside of his cheek, but then asked, “Is Joe the one?”

Justin’s eyes widened. “What?”

Brian stepped closer. “If he’s the one you want, if he’s your guy, okay. I’ll tell you I want nothing but the best for you. Tell you that you deserve everything and that I hope he gives you all of it. But …” Now Brian’s eyes were pleading. Justin didn’t understand. What was Brian asking?

“But what?”

“But if not …” Brian felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest. He hesitated (and a look of vulnerability, of fear, washed over his face) but then added, “just stay.”

Justin swallowed hard. That was what Brian had said the day he broke his leg, well, later that evening. That was the night Brian had held him. Justin was now also pleading. He wanted SO MUCH for Brian to mean what he thought that he meant, but he needed Brian to say it out, clearly. “Brian, what does that even mean?”

“It means that I’m asking you … just stay. We can figure out the rest. Just stay.”

Justin glared at Brian and hissed, “I haven’t see you in two months, TWO MONTHS, and now, now, you spring this on me? What? Did you SUDDENLY start missing me after all this time?”

Brian flinched slightly at the sheer intensity of anger in his words and facial expression, but he held Justin’s eyes. He said simply, “No. Not suddenly.”

Justin’s eyes widened. “How can that be true? I mean, God, Brian, you had an orgy as recently as last night by the looks of it.” Now his voice also contained disgust.

Brian nodded, but did not look away.

“You’re saying you missed me even while fucking countless nameless faceless tricks?”

“Yes.”

“But, you’re disgusted by me? Ashamed of me?” Justin’s voice now contained pain, in addition to anger and disgust. He turned bright red.

“I didn’t say that.” Brian still held Justin’s eyes.

Now confusion had entered the mix. “But, you said that when Dylan …”

Brian interjected flatly, “Yes, in that moment, I felt ashamed.”

Justin threw his hands up. He walked into the living room and flopped down in the chair. He was frantic and near tears. “I don’t understand.” He carded his fingers through his hair.

Brian wished he had tossed that chair when he had had the chance. He was back to hating it. However, rather than sitting on the couch, like last time, he walked over to the chair and kneeled beside it.

Brian lifted Justin’s chin with a finger, so that their eyes met, and then he asked softly, “What does Joe think about all this?”

Justin’s entire body tensed up. “What do you mean?”

His voice still soft, but empty of all but seeming curiosity, he elaborated, “Is he encouraging you to diet? To exercise?”

Justin shrugged and looked up, away from Brian’s intent gaze. “No … not exactly. I mean, he likes the results.”

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth and nodded slowly. Then he reached over and started pulling Justin’s shirt up and off.

“Brian! Stop, what are you doing?” Justin failed to prevent the shirt from coming off but he did manage to cover his belly with both his arms before Brian saw it.

“Just indulge me for a minute.”

Justin just stared at Brian for a long minute. He looked a little scared, but he eventually moved his arms apart and sat back. His body was still rigid though, and he closed his eyes. Then he started (gasped) when Brian unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Despite the discomfort this ‘indulgence’ was causing him, his dick responded to the proximity of Brian’s hands and mouth, responded to the mere possibility that Brian would soon be lavishing on it attention.

Justin cried out (mostly in surprise – he had his eyes closed) when Brian leaned down and started tracing his tongue around Justin’s belly button. Then, despite being angry and hurt and uncomfortable and scared, he started giggling and opened his eyes. Brian looked up at Justin, his eyes expressing something soft and warm, something Justin was too afraid to try to name, and then turned back to Justin’s belly, placing open-mouthed kisses all over his midsection. Justin laughed and shook his head. “Brian what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to show you something. Something I thought you knew from the first time we fucked onward.”

Justin chuckled. “What? That you have a belly button fetish?”

“No. That I thought, that I think, every inch of you is hot.”

Justin scoffed. “No …”

Brian nodded. “I’ll admit, I wanted you in spite of your weight in the beginning. I focused on all the other parts. Your lips …”

Justin laughed and mimicked Brian, “…made for sucking cock.”

Brian smirked. “Yes, and your sexy purring voice, your ass, your nipple ring …”

Justin encouraged Brian to continue. “But …”

“Then after we saw Joe at the diner and went to your place … ”

Justin said flatly, “We fucked.”

“Yes. I asked you to ride me, facing me, no clothes, no blanket.”

Justin swallowed hard.

“And then we took a shower and I soaped you up everywhere, touched you everywhere. That not only did NOT deflate my erection but also inspired me to suck your dick and then fuck you. The point is …”

Justin looked at Brian nervously, expectantly.

“The fucking point is I stopped being disgusted by it, I stopped ignoring it. I stopped being attracted to you in spite of it. I was just attracted to you. All of you.”

Justin was confused again. He wanted SO MUCH for what Brian was saying to be true, but he just couldn’t process the idea that Brian desired every part of him, even his somewhat smaller but still too-large belly. He sputtered, “But … when Dylan …”

Brian sighed. “I may have seen the light, but other people haven’t. And I’m fucking vain.” There was so much more Brian couldn’t say. Not now. Not in the bright light of day and with Justin looking at him. He was smiling and using a voice that expressed a sentiment most often expressed by Molly – “duh!!” – trying to get Justin to smile, trying to avoid any deeper questioning on this topic, trying to forget Jack’s piercing gaze, his hate-filled slurs (pussy and faggot), the searing of skin, and a blinding pain he thought would be the end of him.

In a tiny, almost childlike voice, Justin asked, “Then where would that leave us?” Then in a bolder voice, one with an edge to it, almost of anger, he declared, “I don’t want to be your dirty little secret. No I WON’T be your dirty little secret.”

Brian replied flatly, “I’m not asking you to be.”

Justin laughed but it wasn’t a happy laugh. He was scared and nervous. Brian couldn’t possibly mean what he seemed to. “Then what?”

Brian took a deep breath and began “I’m asking you …”

Justin interjected, “To change?” This was the only possibility he could realistically imagine.

Frustrated now and nervous himself, he snapped, “NO! I liked you the way you were. Exactly the way you were.”

“Then …”

Brian let out another deep sigh. “I just need you to be patient. To give me a chance to stop being a scared little faggot. We both need to do that.”

“What?” Justin furrowed his brow.

“You think I fucked up, and I did. But so did you.”

Justin turned red. “What did I do?”

Brian’s voice had an edge to it now. Justin wasn’t sure whether it was annoyance, anger, or both. “We both buy into that bullshit! I get embarrassed choosing a fatty and you feel ashamed being one because we feed into the idea that to be attractive you need to have the lowest possible percentage of body fat … that you have to have well-defined abs. But before we expect other people to not care, WE have to stop caring.”

Justin started getting visuals. He giggled. “So, are you going to start eating carbs after 7 pm and going to the gym less often?”

Brian held up a hand as if to tell Justin to slow his roll. “Look, I’m NOT saying I’m now universally attracted to cellulose, but as part of an entire package I am attracted to yours. Me, there is no entire package. I have a great body. No plump lips or round ass to speak of. No million-watt smile. I do have a sexy drawl, but zero personality or tact. I need these abs to make me attractive at all.”

Justin touched Brian then, running his hand gently over Brian’s cheek. Then he said huskily, “I wouldn’t say that.”

Suddenly, Justin dropped his hand and stood, pushing past Brian. Brian stood and turned to face Justin, who was now pacing. “So … you’re asking me to be your boyfriend?”

Brian made an “mmmm no, well maybe” face, squinting a little, tilting his head, and looking to the side. “In … a non-defined, non-conventional way … yes. I mean, we can negotiate terms later. Right now, I’m just looking for consensus on the general idea.”

Justin laughed. “I’ll need you to actually say the words.”

Brian asked carefully, “If I do, what will your answer be?”

Justin shrugged and smiled enigmatically. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask and see.”

Brian sighed. “Fine. Justin Taylor will you be my boyfriend?”

“No.” Justin’s face, eyes, and voice were emotionless.

Brian actually gaped a little. His face grew hot.

Justin waited exactly thirty seconds and then burst into a trillion-watt smile. Then he purred, “Just fucking with you. Yes, Brian Kinney, I will be your boyfriend.”

Brian muttered, “Twat,” but he was smiling, too.

Justin jumped then (he actually jumped). Then he started hitting himself in the forehead. "Fuck!! I just left Joe at the restaurant. I was so worried about Molly. I have to call him. Oh my God! I have to call him! What do I say?" His voice held panic.

Brian chuckled. "You could always go with Molly's suggestion."

Justin grinned. "I am NOT telling him to suck it."

"Eh. To each his own. Could I tell you that?" He unbuttoned his jeans suggestively. His eyes danced.

"Brian!"

Brian was incredulous. Justin was here. Even better, Justin had agreed to stay.

The moment he felt relief, the moment he could breathe freely again (without a scalding hot shower or copious quantities of illegal substances), that thought (that Justin had agreed to stay) sparked a wave of panic.

Brian had felt half-insane over the last three months, and that had spurred him to want and to ask for things he’d spent a lifetime telling himself he didn’t need.

It all began when Justin wanted to say the words, when Justin had wanted to choose him.

Brian-Fucking-Kinney didn’t do love or relationships. He was the only one smart enough to realize that you were always alone. Friends, boyfriends, and family … pretty words – all that was self-delusion designed to convince yourself that you weren’t (alone). The world was too big and the night too dark and lonely for the truth. For most people. NOT for Brian. That’s what set him apart from everyone else. He set achievable goals, realistic goals. He was universally desired. At Babylon and elsewhere on Liberty, in Lindsay and Mikey’s hearts, and in the advertising world, he dominated. He was strong and self-assured. He went where he wanted, did what he wanted, took what he wanted, and depended on no one.  

Until he met Justin. Justin had NOT wanted Brian. He had wanted Joe, and with a desire Brian had never before experienced. At first, he was simply intrigued. Then he was jealous. Who was Joe compared to Brian-Fucking-Kinney? Brian had taken pleasure in teasing Justin, causing Justin’s body to demonstrate a desire for Brian that Justin had previously claimed was impossible. Everything was perfect.

Until Brian had discovered that he wanted Justin. And not just for one night. He’d wanted Justin to choose him. So he’d ramped up his game. Playdates. Babylon. Dinner and a movie at home. The warehouse. The diner. Everything was perfect.

Until Justin wanted to say the words. Until Justin had wanted to choose him.

Brian started pushing Justin away then. But he kept lapsing. First that same night – after Justin had picked him up on the way back to Babylon from the diner. Brian had had a MAJOR lapse there. They fucked ALL NIGHT, and Brian slept over. But he’d gotten his head back on straight and left. All was well.

Until he accidentally called Justin when he broke his toe. That had led to another lapse, Brian’s seducing Justin and their falling asleep together. Justin was the one who had put a stop to that. When Brian had awoken a few hours later, Justin was gone. And Justin had soon after starting dating Joe. That should have been it. Justin with Joe, Brian back to normal.

Until Brian had broken his leg and – in a drug-induced haze – had alluded to the nightmares he’d been having and his newfound aversion to darkness. He had asked Justin “just stay” and had held him all night. Then the next day, he’d used his son as a pretext to see Justin again, pretending he’d already arranged for Gus to visit and asking if Molly would like to see him.

Then Dylan arrived and the things that happened, happened.

You’d think Brian would have been happy. Justin was back with Joe. Brian was Brian-Fucking-Kinney again. All was well.

Except that it wasn’t. All the things that seemed good enough before Justin were the farthest thing from it after Justin. And the nightmares that Brian had been having since childhood, the nightmares he could fail to remember if he were just fucked up enough when he fell asleep, suddenly could not be forgotten no matter how many drugs he took or Beams he downed. He missed Justin. Many nights he lay in bed awake struggling to sleep (without Justin’s voice to lull him) and then when he did, he had the most vivid nightmares, nightmares that haunted him during the day and caused him to recall events that had happened during his childhood, events he’d done all he could to forget. He’d ended up taking scalding hot showers in the morning just so he could forget for ten minutes a day, just so he could breathe. And he’d started telling himself all the things he’d had to tell himself many years ago, things that had allowed him to become Brian-Fucking-Kinney. Only this time, these self-given inspirational speeches did nothing.

So he had hand delivered an unsigned note to Justin, one with part of a poem that Brian had read in college, part of The Stolen Boat episode. He had wanted Justin to google it and to understand. To return.

A reasonable person might ask, why not simply call Justin? Because Brian-Fucking-Kinney didn’t ask for what he wanted. He took it or went without.

Until today.

Now what? That was the 64,000 dollar question.

To keep Justin in his life, he would need to admit to wanting. He would need to admit that not only to Justin but also the world. And that, that would threaten the persona he’d spent 15 years building. That would threaten his ability to dominate.

Why did it matter?

Because you dominated or submitted. That was the fact of life. The only fact of life.

Brian knew he should backpedal. He knew he should say he’d been hasty … that Brian-Fucking-Kinney didn’t do love or relationships or anything less than dominate … that he had spent a lifetime becoming the one to mock (Kelly) not the one mocked (Clara) and he just didn’t have it in him to go back.

But that, that was even more repugnant to him. Because the world was too big, and the night too dark and lonely. He needed Sunshine.

Fuck. He needed. 

Justin had gone out in the hall to call Joe. He had explained that Molly had called scared and alone, so without thinking he’d run out (in a panic), which was of course true. Joe had said he understood. They had decided to meet the next day. That’s when Justin would tell him about Brian. But now, rather than going back in right away, Justin was pacing in the hallway. Brian and he had been apart two months. He was nervous and didn’t know how to act.

And he was conflicted. Justin felt excited and scared and stupid and ashamed and blissfully happy. He was excited about being Brian’s boyfriend, even in a non-defined, non-conventional way (whatever the fuck that meant), but scared of what that might cause Brian to do. Brian was such a commitment phobe that they always needed a pretext to make Brian feel comfortable. One step forward and two steps back. Maybe that was too harsh. Maybe two steps forward and one step back was more accurate. The point was their progress was stuttered to say the least. And so far, Justin had had to pay for all that progress with some kind of terrible pain.

Justin also felt stupid for agreeing to try again so quickly. He was always doing that. Trying to be strong but wavering the second he got within ten feet of Brian. Granted, Brian had sent him poetry and said the b-word, but he had only done that after humiliating and then abandoning him. That abandonment was the cause of Justin’s shame. He had continued to date Joe only because Brian had hurt him so much, because Brian had rejected him so thoroughly, and Joe seemed to want him. Feeling wanted by a different guy couldn’t uncrush your heart, but dulled the pain slightly. And now he would have to admit to Joe what a jerk he’d been and possibly crush JOE’S heart. Joe had known from almost day one that Justin was in love with Brian, ass over tea kettle in love with him, but still.

So why? Why not make Brian wait? Why not “just say no”? Justin laughed. Brian was most definitely a drug. And a dangerous one, like heroin.

Quite simply, Brian looked at Justin like no one ever had, not even before he’d gained 30 pounds. He was always watching Justin, and so much closer than he ever let on: Those pictures of him licking chocolate off his face, dancing with Molly, playing with Gus, and napping on Brian’s leg were Exhibit A. Exhibits B and C were the Barney Inkin encounter in the warehouse and their first “night” together. Brian had touched and looked at his body with a desire nearing awe. And he could never get enough. The moment Brian stepped into Justin’s personal space, the air became electric and Brian, controllingest of all control freaks, acted on urges he couldn’t explain let alone stop. Just remembering made breathing difficult for Justin. And as Barney, he’d called Justin beautiful. Brian was the spoon and Justin the dish of ice cream. NO ONE had ever looked at Justin like that. Not Ethan. Not Joe. No one but Brian. Brian may have felt shame when Dylan arrived, and had a ridiculously extreme reaction to that shame, but he had also confessed that he desired Justin not in spite of his weight. He desired him weight and all. No disgust, discomfort, or hesitation. And Justin knew that that was true. Hence the awe Brian had shown when they fucked.

So now what? Hold on tight for the bumpy ride ahead? The Dylan encounter had been bad, but they would face many more in the days and weeks to come, ONLY worse. Brian was who he was by virtue of always topping the hottest, toppiest guy in the room and never giving a fuck, never submitting to anyone, especially not by falling in love and wanting the kind of life to which mere mortals aspired. That’s how he’d become a God, a legend. In one fell swoop, Brian’s being with Justin would destroy all that. Now Brian wouldn’t just be fucking a fatty. He’d be dating one. In love with one. Everywhere they went, Babylon, the diner, to a friend party, they would meet with the same horror and confusion. Giving Brian hundreds of reasons to bolt or backpedal. Hundreds of excuses to crush Justin’s heart once more.

Justin knew he should run as far and as fast as he could. The pain that could come … that pain that loomed on the horizon was terrifying in its potential intensity. But after a two-month separation, Justin couldn’t conceive of a worse torture than having the opportunity to share a life with Brian and throwing it away for pain that might never come. Justin didn’t care about the risk. He was all in.

Justin had told Brian early on in their whatever that Brian didn’t need hundreds of men wanting him, just one, one man who would love him more than life and see how beautiful he is, inside and out. Now he would have the chance to prove it.

Bristling with excitement and blissful happiness and turned on just thinking back to their previous ‘encounters,’ Justin slid the door open and re-entered the loft.

“What wording did you choose?” Brian asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Justin scrunched his nose (Brian thought cutely). “None yet. I’m waiting to do it face to face.”

“Ah.” This made Brian slightly uncomfortable. He was hoping Joe would be completely out of the picture at this point.

Justin tried to remain safely out of Brian’s ‘sphere of influence.’ A safe 20+ feet away. They needed to go to the park, and Justin feared if he got too close, they’d end up fucking against the nearest flat surface.  “So we should go.” Brian raised an eyebrow. Justin reminded him, “You know, kids, park.”

Uh oh. Brian was now staring at Justin intently. His eyes a little wide and intense. Wild. Ten seconds later, Justin was pressed face first against the loft door his pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles. Ten seconds after that, Brian was sheathed and lubed and pushing inside Justin. Ten seconds after that, Brian was holding Justin, his arms circling Justin’s waist, his face buried in Justin’s neck, thrusting inside him. Thirty seconds after that, Justin’s head was turned, Brian’s tongue inside Justin’s mouth, Brian kissing Justin so deeply Justin felt faint. And a blissful three hundred seconds after that, they were both cumming, Brian whispering something that sounded a lot like “I love you Sunshine” in his ear, though Justin couldn’t be sure Brian’s voice was so low and his orgasm so intense. But ten seconds after THAT, Brian whispered something else, and loudly enough that Justin heard the words clearly. “I … missed … you.” Ten seconds after that, Justin was in Brian’s arms, whispering, “I missed you, too.” Sixty seconds after that, they were in the elevator heading down, on their way to the park, sweaty and grinning.

The sun still shone, though it was lower in the sky. In an hour or two, night would fall. A breeze tickled through the willow trees along this part of Tremont. The long strands of round leaves trembled, reminding Justin of Daphne’s hair when she giggled. And Justin no longer experienced the ache Brian’s disappearance had caused. And yet Justin trudged. Literally. He was having difficulty lifting his feet. His legs felt heavy. His chest felt heavy. The afterglow of Brian’s searing kisses, rough touches, and deep thrusts had faded, and Justin couldn’t bring himself to smile. Not a thousand watter. Not even a hundred watter. In fact, he was frowning. The nearer they approached the park, the deeper his frown, the heavier his body felt, and the slower he walked. He was no longer sneaking glances at Brian, as he had done in the elevator. And the high he usually experienced simply being close to Brian was curiously absent. His confidence in his agreeing to be Brian’s boyfriend wavered. The ache of Brian’s reappearance replaced the ache of his disappearance.

Brian, ever observant when it came to Justin, missed none of this. He saw the frown. The lack of energy. The dull eyes. And he recognized this particular body language combination. He’d seen something very like with Lindsay and Mikey on numerous (countlessly numerous) occasions. Only in this moment did it sink in how much he had hurt Justin. He’d never seen Justin like this in his company, not even when he was being a level two or three dick. Honestly, he’d thought he might never see Justin this way with him. Or maybe he’d just hoped. Pre-Dylan, Justin had always managed to see the good in Brian. Pre-Dylan, Justin had always been preternaturally aware of Brian. Now it was almost as if Brian didn’t exist. Brian usually responded to Lindsay and Mikey’s disappointment by leaving or by making a joke. Turning on the Kinney charm. But Brian sensed that this was a disappointment of a whole new caliber. One most likely immune to Brian’s usual strategies. Their connection had been at least temporarily broken – a state Brian found oddly unacceptable – but he wasn’t sure how to reconnect. Whatever was necessary, Brian was fairly certain, would cause discomfort. But … feeling Justin so closed off … was almost as bad as Justin’s not ‘being around.’

Molly and Gus broke both Justin and Brian out of their dark reveries.

They both ran up and simultaneously asked questions. Molly asked Justin, “Are you fixed?” Gus asked Brian, “Is Justin your boyfriend again?”

Brian was about to answer “Yes” (which, in itself, was pretty amazing, because he usually evaded such questions), and he was about to do so (even more amazingly) without his normal brutally honest clarification (which this time would have been “Yes he is NOW, but he wasn’t before”). But Justin spoke first. He answered their questions with a question, a completely IRRELEVANT question: “Who wants a ride on the roundabout?”

Brian and Molly and Gus found this answer perplexing, but for different reasons. Molly and Gus had never heard the term ‘roundabout.’ Justin laughed and rephrased. “Who wants a ride on the spinny thing?” This they understood. They both jumped up and down and replied, with similar energy, “Me, me, me!” Justin gestured toward it. “Well take a seat!” Molly took off running. Gus paused momentarily to grab Brian’s hand and set Sweetie inside. He explained, “Sweetie, doesn’t like the spinny thing. It makes her tummy hurt.” Then he, too, took off running.

Brian was left standing alone (Daphne had walked over to ‘watch,’ but really she wanted to grill Justin). BRIAN WAS LEFT STANDING ALONE, holding a cat toy in his hand, baffled, and dun dun dun … HURT. Justin had not wanted to admit Brian was his boyfriend, at least to Molly, Gus, and Daphne. Huhn. That was … DIFFERENT. Was Justin suddenly ashamed of HIM? Justin was in the middle of spinning the ‘roundabout,’ grabbing and thrusting the metal bar. A few thrusts in, he let go. Molly and Gus screamed joyfully. Gus was sitting on his butt, holding onto a crossbar for dear life with both hands, while Molly, of course, was standing up in the middle and only holding on with just one hand. That’s when Justin glanced back at Brian – Justin was flushed and FROWNING. Not the good kind of flushed. The potentially ashamed kind of flushed.

Daphne walked closer to Justin and asked, “So what happened? The dynamic between you two seems … weird.”

Justin flashed her a country club smile and responded simply, “Later.” Then he went back to spinning the roundabout.

Brian and Daphne just stared bemusedly at Justin while he pushed the kids on the swings, slid down the slide with them (one at a time of course), and even teeter-tottered with them (in that case, Molly and Gus were on one side, and Justin was on the other. Gus was WAY too light to sit alone). Justin was babysitter of the year for a full hour. Then when it started to get dark, Daphne said, “Alright children, and that includes you Justin, playtime is over.”

Brian was growing increasingly impatient. Justin had not cast him a single glance after that first uncomfortable one at the beginning of ‘playtime.’ Then he seemed to be drawing out the goodbyes to Molly, Gus, and Daphne. He hugged all three of them. Then he high-fived Gus and even patted Sweetie on the head (but only AFTER Gus had retrieved her from Brian’s hand). Brian had not felt this neglected by any person in a REALLY, REALLY long time. A REALLY, REALLY, REALLY long time. THEN Justin watched them walk away for a few minutes. He even waved for thirty seconds or so after they first headed down the street toward Daphne’s car.

Brian was at a complete loss. He often found speaking about ‘feelings’ or whatever nearly impossible. But he’d never been at a loss for action. He’d never had no idea what to ‘do.’ He was a problem solver, an ideas man. But, in this moment, he had no friggen clue. Unfortunately, he cared. So he found himself in the strange position of WAITING for someone else to take the initiative. And he didn’t like it one bit.

When Justin had run out of people and activities other than Brian to focus on, he finally turned toward Brian. Then he sighed. Yup, they were in deep shit trouble. Even worse, Justin just stood there, facing Brian but not looking at him. He glanced at the now setting sun, the still trembling willow trees, a cat creeping through the tall grass at the far edge of the park … anything and everything BUT Brian.

So … Brian walked over to the swing set and sat down on one of the swings. He even started swinging, but not going very high. Justin watched Brian for a couple of minutes but then followed, albeit slowly, and sat in the swing next to Brian. But he didn’t start swinging. And he wasn’t looking at Brian.

Brian sighed. Then he did something weird. And if prodded, he couldn’t have explained why. He declared, in a smirking drawl, “I bet I can swing higher than you.”

Justin couldn’t explain why, but Brian’s arrogance (even about something silly) annoyed him. A LOT. He scoffed, “As if.”

Brian stopped himself with his feet. Then he smirked. “Okay … the first one to make it to the top and jump off wins.”

Justin didn’t even look at Brian. He narrowed his eyes and replied firmly, “You’re on.”

Then they started swinging.

Unfortunately, for Justin, Brian was taller and thus had longer legs. He had to pump twice for each of Brian’s. Still he was determined to win, though he would not have been able to explain why it mattered. So he and Brian were always at close to the same height, sometimes Brian a little higher. Sometimes Justin. In spite of himself, Justin began to smile, big, bright smiles. And even to laugh. Well, when he wasn’t cursing Brian under his breath.

Ultimately, Brian made it to the top two seconds before Justin. And he jumped. But he jumped like skydivers do from practice platforms. He bent his knees as he landed and then rolled, toward Justin’s swing. So when Justin jumped, he landed directly on top of Brian. Brian captured Justin in his arms and then rolled again so that he was on top of him. He even grabbed his hands and spread them out holding them down. In spite of Justin’s indecision, shame, annoyance, and anger, feeling Brian’s weight on top of him, lying so close to the man that he could hear Brian’s ragged breathing and even his heartbeat, and being forced to look into Brian’s eyes, which were no longer dancing but wide and intense, Justin dethawed a little.

Then when Brian asked, “What do I have to do?” Justin was confused but touched by the need he perceived in Brian’s voice.

He uttered “What?” fast and soft like a breath pushed out.

“What do I have to do to …” Brian hesitated and looked at Justin a little helplessly before adding, “to … get us closer to where we were before?”

Justin felt an ache in his chest, but a good ache, the kind Brian used to cause many, many times during a single ‘encounter’ in the pre-Dylan period. He swallowed hard. He knew what he wanted. He didn’t know whether it would be enough … he was as confused by his feelings and behavior as Brian was … but it was a good place to start. He replied huskily, “No tricking.” Then he added, because now was probably the best time to ask for things and he wanted to know JUST how much Brian cared about making things better … getting back to normal, “And I want you to introduce me to your friends as your boyfriend.”

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth for a moment, his eyes losing focus, but then he looked back into Justin’s eyes and said, in a very serious, very firm voice, “Okay. But same goes for you.”

That hit Justin hard. Brian had really been hurt by Justin’s evasion. Against his will, Justin smiled. A million-watt smile. Then he licked his lips and whispered, “Fuck me.”

Brian shrugged and muttered, “Kinky,” before sending his lips crashing down on Justin’s.

Justin decided he needed a buffer on his and Brian’s first night back together, so he invited Daphne (via text) and Brian (face-to-face) to a late dinner. Fortunately for him, he had already prepared special pizza dough – He had planned to make fancy pizza for Joe the next night (though luckily he hadn’t yet shared that with Joe). Justin laughed and rubbed his face hard when he thought about this irony (he was in his car alone driving to his apartment, while Brian drove himself). He imagined a special hell existed for individuals like him—those who ‘cruelly’ toy with others’ emotions (even if the other in question claims he doesn’t mind). But somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. The axis of Justin’s world had shifted the moment Brian entered it (probably having something to do with magnetic fields), and Justin’s world had started to wobble as it rotated when Brian had made his conspicuous exit. He finally felt like he was rediscovering an even keel, and he wouldn’t give that up. Not for Joe. Not for most anything.  

How did this all go down? Does anyone believe Brian would have agreed to a ‘dinner party,’ small thought it may be, without a fight? Definitely not. After their passionate (but quick) romp on the ground in front of the swing set, Justin had simply invited Brian over. Brian, believing that the door fuck and the park fuck were simply appetizers, assumed that Justin intended to proffer him a ‘full meal.’ And he did. But that meal was in no way related to sex. And would be served after seven.

Brian planned to fuck Justin all night long first because he was horny. But, he had a secondary motivation. In fact, in his own way, Brian was endeavoring to be sweet. He thought a repeat of their first night, which took place at Justin’s, would be a fitting re-introduction to the Brian and Justin what-the-fuck-ever show. More specifically, though he’d shoot me a flower-wilting glare for even suggesting this, Brian kind of wanted to replicate that first night as a way of exorcizing a demon. They would do it all again, but, this time, Brian would stay, even if the little twat decided to once again say the words, covertly or not. A tertiary not-so-sweet motive was that such a reenactment would allow Brian to ask some questions about Justin’s relationship with Joe over the last two months. This was an interrogation he both dreaded and desired.

Thus, once Justin opened the door, Brian pulled Justin into his arms and captured his lips in a savage kiss, with biting, growling, and tongue plunging, the works. To Brian’s dismay and confusion, Justin kissed back for all of four seconds before pushing him away and walking around the room turning on lights. He had the courtesy to be flushed and panting. So Brian had that going for him.

Then Justin continued to perplex Brian by heading into the kitchen, washing his hands, and then pulling a large bowl out of the refrigerator. Brian watched Justin turn the oven on, pull out two pizza baking sheets, extract a huge lump of dough out of the aforementioned bowl, and start ‘stretching it’ mostly using gravity. Huhn. Finally, he asked, “Sunshine, whatcha doing?” He was hoping to stop whatever was currently happening, so he put all the sex he had available in that question … dancing eyes, soft smile – the smile just starting to play over his lips, sexy drawl. He even walked up behind Justin, drew the fingers of one hand over the back of Justin’s neck and placed an open-mouthed kiss on the back of his neck, right at the top of his spine. Every aspect of the food-blocking offensive had an effect on Justin. Brian’s voice and use of the pet name he had given Justin caused Justin to feel a little warm and melty, and the kiss sparked a chain of shivers that traveled down his spine and then down and back up his arms and legs, before meeting in the ‘middle.’ Wink wink, nudge nudge. But he schooled his voice and his facial expression, looked back and Brian, and answered simply, “Making dinner.” Huhn.

Brian was about to pull out the big guns er … uh … the big gun (start stripping) when someone knocked on the door. Justin, who had noticed, with great pleasure, Brian’s confusion and discomfort, bit back a smile and asked as nonchalantly as he could manage, “Brian, could you answer that?”

Brian did, but he also muttered something under his breath about not being a ‘fucking butler.’ Justin couldn’t hold back the blinding smile that elicited, so it was a good thing Brian was facing the opposite direction. That smile wouldn’t last long. Because who should be at the door … not Daphne … but … JOE! Yay!

