Part 1

* ~ ¤ ~ *
I've been waitin' for so long
For somethin' to arrive
For love to come around

Lyrics from 'Heaven' by Bryan Adams
* ~ ¤ ~ *

Thursday, November 15, 2001
One week before Thanksgiving

"Hello, cutie!"

Justin Taylor dropped the pen he had in his hand and turned towards the customer who was waiting in front of his cash register.

"Good evening," he greeted with a polite smile.

He scanned the items - a raspberry bubble bath and a complete all-night moisturizer - then announced the sum: "$18.93, please."

The drag queen gave him a twenty dollar bill, her fingers deliberately brushing Justin's. "Keep the change, honey," she said in a low, seductive voice.

"Thank you," he replied, a light blush beginning to heat his face.

"May I?" she asked, taking his pen and writing a number on his sketchbook without waiting for his answer. "Call Kiki if you want some fun after your shift."

"Kiki?"

"Well... me, sweetheart!"

Oh, yeah... Who else?

Justin's already hot cheeks darkened: despite working at the grocery store for two months now, he still wasn't used to being hit on regularly.

Kiki giggled and walked towards the exit. "Call me," she said again, before leaving the store.

Justin huffed a laugh. Unbelievable!

He watched the drag queen walking away down Liberty Avenue and, picking up his pen again, started drawing her in her purple mini-dress and green platform boots in his sketchbook, right under the phone number she gave him.

Maybe he would call her after all. To give her the drawing.

* ~ ¤ ~ *

"Something's wrong," Michael Novotny muttered.

"Did you say something?" the older of the men next to him asked. Glaring at the ceiling, Ted Schmidt moved a hand over his drink to keep the glitter from falling into it.

"Something's really wrong," Michael said louder, his gaze fixed somewhere on the crowd of Babylon's dance floor.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" another man asked, his hips - covered in orange pants - moving in rhythm with the beat of the music.

Michael nodded towards the sea of half-naked men dancing.

Frowning, Emmett Honeycutt looked at the dance floor. "Since when is a crowd of hot, beautiful and horny young men not right?"

Michael shook his head. "Not them. Him."

"What's wrong with him?" Ted asked, his eyes following a handsome brunet until he exited the club, a trick in his shadow. "It's not like he doesn't do that every night..."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Don't you see it?"

"See what?"

"When was the last time you saw him in the backroom? Or at the baths? Or at any of the places where he usually fucks his brains out?"

"Oh. OH!" Emmett exclaimed, suddenly jumping up and down and clapping his hands. He loved this kind of game! "Me! Me! I know! Last week, I saw him at the new spa on Liberty Avenue. He was with this really, really hot flight attendant..."

"Dijon? Like the mustard?" Michael asked, interrupting him. "That was six months ago, at the opening of the spa."

"Oh... Well, then it must have been at the King of Babylon contest two weeks ago. He was giving a blowjob to a brunet and everyone in the backroom applauded and whistled after the performance."

"Hmm, nope Em. That was you and uh... what was his name again?" Ted asked, turning to Michael.

"Brent."

"Ah, yes. Brent."

"Brent?"

"The 'one hour and forty-five minutes' love of your life?"

"Oh... right! My souvenirs tend to vanish like the tiny golden bubbles in a glass of champagne since Drew and I reunited last night. I still can't believe he came out publicly and wants us to live together!" Emmett saw Michael rolling his eyes and continued: "Anyway, what were you trying to say, sweetie? What's the problem with our favorite stud?"

Ignoring his friend for the moment, Michael turned towards Ted. "Any new accounts signed recently?"

"New acc-? Uh, yes... We signed three new clients in the last month."

"And how many has he fucked?"

"He doesn't need to fuck the client to win the account..."

"I know, but that never stopped him in the past."

Ted chuckled. "True." He seemed to think for a minute. "None that I can remember."

"How would you know, Teddy?"

Ted grimaced. "My office is next to the men's bathroom..."

"Oh..." The other men shared an embarrassed look, pitying the working conditions of their friend. "That must be quite... loud... with all the comings and goings."

"It was."

"Was?"

"He hasn't come in there for a few months now..."

"Doesn't he have a private bathroom in his office?"

"Yeah, but you know how..." Ted cringed at the bad pun he knew was about to follow "anal... he can get. He doesn't like to have his walls stained with... you know..."

"Come? Sperm? Sem-"

"Enough, Em... We got it."

Emmett closed an imaginary zipper over his mouth while Michael turned towards the entry of the club, hoping to find his best friend walking back in again.

"What's this all about, Michael?"

"I don't know... I'm his fucking best friend. I should know! But I really don't..."

"So what? Because his Highness has stopped having sex in public, it doesn't mean something's wrong... he still tricks." Emmett said.

"Yeah, obviously..." but why not in public anymore?

