Prologue - If You’re Reading This Now...

London, England

July, 1941

Dear Mother,

I hope this letter finds you and the family well. I received your latest packet of letters just yesterday and greatly enjoyed reading all the news from home. The tin of cookies was a big hit with all my mates since our rations are, of necessity, short these days, and nobody wants to stand in a queue for the few sweets you can buy in wartime London. I am pleased to hear that Molly is doing well with school. What about Father, is he well? Please give Molly my love and relay my regards to Father.

Now to more serious things - this is one of the hardest things I have ever written because you reading this letter, Mother, means that I am gone. Please do not be overly sad. I can not explain why I say this, but I want you to know that I have never been happier than I have been since I came to England to join the RAF and I am doing what is right for me. I am only sorry that, in this way, my happiness may have caused you any sadness.   

I need you to know just how much I love you. It wasn’t something I told you often during my time at home, and that is something I regret deeply. However, just because I did not say the words does not mean I didn’t frequently feel the sentiment. So, whenever you are sad, please close your eyes and think of me, because I’ll always be right there with you, keeping you safe.

Have a wonderful life, be happy.

Forever your loving son, Justin.

Chapter 1 - Rusty Dusty Blues.

Brian shouldered his way past a rowdy gaggle of twenty-somethings who were bunched up near the side door of the pub. He was desperate to get outside and have a post-fuck smoke. He was glad it was still early enough in the evening that it was light out, although, judging by the lowering grey clouds that he could just barely glimpse overhead between the tall buildings that edged on the narrow alleyway, it would likely get dark quickly once the storm hit. He wasn’t that familiar with this part of Covent Garden though, so he was glad it wasn’t dark yet. Being a tourist in London, he felt like he always needed to be a little bit on alert, even though the pub he was in wasn’t in a bad neighborhood and his hotel was just down the street.

He was even more grateful for the fading light since there didn’t seem to be anyone else around as he ducked down the alley, which was a little bit creepy. He noted, in passing, the quaint brass sign affixed to the ancient red brick of the alley wall stating that this crooked, constricted aisle had it’s own official name: Duckett’s Passage. That caused the jaded man to snort with laughter. Of course the rear exit out of the gay bar was a back passage. What the fuck else would it be called.

Brian pulled his pack of Marlboro’s out of his pocket along with his Zippo lighter and lit up, taking a nice long drag. He knew he really should quit this shit. He’d promised Gus that he would. And he had tried, but there were certain social situations where the urge to smoke was almost uncontrollable. One of which was post-fuck at a bar. It was almost a personal ritual for him. He’d been doing this same thing since his first trip to Babylon, his favorite gay club back home in Pittsburgh, when he was seventeen. There was just something about the kind of hook up you got in the back room of a gay bar - the hot, humid, fast-paced lust, the hands groping you from every direction as you played the game and stalked your intended prey, and the final culmination of the hunt ending with a trick being pushed up against the wall and the mindless thrusting, pushing, pulsing, before the sweet rush of release - that simply needed to be topped off with a nicotine infusion. And what his not-quite-four year old son didn’t know, couldn’t get Brian in trouble, right?

As he took his time with the cigarette, Brian ambled slowly down the cobble-paved alley. He fucking loved London. He’d always been a bit of a history buff, so any chance he got to wander through the living history of a place like London was fascinating for him. Just walking around, looking at all the buildings, most of which had been there for hundreds of years, gave him a secret thrill. It made him feel like he was somehow a part of it. A part of the history of this amazing city. Sometimes, when he was visiting, he’d just get off the Tube at random stops and wander around aimlessly, gawking at everything around him. He’d made some really remarkable finds that way - enjoying the tidbits he’d read on the various historical markers that seemed to pop up everywhere, discovering homes of the famous and infamous, learning more about the city around every curve. Only the day before, he’d wandered down an unassuming side street just for shits and giggles and come across the home of Daniel Webster, the creator of the first dictionary, which Brian thought was a great find. So he was in no hurry to leave this interesting little alley, in case it might happen to lead to another such discovery.

‘If this alleyway could talk’, he thought to himself with a grin as he examined a stretch of wall where you could tell by the difference in the brickwork that several windows and doors which had previously been there had since been sealed off and vaguely wondering why.

He’d only made it about fifty meters down the alley, though, before he felt the first drops of rain falling. He looked up at the clouds, which seemed to be getting ominously blacker by the second. He cursed at them, worried that his brand new Saville Row suit would be ruined if it got too wet. He probably shouldn’t have worn it to the bar in the first place - it wasn’t exactly standard club wear - but he’d just been so in love with it when he picked it up from the tailors that afternoon that he’d decided to keep it on and show off a bit. He did look fucking fantastic in it, too. It was a beautiful, classic three piece, made out of soft, lightweight, merino wool, that felt marvelous against his skin. The dove gray color looked great against his swarthy skin. And the matching gray silk Van Heusen tie and the crisp white Alexander McQueen  shirt he’d paired it with were the perfect combination. He knew the clients he was presenting his pitch to the next day would be blown away by his appearance in that suit before he’d even opened his mouth. Provided, of course, that the damned rain didn’t ruin it.

Brian quickly turned around, heading at a much more rapid pace back towards the pub, hoping to reach shelter and save his suit. The rain was already starting to get heavier but he thought he would still make it. However, right as he stepped around a small bend, the building there jutting out at an odd angle into the passage, the clouds above completely broke open and buckets of rain began to dump down on him. Brian immediately stepped under the only protection he could find - a small brick ledge fit into the angle of the bend - and huddled as close to the damp, rough bricks as he could get in a vain attempt to save his precious clothing.

Not that it was working very well. He already felt like a drowned rat. It’s not like he hadn’t been to London before; he knew better than to leave his hotel room without a fucking umbrella. What had he been thinking? He imagined his hair probably looked atrocious, plastered to his head the way it was. So much for his plans to pull another trick or two at the pub before he headed back to the hotel for the night. Not gonna happen looking like he did now. Plus, he’d have to get his suit to the concierge as soon as possible so it could be pressed again for the next day. Fucking rain.

Just as Brian was debating whether or not it was worth it to brave the rain and make a run for the pub, a new freshet of rain drenched him, causing the already wet man to cringe and press back even further against the wall. However, before he had time to recover from that assault or figure out what to do next, the entire alleyway became suffused with the smell of ozone. Brian’s skin prickled and he felt the small hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. There wasn’t anywhere to go or hide, though. Another second and a deafening crack of thunder echoed through the small space of the passage and Brian was blinded by a flash of brilliance as the metal guttering pipe on the building just across the alley from him was hit by lightning.

The last thing he saw before his world faded to blackness was the wall next to the metal pipe, which seemed to be throbbing and glowing in the oddest way . . .

Brian groaned loudly as he attempted to pull himself up into a sitting position. He blinked around him in the darkness of the alley, trying to reorient himself. Why the fuck was he lying on the wet ground? What the fuck had just happened? He didn’t think he’d been so drunk that he would have passed out, and he definitely hadn’t left his drink unattended, so there was no way he could have been slipped any drugs . . . but it almost felt like it. The entire right side of his body ached, his forehead stung like a mother fucker, and his ankle hurt whenever he tried to move it. How could such a perfect night turn to shit so quickly?

Raising his hand, Brian wiped at his forehead, hissing as it made contact with the giant cut above his right eye.

“Shit.”

Looking around himself, it was clear that Brian was still in the alley behind the pub. It was much darker now than it had been before, although the rain had thankfully stopped. In fact, oddly enough, the street he was lying on was only slightly damp. It barely looked like it had rained at all, which didn’t make any sense considering the downpour that he’d been caught up in just a few minutes before. He could feel the fabric of his suit jacket was still very wet, so why wasn’t the street wet too?

Dismissing that anomaly, Brian carefully climbed to his feet, using the brick wall next to him for support and taking care not to put too much weight on his sore ankle. The narrow confines of the alley were deeply shadowed now, meaning he must have been there for quite a while. He looked up at the sky but saw only the usual night time darkness, giving him no clue as to what time it might be. There didn’t appear to be many clouds lingering after the storm, but even so, it seemed much darker than Brian was used to.

He shook his head, trying to clear away the lingering cobwebs and figure out what the hell had just happened to him. He recalled the pub and the great fuck he’d had with the hot little Pakistani trick he’d met there. He remembered going outside for a smoke. He remembered rain. Lots of fucking rain. And then . . . Fuck! He remembered the lightning hitting the building across from where he was hiding from the storm and the passing thought that the brick wall must have caught on fire or some shit, what with the way it had been glowing. He must have fucking passed out from the lightning strike. Shit! He was lucky to be alive! That had been too fucking close.

Brian took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He’d never been almost killed by lightning before, so he supposed it was okay to feel a little shaken. He hobbled forward a couple small steps, wincing with the pain, but feeling relieved that it seemed to get easier the further he walked. With one hand braced against the wall, he was able to make his way slowly down the dark alley, one mincing step at a time, even though, at that rate, it was going to take him the rest of the night to get back to the pub.

It was so dark that he really couldn’t make out much around him as he hobbled along, but Brian thought that something in the alley didn’t seem quite right. Why the fuck weren’t there any street lights down here? And where was the big dumpster he remembered passing? The entire passage seemed somehow dirtier and more dilapidated. Older somehow? He looked back over his shoulder and saw the building he thought he’d been looking at before the rain started - you know, the one that had the bricked-in doors and windows - but it couldn’t be the same building because this one had all its windows and doors in place. He also didn’t remember seeing the string of laundry hanging out of that window over yonder or that rickety old wooden cart over there. What was going on here? He couldn’t pin down what it was, exactly, but something just wasn’t right. Brian felt very uneasy.

He’d only made it maybe ten meters, trying as he went to pin down what it was that was bothering him so much, before he was startled by a loud blaring noise going off overhead. It sounded like some kind of siren or something. He had no idea what the fuck it meant, but it made him even more worried. It didn’t sound like a standard fire alarm or anything. There had been some new terrorist incidents in the city only recently, so it was always possible that it had something to with another of those, right? Did London have some type of new terrorist sirens they’d installed or something? Brian hadn’t heard about anything like that, but it was possible, he supposed. Whatever the cause, he decided he’d better get the hell back to the pub sooner rather than later, and he pushed himself to limp faster.

In the dimness of the dark alley, Brian couldn’t see much, but he thought he could hear some kind of commotion coming from the area where the passage opened out onto the High Street and it looked like there were people running past. That was not a good sign. He hoped the terrorists hadn’t bombed that very street. Why the fuck did this shit have to happen while he was visiting? Well, this night was certainly going to fucking hell pretty fucking fast.

It seemed to take forever to get back to the far end of Duckett’s Passage. The sirens abruptly died before he was halfway there. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but tried to hustle even faster. It seemed like the commotion out on the street had died down too, leaving the whole area eerily quiet. Brian was starting to get seriously freaked out. What the hell was happening?

When he finally made it back to the corner where the pub was located, Brian became even more confused. The lively, packed, pub he’d just left a little while before, now appeared to be closed, and the side door he’d come out of earlier was actually boarded up with heavy wooden planks. Had he hit his head harder than he thought? He tried reaching through a gap in the boards where the door knob was located and rattled the latch, but it was securely locked and didn’t budge.

“Okay. This is fucking weird,” Brian mumbled, unsure what to do next.

He didn’t think he’d be able to walk all the way down the street to his hotel on his injured ankle. But it didn’t look like he’d be going back into the pub and sitting there until it felt better, either. Maybe he could flag down a cab out on the street or something? That seemed silly with the damn hotel only a few blocks away. He didn’t have any better ideas, though, so what the fuck?

Brian managed the last few meters of the passage and limped around the corner of the building . . . Only to find the entire street completely deserted and dark.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Brian growled, not caring that his loud voice seemed completely out of place in the silence of the night.

Something was definitely not right here. Brian lifted his arm to look at the time on his brand new Cartier watch and noted that it had only just gone midnight, proving he had indeed been passed out in that alley for a lot longer than he’d realized. But, even so, Covent Garden was a busy area and would still usually be packed with people coming out of the pubs and clubs and making their way home. When he’d come down this way earlier in the evening, it had been bustling with late shoppers, people getting off work and heading home for the night, tourists ambling along looking at the sites or going in and out of one of the many hotels in the neighborhood, and about a hundred other people doing the thousand other things folks did in a busy city like London. So where the fuck had they all gone in the few hours Brian had been down that fucking alley?

And not only that, why didn’t any of the shops have lights on? Was there some kind of power outage? It must be a fairly serious one since there didn’t appear to be any lights on anywhere in the area. In fact, looking up at the sky, Brian couldn’t see any light anywhere at all - the normal glow of light pollution that usually surrounded any modern city was completely missing. All he saw above him was the deep black of a moonless night studded throughout with more stars than he ever remembered seeing before.

“Seriously. What the FUCK is going ON?” Brian yelled at the twinkling Milky Way above him.

But, since the stars didn’t provide him with an answer, he simply shook his head and turned back to the immediate problem; he still needed to get back to his hotel.

Brian tried to take a few more steps down the vacant street, letting go of the wall he’d been holding onto for balance so that he could edge further out, more into the street, where he could hopefully see more. This turned out to be a rather bad idea. He hadn’t gone more than three steps before his ankle gave out on him and he toppled over onto his ass in an inelegant heap. Damn it! Brian definitely wouldn’t be wearing this suit to his meeting tomorrow.

Dispirited, in pain, and still confused, Brian lay there in the street, panting through the pain and cursing a string of hateful things at London as well as at his own piss poor bad luck.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he heard rapid footsteps approaching him from behind and then felt someone crouch down beside him. He looked up to see a comical looking little man with a face like a lumpy potato wearing a strange metal hat with a big ‘W’ emblazoned on it. Brian was so surprised by the disconcerting sight, he couldn’t even think of anything to say to this odd apparition.

“‘Ello there, Gov’nah. Looks like you’ve gone all to cock. Need an ‘and?” the strange manifestation in front of Brian asked, his accent so strong that it took a full sixty seconds before Brian was able to mentally translate what the man had said. “Better make a leg or’n you won’t make it to the shelter ‘fore Gerry drops a load on your loaf of bread.”

Brian didn’t have a clue what any of that meant or how to respond, so he simply sat there with his mouth hanging open.

“Is everything okay here, sir?” Brian heard a new someone ask from the other side of the street, and Brian wasn’t sure why it felt so good to hear an American accent all of a sudden, but it did.

“This bloke’s just settin’ here on his jacksy like a Joe Soap. I think he’s gone a bit barmy,” Brian’s incomprehensible potato-faced friend answered for him as the man with the American voice quickly trotted over to investigate.

Before the new arrival reached them, though, there was a loud whistling noise coming from somewhere across the city followed by a muffled bang. Both ‘W’ and the newcomer looked over their shoulders in the direction of the noises with matching frowns. Whatever it was, it seemed to spur them both into action.

“Right-O. I’m off then. Got my warden duties, ya’ know. You’d better kip off too, Skipper, for’n Gerry gets any closer. Good luck to ‘ya,” the man tugged on the shank of hair hanging down over his forehead and then skittered off across the street and around the far corner of a building Brian could just barely see in the moonlight.

“Quite,” the remaining man stated succinctly. “Well, now, what’s to do here? You okay, there, Buddy?”

Brian looked at the man who’d started to hunker down beside him  and swallowed audibly. This guy was a great deal better looking than Potato Face had been. He was young - maybe twenty or so - with a trim build and a big beautiful smile. He was also dressed in what Brian believed to be some sort of military uniform. The blue jacket and matching slacks looked neat and tidy, showing off the young man’s form quite nicely, with the belt at the waist pulled tight and the pants stretching a bit tightly across the guy’s plump little bubble butt. There were a number of insignia decorating the area above the pocket on the left of the jacket, including a largish patch embroidered in gold depicting a pair of wings, although Brian couldn’t really see them all very well in the darkness. To top it all off, the man was wearing a matching blue, military-style, cap, tilted at a rakish angle. All in all, the kid looked damn tempting. Brian had never been a sucker for a man in uniform, but after seeing this hot little blond in his spiffy togs, he may have changed his mind.

“I-I-I fell or something back in that alley over there and I think I’ve fucked up my ankle,” Brian finally stuttered when he eventually remembered the guy had asked him a question.

“Oh, uh . . . Well, I see. That’s rather a rum deal, ain’t it?” the blond commented, seeming taken aback by Brian’s sudden foul language. “Can you stand on it?”

Brian nodded and attempted to pull himself up, ignoring the hand that was held out to assist him. He almost immediately realized his mistake, though. He hissed loudly at the pain that shot through his ankle before sighing in defeat and sinking back onto his ass again.

“Shit,” he mumbled dispiritedly.

“Here, let me help you,” the blond offered again, ignoring the cursing this time around, and before Brian could answer, the sturdy little blond had placed both hands under Brian’s armpits and manfully hoisted him up to his feet, carefully bracing the injured man on his one good leg.

“Alrighty now,” Brian’s helper stated once he seemed stable. “We really do need to make a leg, or they’ll close the doors on us. Do you think you can walk on it if I help you?”

‘Close the doors? What was this gorgeous little twinkie talking about?’ Brian wondered, thinking again that he might have hit his head a little too hard in his fall, since nothing around him was making any sense.

A new round of disturbing noises interrupted Brian’s musing just then - the whistling louder, and this time accompanied by what sounded like a faint motorized humming, with even more booming noises following.

“Applesauce! They’re getting closer. Let’s go!” The blond ordered curtly.

Brian nodded, not eager to be caught up by whatever the fuck was making those alarming noises. He let the blond wrap an arm around his waist and support some of his weight as they tottered forward in tandem, heading for the same corner where Potato Face had disappeared. With the younger man’s help, Brian was able to move a lot more quickly. He didn’t know exactly where his Savior was leading him to, but strangely enough, he already felt like he could trust this man. So, throwing caution to the wind, Brian gave in and just let himself be swept along to wherever his SoldierBoy wanted to take him.

And meanwhile, despite all the exigencies of the situation, a small part of Brian‘s mind seemed to focus not on his surroundings or the odd happenings going on around him, but rather on the person whose tantalizing body was tucked up closely against his side. Brian found that he was intensely aware of every single place their bodies touched. Where Brian’s shirt had become untucked and the man’s hand touched his bare skin, there was an exciting tingle of warmth. And, fuck, the guy smelled good. Brian tried to guess what cologne he was wearing; Brian knew he’d smelled it before, but couldn’t quite place it. It seemed kind of old fashioned, but it was great on this guy. Brian vaguely wondered if his rescuer tasted as good as he felt and smelled.

While Brian was busy secretly contemplating all the lusty particulars of his savior, they had managed to walk several meters. The support from the other man helped him walk a lot faster than he would have been able to on his own. They’d already made it clear across the street, down the block, and we’re almost to that distant corner, where the other man had disappeared a few minutes earlier. Brian was impressed.

“You’re a lot stronger than you look,” Brian told him, enjoying the way the smaller man seemed to support his weight so effortlessly.

They paused for a second and the blond shot him a look before continuing. “I am a pilot and you have to be relatively fit to do what I do,” the young man replied almost defensively.

Brian nodded. He definitely wanted to know more about this mysterious blond, but before he could ask anything else they turned the corner and stopped in front of the entrance to the Covent Garden Tube station. And here, finally, there seemed to be some people around. In fact, while he’d been so engrossed in the feeling of the man’s arm around his waist, he hadn’t noticed the virtual gaggle of people that had formed around them in the darkness of the unlit street.

“Tickets,” the man at the entrance shouted as he held out his hand and snatched the pieces of paper from people’s hands and ushered them down into the maw of the Underground station as quickly as he could.

They joined the queue and shuffled forward with the rest. When it was their turn, Brian’s blond chap took out a rumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the man at the door. The ticket taker shook his head sadly, shoving the ticket back into the blond’s hand and moving to block their entrance.

“This ticket permits just one of ya to enter the station, me lad, and unfortunately there are two of you. Ya see the prol’em here, boyo?”

“My name is Justin Taylor, First Officer, Eagle Squadron, Fourth Fighter Group,” the blond informed the rather disgruntled man at the door, pointing at the insignia on his uniform jacket. “Lieutenant Jacobs, my C.O., is waiting for us downstairs on the platform.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Sir. Quite right. Head on down immediately. And if you get in any trouble for being tardy, tell them it was because of me. My name’s Alfie Smith,” the ticket taker apologized profusely, stepping aside and gesturing them in with deference.

Justin nodded authoritatively to Mr. Smith then renewed his grip around Brian’s torso and promptly led them into the bottleneck of people heading down into the depths of the station. Brian couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips a moment later, as they started down the non-operational escalator. The larger than normal steps put an awful amount of pressure on his ankle as they descended and he was grateful when he felt Justin wrap his arm tighter around Brian's waist. Despite his earlier misgivings about the slightly built young man, he let himself lean into the wiry strength a little more heavily until they were back on level ground.

“Is your Lieutenant really waiting for us down here?” Brian asked quietly, maybe even a little nervously, as they continued to follow the herds of other people down a long tunnel. He still had no fucking clue as to what was going on and there was nothing more irritating to Brian Kinney than not being in control of a situation.

Justin looked at him, smirked slightly and shook his head softly as he brought a finger up to his mouth. “As they say here in London, that’s a bit of a ‘Porkie’, but it got us in, so that’s all that matters, right?”

Once the tunnel opened up and they reached the train platform proper, the heat hit Brian hard. He looked around and guessed that there were at least a couple of hundred people down there . . . wherever here was . . . he still wasn't sure. Or exactly why they were all gathered here.

“It’s like a fucking sauna down here,” Brian complained.

“Oi, watch your language,” an elderly man tutted disapprovingly as he walked passed. “Ladies present.”

Brian scoffed quietly, but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t realize people in London were so tetchy about that sort of thing; it was definitely not something he’d noticed before.

“Here, sit down,” Justin said as he found them a space on the packed platform floor.

Brian couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose. No way was he sitting on that dirty ass floor. His poor suit had been through enough this evening. But Justin ignored Brian’s disdainful look and pushed him down gently.

Once he was seated, Justin forcibly manhandled him around until Brian was situated so that he was perched on the edge of the platform with his legs dangling down over the tracks. Then the blond jumped down into the pit, narrowly avoiding the rails, and began to remove Brian’s shoe. Brian started to object, but Justin only rolled his eyes at the struggling man, shook his head, and continued what he’d started.

“Hold still, mate. I know what I’m doing here; I got first aid training in basic,” Justin ordered, as he carefully peeled the sock over the injured foot and lifted it so he could see better in the dim lighting of the station’s platform.

Brian jumped when he felt Justin’s warm hands running over his sore ankle. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I need to check you’ve not broken anything.” Justin examined the ankle carefully. “Yeah, you’ve sprained it alright. I’m pretty sure nothing’s broken though. I am going to need to wrap it for you, though” he explained.

Brian watched quietly as Justin walked over to a young lady sitting a few feet away and asked her something. Brian couldn’t quite make out what was said, but watched curiously as the woman handed Justin the silk scarf from around her neck. The RAF officer pulled what looked like a money clip out of his pocket and peeled a bill off which he gave to the woman before turning back to his patient.

While all this transpired, Brian looked around himself curiously. His nose started to twitch from the fug of too many nervous bodies in such close proximity, too much cigarette smoke, a variety of men’s colognes and women’s perfumes, a few babies with dirty diapers and the overall mustiness of the damp Tube station itself. All of which seemed to overwhelm Brian. In contrast to the quiet up on the street, there was a low roar of noises down here - people talking, babies crying, shuffling feet and bodies moving around, arranging themselves amid the pack of people - all adding up to create a continual susurrus of sound. Several groups of people were already bedding down, using rolled up blankets and jackets as pillows, looking for all the world like they were prepared to sleep there in the station for the night. There were even a couple of children who were tidily tucked into makeshift hammocks strung up between the rusty metal train rails, looking happy as clams in their neat little beds.

Brian was having a hard time taking in everything that was going on around him. He really didn’t have any clue what was happening. If there had been some kind of terrorist attack on the city, why were all these people so calm? Why were they all down here in the station camping out together? Where were the damned police? And why wasn’t anyone telling them what the hell was going on up above? None of this made any fucking sense.

Brian was still gaping around at his strange surroundings, so confused and struggling to put together all the little pieces of this fucked up puzzle, when Justin returned, bringing him back to the present.

“I'm going to need to bandage your head too,” Justin told him as he began expertly wrapping the silky scarf around Brian’s swollen ankle, tightening it just right so that it felt supported.

Brian had almost forgotten about his sore head what with all that had happened, but now that he was reminded, he could feel it throbbing. He reached up and prodded at the tender spot, wincing as he caused himself a new jolt of pain. When he took his hand away, he noted that his fingers were smeared with a dab or two of fresh blood.

And, whether it was the sight of the blood, the throbbing pain in his head, the overwhelming heat down there in the Tube station, or just a backlash from the fear and adrenalin that had been keeping him on the run since he first awoke back in that alley, Brian suddenly felt a bit queasy. He saw little flashes of lights go off in the periphery of his vision and the tiled walls of the station seemed to close in around him closer and closer. The blond who’d been holding his ankle just a moment before put his arm around Brian’s shoulders again in order to steady him. Brian looked up into the man’s now worried face. Then the entire Tube station upended itself, spinning around him, and the last thing Brian saw was the pretty, gemstone-bright blue eyes of his concerned blond, before everything went black.

Chapter 2 - To Each His Own.

Brian was jostled out of his very strange dream by a pair of strong arms wrapping themselves around him and lifting his body up slightly. He mentally cursed himself for falling asleep without kicking his trick out first. He wished the fucker would just leave him alone so he could sleep. Judging by the lack of light hitting the outside of his eyelids, it couldn’t possibly be morning yet, so why was the guy so insistent that he wake up?

“Fuck off. I’m sleeping here,” Brian mumbled, turning his head away from the commotion of the trick barking something at him.

Then the trick did something really annoying - he slapped Brian’s face, not hard or anything, but it was enough to sting his cheek a little and it made Brian mad - so he was forced to open up his eyes and deal with the little fucker. Whereupon Brian found himself looking up into the most alluring, bright blue eyes, framed by the longest, dark blond eyelashes that he’d ever seen. At least he knew how to pick attractive tricks, Brian thought, even if they were annoying and loud and woke him up way too early in the morning. However, since he was awake now anyway, he figured he might as well make the most of the moment.

Reaching up, Brian hooked his right hand around the back of the blond trick’s neck and pulled the guy’s face down close enough so he could plant a nice, juicy lip lock on the plump, delicious-looking lips that came along with the pretty blue eyes. The trick at first gave in, kissing back before thinking about it, but then, half a minute later, he seemingly changed his mind. The body Brian had been enjoying jerked back and the lips disappeared. Brian groaned, not at all happy to have his kiss interrupted so rudely. What was with this annoying trick anyway? First he wakes Brian up, presumably to fuck again, because why else would you bother waking up the middle of the night, and then he changes his mind and pulls away? THIS was exactly why Brian rarely let his tricks stay over.

“Fine. Be that way, Blue Eyes. But if you don’t want to fuck again then you can get the hell out already. At least then I can get back to sleep,” Brian complained, trying to free himself from the arms that were preventing him from rolling over and going back to sleep.

“Ahem . . . He’s clearly not . . . I mean, I didn’t . . . He’s . . . He’s obviously hit his head really hard. Probably got a concussion. Doesn’t know what he’s saying,” the trick said, his voice a pleasant low tenor that Brian seemed to vaguely remember from somewhere, even if he didn’t understand why the trick was saying what he said.

“Must be if’n he’s trying to kiss ‘nother bloke,” a deeper, more accented voice said from somewhere behind Brian. “Least ways, he don’t seem like ya regular Nancy boy.”

That voice didn’t fit into the scenario though. Brian couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why there was a second trick involved here. He didn’t remember any threesomes, although, that was always a possibility. Hell, judging by how badly his head was throbbing, maybe he’d been too drunk to remember anything. But he really wasn’t in the mood for that much entertainment right then. His head really did hurt pretty badly. If the pretty blond had wanted to stay and play, he might have been agreeable, but otherwise, he decided he just wanted them both to go and leave him to sleep.

“Hey, Pal. Wake up already.” The trick was now shaking Brian’s shoulder and yelling at him loudly enough to prevent Brian from going back to sleep. “Come on, Buddy. Time to wake up. You can’t go back to sleep with a bump like that on your noggin.”

“Ya think he’s gonna be okay? We could try and make a run with him for the hospital, but I’d prefer to wait till after the raid is over,” said the deeper voice coming from the body Brian couldn’t quite see yet.

“No. I think it’s safer to just stay here for the time being,” Blue Eyes asserted calmly, looking down at Brian with a worried frown. “If I remember my training right, all we can do for a concussion is keep him awake, watch him to make sure he doesn’t get worse, and keep him calm. The hospital is bound to be full of people who need real help. I think I’ve got this for the time being. But I should bandage that cut and if anyone down here has any aspirin, that might help, too.”

“Good idea. I’ll ask around. Be right back,” Deep Voice stated and then, from the sounds of it, moved off.

“What time is it?” Brian groaned. If these tricks weren’t going to leave him the fuck alone anytime soon, he might as well get up - it wasn’t like he didn’t have a shit load of work to do before his big meeting tomorrow . . . wait, he hadn’t missed his meeting with Britcom had he? Fuck, if he’d missed the meeting Gardner was gonna have his balls.

“It’s a little after one,” the blond replied.

Brian opened his eyes properly, or at least as well as he could with the headache from hell that was currently eating away at his brain. It was a good thing the light in here wasn’t too bright, because he didn’t think his head could handle it.

“How are you feeling?” Blue Eyes asked.

How was he feeling? What the fuck had happened? And more importantly, where the fuck was he?

“Like shit. What happened?”

The blue eyed adonis smiled softly. “You passed out.”

Passed out? How much had he had to drink last night?

The confusion must have shown on his face.

“You fell . . . sprained your ankle and knocked your head a good one,” Blue Eyes answered, which at least explained his head.

Brian nodded. He remembered that part now. And the fact that his gorgeous new suit was ruined. He was also starting to remember how he came to be in the presence of the man with the pretty blue eyes who, unfortunately, was not one of his tricks. At least not yet.

“What’s your name again?” Brian asked casually.

The blond’s face fell slightly. “Justin . . . Justin Taylor, First Officer, Eagle Squadron, Fourth Fighter Group.”

Brian rubbed tiredly at his face, closing his eyes and groaning quietly. He was exhausted. Maybe if he could just get a little rest, this splitting headache would ease up a bit.

Justin tapped his arm. “You can’t go back to sleep.”

“Why the hell not?” Brian grumbled at the annoyingly persistent little blond.

“Because, unless I’m wrong, you've got yourself a concussion there. Which means I’m not supposed to let you go back to sleep, or you might not ever wake up again,” the officious little do-gooder maintained. “So, work with me here, Buddy. To start with, let's get you sitting up a little bit more.”

Sighing heavily, Brian sat up slowly - taking advantage of Justin’s proffered hand. He figured Justin must be right in his diagnosis, since the entire room began spinning around him wildly even with that small amount of movement. The throbbing in his head was also amplified. However, looking on the bright side, at least with his head hurting this bad he no longer really felt the pain in his ankle. Since when had he become such an optimist?

“So far so good,” Brian's very own Florence Nightingale averred. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Brian squinted a bit, until the five or six hands full of fingers whirling around in front of his face coalesced into just one, and he was able to see more clearly.

“Three. I think. But if you really want to wiggle your fingers around, I can think of a lot funner places to do it than in my face like that,” Brian answered, trying for a sexy smirk at the end, but unfortunately only able to muster up a slightly lopsided frown.

“Uh . . . Um . . . Well, let’s just say your vision doesn’t appear to be blurred,” Justin responded, ignoring the innuendo, but with the beginnings of a rosy blush tinting his cheeks. “If you feel sick to your stomach, just let me know. Do you feel otherwise disoriented or confused?”

Brian thought about yelling out, ‘fuck, yeah. What the hell is going on here,’ but decided not to show his hand that much. He didn’t know who all these people were and he hated thinking that he was basically at their mercy. He preferred to take what little control he could, which meant there was no way he was letting on to Blue Eyes or anyone else how thoroughly confused he really was. Instead, Brian went with a bland, “a little, maybe.”

“Hmmm. That’s not a good sign,” Justin remarked, looking into Brian’s eyes again with concern. “Do you remember your name?”

“Kinney. Brian Kinney.” Of that much, at least, he was sure.

“Nice to meet you, Brian,” Justin nodded and smiled but then hurried on with his questioning. “So, what brings you here to London, Brian?”

“I’ve got an important business meeting here tomorrow,” Brian answered readily enough but without giving too many details.

“Two out of two, so far,” Justin seemed pleased with Brian’s answers. “Now, how about today’s date?”

Brian looked around him at the oddly dressed people, all huddled together on the Tube station floor, then back to his questioner. This didn’t look like 2016 to him. Not unless these folks were all part of some elaborate hoax. Or maybe it was some kind of crazy theme party? Some kind of period dress up party where they locked you in the Tube station for the night? That didn’t sound like Brian’s kind of fun, but he supposed there might be some twisted losers out there that were into that kind of thing? If that was the case, though, they were all doing a smash up job at staying in character . . .

“I’m not exactly sure,” Brian finally answered truthfully.

“Hmmm. That’s not good,” Nurse Blue Eyes declared, reaching out to tip Brian’s head back so that he could look at the gash on his forehead in the light again. “Yeah, you definitely banged yourself up good there. But I don’t think it’s as bad as it seems. Head wounds always bleed like the Dickens. But maybe we should try and get you to a doctor after all if you can’t remember what day it is . . .”

Just then, their discussion was interrupted by a muffled thudding boom and the ground under them rocked slightly. Brian grabbed hold of the edge of the platform, worried he might fall off. Some of the children nearby began to whimper but were soon calmed by parents. Even then, though, Brian was surprised by how matter-of-fact everyone seemed to be. Unless he was wrong, that had been some kind of explosion up on the street. And, if it was big enough to rock them all the way down here, it must have been pretty serious. Why weren’t all these people freaking out? This couldn’t possibly be just a theme party, could it? And surely people weren’t crazy enough to get their kids involved in this messed up shit . . . What the FUCK was going on?

“So, um, what is the date?” Brian asked as soon as the minor commotion caused by the distant explosion had died down, almost afraid to get the answer.

Justin smiled at Brian. “It’s April 1st, of course.”

Well, at least he hadn’t missed his meeting yet, he thought. “Not exactly the kind of April Fool’s joke I wanted,” Brian mumbled. Then he asked the inevitable follow up question, the one he really didn’t want to know the answer to. “And, just for laughs, tell me . . . what year is it?”

Justin looked at him curiously, obviously surprised by Brian’s question. “It’s 1941, Buddy. What year did you think it was?”

1941? Seriously? Brian scanned the crowd of people around them again and shrugged. Well, that would explain the period costumes and the premise for why they were all hiding in this Tube station. 1941 London would have meant they were in the middle of World War II and the famous London Blitz - the time when Hitler’s air fleets had been regularly bombing the shit out of the English countryside. Brian vaguely remembered that the citizens of London had routinely used Underground stations as shelters from the almost nightly bombing. So, was that what this was? Some kind of Blitz recreation? Okay . . . whatever floated your boat.

“Well, it’s definitely NOT 2016,” Brian finally answered, getting a chuckle out of his new blue-eyed friend.

“Yeah, well, I’d hope that the war is finally over by then. If we’re still huddling here in the dark getting bombed every other night after another seventy five years, there won’t be much of London left,” Justin asserted.

There was another distant boom right then from above and a sifting of dust sprinkled down on them from the ceiling of the station tunnel.

Brian jumped a little.

“At this rate, I’m not sure much will be left by this time NEXT year if we don’t do something to stop Gerry sooner,” Justin added with a definite frown as he dusted a small accumulation of soot off the shoulder of his uniform jacket.

Brian didn’t comment. He was rather impressed with how well this guy stayed in character. And the special effects were pretty remarkable. The booming noises, the dustiness . . . all of it was so realistic. This had to be the most elaborate party Brian had ever seen. Whoever did their advertising must be a fucking genius. He’d have to look into it when it didn’t feel like his head was going to explode.

*Achoo!* Brian’s perusal of his neighbors’ costumes was interrupted by the violent sneezing of his Blue Eyes. “Sorry about that,” Justin apologized as he pulled an old-fashioned, personally initialled, starched linen handkerchief out of his pants pocket and swiped at his dripping nose. “Applesauce! This happens almost every night. All the dust down here gets my allergies going every time. It’s a good thing my mother sent over another two dozen hankies in that last care package I got, you can’t find them over here these days.”

Brian noticed even in the dim light how red and sore The blond’s eyes were beginning to look. ‘Every night’? Brian thought that was an odd thing for the guy to say. Did they do this party that often? Or was Blue Eyes just trying to stay in character? And why didn’t the kid just take some allergy meds before coming to the party? He didn’t need to adhere to the period atmosphere that strictly that he couldn’t take advantage of modern medicine while attending, did he?