Justin had just finished stretching out both lumps of dough and placing them on the pizza baking sheets when he started to wonder why he hadn’t yet heard Daphne’s voice. He turned around to discover two pissed off ‘hotties’ trying to look not pissed off. Justin’s mind went blank. He just gaped. Thankfully, a third … no fourth party entered the mix. Daphne walked past Joe and Brian, who were still staring each other down at opposite sides of the doorway, and into the living room. Seeing Justin frozen, she approached and nudged him. Then she whispered, not quietly enough, “Please, PLEASE, tell me you didn’t plan this.” Then after a pause, she corrected herself, still in a stage whisper, “Wait, on second thought, I HOPE you planned this. Do you think they’ll actually fight? How COOL would that be?”

That image (of the two of them duking it out) caused Justin to flush with pleasure, but then he shook his head and walked over to the door. He said weakly, “Uh … hi, Joe.” Then he stepped closer and asked, “Why don’t we go outside?”

Joe apparently disagreed with the suitability of that idea because instead of stepping back to let Justin pass, he stepped forward into the living room. Justin sighed. Daphne giggled and clapped her hands. She was one step away from chanting, “Fight, fight, fight.”

Joe turned to face Justin and Brian and asked, in a clipped tone, “So what’s THIS all about?”

Justin paled, but was about to answer, when Brian piped up cheerily, “I think you know. I mean, a chef isn’t a rocket scientist but still … you probably at least have your GED.”

Justin laughed in incredulity and chastened, “Brian!”

Brian’s ‘scathing’ remark did NOT have the intended effect, sending Joe running like a dog with its tail between its legs … and whining or whimpering. Nope. In fact, Joe countered, in a mocking tone, with this: “I DO know what’s going on. You’ve slithered back into Justin’s life, probably because he’s started to lose some of the weight (this segment of Joe’s comment caused tension to flow like chain lightening from Brian to Daphne to Justin), and you just expect him to come running back to you. But you know what? Justin has more intelligence than that. AND more self-respect.”

Justin let his head fall and sighed. Daphne bit back a smile and cleared her throat.

Joe continued, “You may be a great FUCK, but you’re not boyfriend material. Justin knows that. In fact, all of gay Pittsburgh knows it.”

Brian laughed. LOUDLY. That drew everyone’s attention. Then he plastered a fake smile on his face and inquired, “So … let me get this straight. You’re pissed off because you’ve done some improvements and you don’t want someone who hasn’t put in the effort you have to benefit from the aforementioned improvements.”

Joe froze. “Wait, what?”

Brian widened his eyes. “You said it yourself. Justin’s lost some weight, thus, by your estimation, making him more attractive. Clearly, that’s what’s brought me ‘slithering back,’ right?”

Justin was looking at Joe intently then, waiting for a response.

He glanced over at Justin and swallowed hard. “What … no. No. That’s not what I meant.”

Brian nodded slowly. “I think we all know that that’s EXACTLY what you meant.”

Daphne decided it was time for her to weigh in. She’d held her tongue for far too long, mostly because Joe was companionship at a time when Justin was devastated. “He’s right. I can’t remember how many times Justin reached for sweets and you shot him a look or raised an eyebrow that embarrassed him enough to pull his hand back. And wasn’t your second real date a trip to the gym and the smoothie place? And your fourth a soccer game with the guys followed by a trip to the salad place?”

Justin swallowed hard. He felt hot all over, but in a very, very bad way. Like he might faint. He faltered a little as he spoke. “That’s true. But look, after that, I started going to the gym and running and doing yoga on my own.”

Daphne laughed. “Oh that’s right. Your sixth or seventh date was a yoga class. I’d forgotten all about that.”

Joe suddenly went back on the offense. “Hey, I was just trying to help Justin. What Brian did humiliated him. DECIMATED him. And I wanted him to feel better about himself.”

Daphne crossed her arms. “You couldn’t have encouraged him to feel proud of his writing or cooking or sense of humor? Or told him that he was beautiful just as he is?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “That’s NOT realistic. That wouldn’t have helped. The only way to prevent mockery is to …”

Brian supplied, “Make yourself fit the ideal?”      

Joe shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

Brian nodded and walked over to Joe. He took his arm and led him back to the door. He said, “Thank you for your interest, but I think we’re gonna go a different way.” Then he pushed him out the door and shut it.

Brian turned to Justin. “What I did … I was a complete shit. Do you want to know the truth?”

Justin didn’t say anything. He just looked at Brian. He was still frowning a little, and his eyes held vulnerability.

“Joe’s right that most gay men would lose weight if people were mocking them. I tell myself that I do what I want, no matter what, who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks. But that’s not true. I live at the gym, and before I met you, I obsessed over what I ate. I’d go to Roy’s once a month and then do the three-day juice diet.”

Justin’s eyes widened.

“A slice or two of pizza or gravy fries would mean an extra hour at the gym that whole week. Considering just HOW MUCH you eat, or used to eat, I’m surprised you can get through doorways. If you were thinner, life would be easier for you, but you would be miserable. You can’t imagine all the shit I do to be actually a little underweight. I say fuck it. Cook, eat, flip off people who try to take you to the gym or the soccer field, and just be happy. I think you’re hot just the way you are. Actually, you look a little skinny.”

Daphne beamed.

Justin said, in a voice so tiny Brian could barely hear him, “I know you said that before, but do you really mean it?”

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth for a moment, his eyes losing focus, but then he looked back at Justin and said softly, “I do. I really do.”

Justin ran up to Brian then and grabbed him, hugging him tight and nuzzling his neck.

He broke the silence a few moments later, declaring brightly, “That’s good because this pizza dough I’m making is DIVINE! I used cornmeal and molasses (among other things) … it’s ridiculously fattening but SOOO delicious.” Then he skipped into the kitchen and pulled out his premade marinara (he’d made it the day before) and fresh mozzarella.

Brian shook his head, but then he watched Justin with a weird content sort of look on his face.

Justin glanced back at Brian and smiled. He looked like a fish out of water, still wearing his leather jacket and still standing, although now he was leaning on the kitchen island. Daphne seemed a bit uncomfortable, too. She was also standing, only in the living room, but now eyeing Brian nervously. Justin decided to throw them a lifeline. First he said, laughter bubbling up through his words, “So Brian, why don’t you take off your coat and stay a while?”

Brian looked down and replied, “Oh yeah.” He had been feeling … actually I could just stop there. He had been feeling, and that had left him off-kilter. He’d forgotten he was wearing his leather. He shrugged out of it and set it on the couch.

Then Justin asked, “Brian, could you open the wine?” Justin gestured his head toward the wine stand near the refrigerator. Then he turned toward Daphne and inquired, “Hey, Daph, make yourself useful, would you?”

Daphne smiled gratefully and clapped her hands. “Whatcha need?”

“Set the table?”

“You got it!”

Brian stood in front of the wine stand with a puzzled expression on his face. They were all very expensive. He couldn’t imagine Justin would want to waste a $500 bottle of wine on pizza. “Which one?”

Justin made a thinking face. It was a special occasion. “The Chateau Lafite-Rothschild 1999?”

Now that Justin had broken the silence left in the wake of Joe’s exit, Daphne felt more comfortable. As she took plates and silverware out of the respective cabinet and drawer, she asked, “So Brian, tell me about yourself.”

Brian was in the process of decorking (he’d found a corkscrew on top of the refrigerator). He grunted and pulled. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Uh … what do you do for a living?”

“I work in advertising.”

Daphne huffed a laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

Brian raised an eyebrow.

Daphne blushed. “Well, you know, you seem very smooth. And focused on appearance.”

Justin frowned. He didn’t like where this conversation was headed. He slipped the pizzas into the oven and turned around. He offered, “You know, Daphne, Brian did the ‘hub of the world’ cell phone commercial you love so much, the one with pictures of people on different continents.”

Daphne smiled brightly and then actually squeed. “Oh my God, you did that one?”

Brian nodded.

“I love that you started with Africa!”

Brian poured three glasses of the red wine (he’d walked around the kitchen peeking into cupboards until he’d found the one holding wine glasses) and handed one in turn to Daphne and then Justin.

Daphne took a sip. Suddenly she frowned. “I like the message you sent about race, but what about body image?” She looked pointedly at Justin then.

Justin swallowed hard. This was bad.

Brian shrugged as though he were indifferent, but his voice held a defensive tone. “I didn’t create society’s physical ideals.”

Daphne nodded slowly. “Fair enough. But you DO profit off them, right?”

Brian replied simply, “Yes.”

“You claim you didn’t create the ideals you reinforce, or that your lot in advertising reinforces, but actually, a lot of social scientists have theorized that advertising teaches us what to desire.”

Brian shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, but what products to desire, not what people.”

Daphne shook her head. “I’m not so sure about that. You tell us what and who to look at. A hundred and seventy years ago, women, at least non-upper class women, were valued for what they could offer a household, their strength for farm work and their homemaking skills (cooking and sewing). Even sometimes their intelligence (a lot of schooling happened at home). That only started to change when photographs, the early daguerreotypes, of women started circulating. Before that, men and women didn’t compare women in the same way (they only saw women in their communities, and physical beauty was valued differently).”

Justin knew trying to change the subject wouldn’t work. Daphne was like a dog with a bone when she stepped up onto her soapbox. But maybe he could offer Brian a little help all the same. He piped up, “But what about paintings? Portrait painting and other kinds of painting with human subjects have been around forever.”

Daphne nodded. “True, but the scale was different. What percentage of a society had access to contemporary art? Certainly more people when salons went out of style and more galleries appeared, but how many had the leisure time for galleries?”

Justin scrunched his nose. “Good point.”

Daphne continued, “Suddenly, physical ideals started to emerge on a society-wide scale, and those ideals spread down the social ladder. Photography made their reach unfathomably wide. But those ideals change. They can be changed. A hundred years ago, a woman was considered more beautiful if she were plump … Rubenesque.”

Justin grinned. “That term actually comes from a painter whose female subjects were plus sized.”

Brian walked over to Justin and smirked. “Gold star. Go to the head of the class.” Then he kissed Justin on the cheek and whispered, “Good boy.”

Justin flushed.

Daphne added, excitement growing in her voice, “Exactly! And fifty years ago, models and actresses were much more realistic, much healthier. It’s only been in the last thirty years or so that they became tall, willowy, and anorexic looking.”

She looked pointedly at Brian. His face was expressionless. She sighed. Then she asked, “Don’t you get it? That means the physical ideals that seem so set in stone, so unchangeable, are in fact quite malleable. YOU, Brian, could help spark further ideal evolution.”

Justin’s eyes widened. He looked up at Brian hopefully (Brian was standing next to Justin at this point).

Brian looked doubtful.

Daphne prodded, “Being inside the system, you could teach us to want better things. It’s all about spinning, right?”

Brian snuck a glance at Justin. He was watching Brian closely. Brian took a big sip of his wine. “It is.”

“So why not use models that have healthier weights and more common body types? In the last few decades, dieting and cosmetic surgery have become far too common. Girls as young as eight are on diets. Sometimes, their parents actually put them on those diets. And eating disorders are much more prevalent.”

Brian laughed. “You sound like a doctor.”

Daphne unconsciously straightened her back. She declared proudly, “I am. And you know …” She looked at Justin again before turning back to Brian. “This isn’t just affecting women and girls anymore either. Men and boys feel similar pressure to obtain, through starvation diets, overexercising, and surgery, the ideal body.” She made air quotes while saying ‘the ideal.’ 

Justin was still watching Brian. Brian groaned internally. It was one thing to come to the realization that attractiveness and desire were complex, involving much more than a person’s physical form … but now Daphne was suggesting that Brian make changes that could detriment his career. He REALLY wished she hadn’t brought this topic up. He gestured a bit helplessly (a very non-Brian-Fucking-Kinney thing to do, to openly display concern about others’ opinions). “I might be able to make some changes. But then I would have to sell those changes to not only the public but also my bosses and my clients. They typically want what’s on trend.”

Justin sighed. Then he laughed nervously. “Daph, you’re gonna get Brian fired. Then who would pay the mortgage on his fabulous loft?”

Daphne scoffed. “Fuck that. I’m sooo tired of people using the profit motive as an excuse to have and propagate bad values.”

Justin complained, “Daph! Don’t make me cut you off!”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “I’ve had two sips of wine.”

Brian actually started to sweat a little. Despite his joking with Daphne, Justin was still watching Brian. And Brian could feel the weight of his eyes, and more importantly, he could see the mixture of expected disappointment and still persistent hope therein. “I suppose I could anticipate a trend toward fuller, curvier bodies …” He emphasized ‘anticipate.’ His voice dropped. “Maybe point out that people are drawn more strongly to what makes them feel like they belong, what makes them feel good.” Brian sighed and he shook his head. “The problem is that we kind of operate through exclusivity.”

Daphne looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s a reason designer clothes, for example, are expensive and tend to run small. The average person can’t afford them let alone fit into them. Designers do that because people don’t want to just feel included. They want to feel special, better than other people. One way to do that is to make it so those brands are accessible to only 10%. That’s also why trends keep changing. Once something is widespread, it loses its value.”

Justin nodded, somewhat sadly.

Brian took a deep breath. If Brian-Fucking-Kinney did guilt or regret, he might be feeling pretty low down just then. He admitted, “On top of that, a lot of what we help people sell is only necessary if we tell people that they can’t be attractive without it – makeup, exercise machines, skin care products … Not many companies are going to want to send a different message because that could put them out of business. We trade in insecurities and wish fulfillment.”

Justin set his glass down on the counter and turned toward the oven. He grabbed an oven mitt and opened the oven. That forced Brian to walk back to the kitchen island. Justin pulled out the pizzas. He was grateful for the distraction. The body image problem seemed impossible to solve. It was the classic Catch-22: You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience if no one will hire you. You want advertising to change people’s minds … but that’s not possible unless you change their minds first. He felt so frustrated that tears stung his eyes.

Brian’s eyes were also doing something strange. They lost focus. A natural problem solver and someone who now had some serious motivation to find an answer, a strategy, for the problem he’d only recently started admitting was a problem … he had started contemplating. He was no longer paying attention to anything else.

Daphne moved into the kitchen and started helping Justin carry, the pizzas and various other things, parmesan, red pepper, a second bottle of wine … to the table.

A few minutes later, unexpectedly, Brian said, in an uncertain voice and to no one in particular, “I suppose I could do something like they did decades ago when trying to open up the tobacco market to women … advertisers depicted women smoking and framed it as a protest, a demonstration of their independence, their turning social mores on their head.”

Daphne and Justin both turned to look at Brian. They asked, accidentally in unison, and with surprise and enthusiasm in their voices, “What?”

Brian looked at Justin then. He spoke louder and more firmly now that he wasn’t still brainstorming (and directly to Justin). “In the 1920s, tobacco companies started depicting women smoking. That had never happened before. That went with times, the Roaring Twenties, when women were starting to gain some independence. Tobacco companies increased their depiction of women smoking during and after WWII because they had shown they could do jobs that before people thought only men could do.”

Brian walked over to the table and sat down. He shrugged. “I could theoretically apply that to future campaigns. I mean Apple does it now with computers. Its first ad, in 1984, actually used Orwell’s dystopia as a backdrop to emphasize the freethinking you supposedly demonstrated by just owning an Apple computer. Ever since, the company has targeted an elite and elitist group of tech nerds … stressing their exclusivity to ensure it has a solid consumer base that will buy a new version of the iPhone, iPad, or whatever else every year or every other year. Nowadays, people like to view themselves as unique individuals.”

Justin and Daphne had been frozen, standing over the table unmoving, Justin with a pizza still in his hand, Daphne still with a pizza cutter in hers. They both said, “Huhn,” set the respective items they’d been holding down, and sat.

While refilling everyone’s glasses, Justin asked, “So what … you would highlight the uniqueness of people who refused to meet the ideal?”

Brian nodded. “I might be able to make that work. You can sell ANYTHING if you have confidence.” He looked pointedly at Justin then. Justin needed more confidence. “That would be one way to guarantee exclusivity and make people feel good about themselves. Dove recently did something like that … showed everything involved in getting a model ready for a photo shoot (makeup, hairstyling, good lighting) and then other ‘fixes’ they make after the photo shoot (photoshopping the image to give her a longer neck and bigger eyes).”

They fell into a thoughtful silence then for a few moments. Justin decided he needed to lighten the atmosphere. He placed two slices of pizza on each of their plates and then asked, his voice serious, “Brian, would you like to say Grace?”

Daphne had to use all her willpower to keep a straight face. She even upped the ante, nodding solemnly and asking, “Should we join hands?”

Brian’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Then both Justin and Daphne burst out laughing.

Through laughter, Justin said, “Brian, you should have seen your face! Priceless.”

Brian muttered, “Twat,” but also ruffled Justin’s hair.

Daphne sprinkled Parmesan and red pepper on her pizza and then offered the shakers to Brian.  Justin wrinkled his nose. “Don’t do it, Brian. Daphne has zero class. Covering up the taste of fresh mozzarella and the sweetness of the crust is a CRIME.”

Brian shook his head and laughed. “Did you steal those from Pizza Hut?” But he also tensed up. Pepper on pizza … was an association he’d long ago tried to forget.

Daphne giggled. “I HAD to. Justin refused to buy them. He said he wouldn’t contribute to what he called ‘my habit.’” Then she grinned. “I’m going to make him a convert.” She held both over Brian’s pizza and turned them slowly.

Brian swallowed hard and took a sip of his wine.

Justin’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare!” He reached in front of Brian to grab them from her hands, but she was quicker. She turned them upside down and started shaking and cackling like a madman. Justin sighed. “Daphne, what are you two years old?”

Brian paled.

Daphne shrugged. “I’ll eat them if he doesn’t want them. There’s lots more pizza.”

Brian was staring at his pizza, more specifically at the red pepper sprinkled all over it.

Justin got up and walked over to Daphne. He moved to grab the shakers out of her hand. “That’s it. You’re cut off. No more pepper and Parmesan for you. Not if you’re gonna accost my guests’ food with it.”

Unfortunately, Daphne did not immediately let go. She just laughed. Loudly. When Justin did finally manage to pry the shakers out of her hands, one went flying across the table and crashed to the floor. It was the red pepper. The shaker, the breaking glass, and the laughter sent Brian deeper into his own head.

He was seven. They were eating dinner at Pizza Hut. Brian didn’t like the pizza because it was greasy and gave him a stomach ache. Claire knew this. She said she knew how to make it better. “Brian, you should try this! It’s sweet like candy.” Claire reached in front of him and sprinkled something red all over his pizza. 

Brian smiled. “Thanks.” Then he lifted a piece of pizza to his mouth and took a big bite. His face fell when he started chewing. It was HOT. He didn’t like it. It hurt his mouth. He dropped the pizza and spit what was in his mouth into his napkin. He drank his entire glass of water. Claire started laughing.

He asked, “Mom, can I have another piece of pizza?”                    

His dad answered for her. “No. You have two pieces. Eat them.”

“But the red stuff makes it too hot.”

His dad hissed, “Don’t be a pussy. Eat it.”

“But …”

Brian’s dad grabbed him by the neck with one hand and the shaker by the other. Then he dragged Brian into the men’s bathroom, checked that no one else was in there, and locked the door. Brian started trembling. He knew what always came next. His dad unscrewed the cap and shoved Brian up against the wall. “If you didn’t want pepper on your pizza you shouldn’t have put it on.”

“I didn’t! Claire did!”

Brian’s dad slammed Brian’s head against the wall. “You’re gonna blame a girl for this?”

Brian’s head hurt so much tears came to his eyes.

“And now you’re gonna cry? Fucking Christ! Do I need to start buying you dresses and calling you ‘Briana?’ I need to toughen you up.” He forced Brian’s mouth open and dumped half the bottle in his mouth. Then he held it closed and commanded, “Swallow!”

Brian tried, but it was so hot. His whole mouth, his whole body, was on fire. His dad slammed Brian’s head against the wall again. His voice boomed, “Swallow!”

Tears were streaming down Brian’s face then. He swallowed. But then he tried to get free of his dad’s hold, to get to the sink to drink water. He didn’t manage it, but he did bump his dad, sending the shaker tumbling to the floor. His dad’s eyes turned black with rage. “Why you little shit! I’m going to have to pay for that!” He smacked Brian in the side of the head, so hard that he went flying, headfirst, into the sink. He landed in a heap on the floor. His dad kicked him twice in the stomach. He spit out, “Clean this up! Then go straight to the car!”

His dad threw the lock and then the door open and stomped through it. It had taken Brian ten minutes to find all the glass pieces and throw them away, and he’d cut his fingers in the process. His head ached and was dripping blood and he was having trouble breathing. He walked somewhat unsteadily out to the car and sat down beside it. His dad always kept the doors locked. He could see them in the restaurant eating. Claire was looking at him through the window, pointing and laughing.

“Brian? Brian?” Someone was shaking him. He looked up. The voice was Justin’s. Justin smiled. “Do you want new pizza?”

Brian shook his head. “No. This is fine.” Then he quickly lifted a piece up to his mouth and took a big bite. Through most of dinner, he ate mechanically. Bite, chew, swallow. Bite, chew, swallow. He couldn’t really focus on what either Justin or Daphne was saying. He couldn’t get Claire’s laughter out of his head. Fortunately for Brian, they were each sharing embarrassing stories about each other, so all he needed to do was nod and smile periodically.

“Once Daphne tried to flush her mom’s French Onion soup down the toilet. Her mom caught her on the second flush. Daphne tried to pretend she’d thrown up. Her mom said, ‘Well, young lady, I guess you’re too sick for ice cream!” She had her arms crossed and everything!”

“That’s nothing! Once I dared Justin to eat one of those doggie hamburgers, you know, those Gaines-Burgers, and he did it!”

Justin blushed and laughed. “I puked my guts out. But my integrity remains intact. I have never welched on a dare.”

Daphne giggled. “You will seriously eat ANYTHING.”

Brian heard almost none of that. For some reason, he was suddenly thinking about his uncle Ray. That had been happening with increasing frequency in the last two and half months. He felt so … something. Empty maybe. Daphne helped Justin clean up and then headed out. Brian hadn’t said a single word since the pepper incident. Justin had noticed. So the second he closed the door, he asked softly, “Brian, are you okay? You’ve been so quiet.”

Brian didn’t answer. Not in words anyway. He pulled Justin against him and ground his newly forming erection against Justin’s ass. He slowly drew Justin’s shirt over his head and then, with one arm wrapped tightly against Justin’s chest, started licking, sucking on, and biting Justin’s neck, first at the pulse point and then at the base.

Brian’s breathing was erratic. Justin started moaning softly. Justin started pushing back against Brian then, rubbing his ass against Brian’s groin. Seconds later, Justin was lying on the floor, now fully naked, and Brian was licking, sucking on, and biting every inch of Justin’s exposed skin. His shoulders, his arms, his chest, his nipples, his belly, and even his inner thighs.

Justin ran his fingers through Brian’s hair. He was panting, and he had his eyes shut tight. He couldn’t watch. He was getting too excited too quickly. So he didn’t see Brian strip or put a condom on or lube up. That happened so quickly (Brian’s sudden absence) that he only opened his eyes when Brian was lifting him to his knees and moving behind him.

He bent Justin over, gently, and then slid his hands along Justin’s waist, again so gently – before starting to push his dick inside. He pushed slowly forward, paused and started massaging Justin’s lower back, before pushing further in. Justin couldn’t remember Brian ever being so gentle before.

When Brian was fully enveloped, he slid his hands down Justin’s back slowly and then around to his chest. He left one arm circling Justin’s chest and moved the other to circle his waist. Then he buried his face in Justin’s neck. He started fucking Justin slow. Brian seemed to be trying to prolong the sex. He would drive them both close to the edge and then back off, slowing or stopping, before urging them both forward again. He did that several times.

When Brian finally started fucking Justin fast, Justin was so relieved he almost cried. But even then, Brian didn’t jerk him off. Justin was confused until after Brian came. That’s when Brian ditched the condom in the wastebasket, then pulled Justin up to his knees, and moved in front of him. Then he slid his hands gently over Justin’s ass and wolfed down his cock. Inside a minute Justin was shooting down Brian’s throat.

Then they were lying together on the floor. Brian had pulled Justin into his arms and was holding him tight, his face buried in Justin’s neck. Justin was starting to really worry. Brian was NEVER this gentle. Couple that with his strange quietness at dinner … And for some reason, Brian seemed to want to hide his face. Justin hadn’t been able to see Brian’s eyes the whole hour they were fucking. He whispered, “Brian?” but didn’t press. Not after feeling the first tear roll down his shoulder. He just held Brian back tighter.

Brian allowed Justin to hold him for exactly five minutes, while he (Brian) tried to stem the flood of tears. Failing miserably, he decided he needed to take a shower. But he didn’t want Justin to join him. He needed to be alone. To stand directly beneath the shower head, so he could cry invisibly and then turn the temperature up to end the deluge. That was Brian’s go-to coping method of late.

The nearly intolerable heat reminded him of his father’s setting him (Brian crying uncontrollably because he had strep throat – his head hurt so much and he was so very cold) on the lit electric burner, bright orange, neon orange, beautiful 4-year-old Brian had thought (he’d stopped crying it was so beautiful) before his father grabbed him – and he (Brian) let out a blood curdling scream and the pain rent him of consciousness … reminded him of the iron with which his father had branded him after 12-year-old Brian had stolen and drank every drop of his father’s birthday scotch.

You could still see the faded triangular scar on his chest if you looked close enough. And if you looked close enough at his right arm, on the underside, you would see faded lighter burn scars, these made by Brian at 15, a particularly bad year. Nowadays, Brian couldn’t risk possessing puffy blisters and red scars like angry mouths all over his body. Too many people saw too much of it too often. But scalding hot water worked in a pinch. His in-a-pinch solution had quickly become a once or twice daily event, as he felt the lockdown he normally had on his memories and feelings fading.

Justin had inadvertently caused the breach. To be fair, fatherhood had started to weaken his control. Justin was simply that surge of elbow grease at the end that sent the metal manhole cover flying through the air. Brian had tried to reattach and bolt it shut, but that was now an impossible task. Brian had only ever managed it before by locking ALL of his emotions deep deep underground. This was an all-or-nothing prospect. There was no halfway. He could be a robot or a person. Not both like C3PO.

So Brian did something sort of ‘crazy’ – sort of crazy because he had planned to accomplish this in a less tangible way, yet accomplish it all the same. He stood, and with his back turned, asked, “Could you go to the pharmacy and buy me a toothbrush? I’m going to take a shower.”

Justin’s eyes widened. And, despite his worry about Brian, he smiled softly. He had to work very hard to keep the bubbling up laughter out of his voice. “A toothbrush?”

Brian chuckled. “I’m sure as hell NOT using yours.”

“You’re staying over?”

Brian glanced back over his shoulder quickly and then looked away again. He shrugged. “If you don’t want me to …”

Justin actually threw up his hands like Diana Ross’s back-up singers in “Stop in the Name of Love.” He replied quickly, “No, no. I want you to.” Justin felt like he was floating as he redressed. Brian wanted to keep a toothbrush at someone else’s apartment, and that someone was HIM!!

Brian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Then he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

*********************************

Brian and Justin were now lying in Justin’s bed, bodies both freshly washed and teeth brushed. Naked. Although Justin was lying in the middle of the bed, facing Brian, on his belly, his arms on two of his pillows … He was absent-mindedly tracing circles on Brian’s left thigh and hip while Brian … he was just looking at Justin and trying not to think about Pizza Hut, burns, or his Uncle Ray. He half-whispered, half-spoke, “Justin, come here.”

Justin sighed softly but didn’t look up. He had known Brian would do this. He had been the one to stop Justin from pulling on a shirt and shorts after his shower. And he had been the one to stop Justin from getting under the covers. Justin replied softly, “You don’t have to keep proving you’re okay with my body.” Part of the softness of Justin’s tone was awe. But part of it was sadness. Brian may not mind (the jury was still out on that, no matter what Brian might have ‘testified’ to on multiple occasions that day), but Justin was not okay with looking the way he looked. He liked that Brian didn’t want him to change. He didn’t really want to change. Not if it meant keeping up the insane dieting and exercising he’d been doing. It made him pissed off and unhappy all the time and prevented him from doing much else. But … Justin still hadn’t made the leap from not hating his body to loving it.

Brian took a deep breath. “It’s not an act. Just … come here.”

Justin yanked the pillows out from under him and tossed them toward the top of the bed, letting his head fall with a plunk onto the mattress. After a moment of just lying there, he started doing a belly crawl, like he was some soldier weaving his way through low-growing bushes. When he got eye level with Brian, he stopped.

Brian laughed. “Turn over.”

“Don’t wanna.” Yes, he knew exactly how much of a man-child he sounded like.

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth for a moment, but then said simply, “Please.”

Oof! The plea and softness of Brian’s words made Justin’s dick jump, well as much as it could with a hundred and eighty or so pounds resting on top of it. Justin’s skin grew hot, with both desire and embarrassment. He flipped over, but then placed his hands on top of his belly.

Brian crawled over to Justin and straddled him. Then he started touching Justin’s belly, tracing every inch, every contour with his fingers.

Justin giggled (he was ticklish), which seriously detracted from his complaint: “Brian, what are you doing?”  

Brian shrugged. “Getting to know your body better.” He waggled his eye brows. “Methinks, the young man doth complain too much.”

“What?” Justin’s was smiling, but his eyes held confusion.

Until Brian drew his fingers even more lightly over Justin’s skin and Justin moaned softly, despite himself. Brian slid to the side, now sitting next to Justin, so that Justin could see his very much hard cock.

Justin blushed.

Then Brian started laying open-mouth kisses all over Justin’s belly, keeping an eye on both Justin’s facial expression and the status of the aforementioned erection (alternately of course). He followed that onslaught with a round of kisses that included some tongue and that one with a final round that included some biting. Brian sat up and nodded. “Very interesting.”

“What?”

“You like very, very light touches AND hard kisses mixed with biting.” He nodded over toward Justin’s now leaking cock.

Justin’s face grew hotter.

Brian hopped off the bed, walked around toward the end, and yanked Justin down by his legs until the aforementioned legs were hanging over the end. He said, “Sit up, but lean back on your arms.”

Justin did as Brian asked while Brian moved Justin’s full-body mirror so that Justin could see himself and then kneeled in front of Justin. Then Brian started licking and sucking on the tip of Justin’s cock.

Justin leaned his head back a little and opened his mouth slightly, moaning, “Fuck, Brian.”  

Brian pulled back and sat up, but was now slowly jerking Justin off. He said, “Keep your eyes on the mirror.”

Justin scrunched his nose (Brian thought cutely), but he nodded. “Okay.”

Then Brian deepthroated Justin’s cock.

Justin half-shouted, half-moaned, “OHHHH!” Then added in a whisper, “Brian …”

Brian slid his hands beneath Justin’s ass and squeezed, taking Justin’s cock in and out of his mouth slowly. Then he slid his hands up around Justin’s sides, drawing his fingers gently down them, so lightly Justin bucked sending his cock further down Brian’s throat. Brian swallowed hard and Justin licked his lips and started panting.

Brian slid one hand down further (to Justin’s hip) and gripped it firmly while sending the other over Justin’s midsection, tracing his fingers as lightly and as slowly as possible all over it.

Justin shivered so strongly that Brian could feel Justin tremble beneath his hands. Justin’s ragged breathing and moaning, his calling Brian’s name, which Brian feared might never happen again, and his flushed face were driving Brian wild. But the all-body shiver … that got Brian’s cock leaking.