* ~ ¤ ~ *

Half an hour later, Justin was taking a critical look at the character in his sketchbook. He added a light shadow on the face before suppressing a yawn.

He'd had a long day between his classes and his shift at the grocery store but this job was the only one he'd found that paid enough to cover half of his tuition at PIFA. The other half was being taken care of by his mother. Justin didn't want her to pay for anything since now that she was divorced, she had a lot of other things to consider, including half of the expenses of his teenage sister, Molly. But Jennifer Taylor had insisted, claiming she wasn't like her ex-husband and, if Justin could find a part time job, she'd help pay for any college he wanted to attend. Not just for Dartmouth where Craig Taylor wanted his son to follow in his footsteps...

* ~ ¤ ~ *

FLASHBACK

* ~ ¤ ~ ¤ ~ *

"I don't want to become a businessman, Dad. I want to be an artist."

"No son of mine will be an artist, Justin! That's entirely too gay. I don't want my clients and friends at the Country Club to think my son's a faggot!"

Justin stiffled a laugh. "So what? They can imagine what they want, I don't care!"

"But I do care! And you should too! I'd be ashamed if they thought that you were gay, that you were like those... those..."

"Those what?"

"...freaks, on Liberty Avenue. You're nothing like them, Justin and I won't let anything - not even your passion for art - get in the way of my future."

"You mean my future, don't you Dad?"

"You'll go to Dartmouth!" Craig continued, ignoring his son. "You'll major in business. And, if your grades the first year are good enough, maybe I'll let you take a few classes in Art."

"How generous..."

"That's no way to talk to me, Justin! I'm your father and you'll do as you're told!" Craig growled loudly, starting to lose his patience.

Eyes closed, Justin shook his head. "No." He opened his eyes and stared at his father. "I'll go to PIFA and be an artist. And it won't matter if people think I'm gay... 'cause... guess what, Dad? I am gay."

"No, you're not!" Craig shouted.

"Oh, yes! I. AM. I like dick. I wanna get fucked by dick. I wanna suck dick. I like sucking dick. And I'm good at it too!"

Craig slapped Justin in the face. "Stop that! You're not gay, Justin! I know you're just trying to piss me off!" Craig yelled.

"Don't tell me you're that blind..." Justin laughed. He reached for the sketchbook that was on his bed and started showing his father some of his drawings, all of them being of cocks or asses, sometimes both in sexual situations.

Furious, Craig grabbed Justin by the arm and, after walking down the stairs, opened the front door of their home. "Get out!" he barked, relaxing his grip on his son's arm.

Justin freed himself completely, took his coat and walked through the door. "You can throw me out, Dad. But remember that whatever you do, it's not going to matter. 'Cause I'll still be your queer son."

Justin spent the next few days with Daphne Chanders, his best friend since kindergarten, until his mother returned from Harrisburg where she was visiting her parents with Molly.

When Jennifer came back, she was furious. She first had a long discussion with her husband which ended with her asking for a divorce. Then, when Craig had left their house to check into a hotel, she came to the Chanders' and hugged Justin for a very long time, telling him she was sorry.

* ~ End of FLASHBACK ~ *

Justin sighed.

He really had wanted to find a job that would pay enough to cover his entire tuition, or be able to get a scholarship. But his father made too much money. This job paid twice the money that any other cashier job would, but only because it was at night. Which was fine with Justin since that left him enough time for his assignments before and during his shifts. Besides, there really were few people who came into the store at night. He wasn't anti-social; he just couldn't stand people. The only down side was that four days a week, the hours were really long because he was combining his classes and his shifts.

Maybe he'd be able to sign with an advertising agency and lighten his schedule a bit. Some of the big ones were willing to pay tuition for graphic art students if they signed with the agency and stayed two years after graduation. Justin was really hoping he'd get that kind of offer. That way, he'd have decent hours every day, and learn a lot from the best while doing his internship and contract.

And what are two years in an artist's life if it means I don't have to kill myself from exhaustion on a shitty job or have student loans for the next twenty years?

He was suddenly brought back to the present when a black Jeep screeched to a stop in front of the store and the most beautiful man he'd ever seen walked towards him.

* ~ ¤ ~ *

"Fucking shit!" Brian Kinney cursed, slamming his car door.

He was mad. Mad at the online site where he usually bought his supply of condoms and lube. He'd ordered them a week ago but the order was lost and wouldn't be shipped for another week. So now he was short on condoms.

"Three fucking weeks instead of the promised three days," he mumbled. "They're lucky they're the best brand or they'd have lost their best fucking customer!"

Before entering the store, Brian quickly glanced at the man who was sitting in the Jeep, waiting for him. If my conquest du jour isn't worth a repeat, how many more men will I have to bring to the loft before I find the right one? he mused.