“‘Ere ya go, Sir.” The baritone voice Brian remembered hearing before returned right then, along with the person it belonged to, which turned out to be their friend, Alfie, the ticket taker. “The station warden sent me along with his First Aid Kit. He’s a might busy right now or he’d a come his own self,” Alfie explained. “Gerry dropped a whole mess of dem incendiaries o’er our heads t’night, and it’s keepin’ em all busy topside, you know. Fire brigades are hoppin’ all o’er da place. So’s it’s best you stay here nice and cozy like for now, Sir. Hopefully you kin find whatever you need in that there kit. I think it’s even got some of them new-fangled sticking plasters in it, ya know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. This should be fine. I’ll take it from here so you can get back to your duties,” Justin advised, accepting the tin box from the helpful ticket taker and immediately beginning to rifle through its contents.

Before Brian knew what was going on, his Blue Eyes had dug out a small yellow box labelled ‘Iodine Swabs’ from the kit. Justin pulled a small white tube of something out of the box, snapped it open and began daubing at Brian’s head with it. The solution in the tube stung a bit, but in a good, medicinal way, so Brian resisted the urge to flinch away. Once the wound was disinfected, Justin pulled a small, white metal cylinder out of the kit, removed the cap from that, and pulled out a self-adhesive bandage, which he promptly administered to Brian’s forehead.

“There you go. I know I’m not a bedpan commando, but that should hold you,” Justin smiled at his tidy work. “You’ll be good as new in no time.”

“Thanks.” Brian offered his nurse a sexy smile of gratitude, and got another of those blushes in return. “So what’s next?” Brian looked around him and noted that almost all of their fellow Underground denizens were bunked down and snoozing by this point. “This has got to be the lamest party I’ve ever been to. When does the fun start?”

Justin raised his eyebrows. “I’m afraid this is about as fun as it gets around here. Sometimes Harry brings his accordion and plays us a song or two, but I don’t see him around tonight. I hope he didn’t get caught up in the ruckus upstairs,” Blue Eyes stated, looking worried for a moment. “This shelter has mostly families, anyways, so it’s pretty tame. Nothing like the rowdier places downtown or out by the barracks. I wouldn’t think you’d be up for that much fun, though, considering your state. But I might have a pack a cards on me if you’re feeling well enough for a game or two,” Justin said as he patted his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cards that had seen better days. “Aha, we’re in luck. I usually carry a deck on me. It helps pass the time when we’re sitting around HQ waiting for orders. My squadron isn’t completely up to numbers yet, you know, so there’s a lot of sitting around waiting on stuff going on these days. I’ve flown a few training runs with the first squadron already, but that’s about it. I can’t wait to get the okay for our first official mission.” While he’d been telling Brian all this, the young blond had already begun shuffling the deck of cards. “Gin Rummy?” He asked and Brian nodded, thinking, ‘what the hell’.

“So, what’s an American doing here in London in a military uniform?” Brian asked, thinking he might as well play along since he had nothing better to do for the moment. “If I remember correctly, the Americans won’t be entering the war until December and won’t be stationing troops in England until at least 1942. Aren't you getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

Brian looked up when the blond paused in the act of dealing his cards, staring at Brian like he’d just said something absolutely ludicrous. Then Justin looked around himself with a worried expression. As soon as he noted that everyone else within ear shot seemed to be sound asleep, he relaxed a little, but remained a little bit more on guard than he’d previously been.

“I'm not sure what kind of ‘business’ you’re here about, Mister, but whatever it is, you better keep information like that to yourself. Loose lips and all that, right? We definitely don’t want Gerry getting advance word about America coming into the war - not that I believe it, mind you, although there have been some rumblings about that up at HQ - and you never know who’s listening these days, so best keep anything you do know to yourself,” Justin advised with a serious glare in Brian’s direction.

“Shit. You really take this crap seriously, I guess,” Brian grumbled, amused that his new friend was so serious about playing his part. “Okay. I’ll play along. Still, what’s an American doing here in 1941?”

Justin resumed dealing out the cards, although he was still frowning at Brian’s flippancy. “That’s simple. I’ve always wanted to be a pilot, but it’s tough to get into the training program back in the States. I got . . . I didn’t make the cut back home,” Justin looked sideways at Brian as he said this, obviously holding something back from his story. As he arranged the cards in his hand, he continued, “lucky for me, though, the R.A.F. is desperate for recruits, so I hopped over the pond and signed up over here. There’s a lot of us Yanks doing the same thing. No. 71 Squadron went operational back in February - the lucky dogs - but our squadron is almost ready to join them. We’re not quite up to numbers yet. We should be flying by the end of the month, though. I can’t wait. The training has been great - really interesting, you know - but I’m looking forward to putting it all to the test for real . . .”

Brian looked over his hand with an amused smile while listening to the kid go on about his imaginary flight training. He discarded a red ten and drew a replacement card from the deck. Justin threw down a black four and drew as well, talking all the time. And before you knew it, they were both so absorbed in their card game while they chatted that Brian didn’t even realize how far into the conversation he’d been drawn. He hadn’t felt this relaxed around a stranger in a long time. Maybe in forever, now that he thought about it. Which was strange because Brian rarely let his guard down, even with his friends. But here he was, having been pulled into this strange evening’s entertainment against his will, not really even understanding what was going on, and he somehow found himself enjoying the whole thing immensely. Without alcohol being involved. And without having even fucked anyone here yet. But he WAS actually enjoying himself. Go figure, right?

“Gin,” Brian declared, laying down all his cards and getting a groan from his opponent who still had a lot of cards in his own hand.

They quickly totaled up the points and then Brian began to deal the next hand.

“Anyway, I do miss my family an awful lot, but I don’t regret volunteering. There wasn’t much for me if I’d stayed back home. At least here I get to fly. There’s nothing like it, you know. You feel so free up there. Like no one can drag you down. No one can judge you . . . Have you ever been in an airplane?” Justin asked Brian, his face betraying absolutely no hint of disingenuousness at the ridiculous question.

Brian laughed. This kid was really good. “Uh, yeah, I fly all the time,” he answered honestly, not as concerned about playing the game as the kid.

“Really? You must must be a real high roller. Back in Pittsburgh, where I come from, nobody has much call to fly anywhere, even if they could afford it. But I got to hear Lucky Lindy speak at the local YMCA a couple of years back. He said that air travel is gonna be the next big thing. He predicted that within a decade, we’ll all be flying all around the world, and that being a pilot is gonna be where all the big money jobs are. And I knew then and there, that’s what I wanted to do. No matter what I had to do to make it happen,” Justin rhapsodized on about his supposed profession, causing Brian to chuckle at the kid’s pretended innocence.

“Sorry. I guess I tend to talk too much, especially when it’s about flying,” Justin apologized with another adorable blush when he saw Brian smiling indulgently at him. “Gin,” he announced, laying down his cards, and effectively changing the subject. “But enough about me. I’ve already talked your ear off. What brings YOU here to London. You’re clearly not here to volunteer to join the British Gravel Agitators, so what’s this business that’s got you flying all over the place - if you can safely say, that is?”

Normally Brian would have happily launched into an explanation of his latest target client - he not only got off on bragging about his prowess in the marketing world but he rarely passed up any opportunity to network, even in out of the way situations like this - but for some reason, he just didn’t feel like talking shop right then. Discussions of modern marketing techniques just didn’t feel like the proper topic for this venue. For one thing, it would be completely out of character at this kind of period party. And, while he wasn’t exactly as into the game as his Blue Eyes was, he didn’t want to ruin the vibe either. Plus, he was actually enjoying listening to the enthusiastic kid rambling on, and didn’t want to bring in a discordant note. So, rather than talking about his work, Brian did something completely out of character, and instead starting telling a little about himself.

“Oh, like I said, just business. Nothing you’d be interested in hearing about,” he evaded the direct question. “I almost don’t care if I get the account - except that my boss will kill me if I don’t - mostly, I was just happy to get the opportunity to come back to London. I love this city. Every time I come here I find something interesting that I never expected to find. Or some ONE,” Brian offered with a suggestive wink that seemed to surprise the young man again.

Justin seemed genuinely startled by Brian’s flirting. He reacted so oddly. It was almost like he felt guilty or something. The way Justin would glance around furtively whenever Brian came onto him, as if he was truly afraid somebody might notice, seemed inexplicable. Brian was pretty sure his gaydar wasn’t wrong - this kid had to be gay - but if so, why was he acting so off? He couldn’t still be in the closet, could he? As beautiful as this guy was, it would be a total shame. Something was certainly not copacetic though.

Since his efforts to flirt didn’t seem to be going anywhere, though, Brian hurried on. “I especially love the museums here. I don’t think any other city in the world has as many, or as varied, museums as London. If I get through with my meeting early enough tomorrow, I’m hoping to get to the National Gallery for a few hours. Have you been there yet?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Brian,” Justin replied, looking truly saddened. “But the National Gallery is closed. Pretty much all the museums in London are closed. I heard that the government’s shipped as much of the art as possible out of the city to keep it safe from the Blitz and the rest is hidden in vaults somewhere. Shame, too. I’m a bit of an artist myself, on the side and all, and I’d have liked to see some of the Masters. Maybe after the war though, right?”

“Oh. Right. I forgot,” Brian replied, a little aggravated by how adamant the kid was about staying in character. “So, you’re an artist too?” He asked, hoping to move to a safer topic.

“I dabble,” Justin explained self-effacingly. “You can’t make a living as an artist though. And I don’t want to be a poor starving artist all my life. Not me. My plan is to get through this war, then get my commercial pilot's license and make buckets of moolah flying all around the world for the next ten years or so. After which I should have enough to go back home, buy a nice little place and settle down. By then my mother will be ready for me to find a wife, get married and give her a grandkid or two.”

That comment struck Brian as extremely odd. Maybe hitting his head had thrown his gaydar off? Did he really just hear Blue Eyes saying his plan was to get married and pop out a couple kids? Brian could have sworn this guy was gay, but maybe he was wrong . . . Or maybe the kid was just playing his part a little too well.

Either way, Brian was starting to get annoyed by all the pretence. His head was also throbbing again. He set his current hand of cards aside and rubbed gingerly at his temples. He was desperately tired. Would it really be that big a deal if he caught an hour or so of shut eye? He wasn’t a doctor or anything, but he didn’t think they really enforced that no sleeping thing for concussions these days, did they? Hell, even the cold tile floor of the Tube station was looking awfully inviting right then.

Just as Brian was about to give in and curl up on the floor, though, his personal medical attendant was there propping him up. “Whoa there, Pal. No sleeping remember,” Justin insisted. “Not for at least twenty-four hours. After that, if you aren’t showing any further signs of concussion, you can sleep. But for now, you’ve got to stay with me. Okay?”

“. . . so tired,”

“I know you’re tired. That’s the bump on the head talking, though. Come on. Sit up again. You can do this. I wish there was room to walk around a bit, but you’d probably step on somebody in your condition.” That roused Brian enough to get a small laugh out of him. “Just stay with me. Talk to me. Tell me . . . Tell me about your family.”

“I don’t want to talk about my fucking family. I hate my family,” Brian grumbled uncooperatively.

Justin laughed. “Fine. Tell me about your friends, then. What do you do for fun back home? Where is home, by the way?”

“Pittsburgh.”

“Really? Me too. It’s a small world, huh?” Brian grunted, still eyeing the comfy-looking floor with intention. “So, tell me what you and your friends do for fun in Pittsburgh.”

“We go out. Go to bars. Drink. Dance. The usual,” Brian replied grudgingly.

“Yeah? What’s your favorite bar?” Justin asked, simply to keep Brian talking.

“Woody’s. Or, if we want to dance, Babylon.”

“Hmm. I don’t know those joints. And I thought I knew Pittsburgh,” Justin commented.

“You must have been hiding under a rock then,” Brian teased. “They’re the two hottest venues on Liberty Avenue. When I’m home I’m out at one or the other maybe five nights a week. Although I haven’t been going out as much as I used to. My best friend, Michael, recently got himself into a serious relationship and now I hardly see him. And hanging out with Loser Ted and Flaming Emmett isn’t the same, you know . . .”

And just like that, Brian was launched into a complete and detailed biopic of his life. Justin adroitly kept him taking, asking leading questions here and there, any time it seemed like Brian was at risk of drifting off. Maybe it was the knock on the head, or maybe it was just the strangeness of the night overall, but Brian found himself talking like he’d never done before. While they sat there on the floor of the overcrowded Underground station playing Gin Rummy, Brian basically told this kid all about his life back home. And not the stuff he usually bragged about to strangers - the stuff he felt comfortable telling about his more public persona, his nightly conquests, his reputation as a Stud - nope, he found himself telling this guy he’d just met about his less than happy childhood, his dissatisfaction with his currently lonely life, the way all his friends seemed to be finding partners and settling down while leaving him behind, and even about his son, Gus, who he rarely talked about to anyone. In exchange, Justin told Brian more about his own life, his hopes and his dreams.

And, before they knew it, the night was over.

“Right-O, Ladies and Gents. That’s the All Clear sounding now,” Alfie announced in his clear, booming baritone. “Time to rise and shine and head on home. Good luck to you all. Here’s hoping Gerry missed your ‘ouses last night. It were a bad ‘un I’m afeared.”

“Well, you made it through the night. That’s a good sign. How are you feeling now?” Justin asked Brian, leaning so he could look into Brian’s eyes more closely. “Your pupils aren’t dilated or anything, so I think you’re probably on the mend.”

Brian pushed himself to his knees and then climbed stiffly to his feet. His head felt heavy but he thought that was mostly just the lack of sleep. When he bent over to pick up his jacket, he did feel a momentary wash of dizziness, though, and quickly reached out a hand to steady himself. Justin grabbed hold right away.

“Okay, maybe I spoke too soon.” Justin moved closer and wrapped his arm around Brian’s waist supportively. “If you’re still feeling dizzy, I think we’d better get you checked out by a doctor, Brian.”

“I’ll be fine.” Brian hated being fussed over. He took a deep breath and was glad to note that the dizziness was already passing. “If I can just get back to my hotel, I'm sure they can call a doctor for me. Besides, I’ve got to get ready for my meeting. My boss won’t care about any concussion. If I don't close this deal, he’ll take my head off the rest of the way.”

“Well, If you’re sure,” Justin seemed reluctant to let Brian go. “But I’ll feel better if you let me walk you to your hotel. Just to ensure you make it okay.”

“Awww. Walking me back to my room with my virtue still intact even after spending a whole night together. You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you, Blue Eyes?” Brian teased, enjoying that he could raise another blush with his joking. Just one step on his still sore ankle though told Brian he’d be foolish not to take Justin up on his offer. “Fine. I guess you win. It seems I could use some help. But I’m warning you now - once we get to the hotel, I’m not inviting you upstairs. We wouldn’t want the neighbors to talk, now would we?” He snarked with another blush inducing wink, that had him laughing to himself even through the pain of negotiating the stairs back up to the real world.

Chapter 4 - Let’s Pretend.

Brian hadn’t made it even five meters down the street after emerging from the Tube station before he realized that his strange night was turning into an even stranger morning.

Justin had helped him slowly limp up the stationary escalator from the underground platform up to the station entrance. They were flanked by the rest of the denizens who’d spent the night with them down below. Brian was still marveling at how great all their costumes looked - every single one seemed so authentic to him. But he was really looking forward to getting back to reality.

Only, reality was still severely lacking once they made it back to street level. Or, at least the reality Brian was hoping to find. Because it seemed like, either the fancy-dress party from the Tube station had overflowed and taken over all of Covent Garden, or Brian’s hypothesis about what had happened to him the night before was completely wrong.

The very first thing he saw after they emerged from the station, was a parade of men wearing what appeared to be rough-spun wool jackets, aprons, and newsboy caps, pulling handcarts laden with bundles and burlap bags full of goods. They all seemed headed in the same direction - down the street and in through a large wrought-iron archway at the front of a large building he didn’t recognize. Nobody around him seemed to pay this incongruous sight any mind at all. It was almost like this was a daily happening or something. Most of the others leaving the station simply stepped around the carters, a few nodding politely or making small talk. Not even Brian’s Blue Eyes commented on the sight.

That’s when Brian noticed that there didn’t appear to be ANY motorized vehicles around at all. The street in front of him was mostly empty, except for the guys and their handcarts, but a little ways down the street there was another cart, this one much larger, hitched to a pair of horses. And these weren’t the kind of picturesque horses you saw drawing shiny carriages for tourists to ride in while viewing the sights, either. These were tired, old, mud-crusted, dray horses that weren’t at all picturesque. The guy sitting atop the wagon guiding the horses wasn’t picturesque either - he looked almost as dirty as the damn horses. And there was nothing photo-worthy of the piles of dilapidated old furniture and boxes on the cart either. What the hell?

Looking around him at the street itself wasn’t any more reassuring. The buildings on this street looked somehow older than he remembered them - more sooty and less shiny. They were all brick and mortar, three or four story townhouses, mostly residential, and not the busy street of shops and offices he’d remembered in this area. There wasn’t a single modern, steel and glass structure visible anywhere. And even the few shops he could see looked different - gone were the sliding steel security gates that fronted most closed-up shops, the neon signs, and the security lights. In fact, there weren’t any real lights on any of the shops at all. They were all much drabber than normal shops too - even the colors on the signage was muted-looking to Brian’s eyes. Then it hit him - all the signs were simple hand-lettered placards - there wasn’t a single plastic or lighted sign anywhere.

While Brian was still reeling from this disconcerting observance, Justin had been guiding him down the road, back in the direction they’d come from the night before. As they crossed a side street and rounded the corner, Brian got a good look at the broader High Street, and that sight was even more disturbing. The entire street here was strewn with rubble - bricks, wooden boards, bits of metal and other trash, all littered the street. The source of the mess was obviously the large building on the right side of the block, where a gaping hole in the line of brickwork was clearly visible. The windows of the nearby buildings were all broken out as well, and you could see that the interiors had been burned. There was still a strong odor of smoke surrounding the site and through the ruined windows he could see smoldering piles of ashes where the fire wasn’t even completely out.

Several men wearing those same flat-brimmed metal hats that Brian had seen the night before, were climbing around in the remains, kicking aside pieces of wood and dumping what looked like sand on any lingering hot spots. On the pavement in front of the building, a hoard of children were busy gathering smaller pieces of the rubble and, at the direction of an older woman, making neat piles of the remains off to the side. Except for a few gawkers, though, this minor disaster didn’t seem to cause any real uproar. Most of the crowd leaving the Tube station along with Brian and Justin simply shook their heads at the sight and kept on walking. It was almost like the sight of a ruined, burned out building was no big deal to these folks.

“What the hell . . . ?” Brian pulled Justin to a halt, standing in front of the gap between buildings next to a trio of children, one of whom was pointing up at a particularly unstable portion of the remains. “What the fuck happened here?”

“Hey! Watch your language, Mister. Ladies and children present,” a passerby admonished Brian angrily.

“Applesauce! I thought those hits last night were close,” Justin replied, shaking his head at the destruction. “Must have been incendiaries too, judging by the amount of fire damage. I bet the fire brigade had a hell of a time keeping this one under control. It’s still hot, even,” Justin commented before taking a renewed grip around Brian’s waist and starting to turn his charge around so they could continue on their way without further ado. “I hope Mrs. McCready’s didn’t take any damage. Until my squadron’s officially up to numbers, they’ve got us billeted all over the place - wherever they could find us rooms - but we’ll eventually be moving into the barracks out by the Essex airfields. Not that we’ll be any safer out there. Gerry tries to hit the airfields pretty much every night, but our defenses are getting better all the time. In the meantime, though, I’m in a boarding house just around the way here and I’m always worried I’ll come up from the shelters in the morning and find it gone.”

Brian was too much in shock at what he was seeing to comment.

They soon got beyond the area affected by the bombed building, and the bustling crowd of people around them increased. Brian was outright staring now. Everyone he saw was dressed the same as the people he’d spent the night with down in the Tube. This couldn’t just be some elaborate costume party. He saw women in classic 1940s frocks, hats pinned atop hair rolled like Ginger Rogers. He saw police Bobbies with the traditional rounded helmet-type hats. He saw men in dapper suits just like the one he was wearing. And children wearing short pants buckled at the knee or short little dresses with ribbons in their hair. If this WAS a fancy-dress party, it would have to be a city-wide event.  

Brian was starting to get a very, very bad feeling about everything he was seeing.

But when they got to a spot a little further down the street where the entire pavement had been roped off and a sign put up saying, ‘Danger: Unexploded Bomb’, that’s when it all got to be too much for him. Brian felt his legs go out from under him and the entire crazy street scene in front of him began to spin. He felt like he couldn’t breathe - couldn’t fill his lungs with enough oxygen. His hearing went wonky, the voices around him sounding distant, muffled and their words elongated to the point they didn’t make any sense. He had to sit down. Right then. Right there.

“Brian? Brian, what’s wrong? Applesauce! Here, sit here.” Brian could hear the words Justin was shouting at him, but it was like watching a movie where the soundtrack was off - the words were about ten seconds off from the mouth speaking them. “I think you’re having a panic attack, Brian. Try and slow your breathing. That’s better. Put your head down, between your knees, and just keep breathing. You’re going to be okay. Keep breathing.”

If he could actually speak, Brian would have asked how he was supposed to keep breathing when Justin had him bent in half so far he couldn’t fill his lungs. But he was still gasping for air and therefore couldn’t get the words out. Bending over did seem to help make the world stop spinning around him, though. He felt reassured when he only had the pavement below his feet to look at and not all the inexplicable anomalies that had been assailing his vision that morning. Justin’s warm, comforting hand rubbing reassuring circles on Brian’s back also seemed to help.

After several minutes - Brian wasn’t sure exactly how much time went by in real life, but it felt like a long time to him - he finally felt strong enough again to sit up. Unfortunately the scene around him hadn’t resolved itself into the modern, 2016 London street he was hoping to see. As unbelievable as it seemed, it looked like Brian was still in the middle of a 1940s war movie. Only, he didn’t think this was a movie. Or a costume party. Or any of the other flimsy explanations that he had tried out in his head, all of which fell flat as the reality of his situation continued to pound at him relentlessly. This looked real. It smelled real. It felt real.

Unless he’d completely lost his mind, it looked like Brian really was, somehow, back in wartime London.

Brian turned to his blue-eyed companion and demanded, “pinch me!”

“What? Why?”

“Just fucking pinch me already!” Brian snarled angrily.

With a confused shrug, Justin complied, grabbing a fold of skin on the side of Brian’s neck and twisting it with a hard pinch.

“Ouch!” Brian hollered on cue. “Shit that hurt!”

“You said to pinch you,” Justin commented, looking at Brian as if the older man had lost it.

“It’s all real? Totally fucking real. Damn! How the hell . . .” Brian was now looking around himself again, this time with wonder, as he tried to take it all in.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Brian? Maybe we should get you to the hospital after all. You might have hit your head harder than we thought,” Justin suggested, looking really worried now.

“What did you say the date was again,” Brian asked, just to make sure.

“It’s the First of April, 1941,” Justin answered, looking even more concerned.

“Well, fuck me . . .” Brian shook his head, a smile growing as he surveyed the world around him one more time. “How cool is this, huh, Blue Eyes? It’s fucking 1941! Shit!”

“Um . . . Uh . . . Right, so, about that trip to the hospital,” Justin said, backing slowly away. “Let me see if I can get someone to help me carry you there. You just stay put, okay? Don’t . . . Don’t wander off anywhere . . .”

Taking quick stock of the situation, Brian decided the last thing he wanted was to get taken to a hospital back here in 1941, where he could catch impetigo or some shit, or worse, get thrown in some antiquated looney bin. He had a fleeting image of himself in a straight jacket, a la ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest’. He figured that most mental health facilities of the time probably weren’t nice places to be and he wasn’t itching to end his stay in this time period like that. No, if he had any hope of getting back to his real life, his proper time, he needed to figure this out and being labeled a lunatic and locked up wasn’t going to help. So, no hospitals.

“No!” His yell seemed to startle Justin even more, so he tried to modulate his voice a little. “No, Justin, that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just . . . I had another little dizzy spell. It’s over, though. I’m fine now. Really.”

Justin was scrutinizing Brian as if he wasn’t convinced. Brian tried to put on an air of nonchalance, as if nothing was wrong, as if his heart wasn’t still racing. He wasn’t sure he completely succeeded, but in the end Justin sighed and merely offered a hand to help him up.

“Well, then, let’s hope your hotel has a doctor on call that can check you out. I don’t want you keeling over as soon as I leave you. I wouldn’t feel right about abandoning you like that,” Justin asserted as he once again assumed his post supporting Brian on the side by his weak ankle.

“Thank you again, Justin. I appreciate the help. My ankle really is bothering me, even more so than my head actually,” Brian said, hoping to move the topic to something other than his mental faculties.

“It’s no problem. I’m off duty today anyway,” Justin reassured as they started back out into the street together. “Which hotel did you say you were staying at?”

“The Strand Palace,” Brian answered, hoping that his hotel was actually in existence in this time period.

“Swanky. You really must be a high roller,” Justin commented with a sideways smile in Brian’s direction.

If Justin had heard of the place, Brian thought, that was a good sign it was still here. It was the first break he’d had since he’d woken in that alley the night before. Brian silently thanked his stars that he’d chosen to stay at the kitschy, but still grand, old hotel instead of at the brand new, ultra-modern, Hilton that Cynthia had originally booked him into.

The rest of the walk went by peacefully. Brian was still so busy looking around him, trying to take everything in, that he was too overwhelmed to talk. He still couldn’t really believe it. But everything he saw and heard around him confirmed that somehow he really, truly, had been transported back in time. It was like some bad science fiction story come to life. That group of men walking together down the street dressed in military garb, really were British soldiers. Those really were vintage WWII London buses and cars out rumbling down the street. It was ALL real.

When they rounded the last corner, and we’re finally headed down the road where the Strand Palace Hotel was located, the last shred of doubt in Brian‘s mind withered and died. The hotel standing in front of them now, bore only a minimal resemblance to the hotel Brian had checked into a few days before. The bones of the structure were the same, and it was located in the same spot, but this hotel was much simpler than the one he was familiar with. Apparently, several floors had been added in the intervening years, the entrance had been remodeled, and the facade had been updated. The sign over the door, though, gave evidence that this was indeed the same Strand Palace Hotel that Brian would be staying in 75 years later.

Of course, there was the one small problem that he wasn’t actually registered at this hotel, in this time. If he let Blue Eyes take him all the way inside, that fact was sure to come out. So, how to get rid of Justin before he realized that the man he’d been helping all this time was an impostor?

As soon as they had reached the front steps, Brian turned to his rescuer with a smile of gratitude. “I’m sure I can get along on my own from here, Justin. Thank you so much for your help. I really wasn’t in much of a condition to do anything last night when you found me.”

“Aw, shucks. Don’t mention it. We Yanks need to stick together right?” Justin replied, giving Brian a full wattage smile that was almost blinding it was so bright. Then the young pilot seemed to hesitate, looking down at the ground and shuffling his left foot nervously as he stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “You sure you can make it up to your room okay? I’d be happy to help you the rest of the way. You never know, with the war and all, if the elevator in there is working or not. It might be a long trip up the stairs . . .”

‘Shit. This kid is fucking adorable’, Brian thought to himself, and then immediately erased the lesbianic word ‘adorable’ from his mind.

“No need. I’ll be fine. You’ve done more than enough.”

“All righty then. It was nice to meet you Brian Kinney,” The blond started shuffling his feet again and two spots of pink arose on his pale cheeks. “And, uh . . . Well . . . Um . . . If you’re staying in town for a while . . . and you have nothing better to do . . . Um . . .  my favorite local pub is The White Lion, I’m there most every night, at least when there isn’t a raid on, and if I don’t have any training that night or other duties. But, you know, if you wanted to stop in and buy me a drink to thank me for the expert medical attention, t-t-that’s where I’ll be . . .” The kid stuttered to a stop, his cheeks growing pinker by the minute.

Brian put on his most indignant glare. “Are you asking me out on a date, Blue Eyes?”

“Uh, no. No! Of course not. I-I would never . . .” Justin replied, looking alarmed, and taking a giant step backward away from Brian. The look of fear on the younger man’s face was enough to make Brian feel a little guilty about teasing him. “I-I-I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry if . . .”

Brian couldn’t help himself; he broke out into a full belly laugh. The kid was sweet and innocent - so fucking easy to tease - Brian didn’t think he’d ever seen anything like it. Maybe there wasn’t anything like it back in 2016. However, he didn’t want to get the kid in trouble either. Brian knew enough about the era that he realized being gay in this time and place could be a serious matter.

“I’m just teasing you, Blue Eyes,” he explained, noting the relief in his blond’s eyes and the sudden exhale of breath. “I really don’t know how much longer I’ll be here. If I’m still around, though, I’d be honored to have a drink with you sometime, First Officer Justin Taylor.”

Brian held out his hand with an honest and warm smile. Justin stood tall and smiled back, accepting the handshake. Brian held on even through the little jolt of static electricity that shocked him when their hands first touched, and then added a little extra squeeze at the end before he finally released Justin’s hand. The adorable little brat was blushing again but at least this time he managed to look Brian directly in the eyes, allowing the experienced older man to see the implicit invitation hidden there.

Yep. It seemed Brian’s gaydar worked even in this century.

Recollecting himself, Justin returned his hand to his pocket and took another step backward. Then, with a jaunty tilt to his head, he smiled and waved before turning sharply on his heel with military precision and marching back along the street the way they’d come. Brian watched him for quite awhile, wondering silently what, if anything, his auspicious meeting with the blue eyed pilot meant.

But, as soon as Justin disappeared around the far corner of the building, Brian recollected himself and his circumstances. He didn’t have the luxury of sitting around admiring adorable blonds with luscious bubble butts and pretty blue eyes. He needed to figure out how to the get the fuck back to his proper time. As quickly as possible, too.

As far as Brian could figure it, everything that had happened to him the past twelve or so hours, stemmed from the events that had occurred back in that alleyway behind the bar. Much of what had happened seemed a little blurry now, but he distinctly remembered that all was right until he wandered down that back alley before the rain storm hit. It must have been that storm and . . . He remembered lightning hitting the building next to where he was sheltering from the rain. And then he didn’t remember anything until waking up in the dark and feeling hurt. Something had definitely happened in that alleyway. He just wasn’t sure what.

So, logically, Brian knew that is where he would have to go back to, to find his answers.

With that decision made, Brian started back down the street. It was a lot slower going without his handy assistant, Justin, to help him along. His ankle was still ridiculously weak. But, by using the buildings themselves to support him on the side with his bad ankle, he managed to limp along, slowly but surely. When he got to the side street, he had to go even slower for a bit until he’d made it across, but then he was able to use the next set of buildings the same way. And, little by little, he made his way back to the corner where the little pub had been in his time.

Of course, there wasn’t any pub there in this time and the building itself was boarded up, as he’d noted the night before. Now that he could see the place in broad daylight, it was clear that this building must have seen bombing damage too. The windows and doors were all boarded up on the ground floor, and the upper stories were clearly vacant as well. There would be no stopping here for a rest or refreshment. No matter. Brian didn’t have the time to waste anyway. Instead, he hobbled on, creeping around the corner into ‘Duckett’s Passage’ as fast as his lame ankle would allow, the cobbled stones making it even more of a challenge for him.

The alley looked much different in the daylight than it had by moonlight. If anything, it seemed gloomier and more barren. The walls of the narrow passage were grimy and the cobbles under his feet were uneven and dirt-encrusted. No wonder his poor suit was in such sad condition this morning. The passage didn’t seem very commonly used either - right then he was the only one in the alley for as far down the lane as Brian could see. Which was good, he supposed, since he didn’t want witnesses asking him what the hell he was doing.

He made his way along the alley as quickly as he could, doing his best to calculate the precise location where he’d been when the lightning struck. It wasn’t easy, because there were enough subtle changes between the alley of 2016 and the alley of 1941 that it confused him. He did find the stretch of wall that he remembered had been bricked-up in his time but was still intact, doors and windows in place, here. If he remembered correctly the little bend in the wall where he’d tried to get out of the rain was just beyond that.

Yes! With a little more searching, Brian found his way to the nook with the small brick ledge above it. So, if this was where he’d been standing when the lightning hit, then that would mean that the wall across from him, over there by the metal guttering pipe that snaked it’s way down the brickwork from the roof of that building to the ground, would have been in the direct path of the electrical strike . . .

Brian carefully felt his way, first along the wall where he’d been sheltering - which turned up nothing out of the ordinary - and then the opposite wall.

Which is when something extraordinary happened.

As Brian stood there, facing the solid brick wall, with both hands flat against the bricks, his right hand slid along the rough surface inch by inch until . . . it seemed to vanish into thin air right in front of his face.

He immediately yanked his limb back, almost expecting to find his hand missing or something. Luckily, his appendage was completely intact and, as far as he could tell, no different. He grabbed his right hand with the left, feeling along all the fingers and joints to try and detect any abnormality, but found nothing out of the ordinary.

So he tried it again, allowing his hand to move barely a centimeter at a time, until there was a slight dimpling in the visible light, and his hand began to gradually disappear again past that line.

“HOLY FUCK!” he yelled, surprising himself at how loud his voice sounded as it echoed off the walls of the tiny passage.

He pulled his hand back one more time, just to reassure himself that no harm had come to it, and was again pleased to see it was still there.

A third time, Brian pushed his hand through the invisible barrier, this time more rapidly, and held it there this time, wiggling his fingers. He could still feel his fingers, even though he couldn’t see them. He moved his arm around a little, taking a step away from the wall and noted that his hand and even a little of his arm stayed invisible even when he moved them more than a foot out from the brick wall.

So, there seemed to be a fairly large hole in the fabric of time right here in this dreary little back passage. Hopefully, it was big enough to get Brian back through to his own time. At least, he hoped it went back to his own time. What if it was another time portal that took him back to prehistoric times. All he needed was to he end up mingling with fucking dinosaurs or some shit.

One last test seemed called for. Brian took a deep breath, hoping that he wasn’t being stupid, and then leaned his head forward until it too passed through the invisible barrier. And, after three heartbeats of the scariest nothingness he’d ever experienced, Brian saw the other side of time.

There was the same alley, albeit looking a lot cleaner and more modern, along with his disembodied hand floating in the air just a foot or so below where his now disembodied head was hovering.

“Holy Fucking Shit!” He repeated himself.

From what Brian could see while hovering there, half in and half out of time, this side of the spatial rift certainly looked like his own time. He could see modern lighting fixtures over doors and windows, brighter colors on the various awnings and signs affixed to the doors, and here and there a bit of plastic or other modern textiles. It seemed like the right time. He pulled his head back to the 1941 side of time for one more brief look around at that side, and then, with a shrug, Brian decided to just go for it and stepped through with his whole body.

When he was all the way through, Brian paused for a minute to take stock and make sure he’d made it back in one piece. He looked at himself, scanning his body to make sure all limbs were in place and then feeling his crotch to make sure that equipment was there as well. Nothing seemed damaged or out of place, though. He thought briefly about sticking one hand back through to see if the hole to the past was still functional, but then decided not to press his luck. Now that he was seemingly back to his own time, he wasn’t going to tempt fate. And, to make doubly sure, he decided not to even try walking back down the passage in that direction. Instead, he’d walk the long way, down the rest of Duckett’s Passage, until he found the other end and could go the long way back to his hotel.

Which is what he did.

Brian made it back to the Strand Palace Hotel just as the grandfather clock in the lobby rang out nine thirty. He was dirty, tired and in a hell of a lot of pain from walking so long on his injured ankle. But by then he was certain that he’d made it back to 2016. And he still had time - if he hurried - to take a shower, change into a clean suit and get to the presentation for Britcom.

Chapter 5 - I’ll Be Seeing You.

“We got them, Cynthia,” Brian crowed his triumph. “I’m scanning the contracts now. I’ll email them to you in about sixty seconds.”

“Yes! Way to go, Brian! Even I was beginning to doubt you could do it, although I should know by now never to second guess the Master,” Cynthia half apologized. “Gardner has been sweating bullets for the last twenty-four hours, though, so this should make his day.”

Brian was actually surprised himself. It had taken not only his brilliant initial pitch, but also two follow up pitches and three days of intense negotiation, to close this particular deal. There had been a moment there at the end of the second day, when even Brian had doubted he could convince the crusty old Britcom CEO to sign the deal. But rather than give up, he had spent most of that night revising the boards one last time, pulling out all the stops, and coming back with an even more genius idea than his first two. Somehow, the determination he’d shown must have tipped the scales and impressed the board enough that even the doubters gave in.

This account was definitely one of the highlights of Brian’s career. And he wasn’t going to let Gardner forget it anytime soon. Britcom was a $50 million company with international reach. Signing them on would permanently solidify VanGard’s position in the international marketing world. There was nowhere to go but up from here.

And Brian wasn’t even that upset by the contract provision the CEO had demanded which obligated Brian to personally oversee the account. It meant that Brian would have to spend considerable time in London over the next weeks and months. And, whereas that idea had bothered him initially, he’d been rethinking that position since his little time adventure. Yes, he’d miss seeing his son for that long, but the idea of maybe getting another chance to venture into the past was strangely enticing. Besides, with all the bonus money he’d be getting from signing this deal, he could easily afford to fly the Munchers and Gus over for a nice long visit.