He pulled away, eliciting a complaining whimper from Justin, and started sucking and biting on Justin’s midsection all the while jerking him off slowly. Justin bit his lip and grunted.

Brian commanded, “Stand up.”

“Huh?”

Brian bit back a smile. “Stand up.”

Justin did.

Then Brian said, his voice all husky, “Fuck my mouth and keep looking in the mirror.”

Justin just blinked and licked his lips. But then he did as Brian asked. Brian, meanwhile, started jerking himself off with one hand and held Justin’s hip to steady himself with the other.

“Oh Fucking Christ, Brian … Oh fuck. Fuck.” The picture they made was too much. Justin lasted about a minute.

The experience seemed to have the intended effect. Soon after, Justin was comfortably lying in Brian’s arms, belly out for all too see and giving two figs about it.

That’s when Justin shocked Brian by asking, “Brian, who is Ray?”

Brian’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, but he kept his tone light. “Where did you hear that name?”

“You said in your sleep the night I stayed over to make sure you didn’t die. After you got out of the hospital. I never got a chance to ask. Who is he?”

Brian swallowed hard. “Did I say anything else?”

Justin looked up and Brian then. “You said, “Ray, come back. Please.”

Brian let out a breath, fast, like he’d been punched in the gut. “Ah.”

“Brian?”

Justin needed to know what was going on with Brian. His strange behavior when he was in the hospital and later that night, his strange unsigned 'note,' and his behavior tonight had Justin very worried. He felt sure whoever this Ray was, he was the key.

A/N: Sorry this is kind of short. Work was busy today. If I can, I'll write more later tonight.

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Brian closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying to banish from his mind the images that came unbidden every time someone invoked that name: Ray. Ray was the only person in his family who seemed to love Brian. The only one who’d ever really been nice to him. The only one who’d ever made Brian feel safe. The only one who’d ever tried to protect him.

“Who’s going to save you now?”

“…”

“No one. No one.”

After Ray’s death, seven-year-old Brian had decided he hated God.

Brian cleared his throat. “Ray was my uncle, my father’s brother. He died when I was a kid.”

Justin rolled towards Brian and held onto him tighter, nuzzling Brian’s chest. “I’m sorry, Brian.”

Brian just shrugged. He didn’t trust his voice.

Justin looked over at Brian, who was staring straight up at the ceiling to avoid Justin’s eyes, and asked softly, “Were you close?”

Were they? Brian felt like laughing and crying. Ray was Brian’s hero. He liked what Ray liked (fighter jets and motorcycles) and emulated him in every way. Be tough enough, strong enough, to protect what you love. Stand up to bullies. Never give up. He only wished he’d had more time to get to know him. Three years of child memories (he couldn’t remember much before the age of four) just weren’t enough.

Brian nodded. He whispered, “Yes.” He didn’t trust himself to speak louder. Thinking about Ray brought everything back. The ache in his chest that hurt so much he thought he might die, too. The tears that wouldn’t stop coming out. The grey he could see, hear, taste, smell, and touch … in blue skies, in laughter on the playground, in chocolate, in the cologne Ray had bought Brian the Christmas before he died, the cologne Brian had begged for so he could smell cool like Ray, in the smoothness of the leather jacket Ray had given him on his last birthday, just like Ray’s (only much smaller). Brian had never known grief or desolation like that before. His world had grown smaller and darker, and hope had gone away. Brian had only ever felt that kind of pain one time after that – the two months he and Justin were apart. Justin had brought color and light back into Brian’s world – something even Gus had not been able to do, despite the fact that Brian loved him deeply. Might sound crazy or unloving, but the truth was, Brian had been trying very hard not to get too attached to Gus. He wasn’t really Gus’s parent, not legally, not in any meaningful way. And if Mel had her way, that’s how things would stay. Brian was a visitor in Gus’s life. Like Ray had been for Brian. That wasn’t so bad. He tried to do for Gus what Ray had done for him.

Justin was … unsettled. The way Brian had reacted to the simple mention of Ray’s name. And his reticence to speak … or maybe his inability to speak … Every question caused Brian to pause, his eyes to lose focus, and his frown to deepen. And the expression in Brian’s eyes … Justin had never seen a look of such profound sadness, certainly not from Brian. And maybe not ever. He needed information, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get it from Brian. Not without causing him to re-experience that sadness, relive the grief of surviving a loved one. So he said, “I’m gonna grab a bottle of water. You want one?”

Brian nodded absently.

Justin grabbed a pair of shorts and slid them on as he walked to the living room … and over to the computer. He brought up Google’s search page and typed “Ray Kinney.” Then he hit enter.

There wasn’t much. But there were two short articles from the local section of the Pittsburgh-Post Gazette from 1978 about a Ray Kinney. Justin smiled and whispered, “Thank you, IT geeks!” They had been working on scanning old copies of the Pittsburgh-Post Gazette and using some program to translate them to typed text, which they then corrected as best they could (the word recognition software was notoriously buggy). They’d made it all the way back to 1977. He’d gotten lucky. Last time he checked they were still on the 1980s. He decided he’d send his co-workers a muffin basket.

Local Man Victim of Hit and Run?

A young man riding a motorcycle, identified as Ray Kinney, 29, was hit by a vehicle on I-76 at around 9 pm last night. According to witnesses, the vehicle in question was a Ford pick-up, black or dark blue in color. The driver appeared drunk. Witnesses claim he seemed to be having trouble staying in his lane, weaving from one side of his lane to the other. Then he collided with the motorcycle from behind. The young man went flying off the motorcycle and landed on the shoulder. Then, according to witnesses, the driver of the truck pulled to the shoulder ahead of the young man, who looked badly injured but had managed to stand, and backed up, striking him with the rear end. He knocked the man down and then stopped for a moment before moving forward again. He pulled back onto I-76 and drove away at breakneck speed. Witnesses are working with police sketch artists to help the Pittsburgh Bureau of Police identify the driver.

A week later, the Gazette ran a follow-up story.

Not Hit and Run, Attempted Murder

The Pittsburgh Bureau of Police are stumped. After a thorough investigation, the police issued a statement indicating that the supposed hit and run involving Ray Kinney, 29, was in fact attempted murder, but they have not been able to name a suspect. The police initially suspected Jack Kinney, 33, Ray Kinney’s brother, as the older Mr. Kinney drives a navy blue Ford pick-up that recently needed service, but according to his wife, he was at home with her all night. The police questioned witnesses repeatedly, but have not been able to discover any new leads. The police ask that anyone with any information on this crime call the tip line. The victim, Ray Kinney, 29, is currently at Sisters of Mercy. He suffered head and spinal injuries. He underwent several operations and has at least temporarily lost the use of his legs, but is in stable condition. He may or may not face permanent paralysis, but he’s otherwise expected to make a full recovery.

Justin’s eyes widened. He was so surprised that he asked aloud, “Ray’s alive?”

The kitchen light went on at the same time that Justin spoke. Brian opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. Then he walked over to Justin, but on the other side of the desk, so he couldn’t see the computer screen. Brian said, “I was wondering where you were. Thought you got lost.” Brian noted the look of abject terror on Justin’s face (his eyes were wide and filled with fear and he was gaping). Brian asked, “What’s going on?”

He started walking around the desk to look at what had Justin so spooked.

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Realizing that Brian was headed to the other side of the desk to look at what he had been reading, Justin quickly closed the browser.

Brian quirked an eyebrow. Then he smiled knowingly. “Trying to hide your watersports kink?”

Justin grinned. “Nope. Scat porn.”

Brian grimaced.

Justin picked up the water bottle Brian had set on the desk and stood, hoping to herd Brian back toward the bedroom. That worked, but Brian wasn’t ready to let the subject drop, not yet. He asked, “So what were you really looking at?” Brian was perturbed by the look he’d seen on Justin’s face. He was shocked and possibly even afraid.

Justin walked toward the bedroom more purposefully (translation more quickly). He didn’t want Brian to observe the look on his face. And he wanted to give himself a little time to decide. If he told Brian what he’d found, Brian would either rejoice that the uncle he loved was alive and well or agonize over why his uncle allowed Brian to think he was dead, why he’d chosen to stay out of Brian’s life. That was, of course, presupposing that Ray was, in fact, alive. Just because he survived the accident did not mean he hadn’t met some other terrible fate. No. Justin couldn’t put Brian in a position to endure more pain, not until he knew what the facts were. He’d have to do a little digging, maybe talk to his journalist co-workers at the Gazette.

But he had to tell Brian something. Something believable. So once he had climbed onto the bed and flipped over onto his back, he blurted out the only thing that came to mind. “I checked my email. Joe sent me a less than enthusiastic message about his reception here earlier.” Justin hoped Brian would simply nod so that they could move on.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Unfortunately, Brian was trying to be a ‘good boyfriend.’ And good boyfriends talked about things that might be causing their partners distress. So he asked for more detail. “What did he say?”

Justin’s face turned white (whiter). He SUCKED at lying. He tried to deflect. “Nothing worth thinking about.”

Brian shot Justin a blank stare and waited.

Apparently, Brian wasn’t going to let this go until Justin gave him some kind of answer. He stammered, “Umm … well … he said that if I was hurt by his ‘encouragement’ to diet and exercise that I should have said something. He said I was a liar, a slut, and a fool and that the only thing that made the situation endurable was knowing that we (you and I) would crash and burn, and quickly.” Once he’d started, the words just came pouring out. That quickness bothered Justin. Clearly, he was still plagued by guilt over his relationship with Joe (especially how it ended) and by fear about how his new relationship with Brian would go.

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth, even biting on his lower lip (to prevent a reaction Justin would be able to read).

Then after a couple of uncomfortable minutes of dead air in which Justin worried Brian didn’t believe the lie (which would necessitate more pretence) and SIMULTANEOUSLY worried that Brian DID believe the lie (which could add to their already copious quantity of ‘relationship’ baggage), Brian said, “Joe is an idiot. He had to know he was being a dick about your weight. I’m a dick all the time, and believe me, I know it. I know it and do it anyway. As for your being a liar or a slut … that’s high school crap. Doesn’t even deserve a second thought.”                                                                                                                                                                                 

Justin desperately wanted to hear Brian’s reaction to ‘Joe’s prediction’ that they would crash and burn. But he was also desperately afraid of what that might be, so he didn’t ask.

Brian did, however, decide that since Joe had been brought up, now was a good time to hold the aforementioned interrogation. And he decided that he needed to hold that interrogation while holding Justin against him (Justin’s back against Brian’s chest) 1) so that Justin wouldn’t see Brian’s eyes or facial expressions and 2) so that Brian would be able to huskily whisper the questions while also touching Justin. So Brian pulled Justin into that position and started posing questions. He began the onslaught with an onslaught of a different kind – meant to throw Justin off. Brian excelled at keeping Justin off balance. He held Justin against him, one arm around Justin’s waist and the other around Justin’s chest and started licking and sucking on Justin’s neck, first at the base and then at the pulse point. When Justin’s breathing was ragged, Brian whispered against Justin’s ear, “Did you like fucking Joe?”

Justin’s eyes widened. His chest felt hollow. He barely managed to squeak out, “What?”

Brian licked, sucked on, and BIT Justin’s neck at the pulse point and nibbled his ear, eliciting a soft moan from Justin, and then repeated, his voice a shade huskier, “Did you like fucking Joe?”

Justin didn’t respond.

Brian slid his hand, the one that had formerly been around Justin’s waist, down the front of Justin’s shorts, gripped Justin’s hardening cock firmly, and even began to slide his hand up and down, jerking him off slowly. When Brian heard Justin’s breath hitch in his throat, Brian whispered, “Did you bury your cock deep in his ass?”

Justin licked his lips and pushed his ass back against Brian’s groin, partly in the hope of distracting Brian, but mostly because Brian’s strong hand felt so good wrapped around his cock. He couldn’t help himself.

Brian pushed his groin forward even as Justin pushed backward, causing Justin to close his eyes and rest his head on Brian’s shoulder, arching his back. Then Brian added, “Did he like feeling all eight inches of your cock inside him? Did he beg for more?”

Justin didn’t think. He just answered. “Yes. He loved feeling my dick inside him.”

Brian knew he had no right and he knew it was stupid lesbian crap, but he felt like someone had punched him in the solar plexus. Brian closed his eyes tightly for a moment, but then traced his tongue down Justin’s ear lobe and asked, “On his knees or his back?”

Justin started to get lost in his desire. He slid a hand down the front of his shorts and over Brian’s hand, encouraging him to quicken the pace. He no longer thought before answering. “Knees.”

Brian was embarrassed to admit, even to himself, that this answer made him happy. He was so happy, he forgot the prelude teasing. He asked simply, “His choice or yours?”

“Mine.”

Brian actually smiled. Then he let go of Justin’s cock, causing Justin to whimper in complaint, and slid his hand around to Justin’s ass (still within the confines of Justin’s shorts). He squeezed, caressed, and even slid his hand between Justin’s cheeks and pressed it against Justin’s entrance. Justin sighed softly. Brian asked, “Did Joe fuck you?”

Justin swallowed hard. He didn’t want to tell Brian.

Brian flipped Justin onto his stomach, pushed Justin’s shorts off, and then climbed over Justin’s legs, straddling them. He licked a trail down from Justin’s tail bone to his entrance and then started swirling his tongue. Justin whispered, “Oh Brian …” Brian asked, “Did Joe bury his dick inside you?”

Justin swallowed hard again. But this time he answered, “Yes.”

Brian clenched his jaw for a moment, but then returned to his ministrations. He pushed his tongue inside Justin all the while squeezing his ass cheeks. Justin half-moaned, “Mmmm…” Brian moved away, but pushed a couple of fingers inside of Justin and nudged his prostate. Then asked, “How big?”

Justin was totally lost in his desire at this point, so he didn’t understand the question. “What?”

Brian started massaging Justin’s prostate. Then he clarified, “How big is his dick?”

Justin felt warm all over. Mostly good, from the pleasure Brian was giving him. “Oh … uh … smaller than me.”

Brian smiled. “Did he fuck you while you were on your knees or on your back?”

Justin’s face burned, but this time from the question. “On my knees.” Then anticipating Brian’s next question, he added, “My stomach looked worse when I was half pretzel.”

Brian pulled his hand out of Justin and commanded, “Roll over.”

Justin sighed, but did.

While Justin hesitated, Brian slid a condom on. Once Justin was on his back, Brian immediately placed Justin’s legs on his shoulders and started pushing his dick inside Justin.

Justin flushed and started panting. His eyes were wide, but dark with desire.

Brian pushed in slowly and held Justin’s eyes. This was the first time they had fucked this particular way in two months, and seeing Justin like this … his blue, blue eyes … flushed skin all the while being inside him … made Brian’s chest hurt. It was a strangely good ache. Once Brian was all the way in, he observed (outloud – he’d actually observed this the second his dick was even a fraction the way in -- the first time they'd fucked that evening -- against the loft door), “You must not have let Joe fuck you too often. You’re tighter.”

Justin smiled uncomfortably and blushed. Then he shrugged, “Maybe three or four times, total.”

Brian pushed himself all the way in and stopped moving. Then he leaned over Justin and took the tip of Justin’s cock in his mouth, sucking on it, hard.

Justin half shouted, “Oh fuck! Brian.”

Brian moved his mouth away and started thrusting again. He asked, “Did he suck your dick?”

Justin nodded.

Brian started thrusting faster. His voice was raspier than he intended. “Did you …”

Justin arched his back to push Brian deeper inside him and interjected, “Yes, but I wanted it to be yours.”

The look in Justin’s eyes then, helpless … sad … Brian felt like someone was squeezing his heart. The next question was the hardest, but he had to know. He barely got the words out. “Did you tell him you loved him?”

Justin looked wounded. “No, Brian.” His voice broke. “I love YOU. Even then, I loved YOU.”

Brian closed his eyes to push back tears that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. No part of him urged flight, like Justin’s bedroom was the scene of a crime. He was exactly where he wanted to be, in Justin’s apartment, in Justin’s bed, in Justin. When Brian trusted himself not to cry, he opened his eyes. He leaned all the way over, so that he was an inch away from Justin’s face, held Justin’s eyes with his own for a full minute, trying desperately to say with his eyes what he wasn’t ready to say out loud. Then he captured Justin’s lips up in his and plunged his tongue into Justin’s mouth. He kissed him slow and deep, fucked him slow and deep, tried to show Justin with his body what his eyes had tried to communicate. The ‘slow fucking’ lasted a LONG time. By the time Brian picked up the pace and started jerking Justin off, Justin was struggling to figure out where he ended and Brian began. He felt like he was floating, all terrible-wonderful ache and warmth and tears.

Justin fell asleep covered in cum and sweat and wrapped in Brian’s strong arms.

A/N: Don't forget to leave feedback!

Justin woke up early, two hours before the alarm was set to go off. He was happy and freaked out. He was tired of lies. Before the Brian-Joe situation, he had never really done that. Sure … the occasional lie during childhood and adolescence …

“Justin, did you eat ice cream for breakfast?”

“Nope.” Firm head shake.

“I fell asleep waiting up for you. What time did you get in?”

“By curfew … as always.” Firm head nod.      

Then came the lies associated with having a “secret identity.”

“Honey, you’re 16. It’s okay if you want to date. Most of my friends’ sons started dating at 14 or 15. Are you afraid to introduce me to girls you like? I promise I won’t break out the photo album. No pictures of you naked in the tub, covered in Vaseline, or wearing my red nail polish. Scouts honor!”

Laugh. “It’s not that.” Shrug. “There really aren’t any girls at school I want to date.” Course, he neglected to tell her that there were no girls anywhere he DID want to date, but he hadn’t lied.

Then had come the slew of fix-ups. Blondes, brunettes, red heads (the country club community wasn’t exactly inclusive). They ran the gamut from cheerleaders and basketball players to purple-haired gamers. He’d go on one date with them (to refuse would have been impolite). Daphne urged him to do his damndest to gross out the aforementioned fix-ups … describe in lurid detail his latest bowel movement, skip showering for a couple days prior and wear sweat-infused gym clothes on the actual date, ask if they were into anal, pick his nose at the table, explain that he wanted to marry a virgin and would require any potential brides to undergo a physical purity test, claim to be polyamorous and reveal that he expected to have primary, secondary, and tertiary girlfriends, request nude selfies before the waiter or waitress even brought the food, … and on and on. They had a lot of fun concocting ridiculously bad behavior (at least for a first date and in high school). Justin wasn’t against polyamory, but he knew it wouldn’t suit him (and Daphne felt sure his dates would be horrified at the suggestion). He never used any of these ideas. He felt bad enough ‘masquerading’ as a heterosexual … if only by omission. Daphne thought his guilt was stupid. Was it his fault if people assumed you were straight unless you said otherwise? Eventually, Justin said something true (but not the whole truth). He confessed that he could never date anyone his mom fixed him up with because she might lose friends or standing with her circle if things went badly.

Next his mom tried fixing him up with Daphne. She figured that Justin must be nursing a crush. So she started inviting Daphne everywhere they went. Cirque du Soleil, the Philharmonic, restaurant and gallery openings. She also started talking Justin up to Daphne.

“You know, Justin’s a feminist. He refuses to watch Disney movies because they depict girls as being incomplete without a man and because they objectify them. He was especially upset when Ariel gave up her voice so she could be in her prince’s world!”

“Justin is so thoughtful! He made a 5 course meal for me last Mother’s Day.”

“I knew Justin was bright when he taught himself how to read. I’m still not sure how he did it. I guess just looking at the words while I read to him … and trying it himself. He was 4! I can’t even imagine what wonderful things he’ll accomplish in life!”

Justin had no idea what was going on, not until his mom sat him down for a heart-to-heart. She said, “Honey, you KNOW I love Daphne.”

“Yeah …” Justin widened his eyes, waiting for her to continue.

“Well, I just didn’t want you to think I subscribe to your grandmother’s worldview.”

Justin frowned. “You mean that God made us different colors so that we would know who to date and marry?”

Justin’s mom grimaced. “That’s the one.”

Justin smiled nervously. “Good…?”

She tried a more direct approach then. “What I’m trying to say is that if you like Daphne … I mean ‘like-like’ her … I would be thrilled! She’s intelligent, beautiful, articulate … perfect for you!”

Justin giggled. “If I ‘like-like’ her? Mom, I’m not in elementary school anymore.”

“Quit dodging. Are you in love with Daphne?”

Justin smiled sadly. “No, mom.” He almost told her then. But he just couldn’t. His dad was so outspoken about his hatred for all ‘less than manly’ men. That included gay men, trans women, and even enlightened straight men (men who shared in household chores, nurtured their children, let their sons take ballet, and so on). He was always railing about the presence of shows that focused on non-white, non-male, non-heterosexual characters. And he had a lovely term for gay men that he shouted at the top of his lungs every time he saw one on TV (‘faggy boys’). Justin was terrified to come out. Even if his mom understood, and he felt sure she would, she might be ordered to cut Justin out of her life.

As it turns out, Justin never had to come out. His father had unwittingly hired a ‘faggy boy’ to repave the driveway. And then his parents had gone to the country club. After an hour of watching the man work his back and arm muscles … and sweat profusely … and most of the time shirtless (because of the aforementioned sweat), Justin had brought the driveway paver some lemonade. The driveway paver had made Justin in a matter of seconds. Next thing Justin knew, he was in the garage, shoved up against a wall, with the man on his knees sucking him off. It was when Justin was reciprocating that his parents had arrived home. They couldn’t (obviously) park in the driveway, so he hadn’t heard the car. He’d had no warning. His first clue that something was amiss had been his mother’s gasp.

Justin’s dad did not force Jennifer to cut Justin out of her life. But he didn’t want anything to do with Justin and wouldn’t pay for his college.

So beyond the fairly tame childhood/adolescence lies and the lies of omission (due to his ‘deviant’ sexuality) … Justin didn’t lie. Until Brian. The Joe lie had seemed harmless. Justin could never have predicted that Brian would try to help him win Joe or that a Joe fitting the description would respond and Brian would see it. And then when Justin wanted to come clean, before anything truly messed up had happened, Brian made it clear that he did NOT want Justin to confess to anything. So Brian did not know that Joe had NEVER meant anything to Justin. All he knew was that he had meant more.

But now … this new lie of omission. About Ray. He wasn’t sure he should keep it. He’d been certain the night before, less so after many hours of tossing and turning. He didn’t want to hurt Brian by telling him before he’d gotten more information, but what if Brian learned about Ray before Justin had come clean. OR what if he didn’t but was still angry at Justin for keeping this intel hidden for any length of time. Brian wasn’t exactly keen on trusting people. Justin didn’t want to give Brian another excuse to pull away.

Justin got up. He had slept little, and he wasn’t likely to get more in the next two hours. He brushed his teeth, made coffee, and started whipping up a batch of blueberry muffins (from scratch). Baking helped him think. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure how to go about getting the information he needed. AND the fact that finding and speaking with a man from Brian’s past might give Justin insight into Brian, which he desired more than he could ever say … that just made him feel worse. He wanted to lie to Brian (for a while) and violate his privacy not only so he could protect Brian but also so he could understand him. And that was just SO wrong. Justin stirred harder.

“Stop.” The word came out half grunt (Brian was lying face down on Justin’s bed).

Startled, Justin jumped a little. He was sitting on a chair next to his dresser. He asked, in almost a defensive tone, “What?”

Brian lifted his head and looked over at Justin. “You were watching me sleep. Stop. It’s creepy.”

Justin blushed and stood up quickly. He stammered, “I wasn’t. I was … uh … I was just … just resting.” The second the lie left his lips, he felt like kicking himself. So much for his being truthful. He had hoped he could be more honest with Brian now that they were in a committed relationship, but in response to Brian’s allergic reaction to sweetness, Justin had devolved to lying. He knew intuitively he kind of had to lie to Brian (at least in the beginning). Little stupid lies. Lies he knew Brian was unlikely even to believe. Justin knew that any little thing, one step too close, could send Brian spiraling out and away. Far, far away. His two-month absence was proof of that. But Justin could have picked a better lie. Something with even just a hint of believability.  

Brian flipped over onto his back, sat up, and then threw his legs over the side of the bed until he was facing Justin. He quirked an eyebrow. “Resting? What, did you get tired on the way the bathroom, grandpa?” Brian smirked.

Justin laughed nervously. His body decided to help him. He started sweating. Profusely. So he said, “I was just exercising a little. I came in to get clothes, but I was a little tired. You know, uh … from the … the exercising.”

Brian frowned.

Justin almost smiled. Brian believed him. But that turned out to be a problem of its own.

Brian’s voice was clipped. “I thought you decided to stop all that bullshit.”

Justin did smile then, but faintly (smiling brightly when your boyfriend is frowning and upset is generally a bad idea). He wondered then, for the twentieth time since their conversation in the loft, if Brian meant everything he had said. Everything he was saying. “I did.” Lies, even tiny, unimportant ones, had a way of snowballing, spiraling out of control. So he decided to add a little truth into the mix. “I was having a hard time sleeping. So I was trying to tire myself out. But then it was time to get up.”

Brian watched Justin carefully, though he nodded, as if to indicate he accepted that explanation.

Justin smiled. “I’d better hop in the shower.” He grabbed clothes and scurried (really and truly scurried) into the bathroom. He should have let Brian go first, since Brian was the one who had to go to work and a guest, but Justin had been stupid enough to get himself in a tangle of lies, and he didn’t want to be ‘discovered.’ A light sheen of sweat hardly sufficed for a workout.

Justin turned the shower on and adjusted the temperature. Then he stood beneath the cascade of water and pondered. Brian’s catching Justin watching him sleep just brought on new fears. They were boyfriends and monogamous, and Brian seemed determined to make their ‘relationship’ work, but … Justin knew he had cause to worry. He had only ever really been in one serious relationship before, with Ethan. (He didn’t think Joe counted.) But … that one relationship had taught him a lot. And Justin’s interaction with Brian had taught him even more.  

1) People liked the exotic. Brian was drawn to Justin in part because Justin was a romantic, with views of love diametrically opposed to Brian’s. He also admired Justin’s cooking skills and knowledge of cuisine. Brian enjoyed food, but knew almost nothing about it. And Brian seemed to find Justin’s silliness amusing. Science backed this up. This desire for difference broadened the gene pool and generally prevented incest. This was also why people in long-term monogamous relationships had to be careful. Romantic love could, if left unattended, very easily become more like sibling love. Justin thought, “Thank you, Daphne.” Justin knew more about the science of love and sex than any artistically inclined person should because of her.

2) People liked what they could never get or could never be sure they really had. Justin had made the most progress with Brian a) when Joe materialized and threatened Brian’s position in Justin’s life and b) when Justin was wavering, unsure whether they should try again. Psychological studies had proven over and over again that being thwarted increased desire. Doctors had made a related finding. Anxiety and/or fear could actually increase sexual arousal. There was, of course, a catch. If a person is too frustrated by the ‘object’ of his or her desire, he or she may lose interest more quickly once he or she had attained whatever or whoever it was. Too many obstacles made the situation all about “winning” as opposed to “having.”

3) People liked the strong and independent. The autonomous. Brian had actually seemed impressed when Justin was telling Brian about how he’d gotten the job at the Gazette. Brian had also seemed quite put out when Justin had left the loft after they’d fucked (the morning Brian had broken his toe). There were two reasons for this attraction to autonomy. Researchers had found that being chosen or valued by others increased a person’s value to the person being observed. Thus being successful socially and at work (being valued by friends and co-workers) made people more attractive. They also found that those who were secure (more autonomous) were generally more appealing. Whether we knew it or not, we found the more secure more attractive because they were more likely to be able to offer support and stability to a partner, which everyone, even seemingly uncaring, distant people like Brian wanted.

Justin decided he needed to have rules for himself. Daphne would have said Justin was indulging in a little game playing (and she would have made that observation happily – she had bitterly recounted to Justin hundreds of times how unfair it was that people, especially women, were held hostage by their hormones – oxytocin, dopamine, and vasopressin collaborating and intriguing to trick people into feeling an intimacy they had not actually developed yet and driving them crazy in the process). Daphne felt that game playing was the only protection people had against this hormonal onslaught.

Justin smiled. Being best friends with Daphne had its benefits, and, oddly, the lectures on hormones were part of them. For example, Justin knew that hand holding, hugging, french kissing, and sex (particularly of the lengthy variety) increased the production of these hormones (even after the first flush of ‘new relationship energy.’ Kissing, touching, and having sex could then theoretically extend a couple’s passion indefinitely). He also knew that researchers had postulated that men and women exchanged estrogen and testosterone through saliva and other routes, thus increasing or decreasing the effects of these hormones. These researchers had suggested that estrogen increased their effects and testosterone decreased them. So … lesbians felt the most ‘bonded’ after sexual activity, women and men in heterosexual relationships the second most ‘bonded,’ and gay men the least ‘bonded.’ Nothing had been proven conclusively, but to Justin it kind of made sense. And of course, testosterone levels varied among men. So their susceptibility to pair bonding varied. Justin had decided long ago that his testosterone levels must be lower because he felt the draw to sexual partners keenly. Granted, nurture held sway, too. Being surrounded by women, who were ‘allowed’ to be emotional, and despising his father, who seemed only ever to feel anger, had ‘conditioned’ Justin long ago to be more emotionally open and to strongly desire connection. Between nature and nurture, Justin was doomed. Hence the game playing. Justin had never tried it, but he REALLY, REALLY wanted his relationship with Brian to work. Now that he had decided to “forgive” Brian (or at least to proceed as if he had), he was choosing to give the relationship his all.

Rule 1: Avoid seeing Brian two days in a row.

Rule 2: Only act on his desire to communicate with or see Brian one out of every four urges. In fact, if possible, let Brian do most of the calling, texting, etc.

Rule 3: Justin should view every sexual encounter with Brian like there would never be another, like one of them was going off to war.

Rule 4: End “dates” much earlier than he would normally want to – always leave Brian wanting more.

Rule 5: Have a portion of his social life that does not include Brian.

Rule 6: Don’t sleep over or have him sleep over after every date.

Rule 7: Hide emotions, particularly those of the lovey-dovey variety.

Rule 8: Kink, kink, and more kink. Inject their sex life with as much novelty as possible. (Daphne had told Justin about studies of male sexuality where even after having one orgasm – and thus in that period of time after sex where men did NOT have sex on the brain – showing men a “new” woman would immediately reawaken their desire.)

Justin sighed. Researchers really needed to do more studies of male sexuality and pair bonding with gay men. He was working from imperfect data.

None of this would guarantee Justin anything except his best shot. But that would be enough.

Justin’s new resolve (and new rules) and desire to tell Brian about Ray as soon as possible thus induced Justin to act peculiar (at least in Brian’s estimation). After he was done showering he pushed Brian into the bathroom, and while Brian showered Justin made Brian breakfast to go (a to-go thermos of coffee and two of the freshly baked muffins in a paper bag). Once Brian was dressed, Justin handed both to the man, kissed him like Brian was going off to war, and said, “Alright, get lost. If I don’t hurry, I’ll never make my next review deadline.”

Then he pushed a stunned Brian out the door and closed it. Brian just stood there staring for a full minute. He muttered, “Huhn.” Then he walked to the Jeep.