Since his testicular cancer a little over a year ago, Brian's priorities had changed drastically. When he was sick, vomiting for hours and believing the end - his end - was near, he suddenly understood life was short; too short to fuck with, and too short to waste. He had a son to think about, a son he loved more than life itself. And when, six months after his last radiation treatment his doctor told him he was cancer free, he also understood he had a future to think of.

He celebrated his clear bill of health by resuming his life right where he'd left off: drinking and fucking his way through all of gay Pittsburgh. But unlike before, it was unsatisfying and it confused Brian.

It took him three months to figure out why.

He was tired of his life. Tired of all those nights of coming back to an empty loft. Tired of all those mornings of waking up alone in his bed. He was tired of seeing almost every one of his friends happily paired with someone who meant everything to them. Tired of seeing them with someone who loved them as much as they did.

It took him three months to know he wanted to find that special someone too.

That was why he was still hunting at his usual whereabouts but was only fucking at the loft, hoping a few hours alone with his prey would help him find something in the man that would convince Brian to see him a second time. And maybe more.

The bell on the door rang as he opened it, interrupting his thoughts as he entered the store. Then, without a glance to the cashier, Brian asked where he could find the 'Health and Beauty' department.

"Third isle on your left, at the back of the store," he heard before following the instructions and disappearing toward the back.

* ~ ¤ ~ *

"You're wasting your time," Justin heard ten minutes later.

Frowning, he opened his mouth, ready to tell the person in front of him that no, he wasn't wasting his time even if they thought Justin wasn't talented enough to draw. But then he looked up from his sketchbook, drowning in the mesmerizing eyes of the man he was drawing, and lost all coherent thought.

He'd always been a sucker for tall, dark and gorgeous men, and the chestnut hair, tanned skin and brilliant hazel eyes were enough for Justin's heart to start fluttering.

Realizing the man was staring back at him, smirking, Justin gasped. "Uh, what?"

"You should find a job better suited to your talent."

"Thank you," Justin said, beaming. He pushed his sketchbook aside and, without really looking at it, grabbed the first item from his customer.

"Everything you have is on display?" the man inquired, slowly and sexily.

Justin froze, his knees trembling. Was this living God flirting with him? Then, his mind finally registered what items he was scanning and his eyes widened when he saw a dozen boxes of XXL condoms in front of him.

* ~ ¤ ~ *

The cashier bit back a laugh and Brian cocked an eyebrow, daring him to say anything about the size written on the boxes. He was more than ready to prove it was justified.

The young man grinned. "You need more?"

"Not sure this will last the entire week," Brian smirked.

"Week, huh? Let me see what I have. Any brand?"

"Just this one. I'm very picky about what comes near my dick," Brian replied, tongue in cheek.

Chuckling, the blond locked his cash register and went to check if there were more boxes in the stockroom.

"Too bad Tad's waiting in the car," Brian murmured as he took a good look at the cashier's bubble butt. He wondered suddenly: Is it 'Tad', or 'Todd'?

He frowned as he tried to recall their short conversation at Babylon, and the other man's name, before shrugging. He really should try to remember the tricks' names or at least write these things down if there was any chance they could become a special part of his life. But again, most of the time, the better thing to do was just to forget...

"At least I know it's not 'Ted'..." he snorted.

* ~ ¤ ~ *

"I'm sorry," Justin said when he came back and stopped near his customer. "It appears you've emptied our entire stock."

The man eyes lingered lustily over Justin's body before he leaned in close: an enticing aroma of expensive cologne and pure musk entered Justin's nose and slowly made its way down to his cock, making it twitch with desire.

"Well then, I'll have to be even more picky and only fuck what's worthy," he murmured against Justin's ear, his lips grazing the lobe.

Yep. The man was definitely flirting with him.

Shuddering, Justin struggled for control and settled back behind his cash register: "$201.28, please," he croaked, weakly.

The brunet handed him three bills. "Keep the change."

The three words reminded Justin of the drag queen and he wondered if, like Kiki, his handsome customer would give him his phone number, asking him to call.

"Thank you very much." Give me your number. Please, please, please!

The man took a last look at the drawing of his face on the sketchbook. "I wasn't kidding. You really should find another job. A few ad agencies in town could make good use of someone with your talent," he explained softly.

"I've applied to some but so far haven't heard from any of them."

"Who have you applied to?"

"Vangard, Ashmore & Williams, Kinnetik..."

"If the portfolio you sent them is half as good as the drawing you made of me in ten minutes, you'll hear from them," he assured before walking away.

Justin nodded, blushing under the praise. "I hope."

The brunet opened the door of the store and stepped one foot outside. "By the way," he said, half-turning back to Justin, "Kinnetik's the best."

"How do you know?" Justin asked, but the man was already at his car. "Good night..." he murmured as he watched the Jeep pulling out, feeling slightly aroused.