As soon as the contract was scanned, emailed and the original deposited in an overnight envelope bound for the states, Brian heaved a deep breath and collapsed onto his large king-sized hotel bed. It had been a hectic few days and he was bushed. But even so, he couldn’t quite relax enough to catch some zzz’s like he’d hoped. He was still too pumped up on adrenaline to go to sleep. He wished he had someone to celebrate with.

Which is when the image of Justin Taylor, First Officer, Eagle Squadron, Fourth Fighter Group, popped into Brian’s mind.

Not that the plucky little pilot had been completely out of his mind before then. Even when Brian had been so busy with Britcom he could hardly pause long enough to breathe, the pretty blue eyes and pouty lips of the man Brian had spent that memorable night with kept percolating through his thoughts. That whole bizarre night they’d spent together, playing cards and talking, sharing bits and pieces of their lives, their hopes, even *gasp* their feelings, seemed highlighted in Brian’s memories with a hazy, golden, glow of contentment. He didn’t remember ever feeling that way before, which is probably why it stood out so much. And the kicker was that they hadn’t even fucked. Just that one, unexpected kiss. But for some reason Justin stood out in Brian’s memory far more distinctly than any trick he’d had in the past decade. He simply couldn’t get that man out of his mind.

Since he couldn’t sleep, Brian decided to finally give in to his curiosity. He pulled his laptop over onto the bed, propped himself up on his stomach with a couple of pillows under his chest so as to free his arms enough to type, and started to delve into the history of London during the Blitz. And, seeing the pictures that immediately popped up on Brian’s screen, brought everything about that night back to him. The sights, the smells, the feel of the night, the adrenaline when the air raid sirens went off, the warmth of Justin’s body as the smaller but surprisingly strong young man had helped him into the shelter. It was all so real. More real in some ways than the sterile atmosphere of the hotel room he was currently lounging in.

And so, fucking, tempting.

Brian didn’t have anything else he had to do that day. He really wasn’t sleepy even though he should be. Both his head and his ankle were pretty well healed. Brian turned his head towards the closet and saw his beautiful Saville Row suit hanging there, fresh from the cleaners, only a little worse for wear after his adventure. There was really no reason he couldn’t put it on and take a little stroll down Duckett’s Passage was there? He didn’t even know if it was possible to go back again. But if so . . .

Before he had time to rethink things, Brian jumped up from the bed and started changing into the waiting suit.

On his walk over to Duckett’s Passage, Brian passed by a small local supermarket and decided on the spur of the moment to make a quick pit stop to pick up a few things. He was in desperate need of a new pack of cigarettes for himself, but for reasons he wasn’t quite sure of, Brian found himself browsing the pharmacy aisle and picking up a couple of boxes of the best over the counter allergy medication as well. As he was checking out, he also grabbed a candy bar, because, well, you just never knew, right? And before he could change his mind, he was done, out the door and on his way towards the little alleyway next to the Royal Oak pub.

It was still early in the evening so the pub wasn’t busy. It looked just the same as it had when he’d ventured in there four nights previously. He wasn’t interested in a pint though. Instead, he skirted the small crowd of people hanging out by the front door and made his way around to the alleyway next to the bar.

There was the small bronze plaque at the entry that clearly read, ‘Duckett’s Passage’. Just reading the name gave Brian goosebumps up and down his spine. Was he really going to do this? Would it work? And if he did make it through time to 1941 again, was he sure he could get back?

Brian peeked down the lane and noted that there were a few people hanging out around the pub’s side door but beyond that the alley looked pretty empty. He started to walk down the passage, trying to look casual. There was a small free-standing, sandwich board advertising something at the tiny second hand knick-knack shop across from the pub, and a couple of bicycles chained up next to that door, which he edged past, but after that, the alley was mostly clear. By the time he was a dozen meters beyond the pub, it felt like Brian was the only one there. Nobody seemed to be paying him any attention at all.

As he neared the bend in the wall that marked the spot where he’d found the time hole before, Brian slowed his pace and looked back over his shoulder. The pub crew had apparently gone back inside. There was nobody else in sight. Brian cautiously walked over to the left hand wall and felt his way along the bricks . . .

But there was nothing. Nothing happened. He kept edging along the bricks, watching for that odd ripple in the light that he’d seen before when his hand disappeared, but didn’t see it. He inched forward a few more feet. And then another foot. But there was still nothing. And even more feet, with still no disappearing body parts. Finally, he was at least a meter or more beyond the little bend in the alley where he’d managed to cross through the time hole before and nothing had happened.

“Damn,” he muttered, more disappointed than he would have thought by the fact that his little experiment hadn’t worked. “Sorry, Blue Eyes. Looks like that drink just wasn’t meant to be.”

Brian sighed and his shoulders slumped as he turned around, intending to head back out of the alley. He guessed he’d stop in at that pub after all. He didn’t have any other plans now. Maybe he’d find a trick to take his mind off his failure. And if that didn’t work, he could always drink away his problems.

Before he’d taken more than two steps back in the direction he’d come, though, Brian felt a wave of electricity wash over him and the alleyway in front of him momentarily disappeared. He felt all the little hairs on his neck stand up and then, almost as abruptly as it had disappeared, the alley was back again. Only this time the alley he was looking at didn’t have the bright lights of 2016, or the bicycles and sandwich board he’d seen waiting near the entrance when he’d come in. This alley was older and darker and dirtier. This alley wasn’t the Duckett’s Passage of 2016.

It looked like Brian had made it back to 1941 again!

“Excellent!” Brian announced with a big smile. He still wasn’t sure exactly how the damned time portal worked, but at least it was still open. Now he just had to find his Blue Eyes again and see what would transpire.

On the walk to The White Lion pub, Brian stopped every couple of feet to take in everything around him. He still couldn't quite believe that this was really happening. When he thought about it logically, it made no fucking sense, so he decided the best thing to do was put the how's and why's to the back of his mind - at least while he was there - and just try to enjoy the experience.

The first order of business was to actually find the pub where Brian hoped to locate his Blue Eyes - which turned out to be more difficult than expected since it seemed to be pretty far off the beaten track. Brian had stopped at least three people, asking if they could direct him to the place, before he got any help. The guy that finally gave him directions did it sort of grudgingly, as if he didn’t care for the place himself. And even after Brian thanked the man and started to move off in the direction indicated, he could feel the gentleman’s disapproving stare following him.

As soon as he’d moved far enough away, Brian stopped and took stock of himself and his appearance, worried that something about him didn’t pass muster in this time period. But nothing he could see stood out too glaringly. Brian thought he looked just as dapper as usual. Not that Brian ever needed an excuse to go shopping, but at this moment in time, he was extremely grateful that he’d dropped almost two grand on a tailored suit from Savile Row at the start of his trip. He was definitely one of the better dressed men walking around the area, but his suit was timeless and easily fit in with the rest of the men’s costumes around him. His hair might be a little longer and less rigidly styled than was typical of the era, and he wasn’t about to slather it down with pomade or wax like many of the men he saw passing him, but it wasn’t so far out of the norm that it would cause him to stand out. Maybe that guy just wasn’t too fond of Americans? No, that wasn’t it, going on what Blue Eyes told him the other night. The city was full of Americans and they all seemed to fit in fine. There didn’t seem to be anything else about his person that might have tipped off the guy that he wasn’t a native to this time or place. Maybe Brian had just imagined the guy’s standoffishness?

Assured that he looked alright, Brian resumed his trek to the White Lion. After two false turns, which necessitated him turning back and retracing his steps - such was the nature of the sometimes chaotic streets of Britain’s oldest city - he eventually found the correct street and, a couple of houses in from the corner, located the inconspicuous entrance to the fairly nondescript pub. Before he went in, Brian took a moment to admire the old-fashioned, hand-carved and hand-painted pub sign hanging from an iron hook by the front door. It was so typically London, it made him smile.

Brian wasn’t disappointed by the interior of the pub either. It was the quintessential British pub. A small, intimate room with low ceilings, dim lighting, exposed beams blackened by time, rough hewn tables and sturdy backed chairs, the atmosphere hazy from the smoke of a dozen or more customer’s cigarettes and pipes, the whole of it overlain with the smell of slightly stale beer, sweat and day old aftershave. Despite the fairly early hour, there was a good crowd already assembled and most of the tables Brian could see were full. The bar itself was being tended by a rather buxom young woman who was being kept busy pouring for a loud group of boisterous men in various military uniforms. The barmaid seemed to be holding her own though, giving back the banter of the men with gusto. The whole pub, it’s atmosphere and clientele, were eminently reassuring. This pub probably would’ve looked almost exactly the same in any time or era in the last hundred years - or the next hundred for that matter - and Brian immediately felt at home.

Or at least he felt at home for the first thirty seconds or so, until his entrance was noticed by the denizens of the pub, and the majority of the customers fell silent while they scrutinized him. Brian was used to making a grand entrance, but not quite like this. It was obvious that strangers didn’t often make their way into this hidden refuge. From the way everyone was staring at him, Brian felt like he was some exotic bug on display in front of a convention of entomologists. Even Brian Kinney wasn’t comfortable with THAT much attention.

Just as he was about to turn tail and flee, though, a friendly American voice piped up from a bench hidden in the back corner. “Brian! You found the place. I’m so glad.”

Brian turned towards the welcome sound and saw his Blue Eyes smiling up at him with his drink held up in greeting. As soon as Brian was apparently vouched for by a regular, the rest of the bar patrons seemed to go back to their own conversations once more, leaving Brian to make his way over to Justin’s table, guided by the brilliant smile of his target blond. Once he’d made it to the little table where Justin and two others were waiting for him, Brian suddenly didn’t know what to do. Which was really irritating since he wasn’t usually this indecisive when it came to social situations. But, here, he wasn’t exactly sure what the etiquette was or how he should act. This was all new to Brian, and new was uncomfortable to him. Luckily, Justin stepped in to ease the situation.

“Scoot out of the way, Fancy,” Justin ordered, so that the man sitting next to him would move to the other side of the table.

“This the chappie you’ve been crowing about, Sunshine?” the man asked as he swung around to the other bench. “I can see why you were so fixated on him.”

Brian looked the guy over as he slid into the seat next to Justin. The man his Blue Eyes had called ‘Fancy’ certainly lived up to that moniker. He was an overtly effeminate man, dressed to the nines, who swished even when he was seated. He also spoke with an upper-crust British accent that told of an expensive Public School education. The man made Brian smile. This guy could give Brian’s buddy Emmett a run for his money in the flaming queen department.

The other man seated at the table was almost the polar opposite of Fancy. He looked like a working-class stiff - his fingertips were stained and his nails were dirty. He was dressed in a drab grey-green uniform that Brian thought might be Army, although he wasn’t really up on period uniforms and thought that he might need to brush up on that if he planned to come for another visit sometime. The quiet one raised his glass to welcome Brian and then took a gulp of his beer instead of saying anything.

“I was starting to think you’d left London already,” Justin commented as soon as Brian was seated.

Brian couldn’t help but smile at the look of sincere happiness on Justin’s face. “I’ve just been incredibly busy, that’s all,” he replied. “I had that business meeting, remember? It took me three days to talk the owner of the company into signing the contracts. But now that that’s all settled, I thought I’d come out for a bit of a celebration.”

Justin threw back the last of his ale. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, as he signalled over the busy barmaid. “Oi, Daph! Another pint of best and the same for my friend, please.”

“Allo, gorgeous,” the attractive young barmaid beamed, as she walked over to their table and collected their empty glasses. “Well, ain’t you gonna introduce me to this ‘andsome fella?”

Justin blushed. “My apologies, Daph. Brian Kinney, this beautiful thing is the daughter of the owner, Ms. Daphne Chanders, and my very first friend here in London. Daphne, this is the guy I told you about from the other night, Brian Kinney, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.”

Brian took the lady’s hand, making a show of bending to kiss the back of it with an ostentatious flourish. Daphne tittered and blushed so deeply that the rosiness showed even on her dusky cheeks. Brian shot her with his most charming Kinney smile, almost making her swoon as she reached up to pat at her perfectly curled and pinned hair in order to have something to do with her hands.  

“You were right about ‘im, Justin. He’s definitely a sweet talker,” Daphne commented with another giggle and a wink as she openly flirted with Brian.

Brian smirked. “Please don’t encourage her, Brian. She tries to make eyes at every guy who comes into the joint,” Justin elbowed his seat companion.

“Not that it’s h’ever done me any good, working ‘ere,” Daphne complained as she turned and sashayed back to the bar to get their drink refills. When she returned with two pint glasses, she announced, “tuppence, farthing, each, gents.”

Brian reached into his pocket for his wallet, but before he could pull it out, Justin stopped him. “This one’s on me,” Justin insisted as he pulled out a pound note and a few oddly shaped coins.

‘Thank fuck for that’, Brian thought, remembering after the fact that all he had in his wallet was a bunch of condoms, some packets of lube, a couple of hundred pounds, fifty U.S dollars and a few Euros left over from his stopover in Paris.

“Cheers, Blue Eyes,” Brian stated with a wink as he raised his glass, enjoying once again that damned adorable blush the younger man couldn’t help.

Justin lifted his glass at the same time with a mumbled ‘cheers’ back at him. The two other men sitting at the table exchanged amused glances but didn’t say anything until Brian had set his glass back on the table. Then the taciturn one finally spoke up.

“So, you’re the guy our Sunshine saved the other night, eh?”

“This is ‘Gears’,” Justin introduced his buddy. “He’s a mechanic in the First Armored Division.” Then he turned to the other man at the table and added, “and this is ‘Fancy’. He’s a gentleman of leisure at the present moment - or at least that’s what he says when you ask him what he does.” Then Justin turned back to his recently arrived guest. “And, yes, gentlemen, this is Brian Kinney, the American businessman I ran into before the raid the other night.”

“Nice to meet you,” Brian offered with a guarded smile.

“So, what kind of business brings a Yank to London in the middle of a war, then?” Gears asked, point blank.

Brian shuffled nervously in his seat, his ale warm in his hand. Damn it, he probably should have thought about what he’d say before he visited the 1940s again. He wasn’t prepared to tell these guys that he’d travelled back here in time from 2016 - he didn’t want them all thinking he was bonkers . . . despite the fact that he, himself, still wasn’t one hundred percent sure about his mental state. But if he were going to hide the fact that he wasn’t from this time, he couldn’t tell them the truth about what he did or what he was doing in London. He didn’t think ‘International Marketing Executive’ was even a thing back then. Brian hated lying, though, even in this type of extreme situation. So, what could he tell them that they would understand and that wouldn’t be an outright lie?

“It’s, uh,” Brian cleared his throat, “it’s not something I can really discuss. It’s all highly confidential, you understand.”

All three of his listeners fell silent at that statement. Fancy nodded his head knowingly and gave Gears a wink. Gears simply whistled and then turned his attention back to his beer without comment. Justin raised his brows with a small complicit smile. Brian breathed a silent sigh of relief, it seemed like vague non-answers were the way to go here.

“So, Blue Eyes, how’s the life of a high-flying RAF pilot going? You shoot down any Red Barron’s lately?” Brian asked in an effort to change the topic from himself.

Justin laughed with a clear, happy, innocent glee. “I’m surprised you remember what it was I said I did. I wasn’t sure you’d remember much at all after that bump on the head you had. Glad to see you don’t seem to have suffered any ill effects from that at least. How’s your ankle?”

“Good as new. Or almost,” Brian answered, extending his leg out from under the table and wiggling his foot in demonstration. “I probably won’t be running any marathons anytime soon, but it’s good enough to walk on at least. Thanks to your excellent doctoring, I might add.”

Justin played with the almost empty glass now in front of him. “Oh, it was nothing. I’m glad I could help,” he replied bashfully.

Right at that moment, Brian really wanted to kiss that bashfulness away, but he hesitated after looking around at the rest of the patrons of the bar. From all appearances, this place was just your standard British pub. There did seem to be a lot more men here than women, but that wasn’t really unusual, considering the time period. And maybe he was just imagining things, but he did pick up more than a twinge on his gaydar from several of the guys he saw. But even so, none of them were acting on their impulses. So, in the end, Brian really couldn’t tell if this was a straight bar, where a few gay men had just happened in, or if it was a queer bar but everyone there was completely closeted. Either way, he didn’t feel comfortable acting on the urge to show Justin the kind of attention he wanted to show him.

Matters weren’t helped much by the silent staring directed at them from Gears and Fancy, both of whom were simply sitting there, sipping at their own beers and intently watching every single move Brian made. He felt like he was on display. Apparently Justin was feeling the same way.

“I know you only just got here, Brian, but do you maybe . . . want to go for a walk or something? If your ankle is up for it, I mean,” the young man asked, his head tilting invitingly towards the door.

“Sure,” Brian agreed, tossing back the rest of his ale and then getting to his feet.

Justin quickly followed suit and a minute or two later both men were walking companionably down the darkening streets shoulder to shoulder.

They walked together in a comfortable silence for the first couple of minutes, both simply enjoying each other’s company.

“So,” Brian shivered, watching as his warm breath hit the cold spring air around him. “Tell me more about what you do. What’s it like being a pilot?”

“You really wanna know?” Justin asked shyly.

Brian nodded.

“I love it. The thrill of it. The freedom. I can’t wait for our squadron to be complete so we get to fly on a regular basis. But the good news is that I get to sub in for one of the crew in the First Squadron the rest of this week,” Justin explained, his expression and voice both betraying his excitement. “MacCarthy came down with a nasty head cold so he’s on sick leave for a week or two and I was the next one on rotation, so I get to fly some serious missions. I can’t wait. The training has been great, you know, but I want to DO something with it already. I want to make a difference. I want to be up there, flying, doing what I do best.”

Brian admired the enthusiasm and dedication he could feel radiating off the younger man. He’d never really felt that himself. Yes, he was dedicated to his job, to a certain extent, mostly because he liked to be the best in whatever he did, but it wasn’t the same. He had never really felt the drive to put his life on the line for his job. He’d never even contemplated joining the military. He supposed it was different for Justin, growing up in the time he was living in, when war was a much more real and intrinsic part of everyday life. However, he didn’t care for the fact that Justin’s determination and idealism meant that the younger man was now at pretty high risk of becoming one of this war’s many casualty statistics.

“Wasn’t there some other way for you to get the training you want, though,” Brian asked, letting some of his worry bleed through. “You could have just stayed back in the states, couldn’t you? Taken some private training courses and got your pilot’s license that way, right?”

“That type of training course costs a hell of a lot of money - money which I don’t have. And I did try to get into the American Army Air Division training program but . . .” Justin didn’t finish his sentence, which only incited Brian’s curiosity more.

“But what? You seem smart enough and you’re certainly qualified for the position or you wouldn’t have made it through your training here. What happened?” Brian pressed.

Justin stopped walking and turned so he could look Brian directly in the eyes, as if searching his companion for some intrinsic character trait that he wasn’t sure of. Brian thought he detected a defiant gleam in the set of Justin’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure exactly what the boy was looking for in him, but for some reason he really hoped that Justin would find it - whatever it was - and by extension, find him worthy. Which was probably nuts, because Brian usually rejected anyone’s judgment of him on those grounds. He told himself over and over again that he didn’t care what anyone thought of him. He wasn’t going to change to please anyone. But, for once, he was really hoping that this man would find him acceptable.

Finally, after several long moments of scrutiny, it seemed like Justin had finished his evaluation of Brian and apparently found whatever he’d been looking for. “About a year ago, the US Military board started screening for what they call ‘disqualifying psychiatric conditions’ and I was determined to be unfit due to my ‘homosexual proclivities’,” he stated bluntly, as if daring Brian to say something. “But, luckily for me, the RAF is so desperate for bodies they don’t give a damn. As long as I can fly and shoot down Germans, I guess the British don’t care that I happen to find men attractive. So I came here and I haven’t regretted it for one second.”

“Wow,” Brian exclaimed, caught a little off guard by this revelation. He’d known in a vague sort of way that gays hadn’t been accepted in the military during this time, but he hadn’t really ever thought about it that much before.

At first, Justin seemed to take Brian’s surprise as a judgmental statement. His face fell and he began to turn away from Brian. It took Brian several long seconds before he realized what was wrong and reached out, laying his hand on Justin’s shoulder to stop the pilot from walking away in a huff.

“I didn’t realize that it was so hard for gays to get by here,” Brian blurted out.

“‘Gays’?” Justin questioned, not recognizing the more modern term.

“Queers. Homosexuals,” Brian clarified. “Whatever you want to call us.” He made sure to include himself in that descriptive term so Justin wouldn’t have any doubt. “I just didn’t know they were doing that back home. I knew that the military wasn’t keen on queers serving but I didn’t know they were actively screening for it. Not that it should matter. Fuckers.”

“Well, at least we’re not living in Nazi Germany, right? Not only do they actively enforce their sodomy laws these days, but I’ve heard that after you serve your prison term they ship you right off to a concentration camp. Which is just one more reason for me to want to serve and fight those monsters,” Justin insisted, the gleam of anger in his eyes bright enough to stand out even with only the moonlight to show it.

“Shit. That’s so fucked up . . .” Brian didn’t know what else to say. The mere thought of that happening to Justin made him shiver with dread.

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here in England rather than back home. I want to fly. It’s that simple. I have a plan for my life and I’m not going to let anyone stop me. I can’t help it that I don’t find broads attractive, like other guys. But I’m not going to let some head shrinker tell me that I can’t fly planes because of it either. And, if I can kill off a few thousand Germans who share that opinion in the process, well then, that’s just a bonus, right?”

“I think you’re incredibly brave,” Brian told the blond honestly, “standing up for what you want like that.”

“It’s not bravery. I just don’t have any other choice. I’m not giving in on this and I don’t think I’m going to miraculously change and not want you to kiss me,” the defiant blond announced.

After a challenge like that, Brian couldn’t help himself; he gently pushed the younger man backwards until Justin hit the wall behind him. They were tucked away in the doorway of a boarded up shop, out of sight of those that might pass by.

“Is this okay?” Brian asked as he traced Justin’s mouth with his fingertip, his touch so gentle it caused the blond to shiver at his touch.

Justin could only nod his head, words clearly escaping him.

Brian leaned in slowly, taking his time and savoring the anticipation. The moment their lips touched, Brian felt as though their mouths were made for each other. The kiss started off so soft, so gentle, so unlike anything Brian had ever experienced before, and that thought alone should have scared him, but it didn’t. It just made him want to keep on kissing Justin. To taste more of him.

Justin grinned into the kiss and was unable to hold back the soft moan as Brian swiped his tongue over the plump, cotton candy pink lips.

Fuck, his little Blue Eyes tasted good.

Grabbing the front of Brian’s jacket, Justin hummed happily.

“Mmm, that was nice.”

Brian laughed softly, leaning in for one more quick peck on the lips. “Nice? That’s all I get . . . Nice? I think you’ll find that was nicer than nice.”

Justin shrugged his shoulders and bit his lip shyly. This softer, more timid version of Justin took Brian by surprise. He wasn’t expecting it. Justin had seemed so strong and brave earlier, when he’d been talking about his job, and Brian had expected that gutsiness to continue. Seeing this more vulnerable side of the little spitfire, though, was an extreme turn on for him.

Brian liked the way Justin was so full of seeming contradictions. So complex. It made him even more curious about the younger man. Brian was intrigued and that didn’t happen to him very often with the men he was usually attracted to. They were too easy. Those other men only touched him on a physical level. Justin, however, seemed to draw him in both physically and emotionally. Maybe it was just the challenge, but Brian found himself even more enthralled.

“Well,” Justin explained quietly, “it’s just that . . . I have nothing to compare it to.”

That did it for Brian, and he couldn’t quite help himself. He pulled the younger man towards him almost roughly, his mouth firm against Justin’s mouth, but the kiss itself remaining soft and gentle. Without thinking about what he was doing, Brian moved his thigh in between Justin’s legs and began to grind their bodies together. Their breath hitched and Justin trembled in Brian’s arms as their nether parts rubbed together furiously.

“Justin, Justin, Justin,” Brian chanted, as the friction increased.

“Brian, stop,” Justin finally said, pushing him away firmly as he leaned back against the wall and panted until he caught his breath a little more. “We can’t . . . not here. What if some flatfoot came by and saw us. It’s not safe.”

“Shit,” Brian complained, but took the warning to heart. He figured Justin knew the time, and therefore the risks, much better than he did. Although it was a crying shame to have to stop just then. “Just when it was getting interesting too.”

Justin laughed softly up at Brian’s frustrated look. “Poor baby. You didn’t think I was that easy did you?” Justin teased him. “I might not have much experience at this, but I know enough not to be an easy mark for the first ritzy hotshot that makes a pass at me.” His words were counterbalanced by the flirty tone he said them in, making Brian’s dick perk up and take notice all over again. Then he relented and became matter-of-fact again. “Besides, there’s no time for this right now even if we wanted to do something. I told you, I’m on duty tonight. I have to be at the base by 23:00 hours. I was actually just about to head out when you showed up at the White Lion. I thought I’d better get on the Tube before it got late in case there was a raid or something and I got caught out.”

Brian sighed. But, if it wasn’t meant to be, at least right then, there wasn’t much he could do about it. If anything, the interruption left him even more determined to find a way to get more from his provocative little Blue Eyes. While patience wasn’t really a virtue Brian was accused of frequently, he supposed he could be patient if he tried. If there was enough incentive in it for him. And Justin Taylor was plenty of incentive.

Brian took a step back, allowing Justin to move away from the wall, adjusting his clothing in the process. Brian snickered but adjusted himself as well, doing his best to ease the tightness affecting his own trousers. Then, as one, they turned and resumed their unhurried walk down the street towards the closest Underground station. It was a companionable thing, their shoulders brushing together every few steps, every touch raising matching smiles from each of them.

When they’d only gone a few steps, a gust of wind swept by, ruffling Brian’s hair and almost blowing off Justin’s uniform cap. The wind was cool but it carried with it a hint of something green and spring-like, foretelling good things to come. It also, apparently, carried with it enough pollen to cause Justin to start sneezing, which ruined the mood and caused him to resort to another of his mother’s handkerchiefs. And it also reminded Brian of the little packet of things in his pocket.

Brian rooted in his jacket for a moment, pulling out his wallet and cell phone before he located the small brown bag that held the two treats he’d meant for Justin. He juggled the items, his hands too full to handle everything, and accidentally pushing the button on his phone that lit up the little screen. Justin, who just happened to be looking in that direction, was obviously surprised by the odd little gadget, but he didn’t say anything, so Brian simply shoved the phone back in his pocket, hoping the incongruous item would be forgotten once he showed the younger man the other things he’d brought.

Taking one small plastic bottle of allergy meds out of the package he handed it over to Justin. “Here. These are for your allergies,” Brian stated.

Justin took the bottle, looking at the unfamiliar packaging with caution. “What is it? I’ve never heard of ‘Piriton’,” he said, reading the name on the front of the bottle.

“Um . . .” Brian hadn’t thought about how he was going to explain the miracle meds from the future. “It’s something new. I don’t think you can get it here in England yet. But it works really well. Trust me on this.”

Justin looked at him suspiciously. Brian shook his head, annoyed by the doubting reluctance, but understanding it all the same. Then he grabbed back the bottle, popped open the cap, dumped two of the small white pills into his hand, recapped the bottle and shoved it into Justin’s jacket pocket, before picking up one of the pills and swallowing it himself.

“See. Completely safe. I promise, I’m not trying to poison you or anything. Just trying to help you avoid turning into a sneezing mess at thirty thousand feet and crashing your plane because of it,” Brian explained with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Justin shrugged and took the second pill, swallowing it with a little frown. “Thanks. If it works, I’ll owe you one. My allergies are always annoying this time of year.”

Brian smiled, encouraged that he’d won that battle without giving himself away, and then handed over the second of his treats, this one less likely to cause an uproar. “I thought you’d maybe like this as well.”

“Chocolate?” Justin’s eyes lit up as he grabbed at the Cadbury’s Dairy Milk bar, the packaging for which, thankfully, hadn’t changed too much even after seventy-five years. “Golly! I haven’t had chocolate in months. Not since I left Pennsylvania. How’d you manage this, Brian?”

“I have my ways,” Brian answered evasively, happy to see how thrilled Justin was with this offering.

“Mmmmm,” Justin moaned erotically as soon as he’d torn open the wrapper and shoved the first bite into his mouth. “This is like eating a little piece of heaven.” Then he noticed Brian’s amused smile at him and remembered his manners. “Sorry. Would you like some?” Justin asked, breaking himself off another square and popping it into his mouth, then sighing happily as the chocolatey goodness melted in his mouth before offering the candy bar to Brian. “Gosh, Brian, this is better than I remembered. It’s the best thing I’ve had in my mouth for so, so long.”

“Oh? And here I thought my kisses would be the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. I’m crushed, Justin,” Brian protested with a laugh, enjoying the way he managed to bring another blush to the boy’s cheeks.

Justin smirked flirtily as he swallowed the piece of chocolate in his mouth. “I love how you say my name,” he breathed. “And, as for how sweet your kisses are, well, I guess now that I have this,” the boy waved the candy bar in the air, “I’ll have something to compare it to the next time we try.”

Then the feisty little pilot winked at Brian, turned on his heel and sauntered away towards the Tube entrance, leaving the older man standing there laughing. Damn, that Blue Eyes was full of surprises. The saucy wave over his shoulder as Justin descended the stairs along with the rest of the people heading for the Underground only added to Brian’s amusement. And his need to make sure that ‘next time’ happened very, very soon.

Chapter 6 - Sepia Panorama.

As soon as Justin had disappeared from sight into the maw of the Tube station, Brian turned on his heel and hurried back towards Duckett’s passage.

He might have been a little disappointed that his rendezvous with the fair-haired pilot hadn’t resulted in something more immediately satisfying, but now he was more motivated than ever to figure out this time traveling schtick. Justin had promised him there would be more kissing, and Brian was determined to make that happen. But to do that, he had to figure out how the damn time portal worked.

Luckily, Brian was starting to get a better grip on the street plan around the Covent Garden area of 1941. He managed to make it back to the future site of the Royal Oak pub with only one wrong turn along the way. He quickly scanned the street corner, ensured that there was no one around, and then ducked down the darkness of the passage.

Things got a little more difficult at that point, though, since the black out of the Blitz necessitated there be absolutely no light at all along the the small alley. The high walls on both sides of the narrow space cut off pretty much all ambient moonlight. Before Brian was more than five meters down the lane, he was forced to grab hold of the wall and feel his way along. He started to worry that he would completely miss the spot he needed to find. After tripping over a loose cobble and almost landing on his face, however, Brian gave in to the exigencies of the situation and pulled out his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Three quick taps and the phone was turned on with the flashlight function activated. After that, it was much simpler to find his way along to the bend in the wall marking the all-important location of the time portal.

“Now, to figure this thing out once and for all,” Brian mumbled, his shoulders set in a determined stance.

Holding the flashlight up high enough to illuminate a broad swath of the alleyway, Brian reached out with his right hand and slowly stepped across the width of the alley, watching to make sure he would catch the exact moment that his hand encountered the portal. If it were there. He managed to make it all the way across the alley to the other brick wall without encountering any anomaly.

“OK. So we know this thing -  whatever it is - isn’t in the middle of the path. Which is probably good, because otherwise everybody and their brother would be stumbling into 2016,” Brian said, voicing his conclusions as he went.

Next, with the flashlight still in his left hand and his left elbow trailing lightly along the brick wall to steady it, Brian carefully felt along the wall with his right hand. He moved his hand as slowly as he possibly could, covering only a centimeter or so at a time, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the portal. When his fingers were only about a foot away from the metal guttering pipe that he’d noticed on previous occasions, he began to feel a faint electrical tingling, prickling against the sensitive skin along the back of his hand.

“Aha! Gotcha!”

Brian stopped and carefully examined the area as closely as possible, trying to memorize the exact location where the sensation had begun. Then he let his fingers slide through the plane of time until most of his hand had disappeared. Which, of course, freaked him out all over again, even though he’d experienced it multiple times now. He didn’t think there was any possible way that seeing your hand disappear in mid air would ever become normal. And just to make doubly sure, he pulled his hand back one last time to ensure things were still okay. But, when his hand reappeared completely intact, as it always had before, Brian was once again reassured.

The next thing was to figure out how big this time rift was. With his left hand still braced against the wall and the flashlight pointing crossways over the alley, Brian extended his hand forward through the rift until it disappeared and then slowly moved his arm to the right, away from the wall, towards the center of the alley. He watched as the stump of his arm moved through the air a good two feet, maybe a little more, away from the brick wall. And then, suddenly, the entire thing reappeared.

“So, it seems we’re looking more at a ‘crack’ in time than a ‘portal’, per se,” he commented to himself quietly. “No wonder this damn thing’s so hard to find.”

Leaving the safety of the left-hand wall for a moment, Brian walked back across the alley to the right-hand wall. Then he walked further down the alley, away from the entrance to the passage, ready to stop at any moment if he felt that telltale tingle of electricity. However, as he had sort of expected, he did not come up against any sense of the anomaly on this side of the alley. He continued to walk down the right side of the alley for two or three meters. Then he stopped, went back over to the left-hand side wall, and felt his way back towards the guttering pipe. Only, this time, there was no tingling sensation at all. Not even when he moved beyond the spot where he was sure he’d felt it before.

“Hmm. That makes no sense,” he mumbled. “Unless . . . It only goes one direction on each side of time . . .”

Immediately reversing direction, Brian felt his way back towards the guttering pipe and, voilà, his hand disappeared again.

“Bingo!” He almost yelled in his excitement at figuring out the mystery. “So, in 1941, you have to move from the entrance of the passage down the length of alley to get back to 2016. And, it then follows logically, that to get back from 2016 to to 1941 you have to move from the far end of the passage back towards the entrance. Simple. Well, simple, if you don’t worry about the physics of the thing,” He laughed to himself, realizing that the entire premise was crazy to begin with and worrying about the physics behind just how this was happening was a futile waste of his time and brainpower. “Maybe, I might someday confess this to some science geek, and let him or her figure it out. But I doubt it. Nobody would believe this. Not even Einstein himself.”

To test out his theory, Brian proceeded to head through the time rift back towards the year 2016. As had occurred before, he watched his hand disappear through that odd shimmering wrinkle in the plane of space that seemed to exist right next to the old guttering pipe. This time, however, he didn’t stop with his hand, and followed through with the rest of his body. He again experienced that strange moment of blankness where everything around him disappeared and he could no longer see the alley that was right in front of him. But two heartbeats later his vision returned, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief as he took in the well lit alley of 2016. And then he was through the rift and back to his own time.

As further proof, he quickly turned and re-inserted his hand back through the portal, moving it in the direction of the alley’s entrance. As expected, it disappeared. Reassured that he had this figured out, Brian pulled his hand back, walked to the other side of the alley, moved a couple meters down, and then, returning to the left-hand side wall, he followed the wall along its length further from the entrance. And, nothing. As he’d surmised, the rift didn’t work going this direction in this time.

“Piece of cake,” Brian concluded, satisfied with his experimentation and overjoyed to know that he still had a way back to Justin for his next visit.

Once he was assured he had figured out the time portal, Brian carefully stepped around the affected area, and made his way back to the high street. The Royal Oak seemed much busier as he passed by it this time, but he wasn’t at all tempted to go in. Brian now had an agenda.

“Cynthia, I need some stuff from the art department and I need it yesterday,” Brian barked into the loudspeaker of his phone less than ten minutes after he’d walked into his hotel suite at The Strand Palace.

“Yes, your majesty!” Cynthia replied snarkily, unafraid of her boss no matter how loud he bellowed. “You do realize it’s almost five pm here, right? I don’t even know if there’s anyone still left down in the art department.”

“I don’t care. Call them back in. Have them work all night if necessary. I need this stuff by tomorrow,” Brian demanded. “I need to show Britcom’s CEO how truly amazing VanGuard’s art department really is,” Brian said, thinking through his cover story as he went.

“Can’t you just show them one of your previous campaigns? The one you did for Liberty Air was fantastic.”

“They’re ALL fantastic - but, no, that’s not going to cut it, Cyn. He’s seen that stuff. And, frankly, anyone with photoshop on their mobile phone could do crap like that. That’s not much of a test,” Brian asserted with his usual disdain of the art department. “No, I need something more showy. Something with a more personal hook.”

“Okay . . . what did you have in mind?” Cynthia asked, seeming to have caught Brian’s enthusiasm for this project.

“It turns out Britcom’s CEO is a huge World War II buff. He loves all that retro crap,” Brian lied through his teeth, hating it all the while but unable to think up any way to get what he needed without a bit of prevarication. “So I was thinking that, if we can show him that our art department could recreate some of the memorabilia of the time, we would blow him away. I might even be able to sell him on something with that kind of historical flair for the second stage of our marketing campaign.”

“What sort of stuff are you after?” Cynthia asked as she took notes, tapping away loudly on her computer.

“Do you think the guys downstairs are up to recreating the money of the time? You know, old pound notes and stuff like that? It shouldn’t be too hard with modern technology.”

“So, let me get this straight . . . you want our art guys to make you counterfeit currency from World War II?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t that be illegal? And how is that going to help in a marketing campaign in 2016?” Cynthia asked, sounding perplexed.

Brian sighed loudly. “Listen, I know what I’m doing. He loves this type of shit, okay? I just know if we show him what our guys can do, he'll be throwing more money at us than Gardner could ever dream of.”