Justin was on the opposite side of the door (thrown against it), feeling pretty miserable. The very last thing he’d wanted to do was to push Brian out the door. But he soldiered on. He went to the computer to finish his review. He decided to hand it in, in person today. Maybe meet with some of the reporters at the Gazette. The Ray search needed to begin. Like right the fuck now.

Brian’s cell phone rang.  Brian smiled softly, unconsciously, and picked it up, but then frowned when he saw who was calling. Mikey. Brian stared at Mikey’s name and picture (which popped up whenever he called) and sighed. He pretended to himself he wasn’t disappointed, that he hadn’t been hoping someone else was calling. He sighed and set the phone back down on his desk and looked out the window. He’d been at the office too long. He could see the fuzzy sliver of the crescent moon high in the sky. After seven rings, the phone fell silent. A minute later, it started ringing again.

Brian hesitated.

That was the only way to describe his current relationship with Mikey. Ever since Brian had taken Justin to the diner, he’d hesitated.

Mikey really hadn’t done anything ‘wrong.’ He hadn’t said anything outlandish or new. He’d simply been Mikey. Snarky, rude, and resentful to any perceived threat. Quick to put the someone posing that threat into his place. Brian had simply never cared before. In fact, Brian had always viewed Mikey’s overprotectiveness as a compliment, a testament to how much he cared for Brian.

That is, until “the someone” being snarked at was Justin. Then, Brian found Mikey’s overprotectiveness less adorable and more offensive. So after that, something had shifted for Brian. Even after Brian had stopped seeing Justin and returned to “normal,” Brian hesitated with Mikey. Hesitated to call, to hang out with him at Babylon, to invite him over, and even to meet him (and Emmett and Ted) at the diner. He did … sometimes. But much less.

On the sixth ring, Brian answered. “Hey.”

Mikey sounded both hurt and profoundly relieved. “Brian! Why didn’t you answer the first time I called?”

Brian sighed softly, too softly for Mikey to hear. Then he smirked (he was getting into “character”) and drawled, “I was in the middle of something.”                 

Mikey laughed. “I bet you were! Who was it? I know, I know. You didn’t “catch his name.” But what did he look like? Was it someone at the office?”

Brian narrowed his eyes. “How did you know I was at the office?”

Mikey’s voice rose in pitch but fell in volume. Brian thought, “Ah … so he’s embarrassed and defensive.”

Mikey replied, “You know … I stopped by the loft. To invite you to dinner. It’s been a while since we’ve hung out just us.”

Brian nodded slowly. He felt a slight twinge of guilt, not that he would ever admit it. Mikey had probably come bearing pizza hoping that they could get high, pig out, and then talk until dawn. Something they used to do once every month or two. He didn’t know what to say (he felt a little bad but not bad enough to propose anything like that), so he said nothing.

Mikey asked, his voice uncertain and vulnerable, “So are you coming out tonight?”

Brian sighed again. That was a BAD idea. He had been using tricks to kind of avoid Mikey (spending twenty minutes talking to Mikey at Babylon for every hour or two of “prowling” and fucking). Now that Brian had promised Justin monogamy, he couldn’t use tricking as a pretext to avoid Mikey while not seeming to avoid him. Worse yet, Mikey would notice if he didn’t trick and start grilling him. Maybe he should just come clean. Admit that Justin was back in his life. Admit they were boyfriends. Monogamous. But if Brian did that, he’d have to TALK about it. Mikey would assail Brian with a million questions, and he’d have to answer some of them. No. He’d decided that he was just going to bring Justin to some “event” – out to Babylon with the gang or to one of Debbie’s Sunday dinners. The latter would probably be best. Gus loved Justin, and their interaction would serve as a distraction. Maybe prevent Brian from having to explain too much.

Mikey waited a couple of minutes for a reply before asking again, “Brian? Did you hear me? Are you coming out tonight?”

“Yeah, but only for an hour. I have an early day tomorrow.”

Mikey giggled gleefully. “Great! So I’ll see you at Babylon?”

Brian frowned and pondered. After an almost uncomfortably long moment, he replied, “No, let’s go to Woody’s.”

“Oh. Umm … okay.” Mikey’s confusion and disappointment (Brian realized Mikey probably wanted to dance with him) were soon replaced with his former enthusiasm, although muted now. “See you soon!”

Brian hung up. Still holding his phone, he navigated to the contacts menu and pressed Justin’s name. He stared at Justin’s profile … particularly his picture (Brian had chosen the one of Justin sitting on the chair in fishnet shirt and leather pants, one leg casually thrown over the arm). The green call button seemed to beckon him. Brian drew his hand near and let it hover. But then he frowned and tossed the phone back on the desk.

Meanwhile, Justin was trying NOT to think of Brian paradoxically WHILE thinking of Brian. That is to say, he was on the hunt for Ray and trying to stop himself from calling Brian. He had managed to do this all day, but it had taken a LOT of willpower.

His colleagues at the Gazette had no more information about Ray than had been in the articles, but they had made a few suggestions (avenues he could pursue). They suggested that he try to find a sympathetic nurse at the hospital Ray had been taken to … or go to the town hall to see what public records might be available for him (marriage license, death certificate, birth certificate, etc.).

Justin had decided to pursue both. He put Daphne on hospital duty, since she had a lot of friends there. Then he had gone to the town hall an hour before lunch (he even brought some of the blueberry muffins he had baked that morning in the hopes that that would make the clerk more “helpful”). That did the job. The clerk was a short, plump rosy cheeked strawberry blonde. She was about Justin’s mom’s age. The blueberry muffins and Justin’s “air of innocence” actually motivated her to do all of the searching for him, which was perfect. He had no idea how to go about it, and that ignorance would have slowed him down. Thanks to Bonny (Justin thought an apt name), in just an hour and a half he had all the information Pittsburgh had on Ray. He was not dead. He’d never married. He had no children. Justin was beyond frustrated by the lack of information until Bonny located his birth certificate. You might wonder how on earth that could be helpful. Well … Ray’s mother, it seemed, had given birth to both her boys at home. So the address for Ray and Jack’s childhood home was on the birth certificate (which Ray’s mother had gotten later). AND … the house was located in Hickory, Pennsylvania. A small town of just 700 people.

That’s where he was headed at that very moment, Mapquest map in hand. In fact, he had just passed the “Welcome to Hickory” sign. Justin planned to stay the night at the local bed and breakfast and then start snooping bright and early. He wanted to go to Ray and Jack’s childhood home on the off chance that Ray had inherited it or, if Brian’s grandparents were still living, that they knew where Ray was. He was also considering going to the high school to see if any of the teachers remembered him … the headquarters (literally on Main Street) of the “Hickory Shopper” (Hickory’s town paper) … and possibly also Hickory’s Apple Fest. Someone had to know something.

A/N: This counts for last night. Sorry it’s late. I was working all the way up to midnight last night. I’ll try to post another update (not sure which story) tonight before midnight eastern.

Brian had never noticed before how much the clinking of billiard balls resembled the sound of a hard k. He noticed now because he had little in his current environment to distract him. He was sitting on a bar stool, not at the bar but at a small high table near the pool table, and not scanning the crowd for a tall, buff someone, an ‘alpha’ male, but watching Mikey try to send the 2 ball into the center right pocket. In a moment, after Mikey failed, again, to sink that particular ball (his hand wasn’t steady enough and he had the cue situated too far to the right – he would end up sending the ball straight and to the left), Mikey would return to Brian’s side and resume the chatter he’d maintained non-stop for the last hour.

That chatter had consisted of the following:

“It’s been so long since we’ve gone out just us! This is great!”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember all that crap they used to advertise in the back of comics?”

“No.”

“You know … X-ray glasses, rockets, the camera so small you could hide it in the palm of your hand … stuff like that.”

“Oh yeah.”

“I wish I could open a store and sell stuff like that. That’d be cool.”

“None of it ever worked, did it?”

“Well … no, not really. But mine would!”

“How you gonna get your hands on working X-ray glasses?”

“Uh…”

“So I think Ma is dating someone new.”

“Oh?”

“She’s been using the treadmill.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, I bought that for her three Christmases ago, but she never touched it till now.”

None of this chatter was the least bit interesting to Brian, and that last exchange had gotten Brian thinking about Justin. And without realizing at first why, Brian had grown suddenly unaccountably angry. It wasn’t until he had started projecting (directing his anger at himself at someone else) that he’d noticed. He had barked, “If the guy doesn’t like her body as is, he should fuck off and find someone else.”

Both the vitriol in Brian’s voice and the message conveyed thereby had startled Mikey. He’d said nothing then. But his eyes had widened, and he’d jumped a little bit. This reaction would, unbeknownst to Brian, remain in the back of Mikey’s mind, simmering, eventually coming to a full boil. He would draw some interesting conclusions. But that was a ways off.

As Brian had predicted, Mikey missed the shot. He let out a sad dog groan. Brian sighed and stood. To Mikey’s surprise, he fished the cue ball out (Mikey hadn’t just failed to hit the 2 – he’d sent the cue ball into the back left pocket), put the cue ball and the 2 back where they had been, and stepped behind Mikey, guiding him to the right grip and posture, situating Mikey’s hands on the stick, pushing him over the table, and adjusting Mikey’s stance. Mikey groaned again when Brian finished and stepped to the right side of the table to watch. Brian tried to ignore the flush he observed in Mikey’s cheeks and to erase the memory of Mikey’s pressing his ass against Brian’s groin, probably hoping to spark some life there. Brian said firmly, “Okay, hold your hands steady and slide the cue forward in one quick, firm movement.” He pointed to a spot on the cue ball. “Hit it here.” A few moments later, the 2 was careening into the side pocket and Mikey was laughing and hugging Brian.

Brian didn’t hug back. But he did pat Mikey on the shoulder.

They continued to play, but now Mikey was thoughtful and quieter. Brian didn’t know why. He didn’t even contemplate the change. He was too grateful for the respite to question it. Two turns later, Brian managed a run, sinking 5 balls in one turn and winning the game. That was it. Brian had more than fulfilled his promise (60 minutes had become 83). He made his excuses (re: early morning), hugged Mikey, and walked out (it took concerted effort for him not to rush).

Mikey watched Brian leave with a soft smile on his face. He was wondering if “it” had FINALLY happened. If Brian had finally matured enough for … well, you know (Mikey couldn’t say it, or even think it – not in a straightforward manner – not in words, even silent ones).

A happily oblivious yet paradoxically not-happy Brian made it all the way home without calling Justin. But he’d been thinking about him. Wondering why Justin hadn’t called. Wondering what he was doing. At one point, he’d even feared that the radio silence had something to do with Joe. Brian knew that a reunion with Joe was unlikely – in fact, any kind of interaction between them was unlikely, but Brian couldn’t completely rule it out. Joe might have insisted that Justin speak to him. And with Justin being Justin, who knew what he would allow Joe to do or say? Brian knew Justin felt guilty about how things had ended and Justin was routinely too nice. Brian needed to break Justin of that habit.

Brian tossed his phone onto the bed, stripped, and then showered. Now all warm and damp, he lay on the bed, on top of the duvet, and picked up his phone. He looked at his missed call list. Nothing. Then he noted the time: 12:02. Brian sighed and closed his eyes. Eyes still closed, he hit 1 on speed dial. His chest felt weird, and his heart, oddly, was beating faster than normal.

The line rang once. Twice. Then Justin answered, “Brian?”

Brian could have kicked himself at the wave of relief he felt at hearing Justin’s bright, musical voice … especially given his tone – happy excitement. For the first time in many hours, Brian breathed easy. He relaxed. “Hey.”

Brian could almost hear the smile on Justin’s face. Justin purred, “Hey.”

Brian resisted the urge to demand (or even just request) that Justin come over. He really didn’t know what to say. Should he point out that fidelity from Brian put more responsibility on Justin’s shoulders? Brian had gone a whole day without an orgasm, which was rare. Should he table that and simply ask about Justin’s day? Ask what Justin was doing? Brian didn’t want to sound TOO interested. Or too much like the jealous control freak he was. Brian’s entire body tensed up again.

While Brian balked, Justin kindly put him out of his misery. He asked softly, “Can’t sleep?”

Brian relaxed. “No.”

Without prelude of any kind, Justin declared, in a soft yet husky voice, “I’ve been a bad boy.”

Brian quirked an eyebrow. His heart also stopped for a moment, and his dick started to harden. He had no idea what Justin was referring to, but it both worried and excited him. He tried not to sound like he cared. “Oh?”

“Yes. I saw Joe today.”

Brian’s heart went on a longer strike – skipping not one beat but many. A hot, unpleasant flush washed through him. He breathed, “What?”

“He stopped by this afternoon.”

Brian could barely get the words out. “Did … you … fuck him?”

Justin didn’t appear to have noticed the choked manner of Brian’s response, for which Brian was profoundly grateful. Justin replied, “No. But …”

Brian felt nauseated, like thick but still liquid cement were churning in his belly. “But what ….?” He closed his eyes and silently implored.

“He hugged me.”

Brian almost laughed out loud. Almost. “What?”

Justin confessed softly, “He hugged me for a full two minutes … and …”

Brian’s body was still tense, and his heart still wouldn’t beat, but the nausea and the flush had lifted. “And what?”

“Joe slid his hands over my ass. I knew then that I should push him away, but I felt so guilty that I let him do it.”

Brian held the phone away and rolled to the side, face in pillow – trying to stifle his laughter. When he rolled back, he was smiling and relaxed. But he made his voice sound serious, even disappointed. “You let him squeeze your ass?”

More softly, penitently, Justin said, “Yes … and he buried his face in my neck.”

“That is … very serious.”

“I know.”

Brian didn’t know what propelled him onward, what pushed him to try to get Justin to say what he was trying to get Justin to say, but he was past scrutinizing his every word. In this moment, he simply wanted what he wanted, and he wanted it NOW. “Do you know why?”

Brian imagined he could hear Justin swallowing hard. After a pause, Justin said, his voice so low and husky, “Because my ass is yours. Because I am yours.”

Brian’s dick was now fully erect. Brian hated how much he enjoyed hearing that … no – even worse, how much he needed to hear that. His voice a rasp, he confirmed, “You are mine. All of you. Especially your ass.”

Justin laughed softly, which caused Brian to smile. He liked knowing Justin wanted Brian to own him. But Brian didn’t let on. His voice firm and filled with authority, he said, “You need to be punished. You’ve been a very bad boy.”

Justin half panted, half whispered, “Yes, Brian. Just tell me what to do.” 

Brian shook his head. “No, that would be too easy. Tell me what you’re going to do to make it right.”

Justin paused but then offered, “I’m on the bed, naked. I’m pinching both my nipples.” Brian believed him (Justin’s words came out half grunt).

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes … but …”

“But …?”

“But I like it.”

“That’s okay. You’re allowed. What else are you going to do for me?”

“Ummm …” Brian imagined Justin’s biting his lip then. The image elicited something intense from Brian, and not just physically. Justin continued somewhat breathlessly, “I can fuck myself with my longest, widest dildo – no lube.”   

That did it. Brian’s dick was now leaking so much precum he wouldn’t need lube either. He grabbed his dick and squeezed hard. He closed his eyes to prevent the moan that was desperately trying to come out. Brian whispered huskily, “Describe it to me. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I … I turned around and put my feet on the headboard. Now I’m pushing a few fingers inside. The dildo is so big … I know it’s going to hurt. I want to be a little more ready, but not too ready. Pinching my nipples hurt, but it made my dick hard. I want to hurt when I push the dildo inside me. I want to really feel it. And to keep feeling it tomorrow, so I remember that I’m yours.”

Brian swiped his thumb over the tip of his dick, spreading the precum all over his shaft. Then he started jerking himself off slowly. But his grip was very, very tight.

Justin grunted. “It’s at my entrance. I’m slowly but firmly pushing it inside of me.” Justin started panting. “I feel like I’m being ripped in two.” Justin paused and then half-breathed, half moaned, “Brian, I … I wish you were here, that it was your dick inside me, that I could feel the weight of you on me.”

“If I were there, what would you want me to do?”

“Bite my neck and shoulder so hard tears spring to my eyes. Thread your fingers in my hair and plunder my mouth with your tongue – all the while pulling my hair. Hard. Then grab my hips and my ass so hard that you leave finger shaped bruises on my pale skin.”

Brian nudged the phone slightly, now held only by Brian’s head and neck, so that Justin wouldn’t hear him (during Justin’s wish list, Brian had started jerking himself off faster and had pushed a couple of fingers inside himself, so he was now moaning involuntarily, uncontrollably, albeit low). Brian nudged the phone back. Then he rasped, “You want me to mark you?”

Justin moaned, “Yes, Brian. So much.”

“Is the dildo all the way inside you?”

“Uh-huh. Oh … fuck, yes. I’m starting to fuck myself with it, but slow. I want to feel like this as long as I can, and I’ve been too bad to cum first.”

“You have been bad.” Brian grunted. His fingers had found his prostate. “I have a wish list, too.”

“You do?”

“Yes. What I want you to do when I see you next.”

“Oh … what?”

“I want you to walk into the loft or pull me into your apartment or a bathroom, depending where we are, push me against a wall, and get down on your knees.”

Justin was panting. “You want me to suck your cock?”

“No. I want you to worship it.”

Justin half grunted, half moaned. Brian imagined the image was doing as much for Justin as it was for him.

“I want you to lick every inch of it, suck on it sideways, and suck on the tip, before you take it all.”

Justin was breathless now. Brian decided Justin must have been picturing it. “Brian, oh … I want to do all that … all that and more. Oh fuck …. I … I haven’t touched my cock, but I’m close, so close. God, Brian, I want you to fuck me. I wish it were you fucking me.”

Brian decided to do something crazy then. He asked, “Do you know what I’m doing?”

“Jerking off?”

“Yes. But that’s not all.”

“No?” Brian could hear the surprise in Justin’s voice.

“I’m fingering myself. Fuck, I’ve nearly got a whole hand in there.”

“…” The sound that came out of Justin then is not representable using the English language. It was part grunt, part moan, part cry, part gasp, all at the same time. After a lengthy pause, he whispered huskily, “Why … Why are you doing that?”

Brian quickened the pace, sliding his hand along his shaft faster and faster, all the while squeezing his dick harder and harder. “Because my boyfriend isn’t here to fuck me.”

“OH FUCK. OH, BRIAN. OH …” Apparently, that confession had ripped the orgasm right out of Justin.

Brian would have laughed, but the helplessness in Justin’s voice pushed him over the edge two seconds later. He had to bite his upper arm, and hard, to keep from crying out, and LOUDLY.

When Brian fell back onto the bed, his entire body tingled and ached and was covered, every inch, in sweat. Brian smiled. He didn’t even bother cleaning up. He didn’t want to move.

After a minute of silence, as Brian and Justin caught their breath, Justin whispered, “Brian, did you mean what you said?”

Brian was tempted to tease Justin, to pretend not to know and maybe even to deny ever having said he wanted Justin to fuck him. But he didn’t. Instead, he said simply, “Yes.” Then after a pause, he asked, his voice now, too, in a whisper, “Did Joe really come to see you today?”

“Yes. But I left him on the step. I wouldn’t let him come in.”

Brian knew he should be laughing, mocking himself mercilessly for being so pathetic, and pathetic he was. But tremendously relieved and happy, he decided he gave exactly zero fucks. For the first time in forever, he let himself experience bliss.

Justin was quite proud of himself. He had not only shoved Brian out the door the morning before but also managed NOT to call him all day and all night, resulting in Brian’s calling him. Even better, Justin had remembered to pack a ‘big something’ (his favorite dildo) just in case Brian did call and desired phone sex. Better still, Justin was hot on the trail of a solid lead. Justin was certain he’d soon possess ‘actionable intel’ (as fictional CIA agents called it on TV) for Brian.

Justin decided to start at Ray and Jack’s childhood home. If Ray was there, or if the current occupants knew where Ray was, his journey would be at an end. He was currently driving on a lonely road. On both sides lay rolling hills, peppered with occasional corn fields and horse pastures. Justin was starting to think that Jack and Ray may have ‘sprouted’ on a farm, but then he hit on a community so small it wasn’t in any map. The main drag contained a bar/restaurant, a machine shop, and a general store/luncheonette – advertising, to Justin’s delight, a Southern grilled cheese special (Swiss cheese with walnuts). As it turned out Ray and Jack’s childhood home ended up being just a mile from there. The houses were a lot closer there, but each appeared to have several acres of forest attached.

Justin found the house and pulled up near it on the shoulder of the road (maybe twenty feet before the house). There he sat, car on but in park, just watching and mentally composing himself before finally pulling into the driveway.

The house had a huge porch in the front with a door, but there was a side door opening onto the driveway, which he assumed they used more often. The driveway itself was a mini parking lot. He pulled in a ways and parked to the side, near a metal barn (yes, a metal barn – Justin saw a single door on the right side for single entry and a big horizontally sliding door in the middle. He decided the barn was probably for car repair). He had been all brass balls while planning, but now that he was actually there, he was nervous. He started kneading his thighs through the fabric of his pants as he approached the side door. He passed a giant tree to which long dog leash was tied. Two metal bowls sat in front of the tree and the grass had been worn away, Justin guessed due to canine activity. What perplexed him was that the bowls were dirty but empty, and no dog was attached to the leash.

That spurred many other observations that his nervousness had prevented up till then. There were no cars or other vehicles in the driveway. There was only one vehicle in view besides Justin’s, a broken down pickup that appeared to be from the 1950s. It was light blue with large patches of rust and no tires. But it was not in the driveway. Rather it was buried in a copse of shrubs and small trees to the side of the barn. Justin also noticed a small dilapidated shed on one side of the house. It had literally fallen over. Either no one lived here, or the occupant was too old or sick to keep the property in good repair. Justin shivered. That could mean one of three things, one of which was VERY bad. 1) No one lived here. 2) Ray and Jack’s parents lived here and they had reached an age where driving and home improvements were impossible. 3) Ray had been permanently paralyzed, and, despite being still fairly young, was physically unable to make necessary repairs or drive.

He slowed down while pondering this, but despite the delay he eventually arrived at the door. Justin was tempted, if only for a moment, to run back to his car and leave. He contemplated for a moment (seriously contemplated) if there were worse things than not knowing. Ultimately, he decided that no, nothing was worse than not knowing. So thus confronted with the door, Justin knocked, firmly. Three times. The neighborhood was so quiet, no lawnmowers or laughing children or barking dogs, that the pounding echoed loudly.

Justin was growing increasingly uncomfortable. He was about to leave (he was halfway to his car) when a middle-aged woman came running from the house next door. She’d run so quickly that she was out of breath. She was a petite woman wearing light cotton slacks (turquoise) and a long sleeved white flowered blouse. When she caught her breath, she smiled and asked, “Are you here to see the property?”

Justin was so surprised and confused that he replied automatically and not at all suavely, “What?”

The woman didn’t seem to notice. In fact, something had caught her eye. She muttered, “Hooligans!” and stomped over to the front yard, where he picked up a for-sale sign that someone (ostensibly the neighborhood kids had knocked down). She righted the sign and then returned.

By then, Justin had composed himself. So when she asked, “Do you want to see the house or the land first?” he answered right away, “The house.”

She graced him with another friendly smile and took a set of keys out of her pocket. As she unlocked the door and led him inside, Justin asked, “Why would anyone want to sell this place? It’s beautiful out here.”

The woman had led Justin up a short staircase and into a large kitchen that opened onto a HUGE living room with a bay window on the right, a dining room in the front, and a large wooden staircase on the left. She opened her arms expansively. “This is the kitchen. The family remodeled this shortly after they moved in. In fact, they added this room, too.” She pointed to the living room. “The house was originally much smaller.”

Justin commented on the décor first. “Wow! This is great. The kitchen is at the center of the home, just as it should be.” That earned him a warm smile from the woman. Then he tried again. “I hope you don’t think me impertinent. But I’d love to know more about the family who lived here last. A home is much more than just a list of improvements made over the years. Stories about its former occupants really give it color, a sense of history.”

The woman fidgeted, kneading her hands together and making a face like she was in pain. After a few moments looking into Justin’s eyes and squirming, she finally burst out, “Well okay. I suppose it’s natural for you to be curious, and, since the family’s all gone, I don’t suppose there’s any harm.”

Justin flinched visibly on the words “all gone,” but recovered quickly.

The woman smiled. “Here why don’t you sit down? I’ll make some tea.” She gestured toward the kitchen table and headed toward the stove. While she was thus occupied, Justin decided to look around. He was pleased to discover that there was much more than furniture and dishes here. It looked like all of the Kinneys’ belongings were still there. Justin almost laughed out loud (he had to catch himself) when he discovered a bookcase in the living room upon which was, in addition to a hopelessly outdated set of encyclopedias and a set of Chilton automotive repair manuals, a thick, heavy photo album. Justin quickly secreted that into his messenger bag. And just in the nick of time. A moment later, the woman turned and started walking toward the kitchen table two steaming mugs in her hand. Justin rushed over to her side. “Here, let me help.”

The woman smiled gratefully. When they were both seated, she began to speak. “So the Kinneys were always kind of … troubled. The father, Donald, served in World War II, in the Pacific. He’d married Patricia just before enlisting and set her up in this house. She, as it turns out, was pregnant when he shipped out, though she didn’t know it at the time. He met his first son Jack on his second birthday. She didn’t have much in the way of family and none down here, so she struggled to care for the baby.

Donald suffered from shell shock, what they now call PTSD. He never talked about the war, but he started drinking, HARD, right after he came back, and he was a MEAN drunk. They had Ray a few years later, but, as I heard it, Patricia was the one who wanted a second child, not him. Later, he would tell Ray straight out that he’d never wanted even one child, let alone two. Patricia and Donald fought constantly, and he beat his boys. I don’t think I ever saw her but she was fighting tears and them bruised up something awful. Jack stuck around, learned about fixing cars and even went into business with Donald for a while before Jack met Joanie. That’s when he moved to Pittsburgh.

Ray had more sense and got the heck out of dodge as soon as he could. Vietnam was going on when he was still in high school. He didn’t even wait to be drafted. The day he turned 18 he enlisted in the marines. Jack was already married with a daughter and right after Ray joined up, Joanie announced she was pregnant again, so Jack was able to put off being drafted due the family hardship exemption. Ray did one tour and came back, when Joanie’s youngest was just a few months old. He moved to Pittsburgh to help out, leaving Donald and Patricia here. Neither one really visited, though I can’t say I blame them. Donald drank himself to death – he died of liver failure twenty years ago. Patricia survived longer, but she eventually succumbed to cancer – they didn’t have the same screening procedures back then. Ray came back when his mother got in a bad way, but then after she died he left, too.”

TBC …tomorrow night…sorry ran out of time

“If you don’t mind my asking, when did the mother die?”

“About ten years ago now.”

Justin was taken aback. “The house has been on the market that long?”

The woman shook her head. “No. Ray wanted to sell the place, but his mother had left the house to both Jack and Ray, and Jack didn’t want to sell. Sentimental value, I guess. No, umm, Ray only put it on the market a few years ago, after Jack died.”

Justin’s eyes widened. Brian’s father had died? His eyes lost focus for a moment.

The woman brought Justin out of his head by asking, “Do you want to see the upstairs?”

Justin smiled, mostly out of politeness. He felt very sad for Brian. Still, on the journey up the staircase, Justin managed to get his head back in the game and ask, “So are there any ramps?” He hadn’t seen any thus far. If Ray were a paraplegic, he would need them to come and go and move around.

The woman asked, “Ramps?”

Justin felt a glimmer of hope then. “Yes, for wheelchairs.”

The woman led Justin down a long hallway, to the master bedroom. Once inside, she replied, Justin thought a little sadly, “Yes. There’s a ramp at the front entrance and a lift on the back staircase.”

Justin sighed. So Ray had most likely been permanently paralyzed in the accident. Mostly to please the woman and maintain his cover, Justin glanced around the bedroom. He smiled faintly. “Nice. Are there other bedrooms up here?”

The woman, imagining, Justin guessed, that he was eager to have children, smiled brightly and replied, “Yes. Two. Follow me.” She took him to the other end of the hallway, where two small bedrooms jutted off. Justin also spotted a third entryway and poked his head inside. Stairs. The woman led Justin into the bigger, darker (one window) room, but Justin quickly surmised that the room was Jack’s (as a teenager –it had half naked women on cars donning the walls), so he moved onto the other. This had definitely been lived in by an adult. It had two big windows. It was bright, if on the small side. He looked around. There was a lot less to see. A queen sized bed, a dresser, an end table, and a standing mirror. Nothing on any of the surfaces or the floor. Justin opened the closet door. No clothes, shoes, or anything else. In frustration, Justin pounded on the wall inside the closet, on the right side. His pounding echoed. Justin’s eye brow shot up. He’d found an empty space in the wall. He popped his head, but not his body, out of the closet and asked, “Any chance I could use your phone? My cell phone just died.”

The woman smiled. “Sure. Let me grab the cordless from downstairs.”

Perfect. Justin ran his fingers searchingly around that section of wall until he found a groove. Justin dug his fingernails in the gap and pulled out a thin cover of drywall. Apparently, Ray had realized there was empty space back there and cut a rectangle shaped opening in the wall. He must have forgotten about the space because it still held many treasures. Nudey magazines (featuring MEN), some pictures of a young woman who looked like she was in her early twenties, a birth announcement for Brian yellowed with age, and a manila envelope filled with pictures, Justin guessed, of Brian as an infant – in the first couple months of his life by the looks of him (his head was still sort of triangular). Justin just stared at the pictures without really seeing them for a few minutes. He wasn’t sure what this all meant, but he had an idea, one he was afraid to even think let alone ever articulate. The creaking of the stairs as the woman ascended got Justin moving again. He shoved everything in his bag, which was now filled to capacity, and replaced the dry wall. He exited the closet just as she entered the room. He took the phone with a smile.

Justin decided to kill two birds with one stone. He called Daphne. He had been meaning to do that since the day before anyway.

The line rang three times before Daphne answered. “Hey, Jus.”

Justin smiled at the woman and turned toward the windows. He asked, “Did you have any luck at the bank?”

Daphne laughed. “You mean at the hospital?”

Cool as a cucumber, Justin replied, “Yes.”

“Ah … I take it you have an audience.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So … you’re in luck. The nurses have had a Ray sighting.”

Justin laughed. “Wow! That’s great!”

Daphne giggled. “I’m sorry I made your trip to the boonies unnecessary. I hope they didn’t inundate you with too many pastels and too much floral print wall paper.

Justin looked around the room. The walls were blue, but there was in fact a runner of wall paper, a blue and brown floral print, circling the top and bottom, just above the floor and below the ceiling. He huffed a laugh. Then and patted his messenger bag. “The trip was still worth it. So when?”

“Last week. Apparently, an old army buddy is a doctor on staff.”

Justin muttered, “Marine.”

Daphne was confused. “What?”

Justin whispered, “Ray was a marine.”

“Ah.”

Justin glanced back at the woman. She was looking at something on her phone. She hadn’t heard him.

Daphne continued, “So Ray’s old marine buddy put Ray up for a spinal electrostimulus trial. The hope is that after a couple of surgeries and lots of physical therapy, participants will get back some movement, be able to stand or maybe even walk again. I finagled his address from a nurse friend.”

Justin was incredulous. “Wow, Daph! You’re amazing!”

“And don’t you forget it!”

“Can you text that to me? I’m gonna head back soon.”