“Okaaay. Whatever you say boss . . .”

“And, no, it’s not illegal to reproduce discontinued currency,” Brian opined, crossing his fingers and hoping that what he was saying was true. “Not unless you try to pass it off as being real to a buyer, which would be fraud. But it’s not like I could even try and spend it here in 2016 - England updated their currency to a modern decimal system sometime back in the seventies. And those old notes look nothing like modern money. This is just for show, Cynthia. But I still want it to be good. I want Britcom’s guy to THINK it’s real . . . at least at first.”

“Got it.”

“And, maybe some type of identification card too? Something that would provide a reason for an American like me to be over here in London back in the middle of, say, the London Blitz? I could flash it at him and get a chuckle or something, you know?” Brian was sure that his longtime assistant would immediately see through this flimsy ruse of his, but it was the best he could come up with on the spot.

Cynthia laughed aloud. “‘Brian Kinney, International Man of Mystery’ sort of thing?”

“Exactly! And make me look a little dangerous. Hot and dangerous,” Brian teased, glad to hear that Cyn seemed to be getting into the spirit of the deception.

“If I later find out that this is just some weird kink to help you pick up a guy, Brian, I’ll personally kick your ass so hard you’ll need pliers to pull my Manolos out of it,” Cynthia warned, only half kidding.

‘The woman is too damned perceptive by half’, Brian thought to himself. “Just do it, Cyn. You can bitch at me for it later.” Then, before she could complain to him further, Brian hung up the phone.

“Okay. Now that that’s sorted . . .” Brian turned to his laptop computer and set to work to learn everything he possibly could about not only the time period but also about one Justin Taylor, First Officer, Second Eagle Squadron.

Brian awoke around 7:30 am the next morning, exhausted and with a terrible crick in his neck. He’d spent half the night hunched in front of his laptop researching The Blitz in great detail and getting himself all in a tizzy about the safety of his blue eyed boy. Especially when he read that in only two weeks, 1941 London would be hit by one of the heaviest attacks since the war began. Bombs would be dropping all over the city from 21:00 until dawn with the heaviest bombing happening right in central London - where Justin was currently boarding. And that didn’t even cover the dangers Justin was getting himself into with the missions his squadron was going to be flying. Brian felt sick just thinking about it.

The worst thing was when Brian happened upon an interactive map of London 1941 showing the precise location of where every single German bomb was dropped. When he first looked at it, it just seemed like a scary blur of red dots. He was amazed that London had survived an onslaught like that. The sheer number of bombs that hit the capital was staggering. It was the best illustration he could think of to explain why they called it ‘The Blitz’. And it didn’t get any better when he expanded the map and looked more closely at the individual dots - there were a lot that were far too close to where Justin’s boarding house was for Brian’s liking. It was made even worse because the creators had included photos from the time which matched up to the individual bomb sites - pictures which made it all seem far too real. He had spent more than two hours obsessing over that map before he eventually fell asleep, his head lying on the computer keyboard, dejected and worried as hell.

Now that it was morning, though, Brian was revved up and ready to do something with all his newfound knowledge. Deciding he needed to get going with his day, Brian checked his phone to see if Cynthia had managed to work her magic and, lo and behold, he found a snarky email from his faithful assistant waiting for him in his inbox.

My Dearest Boss,

Lucky for you, your assistant is amazing! So amazing, in fact, that I highly recommend she gets a raise. I managed to convince both Daniel and Steve from the art department to stay late last night, so that they could complete your unusual request. It wasn’t easy, especially with VanGuard putting a hold on all overtime. This meant I had to treat them to dinner - they were extremely grateful for the Chipotle that I ordered in using your card. But, with a lot of persuasion, and a few threats, I got them to do as you ordered, Oh Inflexible One. Two thousand pounds in 1940’s currency and your own personal wartime identification documentation are all sealed up ready to be shipped overnight to you. Attached below are examples of what they’ve made. I hope you find this satisfactory, as it was a pain in the ass to get done at such short notice. If it’s not satisfactory, you can bite me.

Love, Cynthia

P.S. I like diamonds

At least Cynthia’s email gave Brian something to laugh about that morning. The picture she’d attached of the ID card the guys had created looked fantastic. Brian thought he looked rather handsome, in fact. The image showed that the art department had somehow aged the ID so it looked even more authentic. Cynthia had even done a pretty decent job forging his signature, as she always did. He wasn’t sure about the profession they’d given him - News Correspondent - as he’d never been even remotely interested in journalism. He would have preferred to be something more daring, like Assitant to the Secretary of War or maybe CIA Director. However, he supposed that a real spy would probably not be announcing that on his ID, and being a journalist WOULD be a good cover for a spy. He figured he could work with ‘Correspondent’.

He was a little disappointed that he’d have to wait yet another day to get the stuff in hand, but he figured he could use that time to prepare himself more thoroughly. He wanted to know precisely what he was going to say and do on his next visit. He wanted to be sure he wasn’t going to be walking into the next bombing in the area. And he wanted to figure out what he was going to say to Justin to convince the little spitfire to stay out of the line of fire as well. He already suspected that wouldn’t be easy. Even from just the little he already knew about the brave young pilot, he could tell Justin was a stubborn shit. But Brian could be just as stubborn, especially when he had a good plan to rely on. So, he headed downstairs to the hotel restaurant, determined to fuel his brain and come up with the perfect game plan for Operation Save Blue Eyes.

Brian’s first order of business after he’d successfully managed an English breakfast - he always appreciated the grilled tomatoes but lamented the way everything seemed fried in butter and hated the limpness of their bacon - was to go shopping. Because, well, he WAS Brian Kinney and shopping was one of the things he did best. Plus, if he was going to be making multiple forays into the past, he couldn’t do it with only one period-appropriate suit. So, pushing aside all his worries about bombings, air raids, missions gone wrong, and everything else that might not work, Brian headed back to Saville Row with the intention of getting himself properly outfitted for his planned adventures.

That little expedition took pretty much all morning, of course. There was no rushing fashion. But the tailor promised him that at least one of the new suits he’d ordered would be ready and delivered to his hotel by noon the following day. Which fit in with his plans perfectly. He celebrated by walking the few blocks to Piccadilly Circus and treating himself to a nice lunch at a little cafe there before hopping on the Tube for the quick ride two stops back to Covent Garden.

The walk back to his hotel from the Underground station happened to take Brian right past Duckett’s Passage and, even though he didn’t want to tempt fate by going anywhere near the time portal before he was ready, he caught himself stopping at the entrance to the lane and looking down the path. He was rather excited by his plan to go back and even more excited to see his Blue Eyes again. He thought he could almost feel the pull of it, although he somehow managed to resist.

However, while he was looking down the lane, he happened to once again notice the little shop just around the corner from the entrance. He’d rushed right past it the last few times he’d come that way, not at all interested in some musty old resale shop. But, now that he was thinking about the past so much, he realized that kind of place might prove quite useful. And since he didn’t have any other immediate plans, Brian sauntered over to the place and peeked into the window just to check it out.

The first thing he saw was a beautiful, dark grey, vintage homburg hat that he immediately knew would go perfectly with the new suit he’d purchased just that morning. He simply HAD to have it, and rushed right into the shop without another thought. The frowsty older shopkeeper seemed startled to actually have a customer, practically jumping up off the stool she’d been sitting on while drinking a cup of tea. When she saw the extravagantly handsome man who was her latest customer, she got even more flustered. Brian loved that kind of reaction, though, so he hammed it up even more than usual, flirting shamelessly with the woman as he directed her to the hat he wanted to try. If there was any doubt that he’d look wonderful in the hat, it was promptly dispelled the minute the homburg was placed atop his auburn head. The shopkeeper pronounced him to be ‘dashing’. Looking at himself in the mirror, Brian had to agree.

While the woman was busy looking for the hatbox that came with his newest sartorial acquisition, and which she insisted he have, Brian continued to look around the shop. Most of what he found was pure junk - kitschy knick-knacks he would never look at twice - but, near the back, he found a rack of some vintage clothing that was actually in pretty good condition considering the age of the pieces. In particular, he was drawn towards a very nice, thick wool overcoat, in a pleasing navy blue with a double row of shiny brass buttons. It was far too small for Brian himself, but it looked just perfect for a slightly built RAF pilot whose blue eyes would match the color almost exactly. He couldn’t wait to see Justin in it and immediately instructed the shopkeeper to add it to his bill, causing the woman to go into paroxysms of glee.

Brian dismissed all the other items of clothing as either too worn or not the right period before moving over towards the counter to pay for his purchases. While the woman was ringing him up, Brian’s eye landed on a little basket of odds and ends that was sitting on the counter. Most of it was simply dross - buttons, beads, little trinkets of no real value - but hidden in amid the clutter, Brian thought he saw a coin. Digging it out, he was thrilled to discover that it was actually a vintage farthing coin with the date of 1937 on it. Exactly what he needed. A quick rummage through the basket turned up another dozen coins of various small amounts, with a face value of maybe a few shillings total. In today’s currency, that would be only a few pennies. But in 1941, it would be the perfect amount to buy him and his Blue Eyes a pint or two. He quickly added these to his other finds, with a word to the shopkeeper that if she ever came across more old coins like that, she should call him - he would buy anything she could get her hands on.

After making the woman’s day with probably the largest sale she’d had in weeks, Brian took all his loot back to the hotel. He spent the rest of that afternoon answering emails, returning calls to clients and doing other stuff for VanGuard that at least got his mind off the Blue Eyed problem in 1941. After dinner, he treated himself to a Grindr hookup, just to take the edge off, and then went for a swim in the hotel pool. He finally made it back to his suite around ten that night, feeling refreshed, relaxed and looking forward to his plans for the next day.

It was still rather early for him though so, after he showered, Brian took his laptop with him and crawled into bed. He scrolled through a few more random websites detailing more of the woes of the Blitz. Brian was confounded and impressed by all the hardships Londoners of the time had faced. They seemed so fucking stoic about it all, at least according to all the contemporaneous accounts he read. He didn’t think his generation would have been so sanguine about being bombed night after night for years on end.

It wasn’t till later, just as Brian was getting sleepy and about to call it a night, that he stumbled across a site that included a much more detailed and extensive history of the RAF’s Eagle Squadrons. He eagerly dove into the information there, reading up on the history of the formation of the various Squadrons, the types of missions they flew and the planes they used. It was fascinating stuff. Brian could see his Blue Eyes wanting to be a part of something that seemed so courageous and daring. Reading it from the distance of seventy five years later, it all sounded so gallant.

At least it did until Brian came across the section of the website that went into specific detail about the various individual pilots that had made up the Eagle Squadrons. Then it started to sound a lot less gallant and a lot more foolhardy. The survival rate for the Squadron’s pilots wasn’t great. The first three American pilots that had volunteered to start up the Squadron were all killed in combat by the end of 1941. Several others were injured so badly that they ended up being shipped home early. And then there were the numerous instances where planes had been shot down during missions. Brian started to get more and more worried as he read through those stories. Especially the one about the pilot that was captured after being shot down, imprisoned for three years in the infamous Stalag Luft III and subsequently died on the Nazi’s ‘Long March’ as the Germans emptied the POW camps in the face of the Soviet advance in 1945.

It wasn’t till after midnight that Brian found the name he was both looking for and dreaded seeing. And the news was even worse than he’d expected. Because according to these records, three Spitfires that were part of the 121 Eagle Squadron were going to be shot down on the night of July 10th, 1941, somewhere over the North Sea between London and Hamburg. None of those pilots’ bodies were ever found. And among the names of those lost, Brian found ‘Flight Commander, Justin Taylor’.

Chapter 7 - Ain’t Misbehavin’

Brian burst through the doors of the White Lion at 5:30 pm.

He’d been frantically waiting all day long, trying to determine when would be an appropriate time to venture back into 1941. He’d been so distracted the whole day he could barely get any work done. Finally, when he couldn’t take it any longer, he simply bolted out of the hotel and headed in the direction of the White Lion pub. To hell with waiting and fuck anyone who told him it was too early in the evening to even hope Justin would be at the drinking hole yet.

Brian rushed up to the bar, elbowed aside a young naval officer and pounded loudly with his knuckles on the bar top. “Daphne! Daphne, I need to find Justin. Where the hell is he? Is he here yet tonight?”

“Well, if it ain’t tall, dark an’ desperate,” Daphne teased, turning around and flashing her brilliantly white smile at the frantic man. “It’s a bit early for Justin to be ‘ere yet, Sweet’art. The only blokes in ‘ere at this time ‘a day is the working stiffs on their way home to the missus. The more . . . interestin’ crowd . . . don't straggle in ‘til about eight o’clock, Darlin’.”

“Fuck!”

“Oi! Watch yer language. Ladies present,” warned the Navy boy still hovering at Brian’s elbow.

Brian mumbled an insincere ‘sorry’ before turning back to Daphne. “I really need to find Justin, Daphne. It’s important. I need to . . .”

Brian paused there, unable to go on. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Justin, to be completely honest. How exactly did you tell someone that they were going to die? And, even if you knew definitively they WERE going to die, would you tell them? Should you tell them? It was an age-old question; was time static or elastic? If you knew something was going to happen in the future, could you do anything to prevent it, or was everyone’s fate already set in stone? Brian had been struggling with that question all night and all day and still hadn’t come up with any real answer. All he knew was that he had to at least find Justin and try to stop the inevitable. Any way he could.

“What ya need to do, Darlin’, is ‘ave a seat, an’ a pint, an’ try an’ relax,” Daphne ordered, pointing to a vacant bar stool a little ways down the counter. “I ‘spect our Sunshine will be along eventually. He comes ‘round most nights. Provided he don’t have no mission to fly that evenin’. But you frettin’ and scratchin’ like a cat in heat ain't gonna get ‘im ‘ere any faster. So, just sit yourself down and I’ll be with you in a tic. All right, Darlin’?”

Brian rolled his eyes at the cheeky wench, but he didn’t really have any grounds to argue with her. So he followed directions, sat his ass on the empty barstool, and waited until the beautiful brown-skinned barmaid brought his warm pint over. That was something he was going to have to get used to. He’d kill for a cold lager, to be honest, but ‘when in Rome’, right?

It took Daphne quite a while before she made her way back over to check on Brian. There seemed to be a flurry of activity in the pub just then. The working class crowd that had been in the bar when Brian entered, seemed to all take the cue to leave about the same time. Daphne was busy bantering with each of them as she settled out their evening’s tabs. In a way, it was the best possible balm to Brian‘s frazzled nerves to watch this conventional scene play out. It was so redolent of ordinary, routine humanity. It reminded him that even here in wartorn 1941 London, life DID go on. The people persevered. They went on with their lives. It wasn’t as bad as Brian had imagined it to be while he was freaking out in the wee hours of the night.

“So, ‘andsome. What’s got your knickers all in a twist this evenin’?” Daphne asked when she finally got a minute to come talk to Brian.

“I just really need to find Justin. I’ve got some information for him about . . .” Brian hesitated again, trying for the hundredth time to think of a way to relay his news to Justin without sounding like a total whack-job or giving away his secret. “I’ve come across some confidential information that I think he needs to know.”

“Confidential, eh? That sounds a bit dodgy. But, then again, Gears did say as he thought you might be in the know,” Daphne said as she surveyed Brian with a critical eye. Then she turned and looked across the bar, finding the person she was looking for sitting on a bench in the back corner. “Oi, Peaches! Can you pop by Sunshine’s place and tell ‘im he’s got a gen’lman caller ‘ere a waitin’ on ‘im, please. And tell ‘im to leg it.” The man she’d been addressing promptly got up and trotted off, no questions asked. “That should get a fire lit under our Sunshine for ya, ‘andsome. I ‘spect he’ll be round right soon. Can I get yer ‘nother pint while you’re waitin’, Love?”

Brian nodded and handed her his empty glass. He could see why Justin had said Daphne was his first friend here. She was a hoot. Brian thought that Daphne and Cynthia would get along like gangbusters if they ever met.

Brian had barely downed half his ale before a winded Justin rushed through the front door, looking like he’d sprinted all the way to the pub. When he saw Brian sitting there waiting for him, he broke out into a huge smile that threatened to split his face in two. Despite how worried Brian had been feeling, he had to laugh at the surreptitious way the younger man tried to wipe the perspiration off his brow and straighten his clothing as he walked over. Justin was so guileless, so unworldly. It was quite a refreshing change for the experienced and slightly jaded Brian.

“Hello, Blue Eyes,” Brian welcomed him by pulling out the stool next to his own.

“Brian. I . . . uh . . . I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon,” Justin fumbled for something to say as he took up residence on the proffered stool and turned to smile at Brian.

They stared at each other wordlessly for several minutes, acting like lovestruck fools without even realizing it, until Brian woke to the fact he was acting like a lesbian and tore his gaze away. What the hell had gotten into him? Maybe time travel was affecting his brain in some indecipherable way and turning him into a twat? Time to get a grip, Kinney.

“I need to talk to you,” Brian told him quietly. He still didn’t know what he was going to say, hopefully it would just come to him when he started talking.

Unfortunately, they were interrupted by a teasing Daphne before Brian got any further. “That was quick, Sunshine. Run all the way ‘ere, did ya?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Justin smiled sheepishly at his friend.

“Well then, you must be right thirsty. Can I get ya a drink?”

Justin nodded and reached for his pocket, startling slightly when Brian wrapped his warm hand around Justin’s wrist, squeezing it softly, and stopping him. “I’m buying your drinks tonight, Blue Eyes.”

Daphne smiled at the two of them. “So, what you boys ‘avin?”

Justin watched as Brian downed the last of his drink and handed his glass back to Daphne. “Same again for me please, Daph.  Blue Eyes, what’ll it be?”

“I’ll have the same,” he told his friend behind the bar.

“So, how was your mission the other night,” Brian asked to fill the time while the barmaid was getting their drinks. “Everyone made it back safely, I hope.”

“Just barely,” Justin answered with a grin that belied the gravity of his words. “It was just a defensive run, so we weren’t too far out. Which was good, because we got into a bit of a rumble with a pack of Stuka bombers bringing up the tail end of Gerry’s evening bombing run. We took out four of them in the process, but they shot up a couple of our guys pretty good too. Jeffries had to do a hot landing when his gear malfunctioned and poor Kirk was leaking fuel all the way back to base and barely made it in on the fumes. If we’d been any further away, he would have had to ditch the plane. But at least Gerry will have four less bombers to send out tomorrow night.”

Brian marveled silently at the cavalier way the young man sitting next to him bluntly detailed the fact that he’d been part of killing four Germans. Four human beings. Granted, they had been four humans beings fighting on behalf of the Nazi regime, which basically made them complicit with the monsters in charge of that contemptible administration, but still . . . Seen through the lens of his modernistic understanding, Brian didn’t think he could be so sanguine about such a thing. Especially since he didn’t think the populace of April, 1941 even knew yet about the atrocities the Nazis were already involved in with their Extermination Camps in Eastern Europe.

“That’ll be one bob, one pence,” grinned Daphne as she placed the drinks in front of them, thankfully interrupting Brian’s morbid thoughts.

Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out his handful of change. He should have probably looked at the coins more carefully before he came back.

Justin could see Brian fumbling around with the money in his hand and pulled his fingers away from where he was pushing the coins around in his palm.

“Here, let me help you,” Justin offered, as he pulled Brian’s hand towards him and quickly selected the two coins. It’s these two,” he showed Brian the coins before handing them over to Daphne. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually. It took me a good month or so to figure out the money when I first got here too.” Justin added with a wink.

“Thanks,” Brian replied, pocketing the rest of the coins. “Britain definitely needs to hurry up and switch over to a decimal based currency system. Who can count by twelve and twenty?”

That got a laugh out of Justin as well as Brian’s neighboring bar mate on the other side. “Ain’t never gonna ‘appen, Mate. We don’t go for none of them new-fangled notions. We like us a good ol’ fashioned British Shillin’. ‘Sides makes yer smarter to ‘ave to figger out real money.”

Brian just shook his head knowingly and turned back to his blond.

“Give me easy to count greenbacks, any day!” Justin offered as he raised his glass to Brian.

“Cheers to that,” Brian echoed, tapping his glass to Justin’s and then taking a nice long sip. “And to COLD beer,” he added in a whisper that he hoped only Justin could hear.

Justin sniggered at Brian’s comment but didn’t add anything, choosing to change the subject instead. “So, how much longer do you think your business will keep you here in London?”

Brian thought he could detect a hint of uncertainty in Justin’s tone, which caused a strange warm feeling to ignite in Brian’s chest. “What? Are you trying to get rid of me already?” Brian teased.

“No, you big dolt. I was just wondering . . . Well . . . How much time we have . . . To . . . To get to know each other,” Justin replied, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush and the rosy blush Brian was coming to expect painting the boy's cheeks by the end.

“Lucky for you,” Brian announced, not quite so demurely, “it looks like I’ll be around here for longer than I originally thought. My business is going to take longer to finish up than I’d anticipated. My client wants me to stay on and personally supervise things until the campaign is completely up and running. So, Blue Eyes, you and I should have plenty of time to . . . get acquainted. Well acquainted, I hope.”

Brian said the last bit in his most seductive baritone, moving his hand to rest on the younger man’s thigh under the cover of the bar’s overhanging counter. Justin’s hand covered his and gave a quick squeeze. But then, to Brian’s surprise, the lad intentionally moved Brian’s hand away, off his lap. Brian gave the youth a questioning glance but only got a shrug in response. Which, of course, only made Brian even more curious.

“What? Don’t tell me anybody in here would object to us getting a little more friendly . . .” Brian looked around the pub, and just like the previous time he’d been there, picked up a gay vibe from more than a few of the patrons. He leaned in even closer so he was practically whispering in the perfect little shell of an ear. “I’m pretty sure we're not the only gays . . . I mean queers . . . here, Justin. Or are you just shy? You didn’t seem that timid the other night when we kissed.”

“No. No, it’s not that . .. Well, not exactly . . . It’s just that this isn’t really that kind of place, Brian,” the younger man explained, looking around himself furtively, as his blush darkened. “Daph and her father are pretty open minded, you know? But still . . . I mean, I know there are places, clubs in the city and all, where things like that are okay, but . . . Daphne‘s father could get in trouble with the authorities if word got out that they allowed such improprieties in their pub. The British aren’t quite as puritanical as the Americans are these days, but there are still sodomy laws on the books, you know,” Justin explained with a dismal half grin. “Besides, the gang here sees me as one of the ‘regular guys’. I don’t want them thinking I’m a sissy or anything.”

“A ‘regular guy?” Brian chuckled at that. “What exactly is a ‘regular guy’ as opposed to a ‘sissy’? Aren’t we all sissies? Not that I care. I refuse to let anyone label me.”

“Yeah, to outsiders, I guess, we ARE all sissies,” Justin explained, looking at Brian like he must be a little slow not to already understand this stuff. “But in here, we’ve got our own pecking order, so to speak. In here, you’ve got the true ‘Sissies’ - guys like Peaches over there.” Justin inclined his head towards the small, effeminate guy that Daphne had sent to look for Justin earlier. Brian watched as Peaches walked across the bar to seat himself at another table, the way he swiveled his hips as he moved, and Brian had to concede, you couldn’t possibly miss him.

“Then there’s the ‘Elites’ - they’d be sissies except they’ve got enough money or breeding to get away with it. Fancy’s one of our more colorful elites here at the White Lion,” Justin continued, raising his glass to his buddy across the way as he mentioned the man’s name. “Fancy’s father is some big shot up in the midlands somewhere. He got the full deal - Public school education, Oxford, trust fund - and as long as he stays here in London where he can’t embarrass the family - daddy doesn’t care what he does.”

“Then there’s the ‘Aunties’,” Justin smiled at a group of older men at a back table, all of whom were gabbling like a brood of hens just then. “Aunties are what comes of sissies and elites who manage to make it till they get grey hair.”

Justin then turned a bit in his seat so Brian could see past his shoulder to the line of guys propping up the far end of the bar. They all looked like ordinary working stiffs, military men or, a few, older gents that didn’t stand out much at all. “At the top of the pile there’s us ‘Regular Guys’. Guys like me, Gears, Lucky . . . We’re the ones nobody notices. The ones who can get by. The ones who don't get singled out.” Justin looked back at Brian, his eyes intense and focused now. “The ones who get to keep their jobs and positions because nobody knows we’re perverts . . . Sexual monsters who practice ‘unspeakable crimes against nature’ . . . You know, the ones who get to be pilots in the RAF.”

Which shut Brian right up. Because for all his Twenty-First Century, Out-and-Proud Gay Man, rhetoric, Brian had never had to choose between his job and his sexual orientation. Not that he hadn’t suffered the usual discrimination that all gays had to put up with. He’d been ostracized, bullied, called names, even beat up a couple times when he was younger, but he’d never had to worry he’d be put in jail just for being who he was. And he’d never personally been at risk of being fired from his job because of his sexual orientation. Justin, and the rest of the men Brian saw around him, had to think about those things every single day. So, maybe, if they were especially cautious about showing themselves to the world, it was understandable.

Brian sat up straighter, moving back just a little from Justin so there was a tiny bit more space between their bodies.

Justin smiled understandingly at his companion. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t KNOW we’re all the same,” he tried to elucidate further, endeavoring to sound less harsh. “But some of us just don’t like to advertise it, you know?”

“I get it, Justin. I didn’t mean to push. And I don’t want to jam you up with your job. I guess . . . I guess I just come from a different world is all.” Bran huffed a little private laugh at the degree to which that was an understatement. Then, to lighten the mood, he asked, “so, since I don't swish like a ‘Sissy’ and I’m too visible to be one of your ‘Regular Guys’, What does that make me? An ‘Elite’?”

“No. No, guys like you, Mr. Kinney, are in a class all by yourselves.”

“A class all by myself?” Brian chuckled, rather liking that determination.

“Yep. You, Brian, are what we refer to as a ‘Notorious Queer’. You’re the kind of cocksure, rowdy, unapologetic queer that spawns legends. You’re the ‘All-American Queer’. The Yankee version of Oscar Wilde,” Justin proclaimed in a teasing voice. Then he leaned in, an impish grin on his boyish face, and added in a whisper, “and even better, you’re all MINE!”

“How about we get the fuck out of here, Blue Eyes?” Brian suggested, his voice gone all husky.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Mr. Notorious,” Justin agreed, swallowing the rest of his beer and then clapping his glass down on the bar definitively.

They were outside and already halfway down the street before Brian remembered the treats he had in the briefcase he was carrying. It wasn’t till a cool wind blew past them and he saw Justin, who’d been walking a few steps ahead of him, shiver a little, that he recalled his special present. Stepping over to the building side of the sidewalk, and tugging at the sleeve of Justin‘s uniform jacket to grab his blond’s attention, Brian propped his foot up on a convenient step, and used his knee as a platform to balance the overly full briefcase atop.

He quickly opened the bag and pulled out the package he’d stowed in there before he left 2016. Brian had asked the hotel staff to specially wrap all his little gifts up in a plain brown wrapping with string around it, so as to fit in more with the times. This also made it simple to pull the entire package out in one piece. Justin seemed surprised by the rather large bundle that Brian subsequently thrust into his arms. Brian rather enjoyed that look of surprise as well as the happy little grin that came with it.

“What’s this?” Brian’s Blue Eyes asked.

"Just some stuff I saw when I was shopping yesterday that I thought you might find useful,” Brian answered evasively while Justin turned the package over, examining it from all sides. “Stop ogling the damned thing and open it already, Twat.”

With another of those fucking adorable grins that Brian seemed to have become addicted to, Justin pulled the bow on the string holding the package closed. The paper split open right away, revealing a large bag of perfectly roasted Columbian coffee grounds, three packages of Brian‘s favorite chocolate biscuits (McVities Digestives - a guilty pleasure that he could only find when he came to London and which he secretly loved to the point of bingeing on them whenever he visited), all nestled atop a bundle of wool fabric.

“Coffee? Where in the world did you manage to get coffee these days, Brian? I’ve been trying to get coffee at the market here for the last six weeks!” Justin raved as he smelled the package, his eyes almost rolling back into his head with the pleasure of the earthy aroma.

“And biscuits to go with it, of course. Because you can’t have a proper English coffee break without biscuits. Although, I suppose to be proper, you’d need to drink tea instead of coffee. But what the hell; we’re American, right? We don’t have to do proper,” Brian insisted.

“Don’t tell my mates at the White Lion,” Justin said in a hushed aside, adding in a delightful giggle that went right to Brian’s dick, “but I actually prefer coffee over tea. I know, that’s blasphemy here in London, but it’s the truth. Mmm, you just can't beat the smell of freshly ground coffee in the mornings.”

“I promise not to tell ANY of your secrets, Blue Eyes,” Brian promised. “There is more to the gift though. Don’t you want to see the rest?” Brian pointed to the cloth the other items had been nestled in.

“Don’t rush me,” the boy joked, as he fondled the coffee and biscuit packages one more time, just to aggravate Brian a little.

Brian growled a little fake annoyance at the boy, took hold of the food treats, and yanked them imperiously out of Justin‘s hands. Justin laughed again, but took the cue and began to unfurl the piles of cloth, which turned out to be the beautiful peacoat jacket that Brian had purchased in the resale shop the day before. Justin seemed completely stunned by this development. He stood there, holding the jacket out in front of him, looking completely caught off guard for a good minute and a half.

“It’s beautiful, Brian,” he breathed and then lifted the soft wool to his cheek so he could feel it, adding a surreptitious sniff. “So soft. And I love the smell of wool. It had to have been very expensive, though. I . . . I can’t take this, Brian”

Justin tried to shove the coat back into Brian‘s arms. Brian wasn’t going to have any of that, though. He turned away, his arms still full of coffee and biscuit packages, and with his back towards Justin simply refused to take the coat.

“Nonsense! I bought it for you; it’s yours. And since it doesn’t fit me, and I can’t take it back, you have to keep it.”

“But . . . It’s too expensive . . . I just can’t . . .” Justin insisted.

“Listen to me, Justin. Are you listening?” Brian paused, waiting for his blond to nod in acknowledgment. “I bought this for you. I want you to have it. I . . . OK, confession time. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never tried to ‘woo’ someone before. Where I come from, we don’t do that. Or, at least, I don’t do that . . . What I mean to say is . . . Fuck it! Just take the fucking coat, Justin.”

Justin broke out laughing so loudly that several other people passing by in the street stopped and looked over at the pair. Justin immediately lifted the jacket up and hid his face in the cloth so as to stifle his guffaws. It took him at least a minute to fight back his laughter, before he was able to remove the jacket from his face. Brian stood there the whole time, scowling down at the boy who seemed to be overcome with amusement at his expense.

“I’m sorry, Brian, but I can’t help it. You're just so cute,” Justin confessed, causing Brian to glower even more ferociously. “And I’ve never been ‘wooed’ before, either, so I’m not really sure how this works myself. But, I love the jacket, and I will gratefully accept this wonderful gift. Thank you, Brian.” That helped Brian to feel a little less angry, his frown slipping from his face. “Will you help me put it on, please?”

Brian quickly dumped the biscuits and coffee back into his briefcase and then grabbed the jacket, holding it out for Justin to slip over his shoulders. As he’d thought, it fit perfectly. The color was a perfect match for Justin‘s eyes, as well. And the beaming, bright, smile on the younger man’s face as he smoothed the lapels down, made it all worthwhile for Brian.

“Good. Now, where am I walking you to, Mr. Taylor,” Brian asked, picking up his briefcase and resting one arm casually against the small of Justin’s back to guide him into the flow of foot traffic again.

“Well, since I unfortunately have another mission tonight, I think I better have you come with me back to my room. We can . . . Chat . . . While I get ready. Unless, that’s being too forward of me?” Justin proposed, looking bashfully over at Brian with a shy little smile.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Mr. Taylor. Plus, that’ll solve the problem of me not knowing how to find you, other than to show up at the White Lion and have Peaches run and get you for me,” Brian stated unequivocally. “Speaking of which, how DO I get a hold of you if I need to? You don’t, by any chance, have a telephone in that boarding house of yours, do you?”

“I’m afraid not. Mrs. McCready refuses to have one in the house. She says they’re ‘evil contraptions’.” Justin laughed again and Brian wanted to take him in his arms so badly he had to clench his fists against the impulse - that laugh was going to be the undoing of him.

“Damn! Well, I guess I could always just whistle for you. Do you think that would work?” Brian asked with a suggestive leer as they rounded the corner of one street and Justin began to head them over to a row of townhouses built on the east side of the street. “And you could whistle for me, if you needed me, too.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t actually whistle,” Justin admitted with another infuriating little giggle. “I can sing, I can dance, I can fly a plane, but for some reason I just can’t whistle. I never learned how.”

“Really? There’s something you can’t do?,” Brian teased and then took advantage of a little out-of-the-way nook beside the building that Justin had been leading him towards, pulling the younger man into the space and out of the line of everyone else’s vision. “Whistling isn’t hard, Blue Eyes,” Brian purred, slipping into his best Bacall imitation. “You know how to whistle, don’t you? You just put your lips together and . . . Blow.”

Brian punctuated his suggestive sentence by demonstrating the technique for his perky little pilot. Justin seemed a fast learner. He was already puckered up and ready for Brian‘s advance. Only, instead of blowing, there seemed to be quite a lot of sucking . . . face. Not that Brian was objecting at all.

“Mmmmm. If that’s how you learn to whistle, then I’m all for practicing some more,” Justin murmured as soon as they paused for some air.

Brian was all in favor of more practicing himself. He understood the danger to his Blue Eyes of open displays of affection in this time period, and he really had been trying to restrain himself. But there was something about the juxtaposition of innocence and strength that Justin represented which simply drove Brian wild. And judging by the way that Justin’s body seemed to melt against his own as they huddled together in their private little corner, the way the pliant, warm lips sucked at his own, the way his strong hands sought out and twined with Brian’s under the warmth of the lapel on Justin’s new coat, not to mention the way the younger man’s hips ground against the solid pressure of Brian’s thigh, it seemed the boy was just as wild for him. Maybe, Brian thought, the need to act clandestinely was just making it worse.

“I’m going to kiss you again, Blue Eyes. Prepare yourself,” Brian warned before diving back in for yet another taste of the taboo.

“I’m prepared,” Justin teased back, smiling up at Brian with his slightly bee-stung pink lips that simply begged for another nibble.

“Damn it, Blue Eyes, you’re just too fucking tempting . . . you know that, right? I want to just . . .”

Brian didn’t get a chance to elaborate on just what he wanted to do to the tempting blond, however, because right at that moment another man came barreling around the corner of the building, striding purposefully towards the house they were huddling against. Brian only got a glimpse of a blue uniform out of the corner of his eye before Justin was pushing him away and frantically trying to escape from the corner into which he’d been backed. Brian took a second to wipe his mouth and then turned around to face whatever was coming.

“Is that you, Taylor?” the newcomer drawled, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

“Hobbs,” Justin replied. “I was just about to head inside to get ready for tonight’s mission. What are you doing back so early?”

“Jacobsen’s come down with the same thing MacCarthy got, so I got called in on the rotation too,” the tall, dirty blond man explained distractedly, still busy eyeing Brian while he spoke. “Who’s this?”

“Just another American I met down at the pub. He hasn’t learned how to deal with the British currency yet, so I took pity on him. And since he was headed to the Tube station next, I offered to show him the way after I grabbed my flight gear,” Justin explained, impressing Brian with his hastily contrived cover story, which would almost work too if it weren’t for the fact that Justin looked like a man who’d just been thoroughly kissed to within an inch of ejaculation. Justin plowed on, though, all fake confidence as he offered introductions. “Brian Kinney, this is Pilot Officer Christopher Hobbs. Hobbs just got billeted here with me this morning as his prior residence was damaged in last night’s raid.”

Hobbs looked Brian over critically and, most notably, did NOT offer his hand in greeting. “Kinney. What brings YOU to The Big Smoke?” he asked suspiciously.

Thinking this was as good a time as any to trot out his freshly forged credentials, Brian responded, “I’m a correspondent with the US War Department - here covering the Blitz and all. I was just asking Officer Taylor here if I could interview him for a story I’m thinking of doing on US Expatriates in the RAF.” Out of the corner of his eye, Brian could see Justin looking at him with surprise. “Perhaps you’d be willing to give me a statement as well sometime?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, I guess,” Hobbs replied, flustered now and maybe even a little flattered to be asked for an interview by a reporter.

“Well, I’ll be going then. I’m sure I can find the Tube from here, Officer Taylor. Thanks for showing me around.” Brian turned his back to Hobbs so he could look in Justin’s eyes and make sure his boy was okay. Justin’s nod and grim smile were only partially reassuring. “I’m staying at The Strand Palace, so if you want to leave me a note there at the desk and let me know when we can meet again for that interview, I’ll be sure and make time,” he suggested with a wink. “Oh, and don’t forget your purchases.” Brian excavated the coffee and biscuits out of his briefcase for Justin and then reluctantly stepped away. “Good luck on your mission tonight, gentlemen.”

With a nod of his head and a tap to the brim of his new hat, Brian made his exit. He fervently hoped that Justin was going to be okay. He didn’t think that Hobbs had actually seen anything, but the way they’d been standing - so close together and touching - was suspicious enough. If he’d thought that his sticking around would have helped Justin any, Brian would have stayed, but he figured his presence would only make things worse, so he’d best make tracks as quickly as possible. It was killing him, though, not to know what was going to befall his Blue Eyes after he’d left. Fuck this stupid, homophobic, time period, anyway.

Well, there was nothing he could do about the situation now. All Brian could do was wait and see and hope for the best. And he would also go officially check into The Strand so that his perky pilot could leave him that message. It didn’t escape him that a convenient hotel room might be the best solution to their problem of where they could kiss without getting interrupted.

Now, if only Brian could come up with a way to deal with his other problem - how to make sure Mr. Justin Taylor, First Officer, Second Eagle Squadron, didn’t end up a missing blip in the annals of World War II . . .

Chapter 8 - Lullaby of Birdland

Unfortunately, Brian got caught up in work on the Britcom account for the next two days and didn’t get another chance to visit his favorite World War II pilot. Walter Melton, the stodgy old Britcom CEO, was proving to be quite a handful. He insisted on being hands on with every single aspect of the campaign, often changing his mind on things he’d already signed off on the day, or even the morning, before. Brian was about ready to tell him to take his fucking $50 million account and shove it. Only repeated and lengthy calls from Cynthia managed to keep Brian from saying something he’d regret.

It wasn’t till Saturday morning that Brian even had a spare minute to himself, and only then because Melton was spending the weekend with relatives in the country. As soon as he’d had breakfast and checked all his messages, Brian sent a quick note to Cynthia telling her he might be busy the rest of the weekend himself, dressed himself in his Savile Row finery, and then headed off towards Duckett’s Passage. On his way, Brian remembered to stop by a grocers and pick up a bag of delicious-looking oranges - something he was sure wouldn’t be easy to find in wartime Britain, and therefore sure to be a hit.

The trip through the time portal was becoming almost routine now. Brian had the mechanics of it down pat and didn’t really mind so much the way his limbs would disappear or the moments of blindness when he’d first go through. It still wasn’t ‘comfortable’ but it was bearable. And it didn’t slow him down hardly at all.

His first stop was to check in at The Strand.

He’d registered there before leaving on his prior visit, reserving a room for two full weeks, with the understanding he might stay even longer. The clerk had been stunned when Brian had brought out the large sheaf of five and even ten pound notes from his wallet to pay his bill in advance. Brian had made a note to remember to carry smaller sums with him in future. But, with all his seeming wealth, he’d been able to get a fairly nice suite of rooms on the top floor. However, even this room didn’t afford him a private bathroom - a luxury that was practically unheard of in London at the time, he was told.

Upon his return that Saturday, Brian was told he had one message waiting for him, and he happily accepted the sheet of folded stationery from the clerk before taking the small bag he’d packed up to the suite. As expected, the note was from his Blue Eyes. Brian dropped everything on the bed as soon as he was through the door so he could read it.

The stationary was monogrammed at the top with large, ornately scrawled, silver initials: J.R.T. The writing below was neat and compact but with the occasional flair to a capital or an ending embellishment that hinted at the boy's underlying exuberance. Brian thought fleetingly that Justin’s handwriting was very like the man himself.

‘Mr. Kinney’, it started off, very formally.

‘I regret that I have been quite busy the past few days, and have therefore been unable to make time to meet with you. However, I am so looking forward to doing the interview you mentioned previously. Fortuitously, I will be off duty the 10th and 11th, instant, if either of those dates would be convenient to you for us to meet. You may leave word for me at either my lodgings or with Ms. Chanders at the White Lion as to when I should expect to see you next.

With eager expectation of our next meeting,

Justin.’

The stuffiness and propriety of the letter cracked Brian up. Damn, his little Blue Eyes was a pretentious one! But, once again, Brian was titillated by the clandestine nature of this budding relationship. All the cloak and dagger sneaking around, the secret assignations, and even the veiled, coded letter, seemed quite humorous. It made Brian feel like, whatever he was doing here, was more of a game than his real life back in 2016. This was a refreshing change of pace. It was fun. And it was certainly far different than his usual, clipped, emotionless and frequently unchallenging pursuits of the men he normally went after. Winning Justin was turning out to be far more of a challenge than anything he’d ever tried before. Maybe that explained why he’d been acting so out of character ever since he met the intriguing blue eyed pilot.

Since Brian didn’t have anything planned for the rest of the day, he decided to treat himself to a little adventure. After asking the concierge at the hotel for directions, he ventured out into the wilds of 1941 London. His first stop was a small cafe where he treated himself to a traditional London luncheon of chicken pot pie, mashed potatoes and the ubiquitous pint of warm ale. Then he made his way to the famous Covent Garden market. It turned out that was the place all the men with handcarts had been heading towards the morning of his first foray into the past. Now, Brian had the leisure to wander around the place, threading his way through the stalls, poking into unexpected places, looking over all the piles of potatoes and tomatoes and carrots, and thoroughly enjoying himself in the process. Unfortunately, this early in the spring, there wasn’t much that tempted Brian. But, he did get a kick out of buying a bouquet of flowers from a picturesque old woman in one booth, thinking all the while that she could have easily been the original Eliza from Pygmalion.

After leaving the market, Brian continued to wander around the city, enjoying finding his way around the maze of tiny little streets and alleys. Luckily, it was one of those rare, sunny, spring days in London, and Brian was thoroughly enjoying himself. When he somehow managed to find his way to old Charing Cross Road, he was thrilled with his new discovery. Based on his knowledge of modern London, he took a chance looking around the area, and was happy to discover that the old Odeon Theatre near Leicester Square existed even in this time period. Gleefully making a note of that fact for future wooing purposes, Brian turned his steps southward, made his way back to the high street and then to his hotel. It had been a wonderful afternoon, and Brian was energized and excited by all his adventures. Now, all he had to do was find his Blue Eyes.

Brian quickly cleaned up in his hotel room and then headed out once more, bound for the White Lion. Again, he was far too early for the interesting evening crowd. But this time he wasn’t dashing around in a panic, so he merely took up his place on a vacant barstool and waited for Daphne to make her rounds to him.

“‘Allo, ‘andsome!” Daphne greeted him with a big toothy smile. “Yer jes the sight these poor tired eyes needed this afternoon, Love. But if yer ‘ere lookin’ for our Sunshine agin, I’m ‘fraid you might be disappointed. ‘E ain’t been ‘round much this week. Word is there’s a big push on, and most of our regular boys have been kept hoppin’. Although, ‘e did ‘appen to pop in for a quick spot earlier this afternoon, an’ was asking about ya.”

The fact that Justin had been talking about him with Daphne, inexplicably pleased Brian. “He left a note for me at my hotel telling me the same. But he said I could leave word here with you if I wanted to hook up with him this weekend. Which is good, because it gave me an excuse to come around and bring you these.”

Brian whipped out the bouquet of flowers he’d picked up that afternoon at the market and gallantly presented them to the blushing barmaid. “For you,” he smiled brightly.

“Well, now, if you ain’t the cat’s meow!” the pretty lady gushed as she buried her face in the flowers to sniff their heady perfume. “These are beautaful! What a right gent you is, ‘andsome! If I din’ know you was already rationed, I’d set me cap fer ya myself. Sunshine’s a lucky boy findin’ his’self a dashin’ fella like you.”

“It’s my pleasure, ma’am. I saw them in the market today and I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to give them to,” Brian replied, laying on the Kinney charm as thick as he possibly could. “Besides, I figured it couldn’t hurt for me to get on the good side of Justin‘s best friend.”

“Flatterer!” Daphne exclaimed, and then pottered off to put her flowers in some water with a lingering smile on her pretty face.

Brian spent the next hour or so soaking up the atmosphere along with his best ale. It was fun to watch the transition of the clientele from the mostly straight, working men who came in after their shift was over, to the more flamboyant evening crowd. He nodded familiarly to several of the guys that came in, feeling like he was almost starting to fit in by this point. So, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Gears took up the barstool next to him, ordered a pint from Daphne, and then turned towards Brian.

“Evenin’,” the laconic man drawled.

“Same to you,” Brian replied, waiting to hear what the guy had to say.

“Not one for idle chatter, I see? Well, that suits me fine,” Gears stated, pausing long enough to take a sip of his beer. “The way of it is this . . . the boys and me, we’ve taken a real liking to our little Sunshine. He’s a good lad. Breath of fresh air, ‘an all that. So, way’s I see it, a swell bloke like you comes sniffin’ round, puts us all a little on edge. An’ if yer jes whistlin’ and leadin’ ‘im on till you’ve had yer way, then it’d be better yer just shove off now. Leave ‘im be an’ all. Right?”

With the man’s thick accent and heavy dialect, it took Brian a minute or two to decipher Gears’ statement, but when it finally dawned on him what the man had meant, Brian burst out laughing.

“Are you trying to ask me what my intentions are as to Justin?” Brian asked when he finally managed to speak again.

“Why’s ‘at so funny? Less’n yer really are a cad. If so, it’s likely time for yer ta leave, mate,” Gears seemed to take offense at Brian’s hilarity.

“No. No, I didn’t mean any offense. It’s just that, I never expected to see myself in a position where I’d be asking for someone’s permission to date a guy. I can’t help finding that a little bit funny.” Brian noticed that Gears didn’t seem to share his amusement at the situation, so he quickly tried to tamp down his mirth. “I assure you, I don’t mean Justin any harm. I like him. A lot. I’m not just ‘whistlin’ around him, as you put it. And I don’t plan to hurt him.”

“Right. Well, just so’s you don’ forget an’ gives us a reason to ‘urt YOU, mate, cos we will,” Gears added, lifting his glass to Brian in a mocking toast with a dangerous smile.

So much for fitting in, Brian thought to himself, and turned back to his own drink in silence.

The next time Daphne wandered by, Brian flagged her over. “I’m out of here, Daph. Can you give Justin a message for me?” When the barmaid nodded Brian hurried on. “Just let him know that I got his note and I’ll be waiting for him at my hotel as soon as he gets off tomorrow.”

“Will do, ‘andsome,” Daphne assured him.

“Later,” Brian said with a nod to Gears.

Then Brian got up, fished for some coins in his pocket - but since he wasn’t in the mood to figure out how much his tab was, he just left a one pound coin on the top of the bar, figuring that should cover it - and quickly left.

Brian was awakened the next morning by a loud rapping at the door to his room. Still only half awake, he struggled out of bed, pulled on his pants and plodded over to open the door, only to find one of the hotel’s porters standing there. The man looked slightly scandalized by the fact that Brian had no shirt on. What did the guy expect at the crack of dawn, though?

“What?” Brian barked, unable to care if he was being rude or not.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Sir,” the porter launched into his spiel. “There is a gentleman inquiring for you downstairs at the front desk. He claims that you are expecting him.”

Brian rubbed at his face, trying to get his brain to come online. “Who?” was all he managed.

“A handsome young American chap, Sir. He said his name was Taylor, I believe.”

“Justin?” That fact seemed to penetrate the fumes enough to wake Brian up a smidgen more.

“Yes, Sir. I do believe that was the name he gave. He appears to be an RAF Officer, if that helps, Sir.”

Brian grunted to acknowledge it did help. “What time is it?” He asked next, proud that he’d managed an entire sentence that time.

“It’s just gone half past seven, Sir?”

“In the morning?” Brian asked, just to be sure.

The porter smiled briefly at how confused Brian appeared.  “Yes, Sir.”

Brian yawned and rubbed at his tired face, fuck, he was knackered. He should have felt refreshed after finally managing a decent night’s sleep, what with there being no television or internet to keep him awake. But all the late nights staying up and working his ass off on the Britcom account had obviously caught up with him. “Can you send him up?” Brian asked, “I completely forgot I asked him here for an interview this morning,” he added quickly, noticing the slightly startled expression on the young porter's face.

“Oh, of course, Sir,” the young man answered quickly, his expression having changed to somewhat relieved after Brian mentioned they were meeting for what he assumed was a business interview.

Five minutes later, there was another knock at his door. Brian pulled it open and smiled at the young blond pilot in front of him.

Brian stood aside and held open his door. “Good morning, Blue Eyes.”

“Oh, urm . . . good morning,” his favorite blond stuttered slightly as he took in a shirtless Brian.

Brian couldn’t help himself as he ran a hand down his bare chest. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t have time to get dressed. I only just woke up.”

Justin looked at his watch. “I guess when you told Daphne that I should come by as soon as I got off, you didn’t expect me at 7:30 am. But all my missions lately have been night jobs so I ‘get off’ at dawn and, well . . . here I am.”

Justin’s eyes returned to Brian’s bare torso for several long seconds but then he frantically looked away, trying to find something else, anything else, to focus on. Brian thought it was fucking adorable. But, being Brian, he wasn’t about to let the kid off easy. Nope. Brian intended to play with the boy all he could and milk the situation.

Brian stretched with both arms above his head, making sure to get a good flex in through his chest and biceps as he lowered them, and ending with a swivel of his neck to emphasize his deltoids. It helped his plan that the pants he’d only just pulled on but not buttoned all the way up, slid down an inch or two as he stretched, revealing more than a hint of the man’s treasure trail. When he was done stretching, Justin was still just standing there, panting heavily, biting at his lower lip, his eyes locked on Brian’s midsection somewhere around the level of his naval. There might even have been a drop of drool at the corner of those cotton-candy pink lips. The kid was just too easy.

And too delicious. Brian couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward, lifted the boy’s chin with one finger and helped himself to a morning kiss from the perfectly plump lips.

“Mmmm. Yummy,” he declared when he stepped back a minute or two later, leaving Justin standing there, his eyes half closed, and a dreamy look on his angelic face. “Now, I need to go down the hall and get cleaned up. Make yourself at home while I’m gone, Blue Eyes.”

“Huh?” Justin finally realized that someone was talking to him and looked up, causing Brian to chuckle.

“I’m going to take a piss and catch a shower,” Brian repeated for the benefit of the dazed boy. “You stay here. Got it?”

“Um . . . yeah. Good . . . I’ll just . . . I’ll just wait here,” Justin responded, even more flustered now and blushing desperately as he dropped his hands to try and cover the tenting in his trousers.

As Brian walked by to gather himself a fresh shirt and his toiletries, he couldn’t help himself; he stopped right in front of Justin and reached down to pull the frazzled blond’s hands away from his crotch. “Mmm, that’s better,” Brian grinned seductively as he gave Justin’s straining trousers a nice, firm squeeze. “You’ve just given me something inspiring to think about while I’m in the shower.”

Justin stood there looking at him, with his hands hanging loosely by his side as his teeth gnawed nervously at his bottom lip.

“So fucking cute . . .” Brian mumbled as he left the room in search of the facilities and possibly a little relief in the shower.

It took Justin a good five minutes after Brian left before he’d recovered his wits. He could still feel his cheeks burning.

“Applesauce! He’s . . . gorgeous!” the boy proclaimed with a huge grin on his face when he was finally able to think coherently. “And he wants me! ME! Applesauce!”

Justin danced around the room, unable to contain his exuberance, ending up by flopping bodily onto the still unmade bed. Which really didn’t help matters much, as it still smelled like Brian, all warm and musky with a hint of the cologne he wore. Justin let himself roll around in the sheets, taking in huge whiffs of the man’s aroma for a couple minutes before he sighed and, pulling himself back under control, climbed back off the bed.

But then there was nothing else for him to do and he simply had to do something to keep his mind off the nerves that kept attacking him every time he remembered he was there, in Brian’s room, waiting for the man himself to return to do . . . who knew what. He started to nervously move around the little room, looking at the furnishings, tidying the messy sheets on the bed, picking up a random object here and there to examine it. When he came to the pile of personal objects Brian had taken out of his pockets and left on the dresser, Justin only hesitated a moment before he snooped.

He picked up the new-looking leather wallet, opening it and noting right away the War Department ID that was displayed in the little window on the left-hand side. It showed a very attractive picture of Brian - like any picture of the man could possibly be unattractive - listing his occupation as ‘News Correspondent’. Which matched what Brian had told Gears the other day, but not so much what he’d let on to Justin the first night they’d met. It left a lot of questions in the young pilot’s mind. Although, with a war on and all, you just never knew about people, did you.

There were some more cards and things in the other slots of the wallet, but Justin didn’t want to get too nosy, so he didn’t pull any of them out. He did notice that there were quite a lot of bills in the back section - both pound notes and dollars. Whatever else Brian Kinney might be, he was obviously rich. Justin had never seen anyone walk around with that much cash on them. Which didn’t quite jive with Justin’s idea of what a reporter would make for a living . . .

He quickly put the wallet back where he’d found it and looked over the rest of the items. There was a pile of coins - again, it seemed like a lot to the young pilot who was paid, at least in part, with additional ration coupons instead of cash - along with a set of keys, an expensive-looking gold lighter, an even more expensive-looking gold watch and an odd little rectangular box-thing that Justin recognized as the gadget he’d seen light up when Brian had given him the chocolate bar that one time.

Curious, Justin pushed at it with one cautious fingertip, almost relieved when the small black box didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. It was made of some material that he didn’t recognize - smooth and shiny, hard to the touch but not cold like metal. There were some small protruding buttons along the left side of the box, but they didn’t do anything when he pressed on them. However, when he did the same thing to the single button on the right side, the whole front of the box lit up displaying a picture of a small, smiling boy, about three years old, or so, with the time and date scrawled across the top of the image. There was also an oblong box across the width of the picture that had words in it saying, ‘Phone . . . +1 (412) 764-2389 . . . Missed call’. Before Justin could figure out what that all meant, though, the black light box went dark again and he was too afraid of what he might find to touch it again, so he simply backed away.

Whatever Mr. Brian Kinney did for a living - whatever job he had that paid him with large amounts of cash and afforded him access to strange gadgets like that light box - Justin didn’t think he was really a run of the mill reporter.

The only other item of interest that Justin found in the room was the large bag full of the most beautiful oranges he’d ever seen. His mouth watered just looking at them. That was another odd thing about Brian - where did he get all these amazing things like chocolate, coffee and oranges? Especially now, at the very beginning of spring? Oranges were rare enough in the best of times, but during a war? And completely out of season? Brian had to have some interesting connections to get that kind of stuff.

Justin decided not to jump to any conclusions about the man just yet, but would remain wary. He liked Brian too much to walk away from him, but all these strange things did give him reason to wonder. He didn’t want to get involved with a gangster or something. Or worse, a spy. At least not a spy for the bad guys. He really, really, REALLY hoped that wasn’t the case, though. Because the more he saw of Brian Kinney - and he’d just seen a lot of him a few minutes earlier - the more he wanted him.

Deciding to put all his questions aside for the moment, Justin set about putting a few of the oranges out in a bowl on the small table and then got out the thermos full of hot coffee he’d picked up when he stopped by the White Lion and set it next to the oranges. That would have to suffice for their breakfast, he thought, wondering all the time what would come after breakfast . . .

Brian made his way back to his room, grumbling along the way about the lack of a blow dryer for his hair. He hated not being able to fix his hair the right way. How was he supposed to get the perfect, just fucked look, without a damned hair dryer? He really hadn’t thought about that when he was planning this overnight stay in the past and packing his little overnight bag. Not that it would have mattered much if he had brought one. He figured that the shaky electrical wiring in the hotel probably couldn’t stand up to the power demands of even a measly hair dryer from the 21st Century. He’d probably blow every circuit in the building if he tried to plug it in. He’d just have to deal with imperfect hair for the day, damn it.

When he got back to the room, it was perfumed with the welcome aroma of fresh brewed coffee, making him ever so grateful. He pulled the door open and found his Blue Eyes standing by the little table in the corner, fiddling with a thermos and pouring out the wonderful elixir of life into two china cups just like a good little house husband would. The scene brought a smile to Brian’s lips, although he would never admit to being swayed by such things if anyone were to ask.

“Something smells delicious,” Brian announced, dropping his bathroom things on the bed and crossing the room to come up behind his blond, then leaning in to kiss the man’s long, pale neck. “And the coffee smells great too.”

“Brian . . .” Justin responded, the name coming out half chiding and half a moan of pleasure as Brian’s lips played along the sensitive column of his neck. “I . . . I . . . I hope you don’t mind that I set some things out. I haven’t actually had breakfast yet and those oranges looked so good and . . . Mmmmm.” The boy lost track of what he was saying as his head fell to the side, allowing Brian better access for kissing him.

Brian pulled the trim little body back against his own, enjoying the way Justin seemed to melt against him. He tasted so fucking sweet, too, his skin clean with a little saltiness where the younger man had sweated earlier, but fresh and the flesh firm under Brian’s lips. He wanted to fucking eat the kid whole right then and there. Hell, his dick was so hard already it was likely to burst through his pants any second now. And the way the kid moaned, completely uninhibited like that . . .

“We . . . We should drink the coffee before . . . before it gets cold, you know,” Justin stated, tearing himself away from Brian’s hold just when things were starting to get interesting. “I hope you don’t mind, but I left the coffee you gave me with Daphne, since I don’t have any way to brew it in my room. She made me a pot of it this morning when I stopped in there. I . . . I’m really looking forward to tasting it. It smells wonderful . . .” the boy babbled nervously, moving around and seating himself so that the small table effectively separated him from Brian.

Brian chuckled at the naive little tyro’s discomfiture. He decided not to push Justin too fast though. He could already tell the kid had basically NO experience, just the raw desire of lust. There would be time enough later to let the youngster explore that side of himself. Besides, Brian was dying for a cup of coffee just then.

Seating himself at the table, Brian helped himself to a cup of the coffee, sighing as he sipped the warm brew and ready for the caffeine to hit his system.

“So, how was your mission last night?” he asked, trying to make conversation while the flustered boy gathered his wits about him again. “Daphne said you’d been busy all week. I hope everything went well.”

“Last night was brilliant!” Justin gushed, joining Brian at the table, and eager to talk about any ‘safe’ topic. “We flew escort for a long-range bombing mission last night - can’t say to where, of course, but it was a major target. And it was all going like clockwork of course until the bombers made their drop and were turning around and then, out of nowhere, we got hit from the side by a whole squadron of Messerschmitts. It was a total dog fight for about a half hour. We showed ‘em what for, though. Took out half of ‘em before the rest retreated. We only lost one plane in the process. And I got my first confirmed kill, too. The guys gave me quite the send off when we got back to celebrate.”

The glib way Justin recounted the battle left Brian a little stunned. It was bad enough that he had just glossed over the loss of one of his compatriots, who was presumably killed when his plane was lost, but to crow about his first kill like that . . . It just reemphasized for Brian how different his life was from this boy’s. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to that kind of thing even if he stayed back here in 1941 permanently.

“Sounds like you had an eventful night,” Brian commented noncommittally.

“Yep. But at least I have the next two days off. I’m bushed.” Justin ended his sentence with a face-splitting yawn, evidencing just how exhausted he really was.

“Tired?” Brian asked teasingly, breaking open an orange and deftly separating two slices, one of which he handed over to Justin.

“Sorry. I was still all juiced up and excited when I came over here, but I guess all the adrenaline is starting to wear off,” Justin apologized, grabbing the orange slice and sucking on it with delight, humming happily. “Mmmm. This is delicious. I’ve never seen oranges this big, where did you get them?”

Brian licked the juice from his fingers. “It’s a secret,” he answered with a mysterious grin.

“Oh, okay,” Justin nodded, not wanting to press the issue, as he took another slice of orange from Brian’s hands.

“So, do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?” Brian asked casually.

Justin yawned again before answering, “No. I’m free as a bird until 23:00 hours Saturday.”

That threw Brian for a moment, since it was already Sunday. Then he realized that, although the dates were the same for him in 2016 and here in 1941, the calendar days were different. It might be Sunday in 2016, but it was still only Thursday for Justin. That would definitely complicate things. But he’d figure it out somehow. Luckily he didn’t have to deal with it at the moment. All he had to do right then was take care of the sleepy blond yawning at him across the table.

“Good, because I wanted to take you to the movies.”

Justin’s face lit up. “Really? I haven’t been to the movies in ages.”

“But I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh,” Justin responded sadly. “Well . . . That’s okay. I understand.”

“You’re too tired.”

“I’m really not,” Justin tried desperately to stifle a yawn. “Okay, maybe just a little, but I could still stay awake for a movie. I think.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do, Blue Eyes,” Brian declared authoritatively. “Right now, you’re going to lay down and we’re going to take a little nap. I can’t guarantee that I won’t try and kiss you again . . . actually, I’ll DEFINITELY be kissing you, but I promise not to otherwise compromise your virtue. I like my men awake when I take advantage of them.” They both laughed. “But for now, why don’t you take off your shoes and get comfy.”

Justin looked at Brian for a minute, gauging how sincere the other man was, and then, apparently finding whatever he was looking for in Brian’s eyes, he smiled, sat on the bed long enough to pull off his shoes, and then shyly scooted up till he was lying on the pillows. Brian padded over to the other side of the bed, pulled the covers out from under Justin and climbed under before covering them both up with the warm quilt. Justin was lying there stiffly at first, his body tense, but as soon as Brian’s arms wrapped around him, pulling the smaller body close to him in a comfortable spooning position, the younger man relaxed. Brian loved the way Justin seemed to fit perfectly within the scope of his arms.

“That’s nice,” Justin purred, wiggling his plump posterior a bit until he found the perfect spot snuggled up against Brian’s front. “You’re so warm.”

“Hush, you. You’re supposed to be napping,” Brian ordered, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to the slightly stubbled blond cheek, enjoying the fact that his companion smelled like oranges and warm boy. “Sweet dreams, Blue Eyes.”

The only response he got was a quiet snore as the tired pilot was already asleep.

Chapter 9 - On The Sunny Side of the Street.

Brian awoke several hours later to the sound of soft, quiet snuffling coming from the sleeping figure beside him. His entire body felt numb from lying still for so long, but as he tried to move into a more comfortable position, the warm, snugly blond boy in his arms burrowed himself deeper into Brian’s embrace, sighing happily in his slumber.

The more his sleepy Blue Eyes snuggled back against him, the harder Brian felt himself become. He groaned softly, enjoying the way the blond’s ass fit so fucking perfectly against him; Justin, as the little spoon, nestled up against Brian’s big spoon . . . A big spoon that was feeling pretty randy by that point in the proceedings, to be honest.

Brian couldn’t help himself; his hands began to wander down the sleeping man’s body without conscious thought. He started at Justin’s stomach, pleasantly surprised at how firm it felt under his fingers. Brian debated whether or not to slide his hands under Justin’s shirt; it was as though Justin’s warm, sleepy body was calling out to him to be touched. That silky smooth skin just begging to be stroked. The warm secret places anxious to be fondled. Brian couldn’t help but wonder if Justin’s body was as deliciously milky white as the skin on his face. His fingers itched to explore further.

Justin moaned contently as his body began to slowly wake up. His mind, however, was stuck in that delightful place between sleep and wakefulness and was therefore still blissfully unaware of Brian’s roaming hands.

Brian began pressing gentle kisses to the side of Justin’s neck, loving the way the blond moved his head, subconsciously craving the feeling of Brian’s warm mouth on his skin.

As Brian continued kissing his sleepy blond, his hands wandered under the stiff material of Justin’s shirt, feeling the hot skin of Justin’s belly beneath his fingers. Brian grinned wickedly when he noticed the way his touch left goose bumps over Justin’s silky skin. Brian’s hands caressed further up Justin’s body, moving from his taut stomach up to his chest, where Brian’s fingers naturally found their way to Justin’s nipples. Justin’s back arched as Brian’s fingers teased them gently. He quickly brought his hand out from under Justin’s shirt and sucked a couple of fingers into his mouth, then returned them back to Justin’s nipples, rolling them into hard little peaks, and not relenting until he heard little mewls of pleasure from his now alert blond boy.

“Good afternoon,” Brian breathed heavily against Justin’s ear. “Sleep well?”

Justin nodded, his breathing loud and labored as he lay there and let Brian touch him.

“Did you know you snored?” Brian asked breathily, as his hand rubbed soft circles down Justin’s body, finding the softest of happy trails, which led to what Brian was sure was the happiest place on earth.

His Blue Eyes gulped loudly as Brian’s hand found it’s destination and began to caress the very impressive and very hard bulge he found there.

Justin lay still, moaning contently as Brian squeezed and rubbed, but after only a minute or two his body tensed up and he pushed Brian’s hand away.

“Brian . . . don’t . . . please . . . I . . . I can’t.”

Brian tried to turn the blond in his arms so that they were facing each other, but Justin refused to budge. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Brian,” Justin began to apologize, still unwilling or unable to look Brian in the eyes when explaining. “I guess . . . I’m just not ready.”

Justin sounded so unsure of what he was saying, what he was feeling, that alarm bells started to go off in Brian’s head. The Stud sank back against the pillows, feeling a little defeated and confused. He knew he was missing something here, but had no clue what.

It wouldn’t be the first time Brian had been rejected by a guy. Normally, if that happened, he’d just chalk it up to experience and move on. But it didn’t feel like that was what was going on here. And, although it was totally out of character for him, this time he knew he couldn’t just leave it there. He couldn’t simply walk away from Justin. Justin wasn’t just some trick he’d picked up in the back room of a club whose rejection could be easily shrugged off. Even in just the short time he’d known the young pilot, Justin had already come to mean more than that. So, instead of blowing off the rest of this conversation, as well as the boy who didn’t seem to know his own mind, Brian renewed his hold on the blond and made the ultimate sacrifice - he offered to talk about Justin‘s feelings.

“I don’t understand, Justin. You don’t have to apologize, but . . . help me understand what’s going on here. It seemed like you were enjoying everything . . . up to a point. So, what did I do wrong? What got you so spooked?” Brian asked, not wanting to pressure the boy, but just trying to figure this thing out in his own mind. “I thought you liked when I kissed you.”

“I did. I do. You can still kiss me,” Justin told him quietly. “If you want to, that is. It’s not the kissing . . .”

“I definitely still want to kiss you, you silly Twat,” Brian insisted, proving his point by leaving a small kiss on Justin’s cheek as evidence. “So what did I do that freaked you out, then?” When Justin didn’t answer right away, Brian sighed again. This was going to take more than the usual amount of finesse, he thought. “Okay, let’s work this out. You don’t mind the kissing. What about touching? Can I touch you?” Brian moved his hand back under Justin’s shirt and slowly began to caress his warm stomach. Justin’s body still felt tense in his arms, and the urge for Brian to find some way to comfort the frightened youth became even more intense. “Is this okay?” he asked, basically insisting on an answer.

“Yes,” Justin breathed out the word as his body gradually started to relax and he melted into Brian’s touch once more. “That’s nice, actually.”

“Good. So, then, just tell me where the line is. I’m not going to pressure you to do anything you’re not ready for. Just tell me what it is that you want.” Still, Justin remained silent, but Brian was determined to get to the bottom of this. “Come on, Blue Eyes. I can tell something's bothering you, but I’m not a very good mind reader. You’re going to have to actually tell me what’s going through that silly little blond head of yours.”

“It’s just . . . this is new to me,” Justin explained nervously, sounding so unsure and unlike his usual strong, forthright self. “I’ve never . . . I mean . . . I’ve wanted to . . . but I’ve never . . .”

Brian waited for his nervous blond to continue talking, suffering through the silence stoically, knowing that if he refused to fill the empty space, Justin would be forced to continue, even if he didn’t want to. And it worked. After almost five minutes of nothing, Brian felt Justin’s whole body slump in his arms as he gave up the fight against himself.

“I guess I always knew I was queer. Or at least, I knew it from a pretty early age. I always liked to draw and sing. But that wasn’t acceptable to my father, so I did my best to fit in. To keep up with the other boys. I figured I was the only one who had these strange feelings. That there must’ve been something wrong with me.”

Brian hugged the slim body even tighter to his chest in sympathy but didn’t interrupt for fear of staunching the flow of words.

“It wasn’t till I was in high school - fourteen or fifteen - that I realized I wasn’t alone. It was the director of the youth choir at my parents’ church who brought me out for the first time. He started off by complimenting me, saying how perfect my voice was - you know, the usual stuff. Before long he was singling me out and keeping me after practice. It didn’t go very far - just some fondling and the like. When he started to get a little too insistent, I quit the choir. Which, by the way, pleased my father to no end. But at least, after that, I knew I wasn’t the only one who had inappropriate feelings for other boys.”

“Fucking pervert,” was Brian’s only comment.

“Other than that, though, I didn’t really have much of an opportunity to get any experience,” Justin continued with his story. “I didn’t think there were any other queers in my neighborhood. My parents were quite religious and we spent a great deal of time in church where any type of ‘perversion’ was railed against. My father regularly disparaged any man he saw that, in his opinion, wasn’t manly enough, which gave me even more incentive to hide. I grew up thinking that, maybe I wasn’t the only one like this, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t wrong. I definitely never even dreamed of acting on my inclinations.”

Brian didn’t think it would do any good to commiserate with the younger man now, even though he could empathize after experiencing the same thing in his own youth. Although Brian had had the benefit of growing up after the Stonewall Riots and the sexual revolution of the 60s, he thought every gay boy probably had a similar moment in his past. It was a common thread that tied them all together, regardless of what era they grew up in.

“It wasn’t till I was rejected by the Army, that I even really admitted it to myself,” Justin confessed. “After being labeled a ‘homosexual’ - having it stamped on a piece of paper and shoved in my face - there really was no sense in denying it anymore, was there? A disgrace, by the way, that my father will never let me live down, even if I wanted to deny it.”

“Fucking fathers,” Brian murmured. “What the fuck do they know anyway?”

That at least elicited a small chuckle from his contemplative blond. “That was pretty much my reaction, as well. After trying all my life to please that man, I finally realized there was no way I would ever succeed. It was quite liberating, actually. From that point on, I knew that I would only have to please myself. I would only ever have to live up to my own expectations. Which is why I decided I wasn’t going to let the US Army Air Corps stop me.”

THERE was the streak of stubbornness that Brian found so attractive. He liked the hint of defiance in his perky little pilot's voice when he made that statement. That was the boy who had captivated him from the first moment they’d laid eyes on each other.

“I also decided that I was no longer going to be ashamed that I was queer. I couldn’t change the fact, even though I’d tried for years. And I now had the official, stamped piece of paper saying that I am, indeed, as queer as they come, so why fight it? I may not flaunt it, but I don’t want to be forever afraid of it either.”

“Good,” Brian echoed the younger man’s defiant attitude and earned himself a tentative grin.

“Which is really a very long-winded way of explaining that I have absolutely no experience in actually being queer,” Justin elucidated. “Since I’ve come to London, I’ve only had a few, very brief, encounters. A couple of guys have asked me out from time to time, and, well . . .”

Brian could see as well as feel the blush rising along the boy’s neck and cheeks. Justin seemed determined, though, not to let his embarrassment stop him this time.

“I’ve heard all the guys talking, you know? Some of them like to brag about EVERYTHING they’ve done, so I kind of know what to expect. I’ve even touched a few guys, and they’ve touched me - which was nice and all - and one time this guy I went out with offered to let me put it in his mouth - which felt really amazing - but that’s as far as I’ve gone. I mean, I couldn’t see myself letting just anyone cornhole me in some tea room or something. That just didn’t seem right.”

Finally, Justin twisted around in Brian‘s arms a little, enough so he could look at Brian face-to-face. “But I can tell, just by the way you act, that you’ve had a lot more experience than me, Brian. And I want that; I want it all. Eventually. I guess . . . Well, to be honest, I was a bit scared that you’d be disappointed when you found out that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Or that you’d expect me to go faster than I’m ready for. I get the feeling you're used to men who are a lot more . . . forward . . . than I am. And, if that’s the case . . . If that’s what you want, Brian, then maybe we should just stop this right now. Because I’m not that man. Not yet, anyhow.”

Brian saw the rebellious gleam sparkling in the gemstone bright eyes, heard the obstinate challenge in the younger man’s tone, and fell for Justin all over again. Nothing was as big a turn on to Brian as confidence. And he’d never met anyone as confident, as quietly brave and defiantly strong, as this unassuming-looking young man. That kind of dauntless self-assurance, even in the face of all the myriad of obstacles that had been thrown in his path, was probably the sexiest fucking thing Brian had ever encountered.

“Maybe not, but you will be, Blue Eyes. You will be. And I plan to be there with you all the way,” Brian vowed, surprising himself with the conviction he heard in his own voice. “If you’ll let me.”

“I’d be honored to have the benefit of your experience, Mr. Kinney,” Justin stated formally. “But perhaps we could take things a little more slowly? I think I might have to work up to your level of expertise. I promise I’m a quick study, though, so you shouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“I accept, Mr. Taylor. I’d be more than happy to bestow my years of experience upon you,” Brian responded in kind, although with a teasing lilt to his words. “However, if you want to slow things down, we’re going to have to get out of bed now, because if I stay here any longer with your hot little body pressed up against me, I’m not sure how slow I can go.”

“Agreed. I think relocating to somewhere OTHER than your bed, is an excellent preventative measure,” Justin assented, twisting around so he could leave a quick, happy kiss on Brian’s lips before jumping out of the bed. “Thank you for listening, Brian, and for not laughing at me,” he added.

“My pleasure, Blue Eyes,” Brian replied as he rolled out of bed himself. “And thank YOU for being honest with me.”

“I’ll always be honest with you, Brian. There’s nothing I hate more than liars.”