“Su-” Justin didn’t wait for her to finish. He was so eager to return to Pittsburgh that he hung up. He turned back to the woman and cleared his throat. She looked up and smiled. Justin handed her the phone. “Something’s come up, so I’ll have to see the land another day. Should I make an appointment?”

The woman shook her head. “No, no. Just stop at my house first next time. I’m the house to the right, the light blue one.”

Justin got out of there as quickly as he could without looking suspicious. He only drove a mile though before stopping. He needed to see Ray’s address. Well, and to get a Swiss cheese and walnut grilled cheese. It sounded interesting.

After thusly fortifying himself (eating two of the sandwiches, which turned out to be scrumptious) and drinking half a cup of coffee, strangely good for a luncheonette, Justin, back in the car now, but still parked outside the luncheonette, gathered his thoughts. So Ray was likely gay and paraplegic and … if the pictures of the young woman and Brian as an infant … and the birth announcement meant what Justin thought they might mean … possibly also Brian’s father.

It made sense. Ray would have been 17 when Brian was conceived. Given the supermanliness of his father and brother (if the Chilton manual collection were any indication), Ray probably struggled to come to terms with his possibly being gay. He probably had sex with at least one woman, “just to see.” The woman in the pictures … if she were Joanie, as Justin suspected she was … Ray might have helped conceive Brian without realizing it and then run off to war to hide from his gayness only to later discover … possibly while still in Vietnam … that he had a son. That would explain why he only did one tour and why he, shortly after returning home, moved to Pittsburgh to help Jack with his growing family. That might also explain why Jack appeared to have tried to kill Ray years later.

Justin was both happy and sad for Brian. For Brian to discover that his favorite uncle (and maybe father) was still alive … was amazing, but that would beg the question, why did he stay away? Justin could understand if he stayed away while Jack was still alive … but why not re-enter Brian’s life after Jack died? He didn’t know. A beeping sound brought him out of his head. Daphne had finally texted him.

The text read: “231 Hanna Street, Carrboro, NC. Apparently, he’s been flying back and forth up till recently. He plans to move back if he qualifies for the trial.”

Justin cursed. There was no chance he could go on his own if Ray were that far away. He had no choice. He’d have to come clean to Brian. The question was, how and when? Should he suggest a trip and then spring the news on Brian? Or tell him in advance and hope Brian a) wanted to go and b) wanted Justin to go with him? He didn’t know. Justin decided to force action on himself. He texted Brian: “Dinner at my place tonight? Say 7? I’ll cook something special.” Then he set the phone on the passenger seat and waited.

He took another sip of his coffee and let his mind drift. North Carolina. Unbidden, an image appeared in his mind. Of North Carolina-style BBQ. He unconsciously licked his lips. Justin laughed and rubbed his forehead. He was beyond all help. His phone beeped. Justin didn’t even pick it up. He simply touched the screen a couple of times. Brian had replied, “Sure.” Justin laughed. His boyfriend was truly a wordsmith.

He slid the key in the ignition and started the car. That put a clock on his deliberations. He had about six hours to figure out what and how he would tell Brian.

A/N: Please do let me know what you think.

Justin was terrified. He had no idea how to tell Brian what he needed to tell him. He had printed out the two Gazette articles he’d found, and he’d begged Daphne to get him a copy of Ray’s paperwork from the proposed study. She had resisted at first, pointing out that even finding out that Ray was applying for participation was a breach of confidentiality and getting his address even more so … but to share the actual document … to her that seemed a step too far.

Justin couldn’t explain why this was so important, in part because he didn’t know much yet, no more than that Ray was extremely important to Brian and that his death had been a major trauma. So he used the only other weapon in his arsenal: guilt. He reminded her of a certain family trip the Taylors and the Chanderses had taken one summer, to Virginia Beach, where, ironically, she had lost her virginity. This was also where she purchased a pipe and some chronic and smoked Justin up every evening. And where Daphne’s mother had discovered the aforementioned pipe and pot during her weekly search of Daphne’s belongings (she hadn’t taken a vacation from that ‘duty,’ even while literally on vacation). Justin had taken the bullet for Daphne, claiming that the paraphernalia and drugs belonged to him (since Daphne’s parents had threatened to send her to an all-girls school on the other side of the country). That induced Daphne to break both the law and her doctor’s oath. And to hiss, “This does NOT make us even. You OWE me. And if I’m dragged in front of a review board for this…” She didn’t even finish the threat. She didn’t need to. Justin knew the magnitude of the favor he’d asked. But that knowledge could not induce him to unask it. Brian needed this. He needed to know as much as possible about Ray’s condition. He needed tangible proof.

Justin had also found the listing for the Kinney family home and printed that out, too. He set the articles, the study paperwork, and the house listing on the dining room table, along with everything he’d taken from the house: the photo album, the birth announcement, the nudey magazines, and the manila envelope. Thus equipped with all of the intelligence he’d managed to gather, Justin put the final touches on dinner, grabbed a bottle of scotch he’d purchased for Brian, and poured himself a glass of wine. A big one.

When he heard Brian pull up, he panicked. He nearly threw everything into a box and shoved it into a closet. He’d gotten as far as grabbing a box, but then he sighed and set dropped it onto the floor. There was no going back. He poured Brian a double scotch and then walked over to the door with it in hand. He set that on a nearby table and waited. When Brian knocked, Justin threw open the door, yanked Brian inside, slammed the door, and pushed him up against it. Then he grabbed Brian by the ‘lapels’ (such as they were) of Brian’s leather jacket and pressed his body up against Brian’s even as he pulled the man closer to him, capturing his lips, his mouth, in a savage kiss. He bit Brian’s lip once, and not gently, before plunging his tongue into Brian’s mouth.

Brian was surprised, but he adapted quickly, actually threading his fingers into Justin’s hair and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss and adding something frantic into the mix. Brian had been shocked and, though he’d never admit this even under pain of death, hurt by Justin’s abrupt dismissal the morning before. He was then surprised again and, though he’d never admit this even under pain of death, disappointed by the fact that Justin didn’t call at all that day. He was surprised a third time and, though he’d never admit this even under pain of death, even more disappointed by the fact that Justin hadn’t invited Brian over for sex. Thus, Justin’s text that day had been more than welcome – a fact that disturbed Brian more than a little. He’d planned to be aloof that evening, well, more than normal, but when Justin pounced, Brian’s body acted before his mind could intervene. And then his heart had thrown its lot in with his body, expressing the longing Brian had been feeling, despite all his efforts to feel anything but that.

They kissed each other breathless, and when they finally broke apart, Brian fully expected Justin to lead him into the other room and topple him onto the bed, an idea Brian relished immensely. So Brian was dumbfounded when, instead, Justin handed him what seemed to be a double scotch (Brian had a nose for such things) and declared bluntly, “Your uncle is gay. Also not dead. And he might be your biological father.”

This news caused Brian’s brain to experience a temporary shutdown. But not before firing the appropriate neurons for gulping the scotch in one go and walking to the couch and plopping down. Then he sat there, silent, for three minutes, mind empty of everything, except a sound, like wind howling in a storm.

Justin followed and sat in a nearby chair. He watched Brian carefully, but said nothing. He just waited. He expected yelling. He expected swearing. He expected Brian to tell him he was crazy. Or to demand to know who Justin thought he was poking around in his life like that and without the courtesy of even a heads up. He feared Brian would storm out. He feared Brian would say they were done. He could never have anticipated what actually happened.

On second 181, Brian started laughing hysterically. In fact, he laughed until he cried. His face was bright red. Then, glass still in hand, he covered his eyes with that arm. Still he laughed. His body shook. Justin had never heard a more terrifying sound.

Somewhere along the way, Brian stopped laughing. And started crying. That’s when he doubled over and dropped the glass, which didn’t break because Brian was so low to the floor at that point that it didn’t fall far. Brian’s body still shook. He still hid his eyes. But now, he was sobbing.

Justin had no idea what to do. Ultimately, he decided, even though the likelihood that Brian would shove him away was quite high, to get on his knees, crawl over to Brian, and take Brian into his arms. Brian minimized contact, but didn’t push Justin away.  

Justin couldn’t say how long that lasted. Too long. Too, too, long. Every sound seemed ripped from Brian’s body in the most painful way conceivable. Every cry wrecked Justin. Broke his heart. Made him regret ever googling Ray’s name. Caused tears of his own to well up. Engendered a self-loathing Justin wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced.

And Just when Justin thought he’d go insane if this continued for much longer, Brian stood up abruptly, nearly sending Justin flying onto his back, walked to the far side of the living room, and, standing with his back to Justin, croaked, “Tell me.”

Justin stood, too, but kept his distance. Then in a soft voice, he replied, “My best guess is that Ray had a brief affair with your mother while he was still questioning. When he realized he was gay, he joined the marines. Shortly thereafter, your mother realized she was pregnant with you. She sent Ray your birth announcement and pictures, I guess, in the same letter telling him you were his. He left the marines after one tour in Vietnam and moved to Pittsburgh to be closer to you. When you were six, I think Ray told Jack you were his, prompting Jack to try to kill him. He ran his motorcycle off the road and then, when Ray got up, backed over him. Ray was paralyzed, but still alive. He moved back home at one point to help your grandmother, who was dying of cancer. After she died, he moved to North Carolina. But he might be coming back to Pittsburgh, for a clinical trial of some therapy that might help him to walk again. I have his address in North Carolina. I think we should go see him.”

Brian stood, his back still turned, for many minutes after Justin finished speaking. Brian said nothing. He didn’t move at all and didn’t even appear to be breathing. When he turned around, he did it suddenly, so suddenly that Justin gasped. Brian’s eyes were red and shiny, but they were no longer streaming. He spoke, but in a rasp and just a single word. “Why?”

Justin knew Brian wasn’t asking why they should go see him. Justin gestured with his hands helplessly and shook his head, eyes wide, lips parted. He would have given a kidney to take away the desolation expressed in that one word.

“Does he blame me?”

Justin shook his head, but this time more quickly. His eyes burned. He closed the distance between them, even though it was substantial, quickly, in three long strides, and placed his hands on either side of Brian’s face. “No. No way.” Justin let his hands fall. “You loved him to such a degree that his supposed death haunted you, even in dreams. To think that someone you loved that much was profoundly unworthy? No way. I think you’re a better judge of people than that. More likely, when he realized what Jack would do to keep the secret of your paternity … he feared Jack might hurt you. He probably thought that if he fought for custody, he’d lose, and Jack would take everything out on you.”

Brian sighed and dropped his head. Then in a husky whisper, he said, “Maybe. But after Jack died …?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question. He didn’t have to.

Justin shook his head. “I don’t know. Let’s drive to North Carolina and find out.”

Brian lifted his head until his eyes met Justin’s. He just stared for a long moment, assessing, maybe, Justin wasn’t sure. Was he asking himself whether Justin would really go with him? Or whether he wanted Justin along? Or even just whether he wanted to go at all? Justin couldn’t say. But he was shocked when without convincing or further talk of any kind, Brian said, “Okay.”

A/N: Please do leave feedback. Feedback = <3

Justin wasn’t sure what to do. He knew talking wasn’t exactly Brian’s specialty or preference, but, in this case, he figured it was a good idea. He wanted so much to wrap his arms around Brian, but Brian had been avoiding contact, so he thought it would be best to continue keeping his distance. He picked up Brian’s glass, refilled it, and then approached Brian. He nudged Brian’s shoulder (Brian was still facing away from Justin) and thrust the glass around Brian so that he could see it without turning. Then he asked softly, “Can you tell me about him? Ray, I mean.”

Brian took the glass out of Justin’s hand, Justin thought gently, and even ran his fingers over Justin’s hand for a few seconds before moving his hand (now holding the glass) away. Brian sighed deeply and took a big drink. Justin moved back to the chair and sat down. Dinner was basically ready, but could remain covered in pans for a while without getting cold. They had time.

Brian took another sip, emptying the glass, cleared his throat, and turned around. His eyes were still a bit red, but clear. No more storms on the horizon. He walked back over to the couch, set the glass on the coffee table, and sat down.

Brian cleared his throat again before finally speaking. “My Uncle Ray …” he started. He let his head fall and swallowed hard. He looked back up and corrected himself. “Ray …” Then he continued, “was good to me. He bought me gifts, took me places, talked to me … and actually seemed to care what I had to say. He took interest in what I liked … airplanes, motorcycles … or maybe it only seemed like that because I idolized him. I wanted to be exactly like him.” Brian was talking ostensibly to Justin, but he was looking straight ahead, sort off into space, like he had forgotten where he was and was just talking to himself. “He actually bought me a leather jacket, exactly like his. Thinking back, I have no idea where he found it. He must have had it made.” He laughed then, probably imagining himself a mini-Ray complete with leather jacket.

Suddenly Brian pressed his hands to his eyes, likely to prevent another crying jag. Still covering his eyes, he shook his head. His voice broke. “I don’t understand. Say he is my father. He was so great with me. Why would he just leave? And never come back?” Brian let his hands fall. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. His voice grew steadier, louder. “He told Jack to stop. He fought with him. Beat the shit out of him. That takes balls. Jack may have been a fat drunk, but he was big and fucking STRONG. He couldn’t have been scared. Not even after the … ” Brian bit the inside of his cheek, probably trying to hold back the tears that constantly threatened to fall. Brian’s eyes grew sad again, as sad as they had been two nights before when he’d first talked about Ray. Grieving, desolate sad. “Jack tried to kill him. Jack paralyzed him. Because of me. Ray must hate me. How could he not?”

Justin had been chomping at the bit, desperately wanting to hold Brian, to console him, but he’d held back. Until this moment. He couldn’t stop himself anymore. He jumped up and then actually sat on Brian’s lap, sideways, and pulled Brian into his arms. He held on tight. He even ran his fingers through Brian’s hair. Brian slid his arms around Justin’s waist and held him back, tightly. Justin thought he could feel his heart actually breaking. He blinked a few times and swallowed hard to prevent tears of his own from falling. Then he said, “We won’t know anything for sure until we talk to him, but I would bet a million dollars I don’t even have that he doesn’t hate you. In fact, I’m guessing he was scared, but not for himself. For you.”

Brian sat up then, lifting his head out of Justin’s arms, but not releasing his own hold on Justin’s waist. In fact, if anything, he held on tighter. He asked, “If that’s true, why hasn’t he contacted me since I left home? Or even just since Jack died?”

Justin’s eyes widened. “He was a marine in Vietnam, right?”

Brian nodded.

“Into all kinds of ubermasculine stuff, right?”

Brian nodded again.

“And he made sure he was part of your life, that he had a say in it, even to the point of getting physical with Jack.” Justin shrugged. “How does a bad-ass like Ray deal with suddenly being unable to do … well … everything? He can’t walk. He can’t ride his bike. He can’t play sports with you or take you even to the movies, not without a specially fitted out vehicle and a theater with a wheelchair ramp. And he sure as hell can’t protect you. How would YOU have dealt with that?”

Brian paled, and his eyes lost focus. Justin could tell he’d made his point.

Justin had basically figured “it” out … Brian’s terrible secret … all the things Brian said and didn’t say had been more than enough. He’d talked about iron burns when he was high on the drugs they’d given him at the hospital and had just mentioned Ray actually coming to blows with Jack over Brian – that just confirmed Justin’s suspicions. And the neighbor had talked about Ray and Jack’s father beating them. Jack must have continued that cycle of abuse with Brian. He was 99.9% sure of that, but he needed Brian to tell him. So as gently as he could, he asked, “Brian, what did Ray try to protect you from?”

Brian tensed his jaw. Then he blurted out, though rather mechanically, like he was reading a grocery list out loud, “Burns, bruises, and broken bones.”

Justin thought he’d prepared himself. And he was prepared. For the idea of abuse. But he was NOT prepared for the reality. The severity of it. He actually gasped. “God, Brian …”

Brian laughed, which caused Justin to freeze and his eyes to widen. Though he shouldn’t have been that surprised. Brian had strange reactions when he was seriously upset. His reaction to Justin’s dating Joe was just the beginning. Brian had also laughed when Justin had told him Ray was alive. At first anyway. Then he had sobbed. Brian said, his voice full of bitterness and oddly also amusement, “I always wondered why it was just me.”

Justin uttered “What?” as though in response to a blow to the solar plexus.

“Never Claire. Always me.”

“Claire’s your sister?”

Brian nodded. “It FINALLY makes sense. He fucking KNEW I wasn’t his. He must have HATED me. Just looking at my face, hearing my voice, must have made him crazy.”

Justin shook his head. “That doesn’t make what he did okay.”

Brian sighed. “I know, but at least, I know now that there was a reason. My entire life, I couldn’t understand why he hated me so much. I thought …” Brian swallowed hard and let his head fall. “I thought a lot of things … I thought that maybe what my … what Joan said was true … that I’d been born bad. I actually prayed to God when I was five. Joan had been taking me to church, so I was familiar with the idea of God. I prayed every day that whole year, talking aloud like a sucker. I asked him why. I begged him to make it stop. I even asked the priest one Sunday why God let bad things happen. He said that God never gives more than we can handle. That pain was God’s way of testing us. Our faith. A way of making us stronger. That’s when I knew. God doesn’t exist. Later, much later, after discovering men gave me boners, I thought maybe Jack had known I was gay for a long time, like since I could walk. That maybe he’d sensed it somehow and hated me for it. I mean, for a womanizing drunk who spent most Sunday mornings sleeping one off, he was pretty conservative. But now, I mean, THIS makes sense. I was living proof of Joan’s infidelity. I was betrayal incarnate. How could he NOT hate me?”

Justin narrowed his eyes. He scoffed, “Uh … because you were completely innocent. Whatever your mom did, whatever Ray did, you weren’t to blame.”

Brian looked up at Justin and nodded. “I know, but, at the same time, I get it.”

Justin scoffed again. “Uh no.”

Brian was taken aback. Confused and surprised. “No?”

Justin crossed his arms and doubled down. “No. You are NOT allowed to ‘get it.’ I forbid it.”

Brian laughed. Loudly. Then amusement in his eyes, he asked, “You forbid it?”

Justin nodded firmly. “Say you’re right. Say Ray is your dad and Jack knew. If he wanted to be less involved in your life … well, that sucks, but it makes sense. If he barely talked to you and didn’t want to pay your tuition … FINE. But what he did … NOTHING makes that understandable. Absolutely nothing.”

Brian actually grinned then. “Well, okay then.”

Justin smiled back. He was happy to see Brian happy, if only for a moment.

Their moment was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Brian’s it turned out. He reached inside his leather jacket and pulled it out. Justin could see the picture of a man with black hair and a goofy smile. Over the picture flashed a name “Mikey.” But Justin didn’t need to see his name. He remembered him quite clearly. The best friend.

Brian cleared his throat and answered, “What’s up, Mikey?”

“No, I can’t.”

Brian’s voice took on a shade of annoyance then. “I’m not home.”

He sighed. “No, I’m not out fucking and sucking.”

Justin took that moment to remind Brian that he was there. He touched Brian’s cheek gently and whispered, “You’re not?”

Brian smiled a sexy smile and quirked an eyebrow as if to say, “If you’re lucky.”

Justin narrowed his eyes and shoved Brian lightly.

“Where am I?” Brian paused. He almost said “Out” but then he looked back over at Justin. Justin had tensed up and a light pink flush was slowly creeping across his cheeks. So Brian bit the bullet and said firmly, “I’m at my boyfriend’s apartment. We’re having dinner.”

The magnitude of Mikey’s apoplectic fit was such that Justin could actually hear it through the phone. “Wha-wha-what??” Brian ran a hand, the hand not holding the phone, over his face.

“You heard me. Boyfriend’s apartment. Dinner.”

“Actually you’ve already met him. It’s Justin.”

In lieu of responding to what Mikey said next Brian simply sighed. Justin could easily imagine the nastiness Brian’s admission had produced.

Brian’s voice grew more relaxed … less annoyed. Less tense. “Actually, that’s a good idea. I’ll bring him to diner for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Again Brian sighed in lieu of responding. A minute later, Brian half-growled, “Yes, Mikey, I am probably staying the night.” His voice grew defensive, louder and higher in pitch. “That IS what you do after eating dinner at your boyfriend’s apartment, isn’t it? How many nights did you stay over at David’s?”

Brian closed his eyes, as if to center himself. “I will see you tomorrow morning. Tomorrow. Okay. Bye.”

Brian ran both hands over his face and looked over at Justin. “So we are doing the big introduction tomorrow morning, at the diner. Apparently all of my friends will be there ready to enthusiastically interrogate us.” Then he flashed Justin one of his best fake smiles. “Joy.”

Justin shrugged casually, although his stomach was suddenly in knots. “No big. Can I invite Daphne?” He figured he’d need an ally if he were going back behind enemy lines.

“Sure, why not?”

“So breakfast … and then North Carolina?”

Brian paled. “You want to go tomorrow?”

“Why not? Haven’t you lost enough time?”

Brian’s eyes lost focus. A moment later, he said, “I guess I could take a long weekend. I have a ton of vacation time saved up.” He looked back at Justin. “What the hell? Let’s do it.”

A/N: Work's been kicking my butt. Sorry about the two-day hiatus.

Brian and Justin did not have sex that night.

Let me try that again.

Brian and Justin did not have sex that night.

Nope. Stills seems unreal.

Yet that is exactly what happened. They ate the meal Justin had so carefully prepared, but, despite being a fan of Cajun/Creole cuisine, Brian paid no attention. Might as well have been Styrofoam. Soft Styrofoam. He seemed to have no reaction at all to the taste or even to look at what he was eating. He just mechanically shoveled spoonful after spoonful in. Brian spent most of the rest of the evening staring off into space. Every now and then, Justin would turn Brian’s face toward him and, with a smile, repeat what he’d just said, and Brian would give a monosyllabic response.  

Justin tried to interest Brian in the food (something Brian usually loved to hear about). “So I used green tomatoes in the Gumbo and added some coconut and lime. And the rice is jasmine rice – has a subtle flowery taste. What do you think?” Brian had tried Roy’s Gumbo before, so had he been present enough to speak, he would have had an opinion. Justin had to repeat himself a couple of times, but he eventually Brian replied, “Good.”

Next Justin tried to ask about Mikey. Get some intel before the diner trip. Justin thought that would be a slam dunk. He still had to repeat himself but only once. “So have you known Mikey a long time?” Brian replied, “Yes.” No elaboration at all.

Then Justin tried an open-ended question (rather than yes-no). “Where did you meet him?” Justin was initially thinking Brian was slowly coming back to the world because he didn’t have to repeat himself this time. But Brian confounded Justin’s efforts again, responding simply, “School.”

At that point, Justin pretty much gave up. He asked about the wine and work, but didn’t really expect too much engagement. He mostly posed these questions to fill the silence.

Brian’s dwelling in his head caused Justin to hesitate to show him what he had gotten from Daphne and from Brian’s grandparents’ house. Justin figured that Brian needed time to get over the shock. He would pack them, just in case.

Despite what Brian had told Mikey, Justin kind of expected Brian to change his mind about staying over. But he didn’t. He stripped and climbed into bed on what was fast becoming Brian’s ‘side’ (the left one), lying on his back and pulling the comforter over himself. Justin wasn’t a big fan of getting naked, for any reason, but he wasn’t sure if they were just going to sleep, so he stripped down, too. Of course, he did it facing away from Brian and managed to walked sort of backwards to the bed and even ‘backwards’ under the covers, so that he was fully hidden before facing Brian again.

When he did, he realized Brian had been watching him. Brian actually said something ‘real’ then, an actual complete thought and without prompting. “You’re a twat.”

Justin was so relieved that Brian was talking AND so surprised that he laughed. Loud. Brian wasn’t exactly spouting poetry, but it was a start.  

Then Brian lifted his arm, sliding it up and around Justin’s head. Justin’s eyes widened, but he made no comment. He simply slid closer. Brian slid his arm around Justin’s shoulders and even started mindlessly rubbing his back – just letting a few fingers drift up and down Justin’s spine.

They lay like that for a long time. When Justin’s eyes finally drooped and he slipped off, Brian was still holding Justin and rubbing his back.

So no sex. But Justin wasn’t exactly complaining.

The morning was kind of a blur. Justin wasn’t that much of a morning person. Not since he’d started working at the paper anyway. Brian dragged him out of bed at an ungodly hour and shoved him under already running water. Brian was already showered and had apparently already gone to the loft and back because he had on clean clothes and had a small suitcase packed (a carry on-sized case). Justin discovered this after showering and dressing when he started making coffee or when he tried to start. The second Justin’s hand hit the coffee canister, Brian sauntered out of the bedroom carrying Justin’s messenger bag – now full – and said, “No time.” Then he picked up his own bag and headed out to the Jeep.

Justin was less than thrilled. He wasn’t keen on being formally ‘introduced’ (he wanted to be – in theory – but the reality was a bit terrifying) and even less so without a milligram of caffeine in his system. He snagged the album and medical report and followed Brian out the door. While also groaning. Emmett and Mikey’s mom had seemed nice. Ted hadn’t said a single word, so Justin had no idea what he was like or what he thought about Brian’s being in a relationship, but Mikey … Justin was dreading seeing him again.

This time Justin, not Brian, was lost in thought. Brian kept trying to catch and hold Justin’s attention, but to no avail.

Brian actually did so by answering the questions Justin had posed the night before. If Justin had been listening, he would have been thrilled. He didn’t think that Brian had been aware of anything at all the night before. But as it turns out, Brian had been paying a lot of attention. He just hadn’t felt like talking.

Brian said, “I liked the green tomatoes. That plus the lime gave the Gumbo extra tang and the coconut made it sweeter. A Thai twist. And the rice – much better than plain white or even brown. I wonder if anyone does Creole-Thai fusion. I’d go there. What do you think?”

Justin was looking out the window. He didn’t appear to have heard. Brian ran a hand over Justin’s shoulder. When Justin turned toward Brian, Brian asked, “Well? What do you think?”

Justin didn’t even really respond. He hadn’t heard a word Brian had said. In confusion, he asked, “Huh?”

Brian sighed. “Never mind.”

A couple of minutes later, Brian tried again.

“So I met Mikey when I was a teenager. Well, a pre-teen, I guess. Stupid word. A teenager’s a teenager. In the 10s. That’s all it means. That should cover 11 to 19. And what the fuck is a tween? I always thought it was for people in their twenties, but then I heard people saying that tweens lurve One Direction. We’re in deep shit trouble if twenty-year-olds still like boy bands.”

This Justin actually heard and responded to, explaining, “It’s 8 to 12 year olds … it’s short for between, between child and teenager.” Then he quickly disappeared back into his head.  

“Then what the fuck is a pre-teen?”

Justin did not answer.

In fact, he didn’t speak again until they arrived at the diner and Justin realized he hadn’t called Daphne.

Brian was unprepared. Justin’s eyes lighted on the diner and widened to the size of saucers. At the same time, he screamed, “OH FUCK.” Brian was glad Justin wasn’t paying attention because the scream caused Brian to jump, in a most uncool way. The scream became an anxious mutter. “I didn’t call Daph!”

Justin lit up the bat signal (called her), and Brian and Justin waited in the parking lot until she arrived. Justin REFUSED to exit the car until she was in sight.

Justin forgot about the bell. When Brian put hand to door and yanked, the sudden strident ringing caused Justin to jump. Daphne giggled. Then she grabbed Justin’s arm and drew him nearer. She stage whispered into his ear, “Maintain.”

That had the intended effect, reminding Justin of the time they had dropped acid and decided a fun adventure would be to get into Daphne’s car and, after allowing themselves to gaze in wonder at all the lit up switches and dials for 30 minutes, actually operated the motor vehicle, driving it to the nearest Perkins. Daphne drove. She managed NOT to kill them. Then they waited ten minutes (for a booth) in the waiting area, where Justin gazed in fascination and horror at an old woman sitting at the counter who kept drinking out of an empty glass. She would take a long ‘drink,’ smack her lips, and then say, “mmmm.” She repeated this process several times.

Daphne ended up dragging Justin away when the host came to seat them (Justin had been unable to pull his eyes away from the spectacle). At that point, they had seen little of the restaurant, so neither was feeling that uneasy. But following the host, they were suddenly surrounded by people, bright, bright lights, myriad colors, sounds, so many different sounds. Everything was so much brighter (‘cover-your-eyes bright’) and louder (‘cover-your-ears loud’). Justin’s eyes had widened, and he started glancing around nervously, quickly, too quickly (paranoiac speed). At one point in their journey to the table, he actually gasped and jumped. He was 75% the way to freak out. Then Daphne had slid her arm around Justin and whispered in his ear, “Main-tain. Focus on one thing. ”

Justin took her advice. He focused on the first thing his eyes lighted on after that. That ended up being the host’s ass. Justin’s was better (rounder), but the host’s wasn’t bad. In fact, Justin managed to focus so well that the host noticed and invited Justin to ‘give it a whirl’ in perhaps the most terrifying, yet delightful sexual experience Justin had had up to that point. Half the time, he couldn’t tell where the walls, the ceiling, and the floor were or where the host ended and the rest of the room began. Things swirled and spun and melted together. But the host was very helpful … guiding Justin’s dick and mouth where they should be. Ultimately, Justin had a fantastic orgasm, and the host was smiling when he waggled his fingers at Justin in goodbye, so he must have, too.

This was long before Ethan, long before the weight gain, when men hit on Justin all the time. The memory was bittersweet. It took his mind off of Mikey and offered him wisdom, as past experiences often do. He focused on Brian’s ass (to get a handle on his anxiety) and decided a second restaurant bathroom foray was in order. Justin laughed, remembering what Daphne was doing upon his return (from sex with the host during their acid trip). She had ordered a single pancake and asked for the multi-syrup holder (that holder was actually the object of their quest – the entire reason they had ventured forth from the safety of Daphne’s dorm room). She had cut the pancake into 20 pieces. She would pour a drop of syrup onto a pancake piece and then shovel it into her mouth, move the pancake piece around inside her mouth (as though it were a sip of the finest wine), smile, and swallow. Then repeat. She did that for each of the ten kinds of syrup, twice.

Brian pulled Justin out of his head. He cleared his throat and asked, his tone all annoyance, “Why are you staring at my ass?”

Justin was feeling all hyped up and nervous, so without thinking, he smiled seductively, winked, and purred suggestively, “Why do you think?” This was something he NEVER would have done normally. But more intense fears sometimes made Justin stand bravely against less intense fears. He had no idea why.

Brian’s face was suddenly empty of all expression, but the flush that passed over his face gave him away. The thought of Justin simply taking what he wanted TURNED HIM ON. That caused Justin to flush, too. In a matter of a second, his entire body was on fire.

Justin was so thrown by this observation that he was completely unaware that they’d reached a round booth in the back, at which sat Mikey, Emmett, Ted, two women Justin did not know (Mel and Lindsay), and Gus. Oddly, he became aware of this fact when Daphne singsonged, “Hey, little buddy!” And then in her normal, friendly tone added, “Hi Lindsay! Mel.” Daphne didn’t say hi to Mel. Instead, she nodded her head slightly. Brian and Justin (and in fact, everyone else) were confused.

Daphne was still holding onto Justin’s arm. He leaned close to her and whispered, “How do you know them?”

Daphne started to whisper back, but realizing everyone was listening to her, she said in a normal speaking voice, “The day Molly called me for her playdate with Gus, I went to Gus’s house, where I met his two mommies.”