Since they were forced to abandon Brian’s preferred entertainment option for the afternoon, they decided to go for Plan B and head to the movies. It was a nice day out, so they opted to walk to the theater, enjoying the relatively balmy weather and the company as they slowly ambled along. When they got to the Odeon, Brian was thrilled to see that today’s offering was one of his all-time favorite movies: High Sierra.

High Sierra Trailer (good for a laugh)

“Excellent!” Brian exclaimed in his enthusiasm. “That’s probably my favorite movie ever. I’ve seen it, like, a hundred times.”

“Huh? How can you have seen it a hundred times?” Justin asked, looking at Brian with real confusion. “Didn’t it just come out?”

“Um . . . Uh . . . I saw it in the States before I came over here,” he qualified, annoyed that he’d slipped up so easily.

“Oh, okay. That makes sense. But a hundred times?” Justin kidded him, with an elbow to his middle. “A HUNDRED?”

“Well, I may have exaggerated, a little,” Brian admitted with a grin. “But you’re going to love it. It’s probably one of Bogie’s best films ever.”

Brian rushed over to buy two tickets, refusing to let Justin contribute to the purchase price. Then, since they had about forty-five minutes to kill before showtime, they stepped across the street and had a quick bite of lunch at a nearby cafe. But they were back at the theater in good time to be one of the first allowed into the matinee performance. Brian led his boy up to the balcony, marvelling over the interior of the elegant art deco theater - which had unfortunately been updated and refurbished by his day, obliterating the original glory of the grand space. And, once the lights went down and the previews started, Brian reached over to hold Justin’s hand in the dark, happy as a clam that his afternoon wooing plan was going so well.

Brian really did love this movie. He was able to recite most of Bogart’s important lines, annoying Justin as he whispered them in the younger man’s ear, and even earning them a few ‘shhh’es from their neighbors when the giggling became too much. Justin complained that he would have to come watch the movie another time all by himself because he’d missed half of it while fending Brian off. But it was all said in good fun.

“Sheesh. You really weren’t kidding about this being one of your favorite movies, were you, Brian?” Justin admonished as they got up from their seats after the end credits. “How did you manage to memorize all the lines like that?”

“I told you, I’ve seen it a few times already,” Brian bragged with a grin. “I love Bogart movies. Growing up he was my idea of the perfect man. I just wish I’d had the chance to meet him once.”

“Well, you never know. You might still get to meet him one day, I imagine. Maybe if you took a trip to Hollywood,” Justin answered, almost catching Brian out again on the whole time and tenses thing. He really needed to watch that more carefully.

Before they left the theater, Justin happened to see a small line of people queued up in the corner of the lobby. Since he was curious, he pulled Brian over in that direction, only to discover that they were all waiting to get a turn in the fancy new ‘photo booth’ the management had set up there. Brian, who’d seen these contraptions a hundred times over the course of his life, was unimpressed, but Justin was simply amazed at the very idea of a contraption that would let just anyone sit for instantly developed pictures.

“Applesauce! What will they think of next?” Justin declared, staring over the shoulder of a recent photographee to look at the small stip of pictures with open admiration.

Brian couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled out at his boy’s wonderment. If the kid only knew what else was out there . . . “Well, come on then, let’s get in line.”

“What? Us? Get photos?” Justin hissed, seeming scandalized by the idea. “We can’t do that, Brian.”

“Of course we can. It’s just a photo together,” he asserted, pulling Justin over to join the line of people. Then he leaned in so he could whisper, “I promise not to do anything compromising in the pictures, like kiss you or anything . . . even though I’m fucking dying to do that right now, you silly twat.”

Justin, predictably, blushed so hard that Brian was almost worried he’d overheat and explode. He loved being able to fluster the boy so easily. It was an amusing little game he could play anytime he chose. Justin didn’t object too much, though, to the idea of getting their picture taken and stood compliantly in the line till it was their turn.

While they were waiting, they listened in on the conversations of the groups in front of them in line. Most of the discussions involved planning out the various poses they all intended to take for their pictures. The general trend seem to be leaning towards humorous photos. This was especially true for the larger groups, those with three or more people, like the rowdy group of young sailors who were trying to figure out how many people they could fit into the booth at one time. Several of them were already practicing silly faces, and earning themselves rounds of laughter from their compatriots.

“Edward Mayfield,” one very young woman shrieked as soon as she grabbed up her pictures, which had plopped down into the little slot as soon as they were developed. “How dare you sneak a kiss in a picture like this? If my father sees this, he’s likely to tan your hide good and proper.”

Brian could see the suspect picture, which the girl was waving in everyone’s faces, apparently attempting to get sympathy from the rest of the customers for her dire plight. In it, you could see the girl posing prettily for the camera, completely unsuspecting, while her beau must’ve quickly turned his head just as the shutter snapped. The resulting image would forever evidence the boy’s face, puckered up, with his mouth only millimeters from her plump rosy cheek. The boy himself - a tall gangling lad dressed in an army uniform that was far too baggy on his lanky frame - as well as the rest of the audience in the theater, seemed to think the prank was hilarious.

“Well, Sadie, your father is going to have to catch me first,” the boy teased, pulling the strip of photos out of the girl's hand and dancing away from her. “And seeing as I’m shipping out first thing Monday morning, I reckon I’ll be safe.”

As the pair chased each other out of the theater, Justin shot a warning glance Brian’s way. “I promised, Blue Eyes,” Brian quietly assured his skittish blond. “No kidding.”

“So, what pose should WE do?” Justin asked when there were only a couple people left in front of them in the line. “I don’t think I want to goof off like all these others.” Justin looked distastefully after one particularly obnoxious group of young men who’d just left with their series of silly shots. Then his voice fell to a confidential hush and he added, “I don’t want our first picture together to be like THAT.”

Brian rolled his eyes and shook his head indulgently at the ridiculously romantic boy. “So, what? You want us to frown at the camera, looking all serious, like one of those old-fashioned daguerreotypes where the people look like it physically pains them to have their picture taken?”

“No. But . . .” He thought about it a little, then smiled shyly up at Brian again. “I just feel like I want to take this thing, whatever it is, seriously. Give it some weight. Make it feel substantial. Real.” Then he laughed at himself self-consciously. “That sounds so pretentious, doesn’t it?”

Brian was struck by the realization that Justin must be feeling some of the same undertones he’d been experiencing with whatever this thing was.

“No, Blue Eyes, that sounds perfect to me. Serious but not sad, then? Just peaceful and . . . Comfortable?” he proposed.

“Exactly.”

By then it was their turn in the booth. Brian let Justin go in first, then slid in after him, pulling the heavy velvet drape closed behind them. Brian got a handful of coins out of his pocket, ready to insert them, and then squished in next to Justin on the narrow bench.

“I have an idea, Brian,” Justin said, sounding quite sure of himself. “It’s something I saw in a museum once when my parents took me to New York. I think it’ll work just fine for our picture.”

Brian was game, so he let his little artist arrange them both without protest. They sat quietly, in the pose Justin had arranged, and waited through the three bright flashes of light. Then they calmly exited the booth and waited beside the machine while it clicked and chugged and whirred, until the small celluloid strip with their pictures printed on the front slid into the slot. Justin eagerly grabbed for the finished product, snatching it up and looking at it intently. Apparently, he liked what he saw, snatching it up and looking at it intently, his face quickly changing into a radiant smile. Without even showing Brian, Justin turned on his heel and practically skipped out the door of the theater, the strip of photos held tightly against his chest as if he were keeping the treasure safe.

“Well . . . Are you going to show me, or do I have to wrestle you for ‘em?” Brian asked once they were out of the theater and away from potential eavesdroppers.

With a smug little smile, his Blue Eyes handed over the filmstrip.

Brian had to agree, they’d turned out perfectly.

With the stip of photos in hand, Brian escorted Justin down the street, headed back to The Strand.

The next item on his wooing agenda was dinner at the fancy hotel restaurant and then . . . whatever came up after. But, since dinner wasn’t served until seven pm, they had quite a bit of time to kill. Brian didn’t think it wise to further tempt Gears and the other hostile denizens of the White Lion by going over there for a pre-dinner drink, but that left him a bit at loose ends. However, since the weather was still cooperating with Brian’s romantic plans, he decided a stroll would serve his purpose nicely. Accordingly, he guided his Blue Eyes down the Charing Cross Road towards the river, ambling along at a casual pace and window shopping while they walked.

Justin was feeling quite chatty and regaled Brian with a lot of amusing stories about the things he’d seen and done in London since his arrival several months earlier. Brian found himself enjoying not only the conversation but the walk itself. It was turning out to be such a relaxed and pleasant afternoon.

Just strolling along, with no time constraints and no real destination was a rare experience for him. Back in his own time, Brian was a busy guy - he almost always had somewhere he needed to be and an agenda for every minute of his time. Except for his evenings of prowling at the bars and clubs, that is. But even then, he was always focused on some personal agenda - which guy he was pursuing, how best to round up his desired prey, what needed to be done to uphold his studly reputation as the Lord of Liberty Avenue. It felt like he hadn’t had a chance to just walk around and do nothing in . . . well, ever. And this afternoon with Justin, when he had no ulterior motive, no agenda, no real plans and no schedule to stick to, was therefore quite a change for him. It was completely out of character for the Brian of 2016, but it seemed perfectly acceptable, and even desirable, to the Brian Kinney here in 1941.

As they passed by the imposing structure of the National Gallery, Justin again lamented the fact that the museums were closed because of the war. Brian regretted it almost as much, thinking that his artistic little pilot would have had a blast spending the afternoon in the galleries there. Brian himself had been there several times but almost every visit he still found something new that captured his attention. It was a shame that Justin would never see it himself . . . But as soon as that unwelcome thought crossed his mind, Brian immediately banished it. Today wasn’t the time to worry about what might be coming up for his Blue Eyes come July. Today was for enjoying the fact that Justin was still here, now, and Brian intended to make the most of that fact while he could.

When they came to the end of Charing Cross, Justin suggested they take a turn around the wide open expanses of Trafalgar Square. Brian was happy to oblige and carefully led his blond through the crowds of people on the sidewalk over to the less congested areas in the middle of the square. Along with the rest of the tourists, they crossed over to get a better look at the grand pair of lions that guarded the foot of the huge plinth, skirting the large fountains which seemed to have been emptied of their water, probably also because of the war. As they went, Justin explained about the nasty bombing that had happened here back in October, just after he’d arrived in London to start his training. It was the first major air raid the boy had been through and the news about the event had scared him to death. Brian could believe that - especially since he’d only recently lived through his first air raid experience and was still recovering. Justin pointed out the damage that had been incurred by two of the poor lions, whose front paws were mangled and bent from an even more recent bombing incident. Unfortunately, it seemed that not even these brave national monuments were safe from the depredations of the German Blitzkrieg.

When they’d seen all the sights available in the Square, Brian gestured towards the southeast corner where The Strand headed off back towards Covent Garden and the hotel. Justin started to walk that direction, and Brian followed, coming up shoulder to shoulder with the younger man and feeling so at ease that he didn’t even think about it as he casually slipped his arm around Justin’s waist. It was such a familiar action. The motion felt perfectly natural to Brian. He’d walked that way - arm in arm with his friends or even a trick on occasion - so many times, it didn’t even register. It wasn’t until he felt Justin’s body freeze, the pilot’s steps halting in place, that Brian even realized that something was wrong. And even then it took him several long seconds before he understood exactly what the problem was.

Brian took a deep breath and carefully withdrew his hand from around Justin’s waist. He was acutely aware of the gust of cool air that hit his palm when it was no longer tucked up against his Blue Eyes’ side. He hated the guilty look that remained on the younger man’s face even after Brian had moved a half step away. He hated the furtive way Justin looked around them, as if trying to figure out who had seen; who might pose a threat.

“It won’t always be like this,” Brian tried to reassure the younger man. “Someday, Justin, we’ll be able to be out in the open. We will hold hands, kiss in public, even be allowed to get married. I promise.”

Justin scoffed and shoved his hands deep into his pockets as they continued walking back towards Brian’s hotel. “You really think . . .” He looked around him once more and, after confirming that there was nobody within earshot, added in a whisper, “queers will one day be able to do all that?” Brian nodded. “I think you’re dreaming, Brian . . . But even if all that MIGHT come about one day in the very distant future, it doesn’t help us here and now.”

And since Brian couldn’t come up with any way to counter Justin’s assertion, they walked the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence, carefully keeping an appropriate distance from one another, and making certain they did not touch again.

Chapter 10 - Boogie Woogie

It was still a little early for dinner when Brian and Justin finally made it back to the hotel. Brian proposed they go ahead and get cleaned up and head down to the hotel bar for drinks. Justin, who was rather enjoying being so spoiled, readily agreed to this plan. Brian asked if he needed to run back to his rooms and get something else to wear for the evening, but Justin reluctantly admitted that his uniform was the nicest outfit he owned.

“I’m afraid that, after my father kicked me out, I only had enough money on me to pay for the boat fare to get over here to London and not much else. As far as civvies, I only have the few items of clothing that I had with me when I left home. And since clothing rations here in London are pretty meager, I haven’t really had much of a chance to get anything nicer,” he explained, looking uncomfortable at the revelation.

“No problem,” Brian tried to reassure him. “I’m sure you won’t be the only guy in uniform at dinner. Besides, you look dashing in that,” he teased, with a small kiss to Justin’s cheek to take the sting out of it. “I’m going to get washed up though and put on a different shirt - I stink.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a bit of a wash myself,” Justin asserted. “May I borrow a towel and some soap from you?”

Brian got them both set up with toiletries and then ushered the boy down the hall to the communal bath facilities. They spent a companionable fifteen minutes or so getting themselves spiffed up and then, with Justin looking trim and neat in his military outfit and Brian looking like his usual runway-model self in one of his Savile Row suits, they headed downstairs to the hotel bar. The clerk standing guard at the desk in the foyer greeted Mr. Kinney and his guest with deference as soon as they appeared. Brian couldn’t object to the service. The young clerk advised them that he’d make sure to come get them as soon as seating for dinner began and directed them to the drawing room.

Once seated in the ostentatiously ornamented Drawing Room, they were almost instantly attended to by a waiter dressed in a crisp black and white uniform bearing a drinks menu. Brian, who was feeling a little whimsical, ordered a Sidecar - something he’d always heard about when watching classic movies of the time, but which he’d never actually tried. Justin, after dithering over the menu for several minutes, ordered a Pimm’s Cup. And then, since they were in an age long before public health concerns had become vogue and everyone else was indulging, Brian also asked that the waiter bring them two cigarellos to enjoy with their drinks.

“Holy Mackerel! This place sure is swanky,” Justin commented, sounding so young. “Will you get a load of all the posh geezers in here? I bet they even smell like money. And that dame over there,” Justin tried to point surreptitiously to a woman seated a few tables over who was adorned with quite a lot of jewelry. “There’s more ice around her neck than in the drinks.”

Brian chuckled quietly, enjoying the way the younger man was goggling at all the society elites around them. Brian, who had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks as the son of a working-class Irish family, felt almost as awestruck - he was just hiding it better. But it was clear that the people who frequented The Strand Palace Hotel bar and restaurant were the cream of London society. The only reason Brian and Justin were being given this small glimpse of their inner circles was because Brian was a seemingly wealthy American, and in wartime Britain money bought you a lot of clout.

To relieve the tension and get Justin to relax a little bit, Brian resorted to a game he and his friends had played many times over the years. “See that old fart sitting in the corner with the older lady?” Brian leaned conspiratorially close to his boy and pointed to a particularly rotund gentleman sitting stiffly in his chair next to a frail-looking woman wearing a severe expression. “He’s actually a closet fag and the reason he’s sitting there like that, so stiff and frowning, is because he’s got horrible hemorrhoids from taking it up the ass one time too many from his butler, Jeeves,” Brian posited, earning him a snort of laughter from Justin. “And his wife, she’s secretly a dominatrix who likes to tie the young stable boys up and spank them.”

“Brian!” the scandalized pilot hissed at him, laughing all the time.

“It’s true, Blue Eyes,” Brian kidded while picking out his next victim. “And that woman in the blue dress,” he pointed with his cigarillo to a bored-looking woman in her thirties who wasn’t paying any attention at all to the conversation of the two men she was sitting with. “She’s a lesbian. You can tell by the way she’s been following the cigarette girl around with her eyes for the last five minutes. She’s hoping to get her fat, older husband so drunk that he passes out as soon as they get back to their room and then she’s going to sneak out and find Betty Boop over there and spend the night eating pussy to her heart’s content.”

“Oh my word . . . Brian,” Justin was now laughing so hard tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes. “You’re terrible. You know that, right? Just terrible!”

“I know. It’s a gift,” Brian accepted the compliment and carried on with his game of making up naughty life stories about all their neighbors for the rest of the hour or so till they were called to dinner.

Justin had finally relaxed, seeming much less intimidated by all the high society types after Brian had started in on them, which had been the plan all along. By the time they were seated at a table in the dining room, the boy was back to his usual ebullient self. Of course, as soon as their waiter handed them the dinner menus – printed out on crisp, heavy cardstock and displayed in satin-lined, leather binders – Justin lost it again. He was just sitting there, staring at the list with his mouth slightly agape, five minutes after Brian had decided on his own selection.

“Is there a problem, Blue Eyes?” Brian finally asked.

“I-I-I don’t know what to order,” Justin confessed with another of those adorable blushes that turned Brian into jelly. “There’s just so much, and it all sounds so delicious . . .”

“Well, then, why don’t you just order whatever’s at the top of the menu and you can work your way down the list the next time,” Brian suggested with all due logic.

“The NEXT time?” Justin laughed out loud at that. “Like I’ll ever be able to afford to come back to a ritzy place like this. Applesauce, Brian! The fanciest place I ever ate at before meeting you was the lunch counter at the Woolworth’s back home in Pittsburgh.”

Brian joined the boy in his laughter while marvelling silently about the provinciality of the times. Even though his parents hadn’t had much money back when Brian was growing up, he’d at least eaten out at restaurants often enough as a child that he was comfortable in them by the time he was an adult. He and Justin really had come from two very different worlds. Although he figured that was part of why he found the younger man so utterly fascinating.

“If I have anything to say about it, Justin, this won’t be your last time in a restaurant like this,” Brian promised. “So don’t let it get you all flustered. Just order whatever you like THIS time and we’ll take care of NEXT time when it happens.”

“A guy could get used to this . . .” Justin mumbled, his grin so huge that Brian thought it might blind folks that weren’t prepared for it.

In the end, Justin ordered the Grenadine of Beef Filet. Brian ordered the Prime Rib as well as an appetizer of Oysters Rockefeller and a Waldorf salad for Justin with a plain green salad for himself. He also commandeered a bottle of nice house white wine for starters. Justin was so impressed that he was pretty much speechless until the ordering process was over.

When the food arrived, Justin’s eyes almost bugged out. He told Brian he hadn’t seen that much food at one sitting since the last Thanksgiving he’d spent back home. He also admitted he’d never actually had oysters before, and was a little leery about trying them, but after watching Brian slurp his first one up with an erotic moan of approval, Justin manned up and tried one himself. His verdict was that they tasted okay, but he wasn’t sure about the texture. The oysters were kinda slimy underneath the yummy stuff they’d been cooked with. Brian told him that they were an aphrodisiac, though, so with a bashful smile, he consented to have two more. The salad course and the main course were less problematic, although they were both feeling very little pain by that point, as they’d already finished off the white wine and moved on to a second bottle of red.

For dessert, Brian opted to stick with a coffee - he couldn’t be expected to eat like someone from the 1940s and stay in any kind of shape - but he encouraged Justin ‘Bottomless-Pit’ Taylor to indulge however the youth wanted. After a lot more dithering, the boy ordered a Sweet Currant Tart that even Brian had to admit looked delicious when it arrived. It took Justin less than ten minutes, moaning with every single bite, to devour it.

After they’d stuffed themselves silly, Brian signed off on the bill and asked the waiter what the evening’s entertainment was. They were informed that there was a dance that night in the hotel’s ballroom and that the band was rumored to be quite good. Justin seemed to be game for the idea, so they both headed off in the direction the waiter had indicated looking for the Grand Ballroom.

And grand it certainly was. The art deco decor of the hotel had been carried on through this room as well. Brian conceded that it was a beautiful space. And for the time, it was quite modernistic. There was a lot of gold leaf and chrome, bold geometric accents, and dramatic lighting throughout.

It was also quite packed, which was surprising since here in 1941 it was a Thursday night. But, along with the society folks that had also populated the restaurant, the ballroom contained a number of younger folk, including a large contingent of young men in various military uniforms and a whole cadre of pretty young women wearing unfortunately stuffy-looking black wool uniforms, ties, and little pillbox caps. Brian, who wasn’t familiar with all the different uniforms of the military branches of the time, had to ask Justin who these women were. The younger man quickly explained they were all Wrens: Women’s Royal Naval Service members. Altogether it was quite a lively crowd and many were already up and dancing to the big band music blasting from the small band set up at the far end of the hall.

Justin, of course, fit right in with all the other men in military garb, but Brian, as usual, stood out, being one of the only men under forty who wasn’t in a uniform and a good looking one to boot. The Wrens, in particular, seemed very attentive upon his arrival. Their eyes followed him as a group as soon as he entered the room, offering up smiles in his direction, and tittering away to each other behind their hands just like real wrens. Never one to pass up free adulation, Brian graced the group with a charming Kinney smile as he and Justin passed by looking for an open table. Justin followed meekly in his wake, secretly smiling at how far off base these hordes of giggling women were.

They eventually made it to one of the few empty tables left in the room. As soon as they’d seated themselves, one of the ever efficient wait staff appeared at Brian‘s elbow asking for their drink orders. Brian decided to move on to his usual after dinner whiskey and Justin, a little at sea in this environment, simply asked for the same. As soon as the waiter left, though, Justin turned to Brian with a concerned expression.

“Are you sure you’re okay paying for all this, Brian?” The boy asked in a hushed voice. “Everything here is so expensive. I feel bad that I haven’t even offered to help out. But . . .”

“Don’t worry about it, Blue Eyes,” Brian immediately responded, shaking his head and waving off even the appearance of an offer of assistance. “It was my invitation, so of course I’m going to pay. Besides, this is nothing. Trust me, I’m used to this.”

Justin looked like he might have protested further, but right at that moment the waiter returned with their drinks. Brian again signed off on the bill without even looking at it, and handed the waiter a full shilling tip. The waiter was more than pleased with this amount of generosity, and thanked Brian profusely as he backed away wearing an obsequious grin.

“You do realize that you just tipped that man almost as much as the cost of the drink itself, right?” Justin asked as soon as they were alone again.

Brian merely shrugged.

Justin fell silent after that, sipping contemplatively at his drink, his eyes unfocused even though, to all appearances, he seemed caught up in the whirl of people out on the dance floor. Brian soon became aware that he’d lost his companion's attention. Sliding his hand over so he could tap at the back of Justin‘s wrist without being noticed, he tried to pull his Blue Eyes back to him.

“What’s eating you, Twat?”

Justin hesitated for several seconds before he finally sighed, set his drink down, and turned to look directly at Brian. “I hope you don’t think that the only reason I’m interested in . . . this . . . is because of your money. Because I’m not.” Justin’s voice got even quieter then, prompting Brian to lean forward in order to hear him clearly. “I don’t need a sugar daddy, Brian. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. So, if you’re trying to impress me by throwing your money around, don’t bother.”

Brian could see from the stubborn set of his blond’s jaw how offended Justin was, and he rushed to dispel that impression.

“Justin . . . that’s not what I’m trying to do. I would never insult you by trying to buy your approval like that. And I can tell just from the short time I’ve known you, that you’re more than capable of supporting yourself. Look how far you’ve come already, despite all of the obstacles you had to deal with. That’s not what this is about,” Brian insisted. “It’s just that, this,” and he held out a handful of coins, “doesn’t mean that much to me. I make a really good living, Justin. Money is not an issue for me at this stage of my life. Especially here . . .” Brian stopped himself before he finished that sentence, not sure how he would’ve finished it anyway. “Believe me when I tell you that the cost of tonight‘s entertainment, will not be a problem.”

Justin nodded, accepting Brian’s assertions, but from the way his mouth was still screwed up in a sort of half frown, Brian could tell that there was still something bothering his intelligent little Blue Eyes. Brian waited, slowly sipping his whiskey and watching as a series of apparently complicated thoughts flittered across his companion’s face. Eventually, Justin seemed to come to some conclusion or other, and he again looked up at Brian with concern.

“Fine. I suppose I can accept your word that you’re not simply trying to buy my affections.” The boy offered up a small conciliatory smile there. “But that only brings up the even bigger question of how, exactly, a ‘war correspondent’ can afford something like this.” He swept his hand outward, gesturing at the room full of well dressed strangers. “I may not be as experienced as you are in some matters, but I know enough to know that your average newspaper reporter doesn’t make enough money to be able to afford The Strand Palace. So what is it that you really do for a living, Brian?”

Brian knew he’d been caught, and he didn’t really have a good answer to the boy’s question. He frowned, sitting back in his chair, and avoiding Justin’s gaze. A million different stories ran through his mind, each more fanciful than the last. But Brian really didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to start off in this, whatever, with Justin by lying. He’d always prided himself on being honest, except when he was left with no other choice, and even though this was a tough situation, he didn’t think it merited outright dishonesty. On the other hand, he couldn’t tell Justin the truth either.

“I can’t tell you that, Justin,” Brian finally admitted. “It’s . . . complicated.”

Justin took a deep breath, nodded his head, and then leaned forward, his forearms braced against the edge of the table, his hands clasped, and his eyes intently scrutinizing Brian‘s face as he asked, “is it something illegal? Because if that’s the case, I’m not interested in pursuing this any further.”

“No! Fuck no.” When Justin still looked unconvinced, Brian leaned forward again, pleading with his eyes, asking Justin to believe him. “I swear, Justin, it’s nothing like that. I just can’t explain it to you right now. And even if I could, you probably wouldn’t believe me . . .”

Maybe it was the sincerity in Brian‘s voice, or maybe it was the resignation of that final sentence, but something in Brian’s response must have struck a genuine note because, after a moment or two of thinking it through, Justin finally smiled again.

“Okay. If you can’t tell me, then you can’t. I suppose I can accept that. For now. I don’t like it, but I can accept it. After all, it is war time, and if I’ve learned anything at all since I’ve been here, it’s that everything isn’t always the way it seems,” Justin stated, sounding much older and wiser than he looked. “But if I find out you’re some gangster or something, and that you’ve been lying to me, it won’t end pretty, Mr. Kinney.”

“I’m not a fucking gangster, Justin,” Brian insisted, his voice becoming a little louder with his protestation.

Unfortunately, that happened to be the moment when the band finished its current number and, as the applause died, the room fell substantially quieter. Brian’s words carried to quite a few of the nearby tables, turning heads all around. And, while the well off party-goers might not have cared a fig if Brian was a gangster or not, they certainly didn’t approve of cursing in mixed company.

“I say, young man,” the fat older gentleman they’d surmised earlier in the evening to have hemorrhoids leaned over from his table and addressed Brian directly. “We’ll have none of that language here. There are ladies present, you know!”

“Won’t happen again,” Brian replied, and this time it was Brian who was blushing.

Justin, who was trying not to laugh, turned his attention to his drink for the next few minutes, letting Brian cool down in peace. Brian grumbled into his own glass for most of the rest of the next song. The only good thing about the experience was that it had curtailed further discussion with his blond about the source of his income.

However, before Brian was ready to take up a new topic of conversation, the band leader announced that the next song they would be playing was ‘Lady Be Good’ and it was going to be a ‘Ladies Choice’ dance. There was a loud commotion from all the ladies assembled in the hall and many of them vaulted to their feet, intent on finding their man. It soon appeared that no male of the species was safe. Not even Brian or Justin.

“Hi there, I’m Elsie and this here’s Phoebe,” a rosy-cheeked young Wren announced after bouncing over to their table with her friend in tow. “Would you two gents like to dance?”

Brian snuck a quick look over at Justin, who was smiling politely at the girls, and figured they were pretty much caught. He got up from his chair, smiled at the girls and accepted their invitation. Brian then crooked his arm, offering his elbow to the taller of the two girls, and then escorted his dance partner onto the floor just as the band was starting in on the first few notes. This wasn’t exactly Brian’s preferred kind of dancing, and he hadn’t really done any swing dancing before, so he probably wasn’t the most graceful of partners. Elsie was a good sport though and didn’t even complain the one time he stepped on her toes. He did note, however that she didn’t ask him for a second dance, which was fine because he was more than happy to retreat to his table.

Justin, on the other hand, was apparently another Fred Astaire, because no sooner had that song finished than he was swarmed by more women asking for a twirl around the floor. Brian sat back in his chair, sipping at his drink contentedly, watching with a hint of pride as his agile little Blue Eyes spun and strutted around the dance floor. Damn, he was hot, the way he moved around so surely and even the way he swivelled his hips like that, Brian thought. Then, when the band took up a faster paced song, and Justin and his then partner started to show off some more complicated moves, the crowd actually parted for them, giving the pair the entire floor to strut their stuff. The song ended with Justin actually tossing his girl up into the air and catching her in both arms then spinning around to leave her standing alone in the center of the floor just as the song ended. The watching audience erupted with boisterous applause and catcalls, and Justin was ushered off the floor to several rowdy claps on his back and both men and women shaking his hand as he passed by.

Brian got up to greet him, pulling out the chair for his returning dance master. “You weren’t kidding when you said you could dance, were you, Blue Eyes?”

“Nope,” Justin replied, his blue eyes glittering with fun as he sank into the chair and used his napkin to dab at his sweaty forehead. “Like I said, I can sing, I can dance, and I can fly a plane. Those are my three talents. Everything else, not so much. But those three things I can do like the bees knees.”

Brian leaned in so he could whisper the next words in the younger man’s ear. “Well, based on the way you kiss, not to mention that thing you did out there with your hips, I can think of a few more things you’re probably equally talented at. Care to come back upstairs to my room with me and we can give them a whirl - see just how TALENTED you really are?”

If Justin hadn’t already been flushed from the exercise, Brian was sure that the boy’s blushing would have been epic. The pilot didn’t argue though - Justin simply smiled bashfully, nodded his head and then followed Brian when the older man got up and started to head out of the ballroom. There was a bit of a crowd in the elevator, so they didn’t say a word to each other as the operator moved them up from floor to floor, finally stopping on the top floor to let out Mr. Kinney and his guest. They still didn’t say anything as they made their way down the hall and into the suite. In fact, it wasn’t till Brian closed the door behind them, turned the lock securely and then faced his now shy companion that they even looked directly at each other.

“Okay, Swivel Hips,” Brian purred, crooking a finger at his little dance machine. “Come here and show me again that thing you do with your hips . . .”

Justin stepped forward, almost as if drawn against his will by the magnetism of Brian’s personality. As soon as the boy was within arm’s length, Brian reached out and pulled Justin flush against him, wrapping one arm tightly around the slim waist, ensuring there wasn’t even a millimeter of space between their lower halves. Justin gasped at the force of the contact, but he didn’t try to pull away. Then Brian held up his left arm as if in a dance pose, tilting his own hips forward provocatively as he stepped to the side.

“So, I think it went something like this . . .” Brian began to swivel his own hips, although what he did wouldn’t qualify as a dance move, per se. “Come on, Tiny Dancer, show me your moves,” he teased.

“You . . . you can’t swing like . . . like this,” Justin stammered, almost speechless as he tried to keep step with Brian’s fumbling dance steps.

“Oh, I can assure you, Justin, I definitely swing like THIS,” Brian teased, emphasizing his point by swinging his own lower parts hard against Justin’s stomach right on cue. “But I thought you wanted to dance?”

Justin laughed, dropping his head onto Brian’s shoulder and giving in, eventually reaching up to place his hand in Brian’s in a closed dance position. Brian proceeded to slowly tool them around the room in a shuffling slow step, dancing to the music in his head. It was nice and intimate and very romantic.

And it didn’t even occur to the one-time stud that he was behaving like a ridiculous lesbian until after they’d made a few circuits around the room and he suddenly realized what he was doing. Then Brian almost immediately started to feel uncomfortable. What the fuck was he doing here? What the hell was Brian Fucking Kinney doing slow dancing with a twink in his hotel room without there even being any music? His behavior seemed even more out of character when he thought back over all the events of that long and rather memorable day. Had he really snuggled with the kid in bed, then taken him out to a movie and even done something as inane as getting photo booth pictures with him. Or, worse still, taken the boy out for dinner and dancing? What the hell was he thinking? If his friends could see him now, they’d be laughing their fucking heads off. Was he seriously going through with this whole ‘wooing’ thing? This was fucking insane! This wasn’t him, was it?

But even as Brian was silently having a total mental breakdown, he felt Justin sigh, and melt even more into his embrace. “This is so nice. I’ve never danced with someone I actually wanted to dance with, you know? It makes me sad to think we can never do this for real. That I’ll never be allowed to dance in public with the man I want to dance with.”

And all of a sudden it didn’t matter to Brian that he was behaving like a sentimental twat. All that mattered right then was that he too found this little dance nice. He had actually enjoyed the whole fucking day, to be honest. In fact, he hadn’t had a day that he’d enjoyed that much in a long fucking time. Maybe not ever. And, yes, his friends would laugh themselves silly if they ever saw him like this. They’d mock him the same way he’d mocked their past attempts at romance. But it didn’t change the way he felt just then. It didn’t change the fact that he WANTED to be slow dancing with this intriguing young man who was such a confusing blend of innocence and strength. Brian liked that he could make Justin happy with something as simple as a musicless, slow dance in a hotel room. He liked doing stupid things like wasting an afternoon going to a movie and taking silly photos with this young man. He had enjoyed talking with him over dinner, sharing the nonsense stories they’d made up about the other guests, watching as Justin experienced the wonders of a grand meal in a fancy restaurant. Brian had enjoyed showing Justin around and showing him off in a way. So what if his future self wouldn’t have been caught dead in a similar situation. He wasn’t in 2016 right then and he was glad of it for the moment because he didn’t think he wanted to be that person anymore. At least not while he was here, with Justin. Here, in this time, he liked being the silly romantic person he had been all day. It just felt right.

“It won’t be ‘never’, Blue Eyes,” Brian whispered into the mop of blond hair under his chin. “Someday there will be gay bars and clubs all over the world where we can dance together just like straight people. The world WILL get there eventually. It won’t be easy, but we’ll claw our way out of the darkness and make people take us seriously. I promise you that, Justin. It will happen. Someday.”

Justin chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter tickling the skin at Brian’s collarbone. “I hope you’re right, Brian. I’d really love to see a place like that someday. It would be so amazing to dance with you like this, just once, out there in the world . . . I doubt I’ll live long enough to ever see a miracle like that though. But it’s a nice dream, isn’t it?” Then, in an attempt to lighten the somber mood, he added, “plus, if we danced together more often, maybe I’d be able to teach you how.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brian took the joke for what it was worth and returned the fun by digging his fingers into the boy’s side, eliciting a snort of laughter. “You’ll teach ME, huh? I don’t think so. If anyone’s got something to learn around here, it’s you, little boy.”

“Me? I already know how to dance, Brian.”

“Yeah? But do you know how to do THIS?” Brian asked, smirking lustily as he slowly sank to his knees in front of the surprised boy and very deliberately began to undo Justin’s belt.

Justin stood there, frozen in place, while Brian took his time with first the belt then the buttons of the boy’s fly. Since Justin didn’t do anything to stop him, he continued what he’d started until the trousers were hanging loosely from the boy’s slim hips. A little tug is all it took and then they were puddling around the kid’s knees, revealing a pair of thin, light blue cotton boxer shorts, also buttoned around the waist. Before going any further, Brian looked up at the young man who was standing there so stiffly.

“Is this okay, Blue Eyes?” he asked, fingers poised on the top button of the shorts.

Justin only nodded, looking a little scared and a lot excited. Brian took his time on the remaining buttons, not wanting to spook the kid by moving too fast, even though every nerve in his own body was telling him to move, go faster, get on with it. When there were no more buttons left, Brian gripped the waistband and very slowly tugged them down over the boy’s slim hips, revealing one of the most beautiful cocks the experienced Stud had ever had the pleasure of meeting. It was remarkably large for such a small-framed boy, thick and had a lovely, long curve upwards to where the pretty pink head was already poking through the thin foreskin. Just looking at it, with that one bead of cum glistening at the tip, had Brian’s mouth watering. He wasn’t usually this eager to go down on a guy - he was more likely to be on the receiving end of most blowjobs - but this was one time he wouldn’t mind reversing things.

Brian ignored the way Justin was simply standing there acting like he was afraid to move, and went straight to work. He licked up the length of that prodigious member, letting the taste of the boy’s sweet jizz rest on his tongue for a minute while he savored the treat. Justin’s gasp slowly turned into a moan, and then turned back into a gasp again, as Brian returned to his work and took the entire large, fleshy head into his warm mouth. After that, all the youth could think to do was hold on, both hands threaded through Brian’s fine auburn hair, as the accomplished master cocksucker went to town. Of course, the little greenhorn was no match for Brian’s superbly honed skills and he was coming gangbusters in only minutes, shooting out such copious quantities of jism that even Brian had trouble swallowing it all.