Justin stiffened. He’d had no idea that they would be there. He smiled warmly and extended his hand toward Lindsay. “Hello, I’m Justin.” Lindsay smiled back and shook his hand, but her smile held less affection.

“Lindsay. Nice to meet you, Justin.”

Justin extended his hand toward Mel, but before she could respond, Gus threw his arms around Justin. He had slipped under the table while they were talking and crawled beneath it (Sweetie the mouse tucked carefully in his arm, which he held against his chest). The moment he emerged victorious, he hugged Justin, well, his leg. He exclaimed happily, “Hi daddy Jus!” Brian scoffed and threw his hands out in a helpless gesture. “Well, I guess I’m chopped liver.” Justin laughed softly at that and rubbed Brian’s back, not for long, but longer than Brian would have tolerated from anyone normally, and long enough for Mikey to notice and do some audible scoffing of his own. Emmett and Lindsay also noticed. That sent an eye brow skyward (Emmett’s) and eyes downward (Lindsay’s). She also sighed.

Gus held Sweetie the mouse aloft toward Justin. “Sweetie says, hi, too!”

Justin smiled even more warmly at Gus and ruffled his hair. Then he rubbed Sweetie’s head gently with his index finger. “Well, hello, to you, too! This is a nice surprise!”

Only then did Gus pay any attention to Brian. “Oh, hi, daddy!” He gave Brian’s leg a hug and then held Sweetie up toward him. Brian sighed and patted her on the head a couple of times. He looked almost embarrassed.

Then Gus snaked his head around behind Justin, searching but not finding Molly. He asked, a little forlornly, “Molly didn’t come?”

Justin wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t know your mommies were bringing you today.”

Gus shrugged. “That’s okay, I guess.” But he whimpered a little. Then he wheeled around and asked Lindsay plaintively, “Can I call her after school?”

Lindsay nodded. “Sure, honey. Now get back into your seat. Your pancakes will get cold.”

Daphne nudged Justin and they both started giggling.

In the booth sat (inside to outside) Ted, Emmett, and Mikey on one side and Gus, Mel, and Lindsay on the other. Daphne tried to sit next to Lindsay, but Brian said, “Uh uh” and guided her to the other side. She sat next to Mikey and Brian sat next to Lindsay, pulling Justin in after him.

Justin was facing Mikey the whole time. So Justin was able to keep an eye on him even while meeting Gus’s moms and talking to Gus. Mikey flinched visibly when Gus called Justin ‘daddy Jus,’ so much so that he inadvertently elbowed Emmett. Emmett gasped. But Mikey was completely oblivious. Then when Gus hugged Justin, Mikey rolled his eyes so hard they nearly entered his brain.

When Justin moved to sit next to Brian (Brian was actually pulling him by the hand), Mikey was so distraught at the handholding that he spoke without thinking, hissing, “You sure you want to risk it?” He looked under the seat on his own side. “I’m not sure how sturdy these are.”

Justin turned so red he was almost purple.

TBC soon…ran out of time. Sorry.

Lindsay gasped and chastised, “Michael …”

Emmett, Ted, and Mel just gaped.

And of course, Brian glared.

Daphne went a different way. She laughed loudly and punched Mikey jovially in the shoulder, perhaps a little harder than he would have liked. She said, through giggles, “Oh YOU …” She looked around at everyone else and pointed at Mikey. “This guy … hilarious!” Then she turned back to Mikey. “You have this … I don’t know …” She squinted as though thinking. “… this kind of Joe the Plumber … uh … lowest common denominator sense of humor. Friggen fabulous!” Daphne closed with a shit-eating grin.

Not immediately realizing he’d been insulted, Mikey grinned back and said a bit sheepishly, “Thanks.”

At such a Southern Belle-caliber shading, Emmett was beside himself. He decided he liked this girl. He was so beside himself he had to look out the window abruptly to prevent Mikey from seeing his facial expression. His eyes had grown wide and were now filled with amusement. He cleared his throat to stop the laughter from bubbling out.

It took Mel, Lindsay, and Ted 30 seconds or so to realize Daphne was insulting him. Then they all tried to hide their reactions. Mel rolled her lips into her mouth to prevent herself from laughing, Lindsay looked down and cleared her throat, and Ted covered his face with his hand.

Justin smiled, but weakly. He was still red and hot all over. All he wanted to do was to leave.

Brian almost pulled Mikey aside to tell him to cut the shit. But looking up at Justin, who was still standing, he realized that this was it. The do or die moment. He was still holding Justin’s hand. He threaded their fingers together. Then he took a deep breath (trying to prepare himself to say something out loud he’d only ever typed) and said calmly but firmly, a glint of menace in his eyes, addressing his words to Mikey but really speaking to everyone at the table, “Justin is beautiful. And my boyfriend, so even if you have the bad taste to disagree, keep it to yourself.”

Brian pulled a stunned Justin closer and guided him to a sitting position. Then he slid his arm around Justin’s shoulders.

Truth be told, Justin wasn’t the only stunned one. Daphne and Emmett both grinned, but Emmett upped the ante by placing his hands together and on his chest. Brian could almost see the pink cartoon hearts coming off Emmett in waves. Course, no one but Justin knew that Daphne was also squeezing Justin’s leg under the table. Mel nodded at Brian, rare admiration in her eyes. Lindsay smiled brightly, but her eyes lost focus and seemed sad. Ted’s eyes grew saucer size.

The only person who wasn’t stunned was Gus. He laughed. Then he exclaimed to Sweetie, “Daddy’s a little silly sometimes, Sweetie.” He turned toward his father and assured him, slowly, like Brian was an idiot, all the while nodding, “We KNOW Jus is booful, Daddy.” Gus had not yet been able to master pronouncing ‘beautiful’. Too many syllables, and the first one was a weird sound. “We won’t be mean and lie. Promise. Cause then we’d get in trouble.” That produced a lot of smiles and laughter.

Brian had glanced around at everyone else to gauge their reactions, but mostly he held Mikey’s eyes.

Finally, Mikey, who had been glowering this whole time, hissed, “This is bullshit.”

Lindsey chastised, this time in a much harsher tone, “Michael!” She turned to Gus and said, “Here, let’s get you cleaned up, honey. You’re all sticky from the syrup.” Then she grabbed Gus and carried him to the bathroom.

Once they were out of earshot, Mikey said, “What the hell?”

Brian widened his eyes, shook his head, and gestured helplessly. “What do you mean? What the hell, what?”

“So …let me get this straight. You go from just sex to a boyfriend just like that. No warning. No telling your best friend. Nothing. Just one day you wake up and decide you want to settle down?”

“No. It’s … complicated.”

“I see. So … we see you with the twink at Babylon and then the diner and then he disappears for two months … and you’re back to normal behavior. Tricking like crazy. Orgies. Then out of the blue he’s back and you’re in a RELATIONSHIP? Seriously?”

Justin stiffened. But Brian didn’t show any emotion. Calmly, he repeated, “Like I said, complicated.”

“But your son is calling him daddy Jus. What happens when Justin disappears again? You’re going to break your son’s heart by getting him attached to someone who clearly isn’t serious about this commitment?”

Justin huffed a laugh. Brian sighed. “I was the one to end our relationship or … whatever before.”

Mikey smiled and nodded. “Now THAT makes more sense. So YOU’RE not committed. And how could you be? You’ve never had any kind of relationship. They take hard work and patience. And TALKING. Expressing your thoughts and feelings. Sharing your time and space. Going on dates and vacations and shopping trips to IKEA. Brian-Fucking-Kinney at IKEA. I can’t even picture that! It’s too ridiculous for words. And of course, for any relationship to have a chance in hell, you need to be able to compromise. To give up some things you want to make the other person happy. When have you EVER sacrificed your happiness for ANYONE ELSE?”

That last accusation wounded Brian and perplexed Justin. Did his best friend know Brian at all? Sure Brian was selfish, but Justin had seen Brian be selfless, too. Brian turned down tricks to avoid hurting Justin. And left Babylon (twice) to make him feel more comfortable. Surely, Mikey could name many, many more instances, having known Brian a longer time.

“You’ll NEVER be able to do any of that. You actually give a shit about Gus but you barely see him. And sure, you show up to his birthday parties, but you leave after 45 minutes or an hour, to go get your dick sucked in the baths.”

Justin shook his head. If Mikey had seen Brian with Gus the times Justin had been there, he never could have doubted how much Brian loved Gus or how sweet he was with him.

Mikey continued on, undeterred, “And you fuck WAY too many tricks. Even if you manage to do any of the things I’ve mentioned, which is DOUBTFUL, he will eventually HATE you. No one can watch someone they love fuck so many other guys and not hate that person.”

Justin bit back a bright smile. Brian sighed. Then he confessed, “I stopped tricking.”

Mikey scoffed. Laughing long and loud. “Yeah … I give this two weeks, tops. You’ll never be able to last without tricking. NO WAY. A week, okay. Two weeks, maybe. No more.” Mikey laughed maniacally then, trying to imagine Brian turning guys down, remembering all of the times Brian had brushed him off for a quick fuck in the alley or a bathroom. “You can’t stop for gas without fucking a trick. Or go to the liquor store. Or eat at a restaurant. OR RIDE A GOD DAMNED ELEVATOR. This is insane!” He looked at Justin then, with almost pity in his eyes. “What do you want?”

Justin’s eyes widened. “What?”

“What do you want? Let’s say Brian MAGICALLY manages to stay faithful and do enough of the boyfriend stuff to make you NOT want to punch him in the face and leave. That’d be a miracle. I mean, whatever he says, he’s VAIN and SUPERFICIAL. He’s NEVER even fucked someone as … well … your size before. Being faithful and being any kind of boyfriend … to anyone but YOU especially …”

Justin paled.

“…that would AMAZE me. But let’s say for argument, it happens. I’m assuming you’ll eventually want him to say I love you … maybe have a commitment ceremony, a house, some kids. Do you think Brian will EVER be able to do that? Brian’s hardly father of the year to the kid he already has. And you’re looking at his family. Ask anyone if he’s been there when they needed him. Save yourself the pain. Get out now.”

Justin was about to respond, but Brian spoke first. In a clipped voice and with wide wild eyes, Brian asked, “You done?”

“What?”

“You done?”

Mikey nodded.

“This is happening. So get on board or get out of the way.” Brian plastered a fake smile on his face. “As much fun as this has been, Justin and I need to get on the road. We’re taking our first weekend trip.” He stressed ‘weekend trip’ and smiled at Mikey. The fakest of fake smiles. Mikey paled.

Daphne smiled. “Oh?”

“We’re going to North Carolina.”

Emmett got excited. “Where in North Carolina? Chapel Hill is nice. Course it doesn’t really matter. The BBQ all over the state is fantastic!”

Daphne held Justin’s eyes and repeated, “North Carolina?” She was miffed to say the least. She knew who lived in North Carolina.

Justin had the courtesy to look abashed. He whispered, “It’ll be fine. Promise.”

That’s when Lindsay reappeared. She’d actually taken Gus for a walk (using the back entrance) when she heard the shouting start.

Brian nudged Justin, indicating he should stand up. So he did. Brian approached Gus. He said, “We gotta go, buddy” and ruffled his hair.

Justin added, “We’ll set up another playdate for you and Molly soon.” Gus laughed.

Daphne got up, too.

Before turning to leave, Brian sighed and said, “Why don’t we try this again next week? Dinner at the loft. I’ll have Cynthia call you with details.” He looked at Mikey and held Mikey’s eyes with his own. There was an ultimatum there. Then Brian made a point of taking Justin’s hand in his and leading him out of the diner.

Neither Brian nor Justin was really okay after that scene, but they both pretended. Brian looked at Justin and then Daphne and asked, “Roy’s?”

Daphne and Justin smiled and nodded. Justin actually squeed. “Nothing like eggs, biscuits, and sausage gravy to recover from family unpleasantness.”

Daphne scoffed. “You have NO taste. Praline-pecan French toast all the way!”

They looked over at Brian. He shrugged. “Corn muffin.”

Justin and Daphne booed and hissed.

Brian shrugged. “Fine … the chicken fried steak and eggs. But we’re walking to North Carolina.”

Justin smiled. “Deal!” 

Brian and Justin took turns driving the nearly 500 miles (and nine hours) from Pittsburgh to Carrboro, North Carolina, where Ray now lived. It was a straight shot south to West Virginia. They traveled the length of West Virginia, heading toward the Appalachians, and then cut down through the narrowest part of Virginia and crossed the mountains before entering North Carolina. Then they traced the top of the state, heading toward and almost reaching the Atlantic Ocean.

They spent all nine hours navigating around a couple of fairly sizeable elephants in the Jeep … the diner experience and the upcoming family reunion.

The first hour, both Brian and Justin were mostly silent, talking only about the route they should take. But mostly, they were absorbed by their own thoughts.

Justin didn’t want to mention the diner for a couple of reasons …

One … he was embarrassed that Mikey had made such an issue about his weight, and he worried that Brian might at some point decide he couldn’t handle other people’s snarky comments about it. If Mikey could be so thoughtless and he was Brian’s best friend, what would other people say?

Two … he was a bit insecure about Brian’s commitment phobia. Justin didn’t know what kind of sway Mikey might have. He was terrified that Mikey’s forcing Brian to closely examine his decisions might cause Brian to rethink those decisions. If Mikey didn’t believe Brian was capable of making ANY kind of relationship work, let alone one involving fidelity, Brian might start to believe it, too. As it was, Brian was uncomfortable with the boyfriend label and he only promised to stop tricking because Justin had said that’s what Brian needed to do for Justin to start to get over his hurt and anger.

Three … he didn’t want to call attention to how sweet Brian had been. Brian had called Justin ‘beautiful’ – out loud and in public. Thinking back on it, Justin still couldn’t believe it. The last thing Justin wanted to do was to embarrass Brian any more than Brian probably already was.

Brian was also reticent to mention what’d happened at the diner. Part of it was he didn’t want to think too much about the decisions he’d been making regarding Justin. He didn’t regret anything, but examining his behavior too closely … that might cause him to lose his nerve. He wanted to be with Justin, but he was entering uncharted territory, so his resolve was precarious at best.

Part of it was that Brian was uncomfortable with what was to come. He hadn’t seen Ray in a LONG time, and he was FUCKING PISSED that Ray had just disappeared. Brian had grieved for Ray in a way he hadn’t for anyone or anything else in three decades. Well, except Justin (after the Dylan upset). And as much as Brian didn’t want to admit this, even to himself, he liked the idea that Ray might be his father. He had wished for that so often before Ray died … or rather … disappeared. Brian clenched his jaw. No, NOT before he died, NOT before he disappeared, before he ABANDONED Brian. At that thought, Brian cursed under his breath and looked out the window (and … blinked back tears). Wishes were stupid.

At the top of hour two, Brian and Justin both started to feel the discomfort of the silence. They were well on their way. They had run out of route-related comments.      

Justin almost asked Brian about work, but then he remembered Daphne’s ambush at dinner the other night and decided he’d better wait for Brian to bring that up.

Brian nearly asked Justin what restaurant he planned to review next, but he decided they ought to avoid food-related conversation for a while … just in case Mikey’s dickishness was still bothering Justin.

Justin kind of wanted to talk about the dinner Brian had mentioned before they left the diner, just in case Brian wanted Justin to cook (and Justin actually wanted to … he relished the opportunity to impress Brian’s friends), but he thought it might be better to wait for Brian to mention the idea, just in case he wasn’t serious about it.

Brian, as it turned out, extricated them from this quagmire of sensitive topics. He suggested they play a game: Weirdest, funniest, or grossest m4m craigslist ad. Real or made up. He opened with “Wanna facial? I’ll bring the cream (all-natural, protein rich!!!). You bring the cucumber ;)”

Justin burst out laughing. Then he offered his own: “Calling all hipsters. Need ca$h for ironic T-shirts or coffee? Come dirty and hairy, and I’ll lick you clean and snake out your pipes. $25 and a free shower (a real one).”

Thus, they kept each other amused the whole rest of the way, well, minus a couple of hours each for napping … and an hour for lunch …  

Now it was dusk. Justin was driving. He’d turned onto NC-54 and followed it until they reached Main Street. Along the way, they glimpsed (in the half light) a sign announcing the Carrboro city limit. Above the green sign sat a blue one that read: “A Bicycle-Friendly Community.” Justin said, “Huhn. That seems … ironic, given the name … CARRboro.”

Brian smiled faintly. He was starting to tense up. He was sitting as rigidly as the Abraham Lincoln statue at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington. He wanted to see Ray as soon as possible, but at the same time he didn’t. Part of him was thinking never would be too soon. So when Justin turned off Main Street onto a dark tree-lined side street, Brian started to panic, although he used all of his willpower (which was substantial) to sound nonchalant. He cleared his throat and breathed in and out slowly so that his breathing didn’t sound ragged or labored before suggesting lightly, “Maybe we should get a hotel room. It’s already almost 7:30. He might not want visitors so late.”

Justin glanced at Brian a couple of times – glances were all he could safely manage (the street was dark, and he’d already seen two deer romping around in what was effectively a patch of forest dotted by the occasional house) to try to gauge how freaked out Brian was. He didn’t know whether he should simply agree or point out that 7:30 was hardly midnight. In the end, he replied simply, “Ray’s house is up there on the left.” Then he asked, “Do you want me to stop or keep going?”

Brian actually cringed a little and then sighed softly. After a too-long pause, he answered, “Stop.” The word sounded like it had been wrenched out of Brian.

Justin nodded and a few moments later turned into the driveway (which was, oddly, a slight decline, and made of grass and gravel). He shut off the headlights and then the engine. But he didn’t move to exit the Jeep. Or say anything. He just waited.

Meanwhile, Brian looked down at the house (the house was up on stilts – to make the front flush with the ground since it was situated on the side of a hill). It looked almost like a log cabin. But with a huge porch spanning the front. The lights were on inside, and there was a window, but Brian couldn’t see much through it, just a bookcase on the back wall (the bookcase was jammed with books of all shapes and sizes – books lay in front of the row of books sitting properly on each shelf and even on top). Brian wondered how Ray maneuvered in a wheelchair. He didn’t see any kind of ramp, rail, or lift and the driveway and the house were on a downward sloping hill. The porch touched the ground though. No stairs. He didn’t see a vehicle of any kind either, though the driveway appeared to continue downward and curve behind the house. Maybe he parked there.

Suddenly Brian couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure he could do this. He was just about to tell Justin to start the Jeep back up, when the inner door opened, spilling light out onto the porch. Brian couldn’t see much, just a slim figure in a wheelchair. He jumped a little and even gasped when he heard the creak of the screen door swinging open. Then the man in the wheelchair rolled out onto the porch.

The man called out, in a voice so familiar tears stung Brian’s eyes, “You lost? Do you need directions?”

Brian forced his muscles to relax, actually moving his shoulders side to side and dropping his arms (in order to do so). Then he climbed out of the Jeep. Justin waited until Brian reached the front of the Jeep and then climbed out, too. The man Justin presumed was Ray looked up at Brian and squinted, Justin assumed to get a better look (it was quite dark out at this point – the sun had dropped below the horizon, but the moon had not yet risen). His eyes widened. He stared for almost a full minute. Then he asked, tentatively, his voice husky, “Brian?”

“Yeah, dad, it’s me.”

Ray and Brian just looked at each other for a LONG increasingly uncomfortable moment. Ray seemed too shocked to respond, and Brian wasn’t letting him off the hook. In fact, Brian’s eyes held defiance. He wanted to make Ray squirm.

Justin couldn’t take the tension, so he swallowed hard, rubbed his hands on his jeans (they were sweaty), and approached Ray. When he was close enough, he swung his hand out, smiled brightly, and said, “Hi! I’m Justin. Brian’s boyfriend. You must be Ray.”  

Ray glanced at Justin quickly before turning back to Brian, huffing a laugh and quirking an eyebrow. Justin was astonished. He’d seen Brian do that so many times. Now closer, Justin got a better look at Ray. He was tall or would be if he were standing. He had Brian’s slender figure, although his arms and chest looked more muscled, Justin assumed because he relied on them more since the accident. Justin couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but they had the same shape as Brian’s and Ray had Brian’s hair color, highlights (red and blond) and all (he could see the red and gold glinting in the light streaming out of the house). Ray looked a lot younger than he should (by Justin’s calculations he should be 52, but he didn’t look too much older than Brian). All this Justin noticed in just a few seconds. He was so absorbed though that Justin started a bit when Ray reached out and shook Justin’s hand. But he wasn’t looking at Justin. He was looking at Brian. He said, calmly, with a slight lilt to his voice, “You must be special. My boy’s never brought anyone home before.”

Justin glanced back at Brian nervously and then grimaced. Brian’s eyes were flashing dangerously, and his jaw was tight.

Ray released Justin’s hand and started wheeling himself over to Brian.  When he was in front of him, he reached down and pulled up two levers—Justin assumed they were tire locks, and asked, in a drawl with an undercurrent of something steely, like he was daring Brian (again, very like Brian’s voice on the many occasions Brian was jealous and playing with Justin), “You got something to say, son?”

Brian actually frowned then and shook his head.

Ray smiled impishly and, in the same smirking drawl, asked, “Is it because I’m a cripple?”

Brian’s response sounded like a breath pushed out, “What?”

Ray shrugged and lifted his chin. “Come on. I know you want to.”

For just a moment, Brian’s eyes held fear. Then the anger returned. “What?” A growl.

“Hit me.”

Brian actually looked scandalized. “I’m not hitting you.”

Ray looked directly into Brian’s eyes and held them with his own. He was no longer smiling. But he wasn’t frowning either. He looked …. resigned. “I deserve it, don’t I?” That moment of complete seriousness passed quickly. He shrugged again. “Here, let me help.” He grabbed two thick ropes, one with each hand, that neither Justin nor Brian had noticed (because it was dark). They took a moment to look around (squinting). There were thick ropes hanging from every tree. They were an arm’s length apart and everywhere, all over the property it seemed. The ropes were attached (on the other end) to trees but high above. Ray wrapped each rope a few times around the respective arm and pulled himself up to a standing position. He was as tall as Brian.

Brian was starting to understand why there was no ramp or rail or lift.  

 Ray nodded. “Go ahead.”

Brian was so shaken that he no longer had any control over his reactions. He barked, “I’m NOT going to fucking hit you.”

Ray looked disgusted. “I didn’t tell you that you were my son. I didn’t tell you I was alive. I lied to you OVER and OVER. You gonna just let that slide?”

Brian said nothing. Did nothing. He just stared.

“I missed your entire life. I left you with Jack. I KNEW what he had done.”

Brian swallowed hard and looked away.

“Wow!” He widened his eyes and shook his head (as though in amazement). “I let my brother abuse you. And what? That’s okay?”

Brian turned back to face Ray. He laughed but his eyes were glistening with unshed tears and when he spoke his voice was half-whisper and cracking, “No. But hitting you won’t make the scars go away.” Brian unfastened three buttons and traced a finger lightly over the right side of his chest. Looked like he was tracing part of a triangle. Brian tilted his head. His eyes were wide and intense. “Iron.”

Ray’s façade slipped for a moment then. He looked desolate. His eyes were suddenly shiny.

Brian shrugged. And laughed. Then he said, “Never get between a drunk and his booze. Lesson learned.”

Abruptly, Ray let go of the rope around his right arm and actually flung his arm around Brian’s shoulder. Brian was surprised, but he grabbed Ray by the waist, almost on reflex. Brian’s eyes were wide and filled with horror. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Ray’s voice shook. “Trying to hug my son.”

Brian let out a soft “Oh,” just a breath.

He hesitated for a moment but then leaned close and actually gave Ray a squeeze.

Ray surprised Brian again by throwing his right arm backward, catching up the rope he’d been holding before and using it to steady himself, and then using both ropes to lower himself back into his chair. He unlocked his tires, spun around, and headed back toward the house. As he went, he called out, “Grab your gear and bring it inside. I’ll make up the guest room.”

The second Ray turned, Justin started walking slowly over to Brian. The moment he heard the screen door bang closed, he grabbed Brian by the waist, pulling Brian into his arms. Brian actually let him. Justin ran his arms up Brian’s back and held him tightly, so tightly. Brian didn’t respond at first. His arms hung limp. For a full minute, he did nothing. Suddenly, abruptly, he slid his hands up Justin’s arms and around his shoulders. He clung to Justin and buried his face in Justin’s neck. Brian didn’t cry. In fact, the tears that had threatened to fall during his ‘confrontation’ with Ray dried. He just allowed himself to feel the roughness of the slight stubble on Justin’s cheek and the softness of his neck. To hear Justin breathing and in fact to breathe him in.

Brian had missed ‘this’ so much during their two-month separation. Every time Justin fell asleep in Brian’s presence (after the movie and Roy’s takeout on the couch at Justin’s apartment, the first time they fucked, the morning Brian broke his toe, and the night of Brian’s concussion), Brian would bury his face in Justin’s neck and listen to him breathe. Even before, the nights they spoke on the phone, it was Justin’s breathy purr that lulled Brian into relaxation and then sleep. ‘This’ had the desired effect, as always. His heart rate slowed, his breathing evened out, he relaxed.

Just as suddenly as Brian had held Justin back, he let him go. Brian put himself on autopilot. He went to the Jeep, opened the door, and grabbed their bags. Then he looked over at Justin, smiled faintly, and headed into the cabinesque house.

Ray called from somewhere else in the house, “Back here.” Brian and Justin followed his voice down a hallway. They walked into the first lit up room they saw. The door was closed, but light streamed from beneath the door. Brian opened the door and walked in. From around a corner neither Brian nor Justin had seen, Ray called frantically, “No, not there. Down here.”

But it was too late. Ray arrived just as Brian asked, “What IS all this?” The room was filled with A LOT, but the first thing anyone walking into the room noticed was the presents. Piles and piles of gift wrapped packages.

Seeing tags on the boxes, Justin knelt down and looked at a few. He read them out loud. “To Brian, Happy 8th Birthday. Love, Dad. To Brian, Merry Christmas! (1980) Love, Dad. To Brian, Happy 14th birthday! Love, Dad. To Brian, Happy High School Graduation! Love, Dad” Justin shook his head in incredulity. He exclaimed, “Holy crap! Are there presents here for every holiday?”

Ray sighed. “Yeah.”

It was at that point that something else caught Brian’s eye. A wall in the back, covered in pictures of birthdays, Christmases, and graduations (high school and college) and newspaper clippings … articles from the school newspaper for the soccer team Brian captained, the article the Gazette ran in the local section when Brian’s team made nationals, articles Brian had written for his college newspaper, Gus’s birth announcement from the Gazette, the article the Gazette ran on Brian when he won the Clio … Brian saw programs from both his graduations … magazine ads and pictures of billboards – his campaigns. There was even a video tape labeled ‘Brian’s commercials.’

Brian turned around. He couldn’t breathe and his eyes were once again welling up. Brian gaped at Ray for a moment before swallowing hard and asking again, this time with confusion and desperation in his voice, “What is all this?”

Ray shrugged. “Your mother sent the pictures from when you were growing up. Everything else I got my hands on. The presents … I made an agreement with your mother. She promised me something and in exchange I was to stay away, but I don’t know. I don’t know if I hoped I could give them to you when you’d still have a use for any of them … or if I just wanted to feel part of your life … I don’t know. I just kept making them … wrapping them up and putting them in here.”

Brian rasped, “What promise did she make?”

Ray huffed a laugh and ran a hand over his forehead. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

There was an edge to Brian’s voice now. “What promise did she make?”

Ray clenched his jaw. “It doesn’t matter. I was stupid enough to believe she was willing and able to keep it. That’s on me.”

Brian’s voice suddenly held vulnerability. It actually shook. “What. Promise. Did. She. Make?”

In a voice so tiny Brian barely heard him, Ray answered, “To keep you safe.” Then louder, he added, “Like this” he gestured at the wheelchair “I couldn’t take care of you. I could barely take care of myself. I NEEDED her to be able to protect you … Jack nearly killed me when I tried.”

Brian abruptly declared, “I need some air” and moved toward the door. Unfortunately, Ray had stopped in the doorway, so he was currently blocking Brian’s way. Ray and Brian looked at each other. But Brian’s eyes were empty of everything, so Ray moved back and let Brian pass.

Watching Brian’s retreating form, Ray sighed again and spun around. He called to Justin, “So the guest room is down here,” and headed toward it.

Justin picked up the bags Brian had set down and followed.

The room was clean but Spartan. A queen-sized black platform bed with matching night stands and a mahogany dresser. Justin laughed. He muttered, “If these are 400 thread count Egyptian cotton…”

Ray smiled in confusion.  “What?”

Justin laughed softly and sat on the bed. “This is a lot like Brian’s bed in Pittsburgh. Only he has Egyptian cotton sheets. Very pricey.”

“Ah.” Ray shrugged. “I got the softest ones I could find. I don’t know what kind of cotton it is.”

Justin smiled. “You and Brian have similar taste. Only the best. Did you build this house?”

“Yes. After a few years of drowning myself in booze, I happened to go home with a hot contractor. He brought me to his log cabin – no lie – and pulled a Kathy Bates in Misery on me.”

Justin’s eyes widened.

“And by that I mean, he persuaded me to remain in his bed for a couple of days. There may have been some bondage, but it was consensual.”

Justin rubbed his face with his hands and giggled. “You and Brian are SO alike. Crazy. So…what happened after the two days?”

 “He said he’d help me build a log cabin type house of my own but only if I stopped fucking around for at least as long as it took the house to get built.”

“Shrewd negotiator.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Ray nodded and grinned. “I later discovered that we could have finished several months earlier, but he was dragging his feet.”

“Did you stay with him the whole time?”

Ray scoffed. “No. Are you kidding? From my perspective then, romantic relationships were for the weak. He was good in bed … I should clarify … the sex actually rarely happened in bed … anyway … so fucking just one guy for a while wasn’t too bad. But LIVING TOGETHER … nope. He managed to trick me into dates though. You know … oh there’s this beautiful hardwood in Charleston … we should check it out … then after we’d taken a look, he’d say … oh you must be hungry. Why don’t we have dinner before we head back? After dinner and a few drinks, it would be late … so he’d say … why don’t we get a room and leave in the morning? Then it’d turn out he’d made reservations … there’d be wine, a balcony, a beautiful view of the ocean … then the next day … oh you know, we’re right near these beautiful little islands. Why don’t we take a boat and do a little nude sunbathing? Just a couple of hours …”

“Damn, he’s good.” Justin nearly burst out laughing. Sounded like Ray and the contractor had a little pretext of their own (like Brian and Justin had Joe, they had the house).

“Yup.”

“What happened after the house was done?”

“I had a housewarming party.”

“Uh oh.”

Ray nodded. “Yeah … I had quite a few dance partners that night.”

“How did he take that?”

“About as well as you’d expect. He walked into the bedroom and found two guys working me over … one was riding me and the other was sucking on various parts of the rest of my body. He came in at the big finale. I defended myself, ‘I kept my promise. What did you expect? I’m a man. This is what men do.’ He countered with ‘No, that’s what jackasses do’ and left. Didn’t even stay long enough to watch me open the gift … not that I blamed him.”

Justin frowned. “What was it?”

“Hmmm?”

“The present.”

“Oh … the little fucker had hand carved me a two foot tall grizzly bear. He always said I growled like one.”

“Awww … man.”

“Yeah.”

“Then what?”

“He showed up everywhere I was … started picking up guys right in front of me and fucking them where I could see them at it.”

“Holy crap!”

“Yup.”

“How long did that last?”

“A while. I was a stubborn prick. I treated it like a game. Kept trying to outdo him. He fucked one hot guy, I’d fuck two. He’d fuck a fireman. I’d fuck a porn star. And on and on.”

“How did it end?”

“He started dating one of them. A professor at UNC Chapel Hill.”

“Oh no!”

“I deserved it. That’s when I got my shit straight.”

“How so?”

“Seeing him fuck other guys was bad. Seeing him kiss other guys, worse. But seeing him hold hands … get all wrapped up over candlelit dinners … imagining him sleeping in the same bed with him … that was unbearable.” Ray cleared his throat. “So I did what any reasonable person would do.”

Justin closed his eyes and covered his face. He knew where this was going.

“I got LIT UP and crashed one of their dates.”

“OH MY GOD. You didn’t!”

“I did. I was a complete ass. And worse yet, for most of it, I wasn’t even applying my scathing wit. I was ridiculous and incoherent. If I were him, I would have been thanking my lucky stars that I’d gotten rid of me.”

Justin groaned softly in commiseration.

“Later that night, I took a cab over to his house. I got out okay, but I had trouble going up his driveway (it’s pretty steep). I crashed my chair (that is to say, I fell in the ditch on the right side of it). Then I CRAWLED (thank goodness I have pretty amazing upper body strength) out … up the driveway … up the stairs to the front door … down the hall into his bedroom … and up into his bed.”

“Oh shit! Was the other guy there?”

“No. I was, as I said, TRASHED, but I did manage to say, ‘You win.’ And when he looked confused, I clarified, ‘Marry me.’”

Justin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Did he say yes?”

Ray opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t have the chance. Someone else replied, “He certainly did NOT. I made Ray ask me proper. PS: Brian, I presume … is headed down to the crick. You should check on him. It’s dark. He might get turned around.”

Justin offered, “I can go.”

Ray shook his head. “No. Let me.”         

A/N: I want to apologize to everyone for being MIA. I did say something about that on my LJ, but not everyone reads it (it’s violette7.livejournal.com). I’ve been dieting the past 5 days, and as I’ve been adjusting, I’ve struggled to concentrate enough to write. Today I think I’ve started getting a handle on it, so there should be no more disappearing acts. Cross your fingers. Life can be a b--.

Ray grabbed a lantern on his way down, but he didn’t light it until he reached Brian. Brian was sitting on a tree that had come down with a wicked crack during one of North Carolina’s famously fierce thunderstorms. The tree was charred and broken but, even still, fairly sturdy. Ray had special wheels on his chair to allow him to roll through brush and other ‘rough’ terrain, but not to jump over logs. He didn’t want there to be any space between him and Brian, so when he’d gotten as close as he could in his chair, he set the lantern on the ground, grabbed two ropes hanging from nearby trees, and actually lifted himself up out of the chair and over the log. He lowered himself down carefully, but not carefully enough. He slid off the log onto his ass.

Brian asked, his voice decidedly NOT friendly, “Do you need help?”

Ray turned bright red (he’d worked so hard to maintain something of his ‘masculinity’ and dignity) and replied as cheerfully as he could manage, “Nope.” He grunted as he reached back, grabbed the log firmly with both hands, and lifted himself up into a sitting position.

Ray glanced away and, as silently as possible, caught his breath. He didn’t want Brian to know how difficult lifting himself was, even with the upper body strength he had stubbornly cultivated, even during his drinking years. When he felt he could speak normally, he grabbed the lantern, set it in front of them so that it released a soft ambient glow (without shining in their faces), and said, “Justin’s cute. How long--?”

Brian cut Ray off. “Seriously? You want to chit chat? You are unfuckingbelievable.” He stood and took two steps forward. He stared at the black unmoving pool before him.

Ray sighed. He began, “Brian –“

Brian cut Ray off again. He turned to face his father and hissed, “You’re a fucking coward.”

Ray didn’t say or do anything. He didn’t even blink. He just waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

“You were a scared little faggot then. You’re a scared little faggot now.”

Ray clenched his jaw. He was not used to this ‘reappropriation’ (or taking back of) offensive terms, not for homosexuals anyway. But he still said nothing.

 Against his will, Brian’s voice broke, “Would you EVER have let me know you were alive? That you’re my father? If Justin hadn’t found you, would you have EVER done ANYTHING?”

Ray swallowed hard. He replied simply, “No.”

Brian clenched both his fists and growled. Then he turned away. For a long moment he just stood there clenching. Then he buried his face in his hands. He thought he might go insane. He was SO SO VERY angry. When he’d regained some of his control, he spun around. “Why?” That question came out more pleading than demanding. Brian cringed at his own voice, which wouldn’t stop betraying him.

“When I realized … I” Ray sighed and let his head fall. “… by then, you didn’t need me anymore. What would have been the point?”

“To get to know me. To get to know your grandson.” Brian paused then. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. He added, softly, so softly Ray barely heard him, “To be in my life.”  

“I didn’t think you’d want that … that you’d let me …”

Brian lifted his head and opened his now blazing eyes. “Is that it? Or is it that you were ashamed? When you supposedly died, you were a hero to me. Staying away, were you protecting me or YOU? I think you were afraid I’d see you for who you truly are. Not Kelly. But Clara. Someone Jack and even Joan could push around.”

Ray’s eyes widened in confusion. “Clara?”

Brian sighed in annoyance. “Clarence Johnson. He designed the P-38 Lightning.”

Ray smiled in spite of himself. He remembered the hours and hours they had spent a lifetime ago it seemed talking about planes. And about Richard Bong, who famously flew one in WWII.

“Other boys bullied Clarence in school. They called him ‘Clara’ and beat the crap out of him. Until the day he broke another kid’s leg. Then they started calling him Kelly, after Michael Kelly.”

“Michael Kelly?”

Brian shrugged. “I don’t know. Some attractive breeder. The point is, Clarence decided he wasn’t going to let people kick him around anymore. He defined himself. He chose his own fate. And he ended up designing a bad-ass plane. You didn’t. You just lay there and took it. You didn’t fight for you OR me. And even after that, you were still too chickenshit – too afraid of what I might think of you – to tell me you were even alive.” Brian’s voice broke on the last word. He tried to ignore the irony, the hypocrisy of deriding his father for being too cowardly to speak, too guided by his own pride, too afraid of what someone might think or say to be honest. Was he not just as guilty? Hadn’t he hurt someone for whom he cared deeply to protect his reputation?

“You’re right. I wanted to be your hero. And I failed, spectacularly, but I still wanted you to remember me as one. And … I didn’t think I had anything to offer you. I didn’t think you could forgive me. I didn’t think I deserved your forgiveness.”

“You don’t.”

Ray clenched his jaw. “If that’s true, why the fuck are you here? Huh? No one’s forcing you to stay. You came. You called me a piece of shit. If that’s all you wanted, then fucking leave.”

“Good idea.” With that, Brian stomped off, back toward the house.

A/N: This ended up being mostly character sketch of Ray’s partner. I hope that’s okay.

“Hi! I’m Justin.” Justin paused and looked at Ray’s partner expectantly. The man appeared younger than Justin expected, maybe ten or fifteen years younger than Ray. He was tall, black, and fairly well built, with broad, broad shoulders, well-defined abs observable even through his T-shirt, and muscled arms. Justin imagined this came from building houses. Justin suddenly felt self-conscious. He had sat down on the bed after entering the room. Now he sat back a little and hunched over slightly, hiding his belly. He even sucked it in a bit. All this, he did unconsciously, like he had done thousands of times in the recent past.

Ray’s partner smiled brightly, a charming player’s smile … the kind of smile that padded over to you on velvety paws and rubbed up against you. Justin flushed slightly and nervously ran his fingers through his hair. The man’s deep, deep chocolate eyes pierced Justin, seemingly discerning all his sins with a single glance. Justin cleared his throat softly. After a full minute of charged discomfort, Ray’s partner spoke like he smiled, all charm, warmth, and music. “You’re adorable.” He extended his hand, but he didn’t step closer first. Justin was forced to stand and move closer to him to reach his hand. Justin likewise extended his, but Ray’s partner didn’t wait for Justin to make contact. He quickly captured Justin’s hand in his. In fact, Ray’s partner’s hand seemed to swallow Justin’s whole. Justin was suddenly conscious of a detail that had escaped his initial cursory ‘evaluation.’ The man’s hands were huge! Though not clownishly so. And his grip was firm, but not alpha-male firm. More protective than dominating. Justin found himself eager to see him interact with Ray. Justin had difficulty imagining their dynamic (Ray was very much an alpha – but his partner … he somehow fell in between alpha and beta), but his curiosity was piqued. Justin actually noticed that his face was growing quite hot. That observation just made it worse. Justin was not supposed to be ‘drawn to’ anyone else, let alone Brian’s father’s partner. The situation was ridiculously incestuous. He quickly withdrew his hand and stepped back.

Ray’s partner laughed merrily. His eyes shone with an evil glint. He clapped Justin on the back kindly and said, “Nice to know marriage hasn’t cost me my sex appeal.”

Justin laughed in relief. He’d started to fear that the man was genuinely trying to pick him up.

“I’m Clive.”  

Justin sat back down on the bed.

Clive actually entered the room now (he’d been standing in the doorway up until then), but rather than joining Justin on the bed, he half-sat on the edge of a low, long dresser. He shook his head. “So, wow. Brian’s here.”

Justin nodded.

“How did that even happen? It was my understanding that Brian’s mother told Brian that Ray was dead.”

“She did. I got curious and googled Ray. He doesn’t seem to have any kind of online presence …”

Clive laughed. “Oh, no. Hell no. He’s an old dog. To him, a twitter is what happens when he goes into a club (among the more femme queens). You don’t even want to know what he thought ‘a g-mail’ was … he heard g-e-e-m-a-l-e.”

Justin smiled brightly. “So … uh … All I could find were a couple of articles about the accident.”

Clive stiffened.

“That’s where I learned that Ray hadn’t died in the accident. And that the police thought ‘the accident’ wasn’t an accident.”

Clive nodded solemnly.

“After that, I started to do some more digging. I talked to one of his parents’ neighbors. From her, I learned that Ray was most definitely alive. Then at the hospital, I discovered that he was living in North Carolina.”

Clive smiled seductively and even winked. “You’re very resourceful.”

Justin laughed nervously. He really wished Clive would stop flirting with him. “How do you think it’s going down there?”

Clive shrugged. “My money’s on not well. Ray’s not exactly a sweet talker. He can get defensive and stubborn. Mule stubborn.”

Justin sighed. “Should we intervene?”

Clive waved dismissively. “Nah. Some conversations …well, fights, have to happen. Whatever his motivation, Ray did Brian wrong, and he needs to answer for that.”

Justin shifted uncomfortably and grimaced. “Why did Ray go along with all of this?”

Clive tilted his head side to side and made a mmmm noise before replying, “Ray was afraid he’d turn out like his father.” His eyes then were unaccountably sad. A moment later, Clive clapped his hands together softly, as though to mark a shift in mood. “Let’s talk about something less doom and gloom. How long have you and Brian been dating?”

Justin shook his head and looked at the floor, more specifically at his shoes. Then he stole a glance at Clive’s. Italian leather. He huffed a laugh Even Ray had had stylish shoes, and he didn’t even use his feet (Justin knew how macabre and inappropriate that thought was … but he couldn’t help it). Justin ran a hand over his face. He really needed a new wardrobe. His own style was so hipster ‘chic’ he almost looked homeless. He kicked his worn out sneakers against the leg of one of the end tables. Justin actually covered his eyes with his hands at that point. He’d started looking at his shoes to avoid an unpleasant topic, but even something as simple and seemingly harmless as shoes brought it home to Justin how unlike each other he and Brian were. He wondered how they could possibly have a happy ending with circumstances like that.

Clive prodded Justin gently with a soft “Justin …”

Justin uncovered his eyes and lifted his head. “Not long. We met a few months ago, but we’ve only technically been dating for a week.”

“Ah.” Clive nodded. “When was the first time you fucked?”

Justin’s face grew warm again. “A couple weeks after we met.” He was still getting used to Ray and Clive’s candor. His mother would never speak the way they did.

Clive showed surprise. “Wow! He must really like you. That’s long, about a year on the breeder timeline.”

Justin laughed nervously. “No …”

Clive nodded firmly. “Even a day is long. So I’m guessing he’s got a lot of game …”

Justin’s face grew even redder. “Yes, definitely.”

Clive opened his mouth to pose another question, when the object of his ‘interrogation’ entered the room. ‘Entered the room’ doesn’t quite describe what happened. Imagine the cartoon Tasmanian devil. That’s much closer to the truth. In fact, he nearly knocked Clive over in his haste to reach Justin.

Then he barked, “I hope you haven’t unpacked. We’re leaving.”

Justin’s eyes widened. “What? Why? What happened?”

Only then did Brian become aware that they were not alone (Clive had cleared his throat softly, causing Brian to turn to look for the source of the noise). He said, “Oh. Hi.”

Clive stood. Justin noted that Clive and Brian were about the same height. Justin expected Clive to introduce himself and extend a hand, but instead, he turned and walked out of the room.

Brian assumed that Clive was giving them privacy, so he shrugged and turned back to face Justin. Then he answered Justin’s question. No. He replied to the question. He didn’t really answer it though. He said simply, “We shouldn’t have come here.”  

Justin was about to pose a follow-up question when Clive re-entered the room. He was carrying a wrapped box. Brian saw Justin looking at something and turned to look himself.

Clive proffered the box and said, “Open this first.”

Brian half scoffed (he was both annoyed and confused). “What?”

Clive shrugged. “If you want to leave, safe travels. But first, open this.”

Brian grimaced in disgust. “Why?”

Clive sighed softly. “Humor me.”

Brian clenched his jaw and sighed heavily, but he took the box and sat on the bed next to Justin. The box was big, bigger than a breadbox. The note indicated that this present was for last Christmas. The paper didn’t really match the season though. It was striped (lime and sky blue stripes).

Clive said, “This is just one for this past Christmas.”

His statement made no sense (why would that matter?) until Brian had pulled the wrapping paper off. It was a child’s toy. A very elaborate one made of a soft, light colored (unpainted) wood. It was a barn filled with animals. Each of the animals had wheels. The wheels caused Brian to forget everything for a moment. Brian lifted the cow, flipped it upside down, and drew his fingers along the wheels, setting them spinning. As he did so, he looked over at Justin and smiled softly.

Justin grinned. In wonder, he exclaimed, “Just like Sweetie.”

Clive asked, “Who is Sweetie?”

Justin was about to answer, but Brian beat him to it. Brian said, with no trace of the anger or annoyance or hurt his voice had held but moments ago, “My son’s pet mouse. She’s actually a cat toy, but that doesn’t matter to him at all. She has wheels, too.”

Clive smiled. “Oh.”

Brian looked back down at the barn. For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Brian asked, in a voice that shook, “Did … did Ray hand carve the animals?”

Clive nodded. “Yup.”

Brian nodded. He handed the box to Justin, though he had not put the cow back into the barn, so that was still in his hand. Then he stood and walked out of the room.   

Clive glanced over at Justin, Justin imagined, because he hoped Justin had some idea what was happening, but Justin shrugged and gestured with his hands (flipping them palm side up) to emphasize his complete bafflement.   

He set the box on the bed and followed Brian.

Clive waited a moment, but, quickly overcome by curiosity, he trailed behind Justin (at a distance).

Both Justin and Clive ended up standing on the interior side of the screen door. Brian had gotten as far as the porch before, apparently, running into Ray, who had gone after Brian, but, of course, his pace was much slower (he had to get back into his chair from the log and then go up a hill).

Brian and Ray stared at one another for what seemed an eternity without saying anything.

Finally, Brian waved the cow at Ray and said in a voice that threatened to shatter, “I haven’t forgiven you…”

Ray resisted the urge to smile. The unspoken ‘yet’ was palpable, reverberating in the silence. Instead he nodded solemnly.

“…But …”

Ray repeated, he hoped not too eagerly, “But …?”

Brian had recovered his composure, but he hadn’t rebuilt the walls, not yet. His voice was soft and almost kind. “But Gus ... he would want to know you. He deserves a grandfather.” Brian’s voice changed then. The hurt and anger had resurfaced. “For him, I’ll make the sacrifice.”

Ray heard, loud and clear, the implications. Brian would do what was best for his son even if it hurt. He was the better man, the better father. Ray cleared his throat and swallowed hard, trying to swallow down the tears that welled up (partly in relief and joy, partly in grief). “So you’ll stay the weekend then?”

Brian nodded. “Yes. We should start building some kind of relationship. Otherwise, his mothers won’t let you see him.”

“Fair enough.” Then Ray did something he would NEVER normally do. Something his pride wouldn’t normally allow him to do. He asked softly, “Could you help me? I think I pulled something down there.”

Clive was shocked, and that shock registered quite obviously and immediately, but he hid the emotion just as quickly. As fast as the shock appeared, it vanished. Clearly Ray was hoping to generate a little sympathy … he probably thought that would cultivate some son-ly (filial) affection. Clive smiled a little sadly. Ray would have been an excellent father. He gave Brian so easily, so quickly what he’d fought tooth and nail to keep from Clive and everyone else (his pride). And the ploy seemed to be having some effect. Brian was no longer scowling. He was patiently and carefully wheeling Ray up the rest of the way (to the porch) and then through the door.

Ray asked, “So you two must be starving. How about some BBQ? There’s a place near us that delivers … their sauce is sweet and tangy and they put coleslaw on top. Have you ever had sweet potato fries? They are a local delicacy. Delicious!”

Justin actually jumped a little (in joy and excitement). “YES! PLEASE!”

That relaxed Brian further. He actually smiled (and shook his head).

A/N: Sorry I missed yesterday. I had a dental emergency – ended up having a tooth pulled.

While Ray ordered the food and they awaited delivery, Brian and Justin ‘freshened up.’ They unpacked their clothes and put them into the empty dresser and even took showers. Separate showers. This freaked Justin out, but he didn’t say anything. He knew Brian probably needed alone time to process. At his father’s house and with a boyfriend, he would have precious little of that. He was probably also tired of people watching him like a hawk desperately trying to discern feelings Brian was working hard to hide.

End result – Justin didn’t have a chance to talk to Brian privately before the food arrived.

The BBQ had offered fodder for conversation. Even for Brian, since he had enjoyed Roy’s BBQ on more than one occasion. But once they had cleared the table and blown out the candles (Clive sure knew how to dress up take out), a silence rose and spread, stifling, choking them all. They had retired to the porch to smoke (cigarettes). The night was warm, and the soft breeze, fragrant (sweet with flowers Justin couldn’t identify). They (excepting Ray) sat on a wicker couch set on the porch and placed their feet up on the wooden fence fronting the porch. The near total darkness helped. Made the silence more palatable.

Ultimately, Justin spoke first. He did so out of a deep, nearly desperate need, one he was hardly proud of, to learn more about this man with whom he’d fallen deeply in love, and in a ridiculously short period of time. He asked, “So Ray, do you have any pictures of Brian from when he was little?” He even offered a little quid pro quo. “When I was at your parents’ house, I found a photo album of you when you were younger.”

Even in the dim light of the moon, Justin could see the puzzlement on the man’s face, but before he could ask any of the questions that statement likely inspired, Clive responded, and eagerly, “Really? I MUST see that. Why don’t we head back in? I’ll grab what we have out of the crawl space. You grab the one you found, and we can meet in the kitchen.”

Brian asked, “Why the kitchen?”

Ray laughed. “That’s all Clive. He spent most of his childhood in the kitchen with his mom and sisters, cooking, baking, eating, drinking coffee, dancing to The Miracles, the Marvelettes, The Supremes, the Jackson 5, and Marvin Gaye. For him, the kitchen is the center of every home.”

“It was also where my father and brothers were NOT.” Clive explained, “They spent most of their time on the porch listening to baseball games or out in the yard playing football or fixing my dad’s pickup, which always seemed to be breaking down. Yuck.”

Brian quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t you build houses for a living?” The implication was clear. Wasn’t Clive one of the more ‘manlier’ queer folks?

Clive laughed, a deep warm belly laugh. “I didn’t really tap into my masculinity until I went to college, oddly enough. Up until then, what I would call the hypermasculine seemed synonymous with homophobia. I grew up in a culture that portrayed gay men as feminine and weak. Even just by implication. If you cried after falling out of a tree or didn’t immediately get up after being tackled during football, my father or one of my brothers would say, ‘Stop being such a fag.’ Style was more acceptable for men than it is, I think, in white culture, as are certain kinds of dancing, but the way you carry yourself as a man was heavily policed. If I crossed my legs, put my knees together, or gestured at all, I got dirty looks and more angry admonishments (to be a man, whatever that is). With my mother and my sisters, I could just be natural. They never commented, with their words, their eyes, their faces, or their body language. Homophobes instilled stereotypes that I only started to transcend when I saw other gay men doing ‘gay’ differently. Some were more in touch with their femininity (like I had been growing up), but some were very athletic and handy. I kind of had to do some trial and error exploring to start to understand who I was. Gay is an orientation, NOT a gender identity. I don’t think many, especially straight people, really understand that. I think the confusion comes from the fact that gay men, being transgressive in their sexuality, allow themselves to enjoy parts of gender (of femininity) that most straight men are afraid to admit to liking. Also, I think many gay men, like me, embrace the stereotypes on purpose to create what Dan Savage calls a ‘fierce field’ to protect themselves in some ways (keep others at bay) and to give a big fuck you to dudebros, you know, intentionally and wholeheartedly rejecting straight guy masculinity. When I got older and had a wider variety of role models, I stopped living in reaction to the haters and just lived for me. As it turns out, I prefer a mix of the masculine and feminine.”

Ray cleared his throat. He teased, “Do you need help down?”

Clive narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What?”

“Down off your soapbox.”

Clive nodded slowly and smiled a scary smile. “Keep talking like that and you’ll need to learn how to such your own dick.”

Ray cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. “So … uh … yeah … photo albums. Great idea, dear. Let’s do it!”

Ray pronounced ‘dear’ sweetly and even smiled after. He also clapped loudly after ‘let’s do it.’

Clive nodded smugly. “Glad to see you’ve got your priorities in order.”

“It’s not missing out on BJs I’m worried about, although yours are, OF COURSE, beyond compare. No … your comment just drove it home that I may inadvertently have hurt you … and I …” Ray bit back a smile and said solemnly, too solemnly, “I just love you SO MUCH.”

Clive walked over to Ray and purred, “Oh you …” Then he kissed him gently on the lips.

This innocent peck quickly turned into some seriously heavy petting.

Justin smiled brightly. He’d never really spent extended periods of time around long ‘married’ gay couples. What he saw gave him hope. Brian seemed similarly affected because, out of the blue, he placed his hand on Justin’s back and rubbed it gently. After a few moments, Justin stood and pulled Brian by the hand up and then into the house (the kiss had exceeded the length of time appropriate for public viewing).

By the time Clive and Ray had come up for air (and located the photo albums), Justin had grabbed the photo album he’d found at the Kinneys and figured out how to make coffee using their machine (which had a grinder inside). This task took a while (he had to find the coffee, the filters, and the mugs and get the machine going).

Brian was already sitting at the kitchen table, photo album open, flipping through with an impassive expression on his face.

When Ray entered the room, he situated himself next to Brian, close enough to see at what Brian was looking at. Clive stood behind Brian.

Justin poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down on Brian’s other side.

Ray said, “Wow. That’s me at sixteen.” Brian had been looking at a picture of Ray bare to the waist holding a football aloft, mid throw. “I did the opposite of Clive. I embraced the hypermasculine. I should have been angry at my father – he was a lot like Jack.” Ray snuck a look at Brian and then returned his eyes to the picture. “But honestly, all I ever wanted was his approval. That’s why I joined the football team, dated women, even going so far as to fuck my brother’s wife, and enlisted in the marines.”

Clive moved behind Ray and placed his hands gently on Ray’s shoulders. Then he observed softly, “You and Brian look a lot alike, or you did, before you got all old and grizzled.”

Ray scoffed. “I do pretty good for old and grizzled. Even being a cripple. Every time we go to a party, I’ve got twinks left and right whispering in my ear propositioning me, slipping me their numbers …”

Clive leaned down and nibbled on his ear. Then he whispered, not softly enough, “Yeah but who do you go home with? Hmmmm?”

Ray just laughed.

Brian had been staring at the picture of Ray at 16 this whole time. He even ran a finger over young Ray’s face. When he realized what he was doing, he cleared his throat, blinked a couple of times, and turned the page. He drew his breath in sharply at what he saw. Ray was in hospital scrubs (though he’d removed the hat and face mask) holding a newborn and sitting in one of those half-wood half carpet  chairs you find in hospital rooms.

Brian turned to Ray abruptly. “You were there when I was born? At the hospital?”

Ray nodded. “Yup.”

Justin interjected, confusion evident in his voice, “I thought you found out later while still in Vietnam …”

Ray chuckled. “How did you deduce that?”

“Well … I saw the birth announcement and the pictures of Brian as an infant in with stuff from the marines … weren’t tours usually a year? I assumed Brian’s mother sent you that stuff to let you know he was yours.”

“Yes, tours were usually 12 months straight, but as a marine, I was afforded a special privilege. We had 6 month tours, not 12, but we were incentivized to take on an additional 6 months through an offer of a month off in between. They would fly us anywhere for that month. I took the second tour and used my month becoming a father.”

Justin made an “aww” face. Tears actually sprung to his eyes.

Brian asked the question before Justin could, in a rasp, “You did?” Justin placed his hand on Brian’s knee and squeezed it. Brian actually responded by sliding his hand under the table and over Justin’s hand.

Ray smiled softly. “I did. Joan did tell me while I was in country … I think a month before my first tour was to end. She wrote me a letter. Back then, she wasn’t quite the sock puppet she became later after years of abuse from Jack. She wanted me to know and to be in Brian’s life, though at the time, we hadn’t picked a name. So I took the second tour (Jack wasn’t exactly rolling in it and I wanted to offer whatever financial help I could) and had them fly me to the Pitts. I kind of feel like it was fate, I mean, if there’s any such thing. That or dumb luck. She wasn’t due until a couple of days AFTER my leave was set to end. But she gave birth three weeks early. So about a week in, I get a frantic call. She’s in labor, and Jack is nowhere to be found. My mom stayed with Claire, and I took Joan to the hospital. She even let me come into the delivery room, although that wasn’t exactly common back then. I was the first person, well after the nurses and Joan, to hold you. In fact, she let me name you.” Ray was looking directly at Brian then.

“What?” Brian’s voice had assumed that vulnerable quality that had periodically been emerging since their arrival.

Ray laughed. “You know I was into football. I had recently watched Brian’s Song, the ABC movie of the week about Brian Piccolo, who had managed to go pro (joining the Bears) and had worked his way up to starting fullback when he was diagnosed with cancer. He was strong and courageous and BOLD. He didn’t get scouted so he put himself out there as a free agent and got signed. Then he worked his way up and quickly to starter … I thought … maybe the name would give you some of his strength, courage, and boldness …” Ray had been looking at Brian the whole time, but the last sentence trembled its way out. By ‘boldness’ Ray was visibly crying. He cursed softly, “Fuck” and swung his chair around abruptly. Then he headed to the counter (and the coffeemaker). “I need coffee. Clive? Brian? Do you want any?”

Clive replied as cheerily as he could manage, “Sure,” but he was all teary-eyed, too.

Ray said, “Okey dokey” but then he leaned his head on the edge of the counter. His body was shaking. Justin, Brian, and Clive all watched, in shock. The spell only lasted a minute. Then he cleared his throat and reached for a coffee mug. That’s when Brian did something un-Brian-like (considering who the target was). He walked over to Ray and placed a hand on his shoulder. Then he squeezed it gently.

A/N: Sorry this is so short. I got a late start.

Once fortified (with coffee), Ray declared, with a slightly cruel undertone and looking at Brian, “Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed.” He grinned and nodded.

In spite of himself, Brian found himself smiling. Justin, too, smiled and rubbed his hands together in giddy anticipation.

Ray rolled over to the kitchen table and opened one of the albums Clive had dug out of the crawlspace. He flipped a few pages, stopping at a series of close-ups. “So this is Brian after he started crawling.”

Justin said, “Who took these? They must have been on floor with him.”

“I was.”

Justin pulled open the cellophane and removed one of the pictures to get a better look. He exclaimed, “Polaroids? Wow! That’s ancient technology.”

“Not in 1972. The SX-70 was top of the line. No work necessary. No chemicals all over your hands. Pretty amazing.”

Justin’s eyes widened. Then he burst out laughing. It was like Ray was extolling the virtues of the telephone. A rotary telephone.

Ray growled, “Asshole.”

Clive chuckled. “Yes, Ray is old. Ancient, even. Very astute observation. But why mock him when we can mock young master Kinney.” He grinned and flipped a few pages. Then he pointed to a picture in the middle.

Brian was standing in front of a TV, arms extended and bent over slightly. He couldn’t have been more than three or four.

Justin giggled. “What the hell were you doing?”

Brian shook his head and huffed a laugh. “Fuck if I know.”

Ray cleared his throat. “That would be Brian watching the Jackson 5 on the Carol Burnett Show. He was 3. He saw Michael doing the robot and started imitating him.”

Justin smiled so big he felt like his face might crack. He ended up having to cover his face. At which point he started laughing uncontrollably. “OH MY GOD! You WERE SO …”

Brian shot him a warning glance. “You say cute, you’ve signed your death warrant.”

Justin, Clive, and Ray exchange glances and then said in unison, “CUTE!!!”

Brian rolled his eyes and sighed.

Clive teased, “If you’d prefer, we could skip ahead to your teen years…”

Brian’s eyes widened in alarm. He grabbed the album, shut it, and placed it in his lap, both of his hands lying on top. “No, I think we’re done here.”

Justin started chortling, “Oh ho ho …. we are SOO NOT done!” Then he started trying to pry Brian’s fingers off the album. He was having little luck.

Ray shrugged. “We don’t need the visual aids to embarrass you Brian. That’s just gravy. Let’s see, I have it on good authority that Brian was the proud owner of a pair of Hammer pants.”

Justin’s eyes widened so much they nearly popped out of his head. “NOOOO! OH MY GOD! I NEED to see that picture!” He started prying with much more vigor.

And Brian turned perceptibly red. He also vehemently denied the libelous accusation. “I was just holding them for a friend. I might have tried them on … but I didn’t like them. I didn’t even leave the house wearing them.”

Justin was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “He’s going all Clinton … Must be bad. I NEED to see that picture.”                                                                                     

Brian decided that that was a good moment to take his leave. He stood, very dignified, walked a few steps past the table, and then mad a mad dash into the living room. Justin gave chase. They raced around the coffee table several times before Justin tackled Brian onto the couch and started yelling for help. “Clive! Grab the album!”

Meanwhile, Brian struggled to escape Justin’s hold.

Brian and Justin were lying in bed. Neither was sleeping. Nor were they speaking. Instead, they watched the light of the moon dance on the ceiling (the guest room had a wind chime made of prisms hanging in the window).