“Ap . . . Ap . . . Apple . . . Applesauce, B-Brian . . . That was . . . That was . . . That was . . .” Justin couldn’t quite get his brain to work through the process of forming words.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Brian answered smugly, wiping the corner of his dripping mouth against the hem of the boy’s shirt as he got back up to his feet.

“You’re . . . you’re really good at that,” Justin commented, still sounding a bit stunned as Brian guided the boy back to the bed and helped him sit. “Have you . . .” he paused, thinking through what he wanted to say and then changing course. “You’ve had a lot of practice I suppose.”

“I’ve had my fair share of blow jobs,” Brian answered honestly. “Although I’m not typically the one doing the blowing. Most of the time, I’m the one on the receiving side. What did you think?”

“I think that was the most amazing thing that I’ve ever experienced,” Justin answered, just as honestly, and without sounding like he was at all exaggerating. “Can I . . .”

“Can you what, Blue Eyes?”

“Can I do that . . . to you? I mean, I know I probably won’t do it right the first time, of course, but I . . . I’d really like to . . . you know, feel it . . . from the other end, so to speak,” the adorable kid stumbled through his plea, so innocent and yet eager, his lusty enthusiasm so fucking charming in such a sweet way, that Brian wanted to laugh and hug him and fuck the bejesus out of him all at the same time.

“I’d like that too, Justin. Like I said, I’m happy to teach you whatever you want to learn,” Brian replied with a grin, sitting down next to the boy on the end of the bed and then flopping backwards, his arms splayed to the sides. “Consider my body at your disposal, Blue Eyes. Do with me as you will.”

“Stop it, Brian. Be serious,” Justin ordered, laughing at the older man’s antics.

“I am serious, Justin,” he rejoined. “Consider me your willing sexual experimentation blow up doll. Have at it!”

“What’s a ‘blow up doll’?”

That got an even bigger laugh from Brian, but he still didn’t budge. “I just mean that you can do whatever you want to me.” Then he noted the impish gleam in the kid’s eyes and added, “within reason, of course.”

“But I don’t know what to do, Brian. What if I do it all wrong?”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. You seem like a natural to me. Just do what I did to you and if you think you’d like something, chances are I’ll enjoy it too,” Brian directed. “The only real rule is to cover your teeth.” Justin still sat there looking uncertain. “Come on, Blue Eyes. You’ve got this.”

With very tentative fingers, Justin reached over and lightly ran his hand down the length of Brian’s chest, over his stomach and down to the waistband of his slacks. He hesitated there, chewing at his bottom lip through a timid smile. Brian jerked his chin up in a hastening gesture that seemed to work, getting Justin to finally move.

The boy shifted his body, twisting a bit so that he was facing Brian’s supine form, and then resolutely applied himself to loosening Brian’s tie, undoing each of the many buttons on his shirt, and then spreading the fabric apart so that he could see all of Brian’s now bare torso. The smile that bloomed on his face at the sight proved how much he liked what he was seeing. Then, with his fingers returning southward, this time leaving a tingling trail over the warm skin of his subject, Justin focused on the fly of Brian’s pants, carefully undoing the button, lowering the zipper and pulling open the fly. He seemed a bit surprised by the skimpy, black, thong underwear Brian was wearing, but even so, he couldn’t resist letting his hand slide into the front of the man’s pants so he could cup his hand around the generous package. Brian tried to hurry things a long just a little by lifting his hips up suggestively, thus allowing Justin to slip the trousers the rest of the way over his hips. But then the boy stopped, seeming unsure of whether or not he wanted to proceed.

Brian didn’t want to push, but he really couldn’t take this painfully slow, halting, progress much longer. So, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband of the briefs, shoving them downwards along with his pants, and then kicked all the useless clothing off with one flick of his long legs. And, while he was at it, he also shrugged off his jacket, shirt and the remains of his tie, leaving him lying there, bare as an egg, on full display for Justin’s viewing pleasure.

“Your body is so beautiful, Brian. Perfect. Like a sculpture,” Justin said, his tone full of awe, as he ran his palms over the expanse of firm, warm skin.

Brian didn’t bother to respond to this rhetorical comment. He just hoped that Justin’s admiration would move him to more substantial forms of appreciation. And soon. Because if he didn’t, Brian was probably going to explode with the anticipation.

Luckily for the both of them, it didn’t take much longer before the younger man was mobilized to act. With the grace of an awkward newborn colt, Justin crawled over Brian, positioning himself in the vee of his legs. He paused for a moment, appearing to analyze the situation’s logistics, and then reached out with one hand to take hold of Brian’s proudly straining cock. Once he had a firm grip on the situation, he seemed bolstered and, with a little more confidence than before, he leaned forward, tongue out, and licked a broad swipe up the drippy popsicle of Brian’s dick.

Okay, so it wasn’t the BEST blow job that Brian had ever received. At least not from a technical standpoint. But it was one of the most enthusiastic attempts he’d ever experienced. Justin pounced on that man meat with gusto, kissing, licking, slurping, nibbling with his lips and just generally going crazy, as if trying to taste all of Brian as many ways as possible. It was slightly ticklish and a tiny bit annoying and altogether tantalizing. When Brian could take it no longer and reached down to press slightly on the back of the blond head, Justin easily acquiesced, opening wide and taking the whole of Brian as deep as he could before gagging slightly. Brian pulled out a little and warned the kid to take his time, but Justin was too intent on his purpose for that. He kept working at it, little by little, his wicked tongue swirling around naughtily as he gradually took Brian deeper and deeper until he managed to swallow the whole fucking thing. Brian was impressed. Not many could take all of him like that and nobody had done it on their first time out of the gate either. Like he’d expected, Justin was a natural at this. And once the boy had mastered the basic technique, it didn’t take long at all before Brian was lost to the tendrils of pleasurable fire that erupted as his climax washed over him.

When Brian was able to see anything other than the tiny sparks of fireworks that had danced in front of his eyes, he noticed the boy kneeling over him, a gigantic smile spread across his face and little trickles of cum dribbling down his cheeks and chin. Justin looked thoroughly pleased with himself. Brian was actually pretty fucking proud of him too and showed it with his own smile as he pulled the boy down so that they were lying side by side. But when he rolled over to kiss that gorgeous smiling boy, Justin hesitated and turned his head aside.

“Shouldn’t I go wash my mouth out . . .” he asked in a small voice.

“Fuck, no.” Brian refused to let him go. “I want to share. Taste myself on your tongue,” he explained before demonstrating with a deep, tongue-filled kiss that had them both gasping for breath by the time it was done. “Good work, Blue Eyes,” Brian added, just in case the boy needed to hear it.

Justin beamed up at him proudly, all sparkling, gemstone bright, blue eyes, white teeth and blushing cheeks.

Brian chuckled, pulled his blond even closer, wrapped the boy in his arms, and held on for dear life.

Chapter 11 - All The Things You Are.

*Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep*

*Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep*

*Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep*

Brian heard the alarm going off on his phone and reached out blindly towards the nightstand trying to locate it, with no luck. He really didn’t want to get up and go find it, though; right at that moment he was far too comfortable to leave the warmth of his bed. Which might’ve had something to do with the fact that his bed was also hosting a very snuggly warm blond boy. However, the incongruous noise was already having a negative effect on said blond boy.

“What? . . . What is that? . . . Brian, what is that noise? Where's it coming from?” Justin asked, sounding almost frantic as he desperately tried to climb his way out from under a pile of blankets and Brian’s limbs.

“Oh, fuck,” Brian grumbled, throwing off all the blankets and rolling out of bed.

He quickly took the five steps necessary to cross the room to where a pile of his clothes from the night before was waiting on the floor. After a quick search through the pockets, he pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and effectively ended the noise. Only then did he stop and think about exactly how he was going to explain a cell phone alarm to his 1941 blond.

“Brian? What the heck is that thing?” The inquisitive boy asked again from his spot kneeling at the end of the bed.

“It’s nothing. Just my alarm going off,” he answered, hoping that would be enough to satisfy Justin.

“An alarm? Like an alarm clock? So, that . . . lightbox thing . . . It’s some kind of clock?” Justin pressed.

“Sort of,” Brian replied with a shrug as he set the incriminating item face down back on the top of the dresser and returned to bed.

Unfortunately, Justin wasn’t having it. “Explain, Brian. Now.”

“Uh . . .” Brian said, flopping down on the pillows and pulling the coverlet up over his naked lower half, trying all the while to think of something he could tell Justin that wouldn’t be a complete fabrication. So far, though, he was coming up blank. “That’s another of those things I probably can’t explain to you, Justin.”

“So, this lightbox clock thing . . . It has something to do with the job you can’t tell me about either?”

“In a way . . .” Well, Brian thought, he did use his phone when he was working, so yeah it sort of had to do with his job . . .

Justin looked at Brian for several long seconds, a deep frown on his normally cheerful face, his eyes boring into Brian’s skull as if he could divine the hidden thoughts there with merely the power of his stare. Brian tried not to flinch. He wasn’t sure he succeeded, but in the end Justin apparently hadn’t found the answers he was looking for. With a huge sigh, the blond boy plopped down on the bed next to Brian and rolled so that he was once again curled up along the length of Brian‘s body.

“I feel like I’m trapped in some horrible, torrid, romance novel, where I’ve fallen in love with a German spy who is going to milk me for information and then use it to kill all my friends,” Justin posited, only half kidding. “Please tell me that’s not the case, Brian. After last night, I don’t think I could take it if that's what’s really happening here.”

“Damn. You really are a silly, romantic, little twat, aren’t you?” Brian teased, trying to get a smile out of his companion. When it didn’t work, he resorted to sincerity. “I promise you, Justin, I’m not a German spy. I wouldn’t work for those fuckers even if they’d let me. Which they wouldn’t, because I’m gay. Right now, Hitler is already busy rounding up all the gays he can find, putting them in concentration camps and doing nasty experiments on them, when he isn’t just out-right killing them. So, no, I am not, and would not, work for the fucking Nazis.”

“He’s killing queers?” Justin asked, completely horrified by Brian‘s disclosure. “I hadn’t heard that before. Are you sure? Why isn’t anyone saying anything about it?”

“They will be,” Brian explained with a sinking feeling in his gut. “There’s a lot of shit going on over there that nobody’s talking about yet. But it’s all going to come out. Soon. I think by next summer sometime you’re going to be hearing a lot more rumors about what’s going on in those fucking concentration camps. And it’s definitely NOT good.”

“What about . . . What about prisoners of war? I’ve had a couple buddies shot down over there . . . We saw the parachutes open so we all assumed they would be fine when they landed even if they were captured, but . . .” Justin didn’t bother to complete his thought.

“As far as I know, prisoners of war are still being treated alright. That doesn’t mean they’ll last till the end of the war, though. Even the POW camps aren’t very nice. But I don’t think they’re being out-right shot or put in the ovens . . .” Brian answered as completely as he could.

“Ovens?”

Brian didn’t bother to answer. He just wrapped his arm more tightly around Justin’s shoulders and hugged the smaller body closer to himself. There really was no way to explain the atrocities going on just a few hundred miles away. Not to someone that hadn’t already seen the evidence, seen the pictures, heard the stories. And he didn’t want to spend the morning talking about that kind of shit anyway. It really wasn’t the kind of stuff you wanted to talk about while lying in bed with your gay lover who happened to be an RAF pilot and who might one day find himself shot down over Nazi Germany. Instead, Brian went with one of his best, tried-and-true back up plans - distraction techniques.

Rolling over so that he had the worried little pilot pinned beneath his much larger body, Brian proceeded to pummel his blond with kisses across every square inch of his face, neck, and shoulders. At first, Justin was resistant. Gradually, though, the tension was kissed right out of him. By the time Brian had kissed his way down to below Justin‘s collarbone and was busy licking his way towards one rosy pink nipple, Justin seemed to have moved on from the disturbing conversation of a few minutes earlier.

Fate was not Brian‘s friend that morning, though. Just when things - including certain fun parts down below - were heating up, the alarm on Brian’s cell phone went off a second time.

*Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep*

*Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep*

*Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep*

“Fuck!” Brian yelled as he rolled off of Justin once again and stomped across the room to go get the annoying device.

This time, though, the alert that popped up on the screen gave him a real reason to grumble. He only had an hour and a half to get to yet another meeting with the Britcom marketing team. Fucking clients - didn’t they know he had a raging hard on to take care of and a worried blond to placate in the process?

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a rain check for this morning, Blue Eyes,” Brian explained as he turned back to face the boy waiting in his bed. “I have a meeting I have to get to. If there was any way to postpone it, I would . . .”

“It’s okay, Brian, I should probably get going myself. I didn’t actually tell anyone I was going to be gone all last night. Mrs. McCready has probably already notified the neighborhood wardens that I’m missing. And if I don’t check in with Daphne and the guys at the White Lion pretty soon they’ll be sending someone to find me,” the young pilot said, smiling as he thought of the wonderful reason why he hadn’t made it back to his room the night before.

“Then you definitely need to get to the pub and check in as soon as possible,” Brian reasoned. “Gears already gave me a talking to the other day, threatening my personal safety if I did anything to hurt you. I wouldn’t want them to think I was responsible for your disappearance.”

“Applesauce! He didn’t . . .” Brian’s amused nod reaffirming it was true made the boy blush yet again. “Great. Well, I’m going to kill him later today, so you’ll be fine from here on out, Brian.”

“Hey, give the guy a break. He’s just trying to look out for you. I respect that,” Brian offered with an understanding shrug. “But that won’t matter if I miss this meeting, because my boss will kill me first. So, let’s both go down the hall and get cleaned up and then I’ll walk you back to your room on my way to . . . To my meeting. How’s that sound?”

Justin said it sounded fine and within a half hour, they were both dressed, clean, shaved, and ready to head out the door. Brian shoved the bag of oranges into Justin‘s hand as they were leaving, telling him to share with his friends if he didn’t want to eat them all himself. Then they were strolling down the street together heading in the direction of Justin‘s boarding house, which was only a few minutes walk from the hotel.

“So, what’s your schedule for the week,” Brian asked, trying to sound casual about it.

“Why? You gonna need someone to help you eat another fancy, expensive hotel meal sometime soon?” Justin prodded, not letting him get away with the casual thing.

“Something like that, twat,” Brian replied, bumping shoulders with the teasing blond imp.

“Sorry, Brian. I don’t know what HQ has in store for us this week. But I doubt I’ll have much free time. There’s been a big push on lately and, with a lot of the guys from the First Squadron out sick the past week or so, we’re all busy picking up the slack. I don’t expect to have another night off for at least a week or maybe more. I was actually pretty surprised to get both last night AND tonight off together, to be honest. I’m not sure I’ll be able to see you again till sometime next week.”

Brian quickly calculated the dates in his head and in the process remembered the other thing that would be happening during the upcoming week.

“Um, Justin, there’s something I need to tell you . . .” Brian started out, unsure of how to approach his news. “It’s important.”

“What?” Justin asked with his usual forthrightness.

“It’s . . . confidential,” Brian stated, looking around them at the street full of people.

Justin paused in his steps, looking sideways at Brian with a calculating frown. “Why don’t you come inside then,” he pointed to the stairs leading up to the porch of the rooming house they’d just arrived at. “Mrs. McCready won’t mind me inviting you in, as long as we stay in the sitting room. She’s adamant about us not having guests in our rooms, though. She’s always blowing a fuse at the other guys when they try to sneak in their girlfriends. Of course, that’s never been a problem for me . . . before.”

Brian smiled through his worry, amused by the boy’s simple joy in actually having someone to invite up for a change, and followed Justin into the frowsty red brick townhome. It was everything he would have expected in a boarding house run by an older British widow - very victorian, far too many little knick-knacks adorning almost every surface, but meticulously clean. However they were in luck, since it seemed the lady of the house wasn’t in at the time, so they were free to take their private conversation into the front room in peace. Once inside, Justin closed the door firmly behind him and then turned back to Brian.

“So, about that something . . . confidential?” he said with a resigned look.

“Yeah, um . . . Please don’t ask me how I know this, because I can’t explain, but . . . I just need to warn you . . .” Brian felt like a bumbling fool, stuttering through a half-assed disclosure, and decided to just spit it out and let the cards fall where they may. “Fuck it. There’s going to be a really big air raid this week, Justin - the night of the seventeenth. It’s going to be huge. The biggest since the start of the war. And it’s going to hit this area of the West End hard. There’s going to be lots of civilian casualties. So, please, just make sure you and all your friends are safely in a shelter early that night. Okay?”

Justin stood there frowning, his arms crossed, not saying anything at first. Then he sighed and rubbed worriedly at his forehead, before looking back towards Brian. You could almost feel the struggle going on in his head as disbelief, worry, and curiosity raged inside the young man’s head.

“You’re sure about this?” Justin asked when he finally spoke.

Brian nodded.

“But you can’t tell me HOW you know?”

Brian shook his head in the negative.

“I believe you, Brian.” The RAF officer sighed again. “But I’m going to have to report this to my CO.” Brian started to object, but Justin held out a hand to silence him. “I won’t tell him who told me, but I can’t just sit on this information and not say anything. Not if it could mean lives are lost. I swore an oath as an officer in the Royal Air Force, Brian, and I won’t violate that oath for you or anyone else.”

“I understand, Justin. I wouldn’t ask you to,” Brian asserted, moving closer to his Blue Eyes, needing the reassurance that only touch could provide. “I’d love to do something to help prevent it and hopefully save those lives myself. I just don’t think anyone would believe me even if I tried. If I had some way to prove what I’m saying, I would . . . Unfortunately, I doubt anyone’s going to believe you either.”

“Probably not, but at least my conscience will be clear.” Justin stepped into Brian’s arms, laying his head on the broad chest before continuing. “Hopefully they’ll at least believe me enough to be flying some extra patrols that night. If we have enough fighters in the air, we might be able to head them off . . .”

That statement worried Brian even more. If Justin was out flying extra patrols because Brian had tipped him off about an air raid that he only knew about because he had knowledge from the future, did that mean that Brian had somehow changed the past? And if he’d somehow changed the timeline merely by trying to warn Justin to stay safe, did that mean the other things he thought he knew about the future might be altered? The history he’d read said that Justin was safe until at least July, when his plane went missing, but if the younger man was out flying dangerous missions to stop German raids that he might not have been flying without Brian’s interference, might Justin’s fate have been altered too? What if he was hurt or killed on THIS mission rather than later? Brian felt a tight ball of panic starting to form in his gut, and he clasped the plucky pilot to him even more strongly.

“Justin . . . I’d feel better if I knew you were safe in a shelter that night, not flying around trying to head off another raid,” Brian started, unsure how he could explain without giving everything away.

“I’m not going to just huddle in a shelter like a coward, Brian,” Justin insisted, pulling away from Brian far enough to look him in the face. “Not if I can take a few of the bastards down before they have a chance to drop their damned bombs.”

Brian knew Justin was serious since this was the first time he’d heard the young man curse.

“I’m not saying to hide, just asking you to be careful, Blue Eyes,” Brian tried to placate him.

“Brian . . .” Justin had a spark of stubbornness in his eyes that Brian knew meant trouble. “You know I can’t do that. I’m an RAF pilot. My whole job is to fight the Gerries. And I’m not going to ‘be careful’ or take it easy - not that I even could if I wanted to, because that would only make it more likely that I’d get killed. But that’s not me, Brian. I would never shirk my duty like that. I WANT to fight the Germans. I believe in what the British are doing in this war. And after the other things you told me just this morning - about how they’re killing queers and others - well, that just makes me want to fight them even more. So, no, I’m not going to play it safe or hide, even when I know it’s dangerous. That’s exactly the time when I’m going to fight back even harder.”

“I know, Justin. That’s what fucking worries me so much,” Brian replied, frowning back at the frowning pilot.

“If you’re looking for the kind of guy who’d back down from a fight like this, then you’re not looking for me, Brian,” Justin stated adamantly, trying to push away from the long arms that refused to let him go.

“I’m not, Justin,” Brian insisted, holding on even tighter to the struggling youth and feeling his impotence turning quickly to anger. “I don’t want you to be anyone except who you are. But I can’t help worrying. I looked up the statistics on the Eagle Squadron’s pilots and they’re not good, Justin. I’m just worried you won’t make it till the Americans finally get here. Hell, at this rate you won’t even make it till JULY . . .”

Brian froze as soon as the words had escaped his lips, realizing immediately what he’d let slip, but unable to take it back. Justin stilled as well, the words, as well as Brian’s unusual reaction, giving him pause. When he looked up at Brian’s face, the guilty, worried, almost pained expression the big guy was wearing told him that there was likely a lot more that Brian wasn’t saying. It was clear, however, that something significant was going to happen in July.

“It doesn’t matter,” Justin finally broke the silence after several long seconds. “I can’t NOT try to stop this, Brian. If you’re right about this raid, then I HAVE to do everything in my power to, if not prevent it outright, at least ameliorate the damage. It’s what I’m trained to do. It’s who I am. It doesn’t matter that it’s dangerous. Every single mission I fly is dangerous, Brian. I’m not going to back down now just because YOU want me to be careful.” Justin’s expression finally softened and he smiled up at Brian again. “Although, I kinda like the way you’re acting all worried about me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re already sweet on me, Mr. Kinney.”

That actually got a laugh out of Brian. “Me? No fucking way. I’m never ‘sweet’ on anything. In fact, I’m pretty sure most of the people who know me think I’m a Grade A Asshole who doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘sweet’,” Brian assured him.

“Then they obviously don’t know you very well, do they? Because I’ve only known you a week and I don’t think I’ve ever met another man with such a big . . . heart,” the puckish little pilot teased, giving Brian a squeeze and then playfully tilting his hips up to make contact with Brian’s other ‘big’ parts. “And I love that you’re trying to protect me, Brian, but I can take care of myself.”  

“. . . Fucking hero complex,” Brian muttered with another big sigh as he hugged the bold boy back.

That comment caused Justin to giggle and he raised up on his tiptoes, just about to reach up and pull Brian down for an appreciative kiss, when the door to the sitting room was unceremoniously shoved open and Chris Hobbs barrelled into the room. Justin immediately stepped away from Brian, but that tell-tale blush of his gave away the fact that they’d been interrupted doing something that they probably shouldn’t have been. Hobbs seemed just as surprised as they were at first. Then, after he’d scanned the scene and realized that something wasn’t right, he almost immediately shifted into a more judgmental stance, his fists balled on his hips and a gloating sneer on his face.

“What the heck’s going on in here, Taylor?” the stocky blond demanded.

“What business is it of yours, Hobbs?” Justin shot back, not giving in despite the fact that the other man had a good fifty pounds and half a foot in height on him.

“I think I have the right to know who it is I’m rooming with, Taylor,’” the brutish thug persisted. “I wouldn’t want to find out I’m bunking with a damned Nancy-boy or something. I don’t stand for any of that funny stuff, you know.”

“Trust me, Hobbs, you’re safe,” Justin responded glibly with a dismissive shake of his head. Then he turned back to Brian and blithely gestured towards the door. “Thank you for the information, Brian. I’ll pass it on to the right people and let you know what comes of it.”

“Right,” Brian knew he was being dismissed but he hated to leave like that, before anything had been resolved and with the new wrinkle of Hobbs thrown into the mix. “Just . . . be safe, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” Justin assured him, adding a surreptitious wink. “Now, don’t you have a meeting you said you had to make?”

“Shit,” Brian looked at his watch and realized how late it had become. “I do. Sorry, I have to run, but, well, if you need anything, leave me a note at my hotel, okay?”

“Will do, Brian. And thank you . . . for everything,” Justin said with a bright, honest smile that easily said more than the words themselves.

After that Justin showed Brian out, closing the door firmly behind him. Part of Brian wanted to go back in there and make sure that Hobbs guy wasn’t going to be a problem, and the other part worried that would only make things worse. And he really did have to get a move on if he was going to make the meeting with Britcom. But, in the end, he decided that Justin was probably more than able to take care of himself and he would likely only muck it up worse, so he turned heel and rushed back towards Duckett’s Passage.

Ten seconds after he’d made it through the time portal, Brian’s phone started ringing. A glance at the screen told him it was Cynthia calling. It also told him that there was no way he was going to be on time for the Britcom guys.

“I’m on my way, Cynthia, but I’m probably going to be late. I still need to stop in at my hotel and pick up the Britcom file. Can you call and tell them I’m running about thirty minutes behind?” he barked into the phone as soon as he’d accepted the call.

“Well, you’re in luck, Brian, because I got a call from the CFO a little while ago saying they wanted to reschedule for this afternoon at three,” Cynthia responded, eliciting a whistle of relief from her boss as he immediately slowed his pace.  “I’ve been trying to call you for about an hour now, by the way. Where the hell have you been? I kept getting the strangest message too - something about, ‘the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable’ and an error message saying that incoming calls weren’t properly connecting to your UA . . . I’ve never seen anything like that before. If your service isn’t working correctly, I’ll call the damned carrier and bitch them out personally. We’re paying exorbitant fees for you to have overseas cell phone service and I’m not letting them get away with shoddy coverage.”

“It’s not the phone service, Cynthia. I was . . . out all weekend. But otherwise, the phone service has been fine, so don’t get your panties all in a twist over it,” Brian tried to calm his assistant. “I’m really glad that the meeting is being pushed back, though. I’m desperate to get a real shower and get changed beforehand. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Hmmm. So, you haven’t showered yet and it’s already after nine. Where HAVE you been, Mr. Kinney, and what naughty things have you been up to all weekend?” Cynthia teased.

“Trust me, Cyn, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Brian explained with a laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun, Boss. But, now, while I’ve got you, I need to ask you about . . .”

The rest of Brian’s walk back to the hotel was spent going over the crop of problems that had sprouted up over the weekend while Brian was MIA and rescheduling the remainder of his day. It looked like it was going to be busy. But even so, Brian made it clear that he was going to be unavailable again that night from about six on - he was determined to get back to the White Lion that evening so he could meet up with Justin again and make the most of the young man’s last night off before . . . well, before whatever else was going to happen.

Chapter 12 - Lover, Come Back To Me.

The meeting with Britcom seemed to take a thousand years that afternoon. The CEO seemed particularly intractable, leaving Brian to wonder whether the old geezer’s weekend plans had been even a fraction as enjoyable as Brian’s were. But he really wasn’t in the mood to quibble over which shade of copper they should use in the little flecks at the corners of the finials on the lettering of the title on the third page of the brochure. Considering the hourly fee Brian charged for his time while working on a campaign, you’d think these guys could find a better use for his talents. But, when Mr. CEO started in on how he wanted to change the layout for the website a fifth time, Brian decided he’d had enough. Without another word, he loaded up his briefcase and walked out the door of the conference room.

An hour later, he’d finished emailing all his notes for the day's projects to Cynthia, had dropped off all the files and other useless items from Britcom at his hotel, changed, and was out the door on his way to Duckett’s Passage.

No sooner had he walked through the door of the White Lion, though, than he found himself attacked by a snarling, angry, and very pushy Gears. Brian had never seen the laconic Gears up off his barstool before. But once the man was standing in front of him, his lanky body unfurled, Brian realized that the slim-looking Gears was actually taller than him and made with a compact muscularity that was deceptive until he had you pinned up against the wall by your lapels.

“You got sum bloody nerve showing yer mug in ‘ere, Mate,” Gears growled, so irate that spittle was flying in Brian’s face. “I warned yer, din’t I? ‘Parently yer don’ listen too good though. Now I got no choice but to follow through on me word.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get the fuck off me,” Brian demanded, trying to pry the man’s hands away from his clothing, but not making much headway.

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the fact that you’re a lowlife bruiser, who ain’t no good for our Sunshine. An’ we look out for our own ‘round ‘ere. That’s what I’m talking ‘bout.”

Brian, who still had no idea what the hell was going on, didn’t bother to comment because by that point Gears had his hand wrapped quite firmly around the base of Brian‘s neck and was choking him to death.

“Holy Mackerel, Gears! Let Brian go. He didn’t have anything to do with this.”

Brian was quite glad to hear his Blue Eyes’ voice intervening on his behalf. He could see, over Gears’ shoulder, the top of a blond head and sensed that Justin was trying to pull the very angry man off of him. So far, though, Justin’s mediation was having little effect.

“Don’t you dare try ‘n cover up for ‘im, Sunshine. Scum like this don’t deserve the likes ‘o you,” Gears snapped, his grip around Brian‘s throat tightening incrementally. “An’ I mean to teach this wise guy a lesson ‘e won’t soon forget.”

“Criminently, Gears! Would ya cut it out already! I’m fine. It’s just a black eye. And I already told you I got it in a fight; Brian had nothing to do with it,” Justin insisted.

His protestations didn’t seem to have any effect on Gears, though. The vice cutting off Brian’s air supply didn’t let up even a millimeter. Brian could hear other voices in the background. The opinions voiced seemed to be about evenly divided as far as who was egging Gears on and who was trying to help Justin calm the situation down. Right about the time Brian's vision started to go a little hazy around the edges from the lack of oxygen, he heard Justin yelling in the background.

“Daph, a little help here please?” Justin pleaded.

“Da! Seems we got us a dif’rence o’ opinion out here. Best you bring out the Enforcer ‘fore we needs ta call ‘Andsome an ambulance.”

The next thing Brian knew, there was a huge, black bear of a man hovering over Gears’ left shoulder. This guy towered over even the well-statured Gears and his neck was as big around as one of Brian’s thighs. In the Bear's hand, was a massive wooden cudgel that appeared to be made of some shining, gnarled, black wood. It was so large, and so ancient-looking, Brian thought it might once have been some Neanderthal man’s weapon of choice. Brian was really hoping that the Bear wasn’t there to help Gears kill him, cause if so, he didn’t have a chance.

“You know the rules,” the Bear proclaimed in a deep bass voice that echoed around the entire bar. “There ain't no fightin’ in my establishment. You gonna let the pretty white boy go, or do we need to have a chat?”

“Did you see what he did to Sunshine? Can’t just let ‘im get away wi’ that, can we?” the intractable Gears answered, although Brian was happy to note his grip had loosened slightly.

“Boom Boom, I already told Gears that Brian did NOT touch me, but he’s not listening. Can you please get him to let Brian go, already?” Justin pleaded, starting to sound a bit perturbed by his friend’s misbehavior.

“You heard the boy, Gears,” Boom Boom the Bear directed, his booming voice making the words sound more like a divine proclamation.

“If I find the boy’s jus’ coverin’ fer ya, we’ll be ‘avin this conversation agin’ real soon, Mate. An’ next time there won't be nobody stoppin’ me. You ‘ear me, ‘Andsome?” Gears growled in Brian’s face.

Brian nodded as best he could with his head immobilized the way it was in the man’s still tight grip. With a sub vocal grumble of disgust, Gears finally let go, releasing Brian so quickly that the Stud would have fallen on his face if Justin hadn’t been there to grab him. It took a minute or two, with the strong blond pilot propping him up on Brian’s left side, for him to cough and sputter and gasp his way back to normal.

“Come on, Brian. Sit down over here and catch your breath. Sheesh, Gears, you didn’t have to practically kill him, did you?” Justin complained as he directed Brian over to an empty table.

“Well, whadya expect, Sunshine?” the not-repentant-at-all Gears replied. “First this wise guy comes in ‘ere, sniffin’ round yer like a randy bulldog, then yer goes missing for two days, and when yer do turn up, yer lookin’ like Jack London after a Saturday night matchup. ‘An all you tell us is yer had a fight? Seems bloody suspicious is all I’m sayin’.”

Brian turned his attention back to his boy. “You got in a fight?” Brian asked, finally getting enough wind to speak up. “What happened, Blue Eyes?”

“Hobbs happened,” Justin explained as he sat down on the bench next to Brian and the older man could finally see the left side of his boy’s black and blue face.

“Damn! That looks painful. What the fuck happened after I left this morning?” Brian sympathized.

“The big oaf kept trying to take the Mickey out of me for catching us together and I just got tired of listening to him,” Justin tried to shrug off all the attention, but his spellbound audience wasn’t going to let it drop, so he shook his head and continued. “After you left, Brian, Hobbs just kept ragging on me. Like usual. I tried to just ignore him but he wouldn’t let me be. Then he got between me and the door and wouldn’t let me leave; standing there with a smirk and calling me names. So we got to yelling at each other and, when I said something about how HE must be the queer one since he seems so interested in the topic and all, he hauled off and slugged me.”

“Fucking prick,” Brian commented, reaching out to rub at one of the larger abrasions on the boy’s swollen cheek.

Justin shrugged off Brian’s worry with a small chuckle. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a shiner.” Then the boy got a bit of a mischievous twinkle in his eye and added, “unlike Hobbs, who’s gonna be in the infirmary for the next three days or so . . .”

“This Hobbs fella, he’s the new guy in your Squadron, Sunshine?” Gears asked warily. “The one yer been complainin’ ‘bout fer the past couple a weeks?”

“That’s the one,” Justin confirmed. “He’s been a real thorn in my side ever since he arrived. He’s your typical rich bully. Thinks he’s better than the rest of us because he comes from money. Although, word is that he’s only here because he got kicked out of the US Air Corps because of some scandal. I’m thinking, maybe, my words struck a little too close to home.”

There was a general murmur of consent and nodding of heads from all the listeners before Justin continued his story.

“Anyway, I wasn’t going to put up with being Hobbs’ punching bag, so I slugged him back. It was a good one too - right in the gut. And when he was doubled over trying to catch his breath, I shoved him aside so I could get to the door and leave, only . . . Well, the idiot somehow managed to trip over Mrs. McCready’s china cat doorstop she had there in the sitting room. Unfortunately, when he fell over, he knocked himself silly against the edge of the bookcase and gave himself a concussion. So he’s out of the mission rotation for the Squadron for the next week or so. Even better, Mrs. McCready is so pissed off ‘cause he broke her cat, that she’s threatening to toss him out!”

That news earned Justin a cheer from the audience and Fancy even proposed a toast to Mrs. McCready’s cat, to which all agreed with gusto.

“The only bad part about the whole thing,” Justin added with a wistful smile aimed Brian’s way, “is that, because Hobbs can’t fly tonight, I have to take his place. So much for my night off, huh?”

Brian wasn’t sure he managed to hide his disappointment or not. “You sure you can fly with your eye swollen almost shut like that?”

Justin ran a finger over his swollen eye, his skin had turned a beautiful shade of purple. “Oh, sure. It’s not that bad. A couple aspirin and I’ll be good as new,” Justin assured him. Then he leaned in to Brian and quietly added, “but if I’d known you were going to be back tonight, I might have played it up a bit more and tried to beg off for tonight at least.” Then he turned back to the rest of his friends. “I have to head out pretty soon. They’re sending me all the way down to Croydon tonight. I just popped in here to get a bite to eat and let everyone know where I’d been.”

“And to brag about your date,” Fancy interjected, causing another Blue Eyes’ blush. “Don’t worry, Darling. We’ll get Handsome here to fill in the rest of the details you didn’t get time to tell us yet.”

Brian looked around at all the leering faces, feeling a little worried. Justin laughed at Brian’s reaction and gave his thigh a reassuring little squeeze under the protection of the table’s edge. Brian could already tell he was doomed to be the evening’s primary entertainment.

“I’m not sure I should leave Brian in your care, gentlemen. I don’t want you to scare him off.” There was a general outpouring of promises to take good care of Justin’s FRIEND, amid lots of laughter and a few ribald comments that Justin chose to overlook. “Well, as long as you all promise to play nice? And, Gears, you better not touch another hair on his head or I’ll have something to say about it,” the protective little pilot promised to the grumbling of the recalcitrant Gears. “Fine, then. I’m off. Wish me luck, gentlemen.”

“You want me to walk you to the station, Blue Eyes?” Brian asked, making as if to get up and leave with the pilot.

“Oh, no, no, no, Darling,” Fancy replied for Justin. “Our Sunshine will be just fine. And we’re not letting YOU escape that easily. Not until we get all the details about last night, that is. So you just sit that cute little bum down and start talking, Mister.”

Brian looked up at Justin with pleading eyes but got only a giggle in return. “Good luck, Brian.”

“You too, Blue Eyes,” Brian answered with resignation. “And remember what I said - be careful, please.”

“I will. You too.”

And then the bold little pilot was gone and Brian was swarmed by the gossip-hungry hordes of the White Lion.

“So, our Sunshine left off right after the part where you wined and dined him at The Palace,” Fancy stated as he slid into the spot on the bench next to Brian that Justin had only recently vacated. “You can start there. And don’t leave ANYTHING out, Darling . . .”

April 13, 1941

Brian,

I hope this note finds its way safely to your hands. I’m sending it via an RAF buddy, disguised as a letter to my ‘sweetheart’ Daphne. I’m sure you find that quite amusing, as do I. It seemed the most expedient means of communication I could devise, and Ralphie is a good guy, but not exactly the type to frequent the White Lion, so I decided to err on the side of discretion.

I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet with you this week at all. I’m in a little bit of trouble over the whole ‘Hobbs Incident’. Nothing serious, but I am confined to base for the remainder of the week while I’m subjected to the most demeaning of chores the CO can come up with for my punishment. This treatment is particularly galling seeing as Hobbs is not being punished at all, even though he is the one who initiated the altercation. At present, the little dissembler is still lying in bed in the infirmary, pretending to be far more injured than he is so that he can escape any consequences. Oh well, I should have known better than to react to his provocations.