Justin was desperately wishing he could ask Brian if he was okay. Desperately wishing he could comfort the man. But he knew starting any kind of conversation would be pointless. Brian was locked up tight. Tighter than tight. They’d (all four of them had) passed a pleasant enough evening joking around after the albums had come out, but Justin had noticed a blankness on Brian’s face and in his eyes whenever focus shifted somewhere else. Any time no one was directly addressing Brian or talking about him, he took on the expression of a zombie (for lack of a better term). Justin didn’t think he’d ever seen Brian so perfectly expressionless. He’d had NO idea what Brian was feeling, and that actually scared Justin. He was usually so good at reading emotion, even with Brian, especially with Brian. So this breakdown of their ‘dynamic’ terrified Justin. Opened the possibility that Brian could go somewhere he couldn’t follow, somewhere he couldn’t reach, shut him out so completely that communication and understanding were impossible. Brian wore this same look now. Even the sound of Brian gave Justin no hint at what was occurring beneath the surface. Brian’s breathing was regular and even. And he lay perfectly still. No nervous movement (or movement of any other kind) that might offer a clue. Brian could be plotting to murder Ray or himself, brainstorming ideas for a new campaign, or counting cracks in the wall for all Justin could tell.

Justin couldn’t ask because Brian wouldn’t answer, and he couldn’t intuit what was going on because Brian was masterfully avoiding giving any sign. He didn’t want to assume he knew what Brian was feeling because being wrong could have disastrous consequences. But he had to do SOMETHING.

So he did physically what he wanted to do emotionally. He reached out. He slid his hand (palm up) across the undoubtedly insanely high thread count Egyptian cotton sheet and under Brian’s hand. But he didn’t thread their fingers together. Or move his hand at all. Or any other part of his body. He didn’t turn his head or sneak a glance. He didn’t speak. Or even breathe. He just waited. And counted (that helped him stave off panic). For 60 Mississippis, Brian did nothing. Then HE threaded their fingers together. But nothing else changed. His breathing, expression, and stillness … all remained exactly the same.  

It took all Justin’s willpower to NOT smile. To do NOTHING else. But he managed it. Justin and Brian lay there like that, on their backs, silent and still, watching the moonlight dance and holding hands, for a whole hour after that. Then sleep came, first for Justin, then for Brian.

When the sun emerged several hours later, bursting like a bright flame through the window and into their faces, they were in exactly the same positions, still holding hands.

Justin had just 30 seconds to enjoy this strange phenomenon (the idea that they had fallen asleep holding hands) before Brian awoke, disengaging his hand to rub his face and rolling away from the window, the sun, and Justin and onto his side.

Justin stretched out his wrist, sighed, and rolled onto his side, too, toward the window.

A minute later, Brian said, without a trace of emotion in his voice, “We should leave after breakfast. It’s a long drive, and I have some work to do tomorrow.”

Justin didn’t know how he felt about that. He kind of wanted to stay the whole weekend, so he could learn more about Brian and his father. But he hated seeing Brian in pain. If Brian wasn’t ready to forgive Ray, a little space was probably the best idea. So he shrugged and said, as evenly and pleasantly as possible, “Okay.”

THEN, unexpectedly, Brian added, “Plus, it’s the King of Babylon contest tonight. Thought you might want to go.”

Brian was so completely nonchalant about this (an event all his friends and probably most of the rest of gay Pittsburgh would likely also be attending) that Justin was suddenly incapable of breathing.

A/N: Everyone’s going to Babylon, it seems J Sorry this part is short, too…tomorrow I’ll have more time to write.

Ray had not slept much the night before. He’d laid down with Clive and remained there until Clive was asleep. Then he’d gotten back up (and into his chair) and rolled out onto the porch. He’d passed much of night looking up at the sky. He’d watched the moon move through the sky and set and the stars fade and he’d thought.

Ray sat there until dawn, trying not to imagine his son, so young and so completely alone, facing down a monster every day, just trying to survive, body and psyche intact. Every time Ray failed to push away these thoughts, every time an image of Brian at age seven, 50 pounds soaking wet and not even 4 feet tall, pushed up through to his conscious mind, he burst into tears. Brian had been so small. Too small to protect himself. Ray became aware then of JUST how selfish he’d been. How selfish his self-pity and insecurities had been. Every second he’d missed induced a bottomless ache, an emptiness in his chest that actually caused him physical pain. He should have acted on his desperate urgent need to rescue Brian, to be his dad. Every moment Brian had felt alone and unloved, every time Jack had hurt Brian in a drunken rage, every day Joan had explained away the abuse, doubtless blaming Brian, every single one was on Ray’s conscience, a black mark on his soul. The excuse, I didn’t know, fell flat – seemed to mock him. Ray had hoped Joan was right. He had hoped Joan would fulfill her promise. But he couldn’t say he didn’t know. He couldn’t say he didn’t know. He’d hoped. How pointless hope was. He should have made sure.

When dawn broke, his eyes were swollen and his throat sore. But he’d finally decided what to do. He’d do the only thing he COULD do. He would do what he should have done many, many years ago. He’d be in Brian’s life. Against Brian’s will if need be. He’d hold on for the both of them, until Brian could, if not forgive him, at least accept the love he had to offer. He still had decisions to make (surgery, yes or no and how exactly he’d manage Brian), but having come to some resolution, he returned to bed and was actually able to fall asleep. Unfortunately, he didn’t sleep long. Two hours later, he sat straight up in bed, covered in a cold sweat.

Thus, he was the first person up in the morning. He wasn’t the best cook, but he needed something to keep his mind distracted, so he started making sausage gravy and biscuits (from Clive’s recipe). He browned the sausage (not the precooked kind you found in the frozen food section – Clive had laid down the law on that – fresh only in the kitchen) and then started adding flour to make a roux. The simplicity of the recipe and the need for constant stirring was perfect not for distracting but for thinking. So he added flour by the teaspoonful, stirred, and thought. Eventually, he added milk into the rotation. By the time the gravy was the right thickness (and quantity), Ray had decided. He was going to undergo the treatments in Pittsburgh. Moreover, he would move back there. He wasn’t ready to sell the North Carolina house, but he’d try to buy one in Pennsylvania. He’d told himself a lot of things over the years, primarily permutations of “Brian is better off without me.” But seeing Brian, Ray knew that he’d been wrong. Come hell or high water, he should have been there. Everything else, Jack’s abusiveness, Joan’s newfound Catholicism, his own crippled state, would have receded in importance to just “being there.” He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

That’s when Brian, oddly, walked into the kitchen. Ray placed a top on the skillet (in which he’d made the gravy), pushed the skillet to a back burner, and turned the oven to 450 degrees. Then he asked, “Brian, could you grab a big mixing bowl from the far left cupboard above the coffeemaker?”

Brian shrugged and headed in that direction. When Brian had found the bowl and turned around, Ray was at the kitchen table with not only the flour but also baking powder, baking soda, salt, buttermilk, butter, and shortening (and measuring cups and spoons) set out. He’d pushed back a chair and sat up at the table. He patted an empty chair next to him and quirked his head left (indicating Brian should come sit down). As an afterthought, he said, “Wash your hands first.” Then he started measuring out the flour. He looked away quickly and kept his attention on the measuring cup he was filling. The next few seconds were torture. In fact, he stopped breathing altogether. Until he heard the water running. Then he breathed out in relief and even smiled (briefly).

A minute later, Brian was sitting next to his father, the mixing bowl set in front of him. Ray dumped the flour inside. Without looking at Brian, he said, “We need 4 teaspoons of baking powder and 1/4 teaspoon of baking soda” and pushed the ring of measuring spoons Brian’s way. Miraculously, Brian started measuring out the baking powder. Ray eyeballed the salt, shortening, and butter and tossed them in. Then he said, “Alright, get your hands in there.”

Brian quirked an eyebrow and exclaimed (as much as Brian ever does), “What?”

Ray shrugged. “You need to mix it until it’s all crumbly. Easiest to do with hands. So get in there.”

Brian laughed uncomfortably but he stuck his hands in the bowl and started mixing.

Ray rolled over to the counter, readied the baking sheet, and grabbed a glass. Then he rolled beside Brian, placed the baking sheet and the glass on the table, and peeked into the bowl. He smiled and looked at Brian, meeting his eyes. “Perfect.” He reached in, made a big indent in the center, and added the buttermilk. “Okay, mix it some more, but just until it’s one mass. Too much mixing makes biscuits less tender.”

Ray actually watched this part, but kept his eyes on the dough (as if he gave two shits about that). He tried not to smile when Brian started sloshing around the buttermilk. When Brian had finished this second mixing, Ray nodded. “Now the fun part.” Ray pushed the mixing bowl aside and started sprinkling flour directly onto the table. “Put the dough on the table and flip it a few times.”

Thunk. Thunk. “Are you sure this is hygienic?”

Ray grinned. “Do you eat processed food?”

Brian shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Then you should know that 2% insect corpses is acceptable by FDA standards.”

Brian grimaced.

“I doubt a little dirt would hurt you. But I did wash the table.”

Brian actually smiled faintly.

“Okay make it a 1-inch thick pancake.”

Ray added more flour to the top and bottom and then handed Brian the glass. “Go to town.”

Brian’s eyes widened perceptibly. “What?” He actually sounded slightly scared.

Ray smiled. He took the glass back and pressed it open-end first down into the dough until he hit table. Then he lifted it up and removed the circular piece of dough he’d ‘cut’ out. He placed it onto the baking sheet and handed Brian back the glass. Brian huffed a laugh and pressed the glass down into the dough. “Don’t they have a thing for this?”

Ray scoffed. “I’m not going to waste 5 bucks on a biscuit cutter, when I have twenty glasses that can do the same job.” Then he cautioned Brian, “Put the circles as close together as you can. You want to reshape the dough as little as possible.”

Ray rolled over to the coffee machine and started preparing coffee. This was never an easy task, lots of reaching and lifting himself up required, but he needed something to keep his attention off of Brian. He’d been treating Brian like a skittish buck likely to run off at the first sign of danger (emotion … intimacy). And it had been working. He didn’t want to ruin everything so close to the end. He did occasionally sneak glances and he brushed away a few unexpected tears, brought on by memories of Brian at 6 helping Ray make Christmas cookies. It had been way too long. When the coffee started to drip, Brian said, seemingly out of the blue, “So Justin and I have to head back after breakfast. I have some work I need to do.”

Ray wasn’t exactly surprised. Things had gotten a little intense the night before. Even, especially, when they’d been having fun. He breathed out slowly and shrugged, countering with, “I’m moving back to Pittsburgh. Probably in the next few days.”

Brian was so shocked that he dropped the glass. It shattered, sending tens of shards skittering across the kitchen floor. That drew Justin and Clive, who had glimpsed their significant others in the kitchen and decided to give them some father-son time, opting to sit on the porch reading the paper. Until the glass broke. Then they leapt to their feet and rushed into the house and the kitchen.

They entered to find Brian and Ray staring each other down. They continued that way until Clive started moving closer to Ray. Then Ray extended his hand in warning and half-yelled half-said, “Stop. There’s glass on the floor.” He grabbed a broom from the corner and started sweeping it up.

That brought Brian back to life. He ignored Clive and Justin and said, “You can’t do that.”

Ray scoffed, “It’s a free country. I can do what I want.”

Brian swallowed hard. “Why now? You had twenty odd years to do it. Why move back to the Pitts now?”

Clive inhaled sharply. “I thought you said the surgery was too risky.”

Ray sighed and looked over at Clive. His eyes were gentle and pleading. “I have a son, whose wedding I’d like to dance at, and a grandson to chase around.”

Brian interjected, his voice all disgust, “Who said I’m ever getting married? Marriage is for breeders and Stepford fags.”

Ray glanced over at Justin, whose face was wearing an expression of deep disappointment, and laughed at Brian. “Yeah, you’ll be getting married. I give it two years tops.”

Brian scoffed. “Whatever.”

Clive waved his hands in the air (a wtf gesture). His voice held more than a touch of panic now. “We are WAY off point. Ray, look, I get that you want to be there for Brian and that you feel guilty for not being in his life more when he was growing up, but does your penance have to include the possibility of your dying?”

Ray looked directly at Clive, his eyes resolute and calm, and replied simply, “Yes.” Justin shook his head in wonder. He’d seen that expression on Brian’s face many times, that set to his jaw, that slight dare in his voice. They really were just alike.

Three seconds later, Clive burst into tears and started screaming. He grabbed a knife out of a nearby drawer and set it on Ray’s lap. “You want to die? Fine. Do it! Just do it! Don’t try to put a pretty face on it. Yes, maybe you do want to walk again so you can be a better dad and grandpa, MAYBE. But I THINK you feel so bad you just want to die. So do it! Don’t be a fucking coward with a lame excuse!”

That landed (pretty neatly describing what Ray had spent half his life doing). He flinched visibly.

Clive didn’t lose any momentum. “Just slit your wrists now. Save your health insurance company some money. But be sure to cut lengthwise. More effective that way.”

Ray tossed the knife into the sink, grabbed the baking sheet, placed it into the oven, and slammed the door. Then he wheeled back around. “Stop being a drama queen. I’m not suicidal. I … just … I want to try to have the life I want. Is that so wrong?”

“There’s a 15% chance YOU WON’T WAKE UP.”

Ray nodded. “And an 85% chance that I will. I like those odds.”

Clive actually put his foot down then. “NO. I won’t allow it. A 15% chance you die is UNACCEPTABLE.” Then he started sobbing and ran out of the room.

Ray sighed.

Brian said, “Clive’s right. You shouldn’t have the surgery. Or move to Pittsburgh. Both are unnecessary.”

Ray turned to Brian, his eyes suddenly dangerously dark. He said in a too-quiet voice Brian sometimes adopted himself, “I’m getting the surgery. I’m moving to Pittsburgh. And we’re going to be a happy family whether you like it or not. Got it?”

Brian shrugged and looked away. “Whatever.”

Ray ran a hand over his face. “Take the biscuits out in 15 minutes. I have some consoling to do.”

“Whatever.”

For just a moment, Ray was kind of glad he’d missed Brian’s adolescence. He must have been about as insufferable as Ray had been.

Brian dropped Justin off at his apartment in the early evening and (ostensibly) headed back to the loft. The idea was that they’d both take a nap and a shower before meeting back up at Babylon.

Justin dropped his bag on the floor next to the door and flopped down face first onto the couch. He was exhausted, but not from lack of sleep or the hypnotic effect of long stretches of highway. No it was Brian’s amazing – his boundless – stubbornness that had exhausted him. Try as he might, Justin had not been able to get Brian to talk about their time in North Carolina, or, more specifically, Brian’s father’s vow to move to Pennsylvania, go under the knife, and create a ‘happy’ family that included Brian. Brian had closed off immediately after allowing himself to be uncharacteristically vulnerable (after his chat with Ray by the crick), and he hadn’t relented much. In fact, it seemed like Brian had reinforced his walls with steel.

Justin hadn’t even thought about the upcoming social event. He sighed and buried his face in a throw pillow. Being Brian’s boyfriend was, as it turned out, quite a challenge. Justin wanted to really be in Brian’s life, but part of him wished they could go back to the pre-pre-Dylan days, back to babysitting, eating pizza and watching movies, and stealth flirting. Back to when it was just Justin and Brian. Well and Molly and Gus.

Justin set the alarm on his phone and snuggled more deeply into the couch. Being home was such a relief and the couch REALLY soft. He fell asleep thirty seconds later.

Brian had been the one to suggest napping, but he had no intention of sleeping. He was supposed to be heading back over to the loft, but instead he drove straight to his mother’s house. He was trying not to feel a lot of the emotions seeing Ray again had caused to rise to the surface, but one particular emotion he allowed, the only one that didn’t make him feel lost: anger. No. Not anger. RAGE.

He nearly hit a tree turning into the driveway. And he slammed both the Jeep door and the front door he was in such a rush to confront his mother. She was dressed in a bathrobe and nightgown sitting in the kitchen, an open bottle of vodka on the table, and a nearly full tumbler in her hand. No lights were on despite the fading light. But she appeared fairly coherent. She could sit up straight and she recognized Brian when he stomped in. Then she started blinking and rubbing her eyes when he flipped the light on.

Brian didn’t waste any time raising the topic. He half-shouted, half-said, his voice all disgust, “You fucked your husband’s brother?”

Joan stood and glared at her son. She hissed, “DO NOT speak to me that way.”

Brian rolled his eyes and sighed. “I don’t have time for this. I saw Ray. I can’t believe you have the face to condemn me for my ‘disgusting lifestyle’ when you broke your marriage vows and then lied about it.”

Joan paled visibly and wobbled a bit, but then she steadied, and her glare returned. “Only God can judge me. That’s not your place.”

Brian rubbed his forehead roughly. “Oh I think it is. You never told me Ray was my father, and you let me believe he was dead. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I was doing what was best for you.”

“How was that best for me? You saw how Jack treated me. For all I know he did that because he KNEW I wasn’t his. Because every time he looked at me, he didn’t see me; he saw your betrayal.”

“NO. He did what he had to do to try to make a man out of you. We knew there was something wrong with you when you were five. You’d barely started kindergarten and you asked Billy Levine to be your boyfriend. So humiliating. All the parents were in an uproar. We had to pull you out of that school.” Joan laughed bitterly. “The irony is that I was trying to make sure you turned out normal. Telling you who your real father was, letting you see him as a role model and spend more time with him … how could I do that when I knew what he was? Course, it didn’t matter. Somehow his genes or the little time you spent with him managed to infect you. And nothing Jack or I did could put you back on the right path.”

“Homosexuality isn’t genetic. Or caused by the environment. God made me this way.”

Joan slapped Brian then (managing to spill her drink in the process, but she didn’t seem to notice). She hissed, “You shut your filthy mouth! GOD would NEVER make you or anyone else that way. You chose it because you have sin inside of you. And until you repent and forgo your despicable ways, you’re doomed. You’ll burn in the eternal hell fires.”

Brian tightened his jaw and both fists, but remained still. He asked, through clenched teeth, “Just tell me this … why did you bother telling Ray that you would make sure Jack didn’t hit me? If you thought it was necessary to make me a man, to make me ‘normal,’ why tell him that at all? Why not just say he’d never get custody and you’d do what you wanted with me?”

Joan set her glass down, picked up a towel, and dried her hand. She turned to face the wall and shrugged. Her voice faltered. “I … I was still confused. I’d turned my back on God, and the Devil had come to me. In the most beautiful form.” She laughed another bitter laugh. “Of course he did. The Devil excels at tempting people. He came to me at a time when I was vulnerable. I didn’t have God, and Jack … he was …” Joan sighed deeply. “I guess God was testing my strength. He never gives you anything you can’t handle. But I didn’t realize that. Even though I had married Jack in full sight of God and everyone, promising to be faithful and obedient, I thought I deserved different. I thought Jack treated me badly. A way no man should treat a loving wife. And I guess I was swept up by all the women’s movement malarchy. I actually wanted to divorce Jack. I nearly did. The Devil came to me through Ray, tempting me to sin, and then he abandoned me. Not fully. Not right away. But first he went to Vietnam. Then he told me his filthy, filthy secret. For years, I tried to help him see the error of his ways. But he was adamant in his desire to sin. I couldn’t have him near you, so I told Jack. But Ray had given me you, so I felt like I owed him peace of mind.” Joan shrugged and turned back around.

Brian’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “You told Jack what? That Ray was my father or that he was gay?”

“Both.”

Brian clenched his fists harder, trying to keep his rage in check. But it was no use. It had surged beyond all bounds. He punched the nearest wall, leaving a deep impression (despite being thick and well made). He was so upset that he didn’t feel the two bones fracturing near the knuckle. He hissed, “You do realize that Jack PARALYZED Ray after that, don’t you? You might as well have done it yourself. YOU are responsible.”

Joan shrugged and then picked up her glass and drained it. “Those are the wages of sin.”

Brian shook his head and walked backward toward the door. “You are fucking INSANE.” Then he walked out the door and to the Jeep. He turned it on and backed out so quickly and recklessly that he nearly hit a bus. He drove a few blocks to a dead end, threw the Jeep in park, buried his head in his arms on the steering wheel, and started sobbing. Loudly. He still hadn’t noticed the fractures in his right hand.  

The phone rang, interrupting Brian’s “crying jag” – a characterization he would definitely NOT appreciate. Brian expected it to be Cynthia. Or Mikey. Truth be told, he was kind of hoping it was Justin, although he’d seemed tired when Brian had dropped him off, so that was unlikely. Brian never could have guessed who it actually was. Well, he could have if his experience of the world had been much different. He was so shocked and confused that he answered. If he’d taken a moment to consider his options, he would have sent the call to voice mail.

So puzzled was he that Brian answered with more of a question than a statement. “Hello.”

“Hey, buddy. Have you gotten back to Pittsburgh?” Brian was embarrassed at how comforting his father’s warm baritone was. Just another reason to hate Joan. She made Ray seem like a saint by comparison.

Brian was careful not to let that feeling of safety enter his voice. He answered curtly, “Yes. Just.”

“You made pretty good time.”

“Yup.” Another curt response intended to discourage Ray from continuing the conversation.

“So …” Brian could hear Ray sigh through the phone, a little desolately.

Brian shut his eyes tight and shook his head. He had NO idea why he was doing this. He stated, too unemotionally, “I went to see Joan.”

“Oh.” This sounded like an involuntary response to being jabbed in the solar plexus. A LONG minute later, he added, “How … uh … did that go?”

Brian swallowed hard. “She’s happy you’re paralyzed. She sent Jack after you.” Tears stung Brian’s eyes. He held his breath for a moment and then choked out, “To protect me from your perverted influence.” The tears that had threatened to fall were now falling. Brian held the phone away so Ray wouldn’t hear him cry and leaned his head on the steering wheel. He breathed in and out slowly and blinked a lot, trying to push the lump in his chest and throat back down, to stem the flow of tears. When he’d managed to regain some poise, he put the phone back to his ear.

Ray was speaking frantically. “Brian? You still there? Brian?”

Brian swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m here.”

In a slow, measured voice, Ray informed Brian, “It’s not your fault.”

“What?”

“What Jack and Joan did. None of that is on you.”

Brian said nothing.

“Are you hearing me? You were an innocent child caught up in a fucked up mess. Years of hate and fear warped them both until they were unrecognizable.”

“You don’t even sound a little bit surprised.”

“I wish I could say I was. Jack barely tolerated me because I was a marine. He always kind of knew I was gay. And Joan wanted me to save her from her life. She thought that once she was pregnant, I would marry her. I have to be glad about that because that got me you, but apparently it also got me paralyzed. Joan didn’t take rejection well. Not even knowing I just wasn’t into women helped. She kept insisting that if I could get it up with her once that meant I wasn’t really gay, that I could be saved. I think that’s part of the reason she got so nuts with the church. They believe in conversion therapy.”  

Brian’s chest felt hollow. He scoffed, “I can’t believe how calmly you’re taking this  …”

“Nothing meaningful has changed. I came to terms with being … in my current state years ago. Knowing why doesn’t make me more paralyzed. And its being an accident wouldn’t make me less. Joan has always been a little unstable. I realized that immediately after you were conceived. But … I guess dashed hopes do serious damage. She wasn’t always insane. Seven years of wishing, frustrated can fuck you up.”

Brian hissed, “You sound sympathetic … what the fuck? She ruined your life.”

Very quietly, Ray countered, “No she didn’t. I did. I should have stayed and tried to fight for custody. Even if I lost, even if Jack was even shittier to you, at least you would have known I loved you.” Ray cleared his throat. “But if onlys are pointless. I didn’t, and now we’re here. We, I, need to deal with that.”

Brian asked, his voice both filled with rage and almost childlike vulnerability, “How?”

“By being happy. People who get off on making others miserable like Jack or who invest all their hopes in, hang their happiness on, a future that may never come, like Joan, are at their core not happy. So the way to frustrate their goals is to be happy now. Today and every other day you can manage it. Forget them and focus on the positive. I’m planning to focus on my man and my son. I suggest you do the same.” Ray paused for a few moments. Then he added, “Well … and sometimes I pull a prank.”

Brian froze. “What?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. But playing a juvenile prank on people who have fucked with me makes it a little less bad.”

Brian laughed in spite of himself. “Like what?”

“Ummm …” Ray laughed suddenly. “Oh I got one. My first sexual experience. I was 14, at some church camp. This kid, a couple years older, gave me the eye during one of the campfires. We were singing “Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho” and he kind of nods toward the cabins. So I wait a couple of minutes after he excuses himself and follow. He was no virgin. Before I even saw him (he was in a patch of darkness), he had me pushed up against one of the cabins, my pants and underwear down. Lickety split he had his bare dick pressed up against my ass. He was really hard. He lubed up ‘au naturel’ and started pushing his dick inside me. And he was not particularly gentle. I would have cried but I was too proud. I chomped down on my wrist to keep quiet. It got better toward the end and he actually bothered to finish me off. He got down on his knees and started sucking me off. I was in heaven. I came and everything. Then a flashlight shined on us. It was one of the counselors. The mother fucker blamed me. And they believed him. Even though he was older, he was sucking me off when we were caught. He said I tempted him. They sent me home in shame and said I couldn’t ever come back. I didn’t give two shits about that, but my pop did. He beat me bloody and then my mom sent me to a different place. I thought it was just another church camp … nope. I was stuck there six months until I was ‘cured.’”

“Fuck.”

“Yup. So I found the mother fucker who’d blamed me. Turns out, I knew his cousin and he only lived a couple of towns away. I stole fifteen bucks from my pop and took a bus. Despite everything, he wanted to fuck me again. And he had a car. A nice one. A fixed up red Nova. He drove me out to some secluded area … about 15 miles out of town. I pulled him out of the car and pushed him up against a tree. I told him I wanted to suck him off. And I started to. But I was multitasking. Tied his shoelaces together. He was stupid enough to leave the keys in the ignition. I ran back to the car and drove off. He tried to catch me, but he tripped. That was all the delay I needed. I drove that car until I ran out of gas and then dumped it in the nearest lake.”

“Did you get caught?”

Ray scoffed. “Nope. If he’d blown me in, he’d have to explain why we were together in the first place and how I’d managed to get the drop on him. He spent most of the night walking home, and his engine went kaput. My friend told me later that his father grounded him for a year for ‘losing’ the car. It was a small, petty thing, but fuck it felt good.”

Brian was grinning, eyes dry.

Ray laughed merrily. “So how bout we do a little damage to the one thing Joan cares about … you know … when I get up there?”

“The church?”

“Yup. I think we could probably give a saint or two … or Christ himself something to smile about … If nothing else, my story should have illustrated … all men LOVE getting their dicks sucked…”

“But how?”

“I dunno. We’ll need to brainstorm. Off the top of my head… I’m thinking puppets … or stuffed animals from the taxidermy shop…”

“When?”

“Clive and I talked about that. Tomorrow I’ll come. He’ll join me a week after that.”

“Wow. Soon.”

“That okay?” Ray sounded nervous.

“Yeah.” He paused. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “You … uh … need somewhere to stay?”

“No … I still haven’t sold my parents’ old house. I’ll be staying there temporarily.”

“Oh.” There was something in his voice … a desire for something.

“You want to see where I grew up?”

Brian shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Cool.”

Brian could hear him smiling through the phone. “I better go. Work.”

“Okay. I’ll call you when I get in tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Click.

A/N: Please do leave feedback. It makes me ridiculously happy!

Justin slept for all of 45 minutes before sitting straight up, pointing at the wall, and announcing, “FOOD.” Fortunately, no one was there to laugh. Even he was unaware of this curious behavior.

A moment later, Justin jumped to his feet and started rushing around the living room in a panic. He was still only half awake, and he knew, HE KNEW, he needed to do something, but everything confused him, and he had no idea WHAT he needed to do. In his waking up haze, Justin zoomed over to the answering machine, but saw no blinking light; he zoomed over to the oven, but saw nothing baking or cooking; he zoomed over to the computer, but it was off, and he couldn’t figure out how to turn it on. He was just about to zoom over to his cell phone when it rang. Justin froze. The sound was TERRIFYING. By ring number three, Justin had returned sufficiently to wakefulness to find and then answer his phone. “Lo?”

“Justin?”

“Daphne?”

“Yes. Uh, you gonna look at me?”

Justin’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m standing behind you.”

“Huh.” Justin swung around and came face to face with Daphne. Justin looked down at his phone. He saw the screensaver. “What the?”

“What?” Daphne shut the door and walked into the kitchen area.

“I thought the phone rang …”

“I didn’t hear anything. I DID knock on the door …”

Justin shook his head roughly and blinked a few times. “That’s it. No more naps. Not after five cups of coffee anyway.”

Daphne leaned against the counter. “Shouldn’t you have just woken up for the day about now?”

Justin huffed a laugh. “My schedule’s not THAT nuts. I usually wake up morning-ish. Sometimes in the early afternoon. But never the evening.”

“Sure you don’t. So … why were you napping?”

“Oh. Uh ...” Justin closed his eyes for a moment and ran a hand over his forehead as he forced his brain to access the information she had requested. “Right. King of Babylon is tonight. Brian invited me.”

“So … how was the trip to NC?”

Justin shrugged. Then he started making coffee. His back to Daphne, Justin said, “Good, I guess. Brian’s going to need some time, I think, to deal with suddenly having a father. Someone who might actually be a dad to him. But his dad is planning to move up here. So that’s pretty cool.”

Justin hadn’t noticed, but Daphne had been furrowing her brow, and hard, since for the last couple of minutes. She asked, frustration evident in her voice, “Why do you do this?”

“What?” Justin set the carafe on the burner and hit the on button. Then he spun around and crossed his arms.

“Let yourself get carried into his …” Daphne gestured wildly with both hands. “His … stuff.”

“Where is this coming from?”

Daphne sighed and walked over to the kitchen table, plopping down in a chair on the opposite side, so she could see Justin. “I’ve been thinking this for a while. You rushing to his apartment when he hurts his foot and rushing to the hospital when he hits his head. But this last bunch of craziness … I guess that did it for me. You ask me to break the law and risk losing my certification to get information about his dad. You pretend to be a homebuyer and snoop around Brian’s dad’s childhood home. Then you jet down to North Carolina with Brian on a whim. All this like RIGHT after you get back together. After Brian spent months ignoring you and fucking everything that moved.”

Justin sighed and sat down at the table across from Daphne. “You make a valid point.” Justin smiled weakly. “But, to be fair, I’m pretty sure his dance card didn’t include fatties.”

Daphne just stared at Justin, her face expressionless.

Justin grabbed a napkin out of the basket in the center of the table and started shredding it. His voice rose in pitch, and he started speaking faster. “Well, you know, he has made some progress. He told Mikey to cut the shit and called me …” Justin turned pink and looked down at the table. The napkin was in thirty or so pieces. He swept them up into a pile with the side of one hand. “You know …”

Daphne grinned. Then she frowned and pretended to forget. “No, I don’t quite remember. What did he call you?”

Justin shot Daphne a stony look. “You know …”

“Mmm-mmm.” Daphne shook her head. “I don’t.”

Justin looked back down at the table and said, his voice in nearly a whisper, “He called me beautiful.”

Daphne slapped the table. “OH, YEAH. NOW … I remember.”

Justin rolled his eyes. But he also smiled, a little shyly. “He also invited me to the King of Babylon contest. All his friends will be there.”

“I’d better go, too. Just to make sure he isn’t too much of an asshole.”