I’m only sorry that this means I won’t be able to see you again before the end of the week. I did want to finish the conversation we’d started when Hobbs so rudely interrupted us the other day. I’m worried that - being forced to remain here in Croydon - I won’t be available to follow through on those plans we were discussing for the 17th. The welfare of Daphne and my other friends is weighing heavily on my mind. I would greatly appreciate it if YOU would endeavor to see to their care in my place. I’m certain I will be fine here, but knowing they’ll be in your capable hands would be a huge relief.

Please send me word through Daphne that you have received this and that you’ll acquiesce to my request above.

With warm thoughts,

Justin

Brian eagerly read through the note Daphne had handed him when he arrived that evening at the White Lion. He was glad to have finally heard from his missing Blue Eyes. He’d come in the night before looking for him, but had been told by the locals that nobody had seen him that day at all. Brian had apparently been right to worry that the Hobbs thing would cause Justin even more problems.

For Brian Kinney, the out-and-proud gay man who’d never had to deal with the hassle of hiding who he was, all this deception and secrecy was frustrating, to say the least. Hell, Justin couldn't even send him a fucking letter without couching all his words in a semi-code, out of fear of getting discovered. It was ridiculous. Why the hell should Hobbs - or anyone else for that matter - care who Justin was involved with? It was almost enough to send him running back to the twenty-first century screaming. And if it weren’t for the fact that Brian just couldn’t seem to get the plucky pilot out of his head, he would have done just that.

But especially now, after just being seen with Brian had got his Blue Eyes in so much trouble, he felt there was no way he could simply abandon the boy. Plus, there was the whole thing about those addictive kisses of his. And the adorable blushing thing. And the hip swivel thing that Brian thought might come in useful in the future. And the . . .

“Shit!” Brian caught himself drifting off into Blue Eyed daydreams again and had to stop before he embarrassed himself.

“Language, Handsome!” one of the regulars admonished him again.

“Why does everyone keep calling me ‘Handsome’?” Brian asked, exasperated by the annoying new trend he’d noticed developing.

“It’s yer name, innit?” Daphne stated with a girlish giggle. “As the daughter of the proprietor of this ‘stablishment, I reserve the right to name all me customers. Where’d you think Sunshine an’ Lucky an’ Peaches got their names from? An’ you, my dear, are and for’ere will be, me ‘Andsome.”

“Ah. I was wondering where all that came from,” Brian acknowledged with resignation. “Well, I suppose it’s better than what they call me back home.”

“An what’s ‘at, ‘Andsome?” Daphne asked as she refilled his glass of ale.

“Mostly they call me ‘Asshole’.”

“Oi! Language!” Came the expected chorus of complaints from the peanut gallery, which only caused Brian to smile mischievously.  

“Oh, you are a right naughty one, aint you, ‘Andsome?” Daphne giggled, not seeming all that offended by Brian’s cursing after all.

“I’d like to be, if only Justin would get his Blue Eyes back here sooner rather than later,” he replied with a frown. “You wouldn’t happen to have a piece of paper I could use to send him back a note, would you, Daphne?”

Daphne smiled and, a couple minutes later, brought Brian a leaf of perfumed, pink pastel stationery. He groaned at the indignity of it all, but since he didn’t have any alternative, he accepted the offering and started in on his reply. He also added stationery to the mental list of things he planned to bring with him the next time he came to visit the past.

Blue Eyes,

I got your note. Your sweetheart, Daphne, sends her love. I’d like to send you more than that, but what I’ve got for you needs to be delivered in person.

I’m bummed that you're stuck out in Croydon all week. It’s boring eating all those expensive hotel meals by myself. Plus, I’ve been having this problem that I thought you might be able to help me with - my room seems far too empty and cold at night. But, since you’re not available, I guess I’ll just have the hotel janitor come up to help me with the heating problems. *wink*

About the 17th, of course I’ll make sure Daph & the guys are okay. I’d be even happier to have you here with me then, to make sure the same about YOU, but . . . I guess we already had that conversation. I still don’t like it.

Just get your butt back here as soon as you can, Blue Eyes.

Preferably in one damned piece, please.

Brian

Brian was back again the next night, checking into his 1941 hotel room and then making the now familiar trek to the White Lion for news of his Blue Eyes. Daphne didn’t even ask why he’d come - she just handed him the most recent note from Justin and poured him his usual pint of ale.

April 14, 1941

Dear Brian,

Thank you for your prompt reply to my last note. I’m glad to hear that my correspondence with sweet Daphne is so amusing to you. She truly is the only WOMAN for me, you know.

Your difficulties in finding a suitable dining companion sound quite distressing. I’m sorry I am unavailable to help you out. I realize that it’s likely near impossible to find someone who truly appreciates your particular brand of dinner conversation. I myself am still laughing at some of your more pointed caricatures of our dining companions the other night. Believe me when I tell you I would happily be there with you if I could.

I’d far prefer to be eating five star meals at The Palace with you than the slop they are feeding me here in Croydon. If I weren’t so hungry, I’d refuse to eat it at all. However, they are keeping me so busy day and night that I’m practically starving by the time I make it to the mess hall. Today was especially bad. After cleaning every latrine on the base - on my hands and knees with a nail brush, by the way - they had me help out with the inventory by moving every single piece of equipment and machinery out of the storage barn so they could count it, and then move it all back in and put it away. Oh, and I also had to scrub the oil and grease stains off the floor of the machine shed. Needless to say, my body hurts and I’m so exhausted that I’ll be lucky to stay awake on tonight’s mission.

The scoundrel that originated all this remains on his deathbed in the infirmary. From all accounts, Hobbs is too weak to even lift his head from the pillow when the doctors come in to check on him. However, when Daniels and Riddle went to visit him earlier today, they did not report finding him in such dire straits. I’m beginning to think I did not hit him hard enough.

I have been pondering your heating issues all through the day as I toiled. It was quite a lovely way to distract myself from my problems. Even though it was HARD work, I rather enjoyed our time working together at heating up your room the last time I was there and I look forward to further experimentation along the same lines upon my return. I’m sure your room will be quite warm after we put our two heads together to solve this curious problem.

In the meantime, thank you for your reassurances regarding the events coming up on the 17th instant. I am much relieved. Don’t worry for me, I’ll be fine as always.

Looking forward to seeing you upon my return,

Justin

Postscript - Don’t you dare invite the janitor up to help you with your heating problems! I will be very cross if that occurs in my absence. I would like to immediately assert my claim to being your only heating repairman.

Brian read through the note twice before pausing.

He loved the young pilot’s wit. The kid was sharp as a tack and funny as hell too. Brian had laughed out loud a couple of times reading the humorous way his Blue Eyes described things. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found another guy as intellectually attractive as he found Mr. Justin Taylor.

That stuff about being exclusive though, had sorta thrown Brian for a loop. He hadn’t really thought about THAT before. Back in his real life, Brian had adamantly refused to settle into any kind of exclusive relationship. He’d even avoided the mere appearance of exclusivity. And the few times he’d come close - like the time he’d fallen into a fuck buddy set up with a trick who really was a fantastic fuck but who'd ended up being way too clingy - he’d been burned. Which is why he’d stuck with a strict ‘No Deposit, No Return’ rule for most of his life. Now, though, this pugnacious little twink who he hadn’t even fucked yet, was basically DEMANDING that Brian commit to him right out of the barrell, and Brian truly did not know how to handle it.

Back in 2016, Brian wouldn’t have even considered such a thing. Everyone in Pittsburgh knew Brian Kinney didn’t DO relationships or boyfriends. It was a given. He would have simply laughed off any guy who’d dared to bring up such a ludicrous idea and, if the loser persisted, he’d get kicked to the curb without a thought. But here in 1941 . . .

Things in 1941 were different. Really different. Life was a lot harder here for gays. You couldn’t just go out to the closest gay bar, pick up a trick and have your way in the conveniently located back room. There was no handy hook up web app. Brian COULDN’T live here the way he lived his life in the future. You had to be damn careful who you even approached about any kind of homosexual overture. Being a promiscuous gay lothario who blithely fucked his way through the available smorgasbord of gay men at his disposal was simply impossible here.

He’d been lucky to have run into Justin his first night here. If he’d acted the way he had with anyone else - even though it was completely unsuspecting, or perhaps BECAUSE it was unsuspecting - it could have ended really badly. It was fortuitous that he’d come upon a handsome, intelligent, available gay man right from the start. Brian could look for a long time and not find anyone else he was so attracted to, especially here in 1941. So it followed, if you found someone you liked and trusted, you probably shouldn’t be too quick to move on.

And it wasn’t like Justin was some needy troll begging for Brian’s attention. Justin was smart. He was ambitious. He had drive and a plan to accomplish his goals. And he was fucking hot, to boot. He hadn’t even ASKED Brian to be exclusive - the young man had just outright demanded it as if it was his due. Justin acted like he knew he was worth Brian’s attentions and Brian would be lucky to have HIM. That kind of self-confidence was sexy as hell. If Brian HAD to pick someone he’d want to contemplate an exclusive relationship with, it would be someone exactly like Justin.

But, still, this would be a huge departure from the norm for Brian. He wasn’t sure this was something he really wanted. He wasn’t sure it was something he was actually capable of. And what would it mean for the Brian Kinney that lived in 2016?

4/15

Dearest Blue Eyes,

I had no idea you were interested in pursuing a career as a heating contractor. You told me you always wanted to be a pilot. And, while I’m not opposed to the idea of entering into a more exclusive agreement for your services, you should know that up until now I’ve used MANY different heating services. In fact, I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said I’d tried out just about as many different heating contractors as I could possibly get my hands on over the years. I rather enjoy a good, efficient, readily-available, heating service. Are you sure you’re prepared to handle ALL the potential service calls I might require?

Speaking of which, I could definitely use some of your heating right now, Blue Eyes. How much longer are you on lockdown in Croydon? It was very, very cold in my room tonight.

Brian (Aka, ‘Andsome, per your sweetheart, Daphne)

PS. Please don’t say things like you’re too tired to stay awake during your missions. It freaks me out. Just get your butt back here, already, preferably without any holes shot in it.

On Saturday the sixteenth, Brian finished up the last of the work that was leftover from the week, fired off a few final emails, made a couple of calls home including one to talk to his son, and then informed Cynthia he was going to take a long weekend so she shouldn’t expect to hear from him until late in the day on Monday. Cynthia gave him a hard time, pressing for more information about where he was sneaking off to, but Brian refused to say. Eventually she gave up and just wished him well, telling him she'd hold down the fort, like always. Brian made a mental note to send her a nice gift later in the week, provided all went well.

Then he packed up a bag of clothing and all the other things he thought might be useful in the past and headed out. On the way to Duckett’s Passage, he stopped into a grocery store and bought a bag full of non-perishable groceries, two new flashlights, a box of waterproof matches, a pocket knife, some bottled water and a large, emergency first aid kit. He didn’t know if he’d need all that crap but he figured it couldn’t hurt, right? Laden with all his supplies, he finally made it through the time portal and dumped everything off at the hotel before hurrying on to the White Lion to see if there was word from his Blue Eyes.

April 16, 1941

Dear Handsome,

Please tell Daphne that I approve of the new name she has selected for you. It certainly fits you. And I’m glad she has you there to tease and torment while I’m busy; it will keep her (and you) out of trouble.

As far as my career plans are concerned, yes, my primary wish has always been to become a pilot. That hasn't changed. But I see no reason why I can’t do your heating work on the side. I’m quite versatile, you know.

I am also adamant about holding the EXCLUSIVE rights to providing your heating services. I realize your past may include a variety of previous service providers, but I don’t intend to provide heating for anyone but you and I would expect the same courtesy. If that is not possible, then fine. You are free to get heat from whomever you wish. I do hope you will choose me, though.

I understand I do not have nearly the experience some of your other service providers might have had but, as I told you before, I am willing to learn and I am confident I will soon be able to provide you with the best service you’ve ever experienced, bar none. I am an extremely fast study. I will take every opportunity to educate myself so that I can fulfill EVERY aspect of your heating needs. You should, at the very least, give me a try and see if I do not adequately meet your needs. Based on what I know of you already, I honestly believe that the heat we will make together will surprise you.

With that in mind, I have good news. I have been informed that my current term of discipline will be remitted effective 0800 on the 18th. Our dear Mr. Hobbs has been told that he is expected to have made a full recovery by that date or his services will no longer be required by the Royal Air Force. This means I will once again be able to have the occasional assignment-free night. And I plan to use my free time to complete all the heating lessons I can manage to fit in.

I was hoping to be back with you tomorrow, before the events you told me of were due to occur, but I am afraid that will not be possible. My fellow RAF officers and I will do our best to see to your protection from our airborne vantage points, but it will be up to you to take care of things on the ground. Here’s hoping all will be well. Please stay safe.

Your Favorite (Only?) Heating Guy,

Justin

Brian actually spit out his mouthful of ale the first time he read through this missive and got to the part where his Blue Eyes was bragging on his versatility.

“Damn it, Justin,” Brian muttered to himself. “You sure do make it hard not to want to give you a trial run.”

Well, Brian supposed they could at least see what developed. Justin was nothing, if not persuasive. And, since he was presumably going to be back in just over thirty-six hours, they would see soon enough whether or not they had the kind of heat between them that the boy was promising.

Now, Brian just had to make it through his first serious air raid in one piece . . . And hope his Blue Eyes managed the same.

Chapter 13 - Why Don’t You Do Right?

Brian woke up in his 1941 hotel room and spent the next fifteen minutes lying there trying to plan out his day.

This was it - the day of the first big April raids. Brian had spent a lot of time over the past week researching everything he could about this day, trying to educate himself, hoping to be one hundred percent prepared. He knew, or at least he hoped he knew, where every bomb was supposed to hit. He knew approximately what time the raid was supposed to begin. He knew that there would be over 800 tons of high explosive bombs dropped that night along with more than 150,000 incendiaries and hundreds of ‘parachute mines’ which would drift down slowly, guided by the wind, until they exploded at rooftop level where they could cause the most damage. And he also knew that all that knowledge wouldn’t matter, because there would still be more than a thousand people killed and another two thousand or so injured. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The evening before, Brian had spent some time feeling out the folks at the White Lion, trying to determine who he might need to take charge of. Most of the men were involved in the war effort in one way or another and therefore would have someplace they’d be expected that night. Gears and Lucky were both attached to the local Army base, and frequently got called in to handle emergencies when there were raids. Those who weren’t in the official military were almost all involved with one of the civilian defense groups - like the Air Raid Precaution wardens or those volunteering for the National Fire Service - and therefore had specific duties that would require their presence. Boom Boom, for instance, was a fire warden, which meant he’d be spending the night of the raid on the streets trying to fight the inevitable fires that would be caused by the coming incendiary bombs.

Altogether there were only two or three of Justin’s gang that Brian would need to worry about. The primary one among these being Miss Daphne Chanders. Daphne, like many other Brits this late in the Blitz, had developed a fatalistic view of the war in general and the frequent night raids in particular. She rarely bothered going to one of the official shelters, insisting that her job was to keep the pub open so as to reinforce the morale of her regulars. Only when the bombs started to actually hit the immediate neighborhood did she consent to retreat to the pub’s cellar for whatever protection that might afford. Daphne truly believed as long as she had a nice, warm cup of tea in her hands, there was nothing she couldn't handle. And Brian didn't doubt that one bit, but that didn't mean he was going to sit back and do nothing. He’d made a promise to Justin, and he was determined to keep it.

How, exactly, he was going to convince Miss Daphne to abandon her post at the pub and accompany him to a shelter, though, remained to be seen. He couldn’t simply tell her that he knew a German raid was about to happen and demand she come with him. In the first place, she wouldn’t believe him, and even if she did, she’d probably just blow it off and stay in the pub like usual. He didn’t know how he could possibly convince the very independent and highly opinionated woman that he knew in advance what was going to happen without revealing his secret. But even then, it was unlikely she would believe him. I mean, would Brian believe someone who told him they were a time traveler from the future? Fuck, no! He’d call the authorities and have the guy trucked off to the looney bin. And, despite worrying over the issue all the previous night, Brian still hadn’t come up with a solution.

“Fuck it,” Brian grumbled. “This is getting too fucking complicated. What the hell am I even doing here?”

Nobody answered him, of course. But, since lying there and stewing over things wasn’t getting him anywhere, Brian decided to get up and simply hope some brilliant idea would come to him later. After all, he had until nine that evening to figure it out.

In the meantime, he had other plans to set in motion . . .

“Hey, Daph. Any word from Justin?” Brian asked as soon as he took up his place on the barstool that was becoming his customary seat.

“Sorry, love. Nothin’ yet today,” she replied and handed him a consolatory beer. “But I reckon he’s just been run off ‘is feet busy today. I’ve heard some o’ the other lads gassin’ about ‘ow there’s a big to do goin’ on t’night. Not sure what’s up, but pretty much all me reg’lars got called off to wherever already. The pub’s been right empty all afternoon. Lousy for business, this war, ain’t it?”

It sounded like Blue Eyes’ report to his CO might have already set some defenses rolling. That was all to the good, in Brian’s book. It also meant Brian could breathe a sigh of relief that the potential number of his evening’s charges had already been reduced. That left only his Daphne problem still unresolved.

“So, Daph,” Brian started, hoping that the plan he’d finally come up with that afternoon would work. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner tonight at The Strand Palace restaurant. I’ve got reservations at 8:30, and since Blue Eyes still isn’t back from his exile in Croydon, I could use a dinner companion.”

“Blimey! Me? At a posh place like ‘at? I wouldn’t know what to do with meself at some place like The Palace,” she replied, dismissing the suggestion out of hand.

“I’m sure you’d be just fine, Daphne. It’s the other folks there that I’d be worried about. They’d all seem pretty dull and ordinary with you there outshining them,” Brian offered, hoping flattery would work where all his other tactics seemed to fail.

“Not bloody likely!” She laughed and then sauntered off to help out one of the few other customers.

“If you need a date for the evening,” Fancy simpered in his most affected British drawl, “I happen to be available. And I can assure you, you’ll find ME much more amusing than our Daphne. In fact, I could probably even show YOU a thing or two if you were interested.”

Brian laughed out loud at the man’s blatant attempt at seduction. “Nice try, Fancy, but I don’t think Blue Eyes would approve. And personally, I’d like my balls to remain attached to my body. So, since Justin strikes me as the kind of guy who wouldn’t think twice about removing them - in the most painful way he could possibly think of - if he got seriously pissed off about something like that, I think I’ll just say fuck no.” And before the guy sitting on the other side of him could say anything, Brian turned to address him too. “If you even start to say something about me not using bad language in front of the non-existent ladies present, be warned that I will throw this entire pint of beer in your face.”

The gentleman seated next to Brian immediately got up and moved down several bar stools without saying a word.

“Ooh! Yer in a right mood this evenin’, aren’t yer, ‘Andsome?” Daphne clucked at him with an amused expression on her lovely coffee-and-cream face. “What’s got inta yer ta’night?”

“Nothing’s got into me. And I haven’t gotten into anyone else all week, either. That’s the problem,” Brian answered with a saucy wink. “But until Justin gets his perky little bubble butt back from Croydon, there’s not much I can do about it, is there?”

That statement actually got the imperturbable Daphne Chanders blushing, an accomplishment of which Brian felt quite proud.

“So, what do you say, Daph? Help a lonely, bored guy out. Come keep me company at dinner. Don’t leave me to the not-so-tender mercies of Fancy here. Please?”

“Oi!” Daphne smacked Brian’s arm playfully. “You are a sweet talker, ain’tcha, ‘Andsome? No wonder our Sunshine has fallen for ya’ hook, line and sinker,” she teased. “If me Da weren’t off on fire patrol tonight, I just might take you up on that offer, ya’ know. But these pints ain’t gonna pour themselves, is they? So, get along with ya’ now - I got customers to see to.”

Before Brian could say anything more, she was off.

Brian continued his efforts to talk her into his plan for the next two hours. Every time he mentioned it, she just laughed him off. Needless to say, the Stud was getting quite frustrated and time was quickly running out.

By the time the clock struck 8:15, Brian was almost frantic. All the reports he’d read said that the bombing had started around 9 PM. Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to find anything more specific than that. Which left him a little unsure and a lot nervous. So, when a large group of pub patrons got up and headed out the door right then, leaving the bar practically empty, Brian decided it was time to take charge of matters . . . Any way he could.

“Right.” Brian stood up, slammed his pint glass down on the bar and took a deep breath, then turned to face the rest of the bar. “Sorry, folks, but the White Lion is closing early tonight. Everybody out. Now!” he hollered loudly enough to get everyone’s attention.

“‘Oi, whatcha doin’, ‘Andsome? I ain't closing early,” Daphne protested, coming around the bar to confront the man face to face.

“Sorry about this, Daph, but I promised Justin . . .” Brian stated.

Then, without warning, he grabbed the diminutive Daphne around the waist, hefted her bodily over his shoulder and started walking towards the door.

“I SAID, EVERYBODY OUT!” He yelled even more loudly.

The remaining four or five customers, realizing that Brian meant it, quickly chugged the last of their drinks and filed out one by one. Meanwhile, Daphne was yelling like a banshee, kicking her feet in the air, beating Brian’s back with her fists and squirming for all she was worth, trying to escape his grip. Brian simply held on, praying that he was doing the right thing and not going to be arrested for assault and kidnapping when this was all over.

“I say, Handsome. You can’t treat our Daphne like that. Put her down right this instant!” Fancy expostulated.

The flaming queen even went so far as to take a stance between Brian and the door, which just made the big Stud laugh as he shouldered the effeminate man aside.

“You mind locking up for me, Fancy?” Brian asked over his shoulder as he continued on his way with the squawking Daphne still struggling to free herself.

Fancy, who did indeed lock the pub’s door behind him, trotted after Brian a minute later, still berating the caveman-like actions. Brian ignored him. Fancy tried to grab hold of Brian’s free arm and pull him to a stop, with hardly any effect at all. He even tried to grab Brian around the bigger man’s waist and dig his heels in, but Brian just dragged him along too, and after a few meters Fancy had to let go again before he fell on his bum. In the end, he was reduced to scurrying along beside Brian and pummeling him ineffectively with his fists, yelling at him to ‘Stop this right now!’

With all the distractions and both Fancy and Daphne slowing him down, Brian had only made it halfway to his destination before the air raid sirens began their sinister wailing.

“Fuck!” Brian muttered under his breath and then turned to address Fancy. “Quit screwing around, Fancy. In a few minutes bombs are going to be raining down on our heads unless we get the fuck into a shelter NOW!”

“But . . . But the closest shelter is over that way,” the man pointed to Brian’s right. “The one off of Maiden Lane.”

“Fuck that!” Brian grumbled, renewing his grip on his struggling captive and setting off back in the direction he’d been aiming. “We’re going to The Palace where we’ll be safe. IT was never bombed. So either shut the fuck up or you can stay here and take your chances.”

Fancy apparently chose to shut up and obediently followed along behind Brian from that point on. A lot of the fight went out of Daphne after that too. Brian wasn’t taking chances though; he was too afraid she’d bolt if he set her down, so he just kept walking down the blackout darkened street. Ten minutes later they’d finally made it to The Strand and the hotel was in sight.

Before they could get inside though, Brian began to hear a distant, low hum that was gradually getting louder. Looking back over his shoulder, he could see flashes of light high up in the sky - flares dropped by the first wave of approaching German bombers to light the way for their incoming comrades. His gut clenched as the sinister mechanical whirring of the planes’ engines got nearer.

Brian felt a moment of paralysis now that he was actually confronted by the reality of the situation. All that reading, research, and thought, but none of it conveyed the terror of the moment. Shit! This was real! He was REALLY here. In the middle of a real, fucking AIR RAID. People were actually going to die! HE could fucking die. He could DIE - here in the past - and nobody back in 2016 would even know what the hell happened to him since he hadn’t told anyone what he was planning. What the fuck had he been thinking?

Before Brian’s moment of panic was over, the first wave of fast flying Messerschmidts was already zooming overhead. Then, all of a sudden, Brian and his companions were surrounded by a swarm of tinkling, metallic pops and right in front of his eyes a little incendiary canister hit the pavement and burst into white hot flames. More of the tiny fire bombs were landing everywhere around them, sparking and flaring up. In the distance he could see the pillars of search lights cutting through the skies and he could hear the pounding booms of what he thought must be anti-aircraft guns. But it was the high-pitched whistling of something dropping fast out of nowhere that finally got him moving again.

Breaking into an all out sprint, Brian dashed across the street and pelted his way down the rest of the block towards the hotel entrance. He made it up the front steps just as the first ear-splitting explosions rocked the neighborhood. Fancy darted ahead, holding open the door for Brian, then they were all through the portal, bringing with them a wafting of smoke and dust.

“Mr. Kinney, Sir,” they were greeted by one of the hotel’s porters, who ran over to see if Brian needed help. “You’ve only just made it in time. Things is right nasty out there tonight, Sir. Come right in as quickly as you can. All the guests are being asked to move downstairs to the basement for their own safety.”

“Thanks,” Brian panted in response, almost doubled over as he tried to catch his breath.

“I reckon ya can set me down now, ‘Andsome,” Daphne commented from her perch atop Brian’s shoulder. “I promise I won’t run off.”

“Um, sure thing.” Brian unloaded the girl from his shoulder, setting her down on her feet and waiting nervously until she’d straightened out her dress and patted her hair back into place. “So, are you going to yell at me now”

“I should, you bruiser. You just bloody kidnapped me!” Daphne yelled, punching Brian in the arm with her fist, hitting him hard enough to actually cause him to flinch a bit. “But, since yer also probably saved me life in the process, I guess I can let ya off the hook this time.” She followed up her punch with a smile, letting Brian know he was forgiven.

Just then they were interrupted by yet another distant rumble of explosions and all looked around worriedly.

“Mr. Kinney, Sir, I must insist you and your guests relocate to the basement immediately. It’s not safe for you up here,” the officious porter pleaded, gesturing towards the staircase at the rear of the lobby.

“Are you sure it’s safe down there?” Brian asked. “Those fucking bombs are pretty damn close. And we saw a ton of incendiaries dropping as well. Even if no bombs hit this place, there’s always the risk of fire.”

“The shelter downstairs is reinforced, Sir. It’s as safe as can be expected these days. And we’re aware of the other issues. There’s a crew handling matters up on the roof, watching for fires as we speak. Everything is in hand,” the porter assured. “I also personally saw to your earlier request to have the bag you left taken down to the shelter at the start of the evening, so you should be all prepared. Now, if you’d please follow me.”

With the porter leading the way, Brian, Daphne and Fancy all made their way down the basement stairs and into the hotel’s shelter. However this ‘shelter’ was a far cry from the barren, cold, Underground tunnel where Brian had spent his first raid. This shelter looked much more like the hotel’s elegant Drawing Room one floor above. It was furnished with the same ostentatious elegance, including several small seating areas with plush divans, tables and comfortable chairs. There were even potted palms and Chinese screens providing decorative touches. There was a fully stocked bar set up at one end of the room and a small stage at the other, the later hosting a small jazz quintet that was providing quiet background music.

The room seemed to be packed with the same type of clientele that Brian had seen in the restaurant or the ballroom; the wealthy and elite of London. A number of the denizens were wearing evening dress and seemed to be in the middle of a society soirée of sorts, their group being attended by a bevy of waiters and waitresses with trays full of food. Looking at most of these folks it was difficult to tell that there was even a war going on, let alone a frightening and possibly deadly air raid happening just one floor above.

The porter handed their trio off to a hostess as soon as they were safely through the door. The porter immediately retreated back upstairs, ostensibly to see to his other duties. Meanwhile the hostess, a lovely young woman with a heart-shaped face and her blond hair rolled up like Gene Tierney, led their little group over to a table in the back corner of the room and asked if they needed menus. Brian told her they were just going to have drinks for now. The hostess nodded agreeably, and then advised that Brian had been assigned to sleeping cubicle number six when they were ready to retire. A waiter who would take their drink orders was standing by as soon as the hostess left. And then they were finally left to themselves.

“Well, lah-dee-dah!” Daphne giggled as soon as the waiter trotted off. “Ain’t we the fine ones, hobnobbin’ wi’ the Lords an’ Ladies an’ all. All I can say is, it’s a far cry from the public shelter over in Maiden Lane, where folks gots ta bring their own food an’ drink an’ the Ladies’ is a bucket behind a screen in the corner.”

“Unsanitary,” Brian mumbled, wrinkling up his nose with distaste at the idea.

“Quite,” Fancy agreed, happily sipping at the Sloe Gin Fizz he’d been handed. “I’ll have you know, the last time I was in that shelter, I even saw a rat! But this . . . Now this is the life, isn’t it? If only I could afford to spend the rest of the war HERE.”

Fancy opened his arms wide, as if to embrace all of The Palace’s basement shelter. The look of bliss on the man’s face caused both Brian and Daphne to laugh aloud. Fancy giggled as well - he was the sort who was almost always able to see the fun in life, even when it sometimes came at his expense - waving dismissively at his friends as if to tell them off in a good-natured way.

When the humor level had died down again, Fancy set aside his drink, stating, “laugh all you want, my dears, but I know what I like when I see it.” Then the queen got to his feet, made a show of straightening his jacket, lifted his chin high and added, “and I just happen to see something else I like over there. Or should I say some ONE?” Brian and Daphne turned to see where Fancy was looking and discovered he had set his sights on the stage where the band was just then finishing up their latest number. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go introduce myself to that dashing saxophone player who’s been looking my way for the past two songs. Tally-ho!”

Daphne and Brian sent the man off with another round of laughter.

“Speakin’ ‘o affording to spend the War ‘ere, ‘Andsome,” Daphne turned the focus back on Brian. “Just ‘ow DOES an American ‘war correspondent’ manage to afford The Strand Palace hotel? Oh, and while yer at it, you can explain ‘ow yer knew ‘bout this raid b’fore it ‘appened, too . . .”

Brian cleared his throat, straightened his tie, took another sip of his whiskey . . . and still didn’t know how to answer Daphne’s question.

“The way I figger’ it, only a spy would know that kinda thing . . .” Daphne prompted, frowning at Brian.

“I’m NOT a fucking German spy,” Brian hissed at her, leaning closer so he could answer without all their neighbors listening in. “I wouldn’t work for the fucking Nazi’s if you threatened ME with being thrown in one of their fucking concentration camps.” Daphne looked at him with confusion, but he wasn’t going to get sucked into that conversation right then. “Listen, I can’t explain how I knew about this raid, Daphne. It’s complicated and you wouldn’t believe me even if I did try and explain it to you. But can you please, please, just trust me?”

“Does our Sunshine know about you?” Daph pressed, not one to give out trust without justification, especially not where her friend’s affections were concerned.

“Some.” Brian shrugged. “I told him about tonight, though. He said he was going to pass on word to his superiors. Which is probably why all your regulars were busy. And you can also blame your Sunshine for the kidnapping. He made me promise to do what I needed to do, to keep you safe.”

Daphne nodded. “Well, I’ll give ‘im a right telling off next time I see ‘im, but in the meantime, thank yer, ‘Andsome.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Justin would have castrated me if I’d let you get hurt,” Brian said, trying to deflect any thanks, as usual. “Besides, you're important to him, Daph, which means you’re important to me.”

She smiled at his words. “I’m all he ‘as ova ‘ere,” she went on to explain. “Sunshine’s like a bruver to me, ‘e’s me best mate.”

“You aren’t all he has . . . not now anyway.”

Brian couldn’t quite believe the words that had just come out of his mouth. 1941 had somehow turned him into a sap. He chucked back the remainder of his drink, hoping a little Dutch courage would help settle the uneasy feeling in his stomach, and promised himself to keep all his future lesbianic sentiments unspoken.

Reaching across the table, Daphne patted his hand. “I know . . . our Sunshine’s a lucky boy.” Brian looked away, uncomfortable with the praise. “I ‘ope he’s alright,” Daphne added worriedly. “I dunno what I’d do if somthin’ ‘appened to ‘im.”

Brian didn’t say anything. He was just as worried, but this time he managed to control his mouth. And there was nothing he could do at this point to help his Blue Eyes, so commenting on the situation was a futile exercise. Tomorrow would be soon enough to think about that. But secretly, he was hoping the same thing as Daphne.

Chapter 14 - God Bless The Child.

About an hour after Brian’s party had arrived at The Strand Palace, the doors to the basement air raid shelter were opened again and a young woman and her small child were pushed quickly inside.

“This way, madam,” the hotel Hostess said, gesturing to the woman. She was led over to a darkened corner of the room. “Sit down here,” she told the young woman, spreading a blanket out onto the carpeted floor. “You’ll be safe in here.”

“Thank yer, Ma’am,” the woman replied with a bit of a curtsy. “I was just so very scared out there, yer know? It was so loud and there’s so many fires. I couldn’t get to the shelter where we was s’posed to be.”

“I understand, Madame. I wouldn’t want to be out there in that with my little one either,” the Hostess replied but then rushed off, leaving the woman on her own, seemingly without another thought.

Brian looked over from their table and scooted closer to Daphne so that he could whisper in her ear. “Why did they put that woman over there in the corner on the floor?”

Daphne watched as the young girl tried her hardest to get her little boy to be quiet and sit down beside her. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen or nineteen years old. The child was fussy, though, and probably scared to boot, and wouldn’t hold still. The more noise the boy made, the more the girl looked about her, seeming embarrassed and nervous. But the more upset the mother became, the worse the little boy acted.

“Because, ‘Andsome, she’s not like the resta yer; she ain’t got money. She belongs ‘ere as much as I do. They’re only bein’ nice to Fancy and meself because we’s wiv’ you. Otherwise, I’d be sitting on me arris on the floor too.”

“That’s fucked up,” Brian muttered angrily. “They can’t do that.”

Daphne laughed bitterly. “Oh, they can, and they will. They don’t care ‘bout the likes of us. We ain’t nuffin to them.”

Brian immediately got up and made his way over to the corner of the room where he crouched down beside the lady and her young child. Seeing the scared little brute snuggled up against his mama made Brian’s heart yearn for his own little boy, who was thankfully safe with his mothers back in 2016. The thought of raising Gus at a time like this made him feel sick.

“Hi,” Brian said, smiling at the girl.

The woman jumped and brought her hand to her chest.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Brian apologized softly. “I just wanted to see if the two of you needed anything.”

The little boy in her lap waved shyly, but the woman simply shook her head and looked down quickly. “No, sir, we’re fine. Thank yer kindly, Sir.”

Brian felt someone tap him on the shoulder. “Is everything okay over here, sir? Is this young lady bothering you?” the Hostess asked, looking down at the girl with distaste lining her face.

Brian couldn’t believe what he was hearing, these people had a lot of fucking nerve.

“Everything is just fine and dandy,” Brian replied facetiously. “In fact, I was just asking this lovely lady if she’d like to join our table.”

The Hostess cleared her throat. “May I speak with you privately for a moment, Mr. Kinney?”

Brian stood and followed the lady over towards the bar. “What?”

“I’m sorry to cause you any inconvenience, sir, but the thing is . . .” the Hostess stumbled nervously over her words as she tried to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. “It’s just that . . . we need to be very careful with individuals like that.”

Brian cut her off before she could continue.

“Individuals like that?” he asked, his tone harsh.

The Hostess nodded her head. “Yes, sir.”

“And what sort of individual would that be?” Brian’s tone dripped with contempt.

The hostess cleared her throat nervously. “She . . . Well, she’s working class, Sir,” Brian didn’t respond except to stare at the woman with even more displeasure, so the hotel representative nervously continued. “Unfortunately, that class of people can sometimes make our guests feel somewhat uncomfortable.”

Brian could feel his blood pressure rising with each passing second, this woman was infuriating. Because of the advantages of his education and money, he was being treated respectfully, but if these people knew who he really was - the gay son of a working class Irish drunk - he’d be the one relegated to the corner. Or worse. Fuckers! But Brian Kinney DID have money now and he was not going to put up with this kind of shit.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Brian told the hostess sharply. “You're going to bring two more chairs over to my table and then you’re going to get that woman and her son whatever the hell they want to eat, do you understand?”

The Hostess looked scandalized. “But, Sir . . . how will they pa . . .”

“Just add it all onto my fucking bill,” Brian ordered, his voice rising loudly enough that the heads at all the neighboring tables turned.

“Yes, sir,” the Hostess responded, quickly scuttling off, willing to do whatever it took to placate one of the hotel’s best customers.

While the hostess was off directing her staff to find the chairs and warning them about Mr. Kinney’s directives, Brian walked back over to the young lady and crouched down next to her. “Hey there. My name’s Brian Kinney,” he introduced himself, hoping to gain her trust.

“I’m Vera,” she replied shyly. Her eyes never leaving the floor. “Vera Hastings, Sir.”

Vera

“Nice to meet you, Vera. And who is this little guy?

Vera rubbed the kid’s arm and kissed the top of his head. “Can yer tell this nice man ‘ere yer name?”

The little boy buried his face in his mother’s side, peeking at Brian quickly before hiding his face again. “‘Arry,” the boy replied so quietly that Brian struggled to hear him properly.

Harry

Brian smiled at the way the little boy glued himself to his mother’s side, the gesture reminded him so much of the way Gus would snuggle up close to him when meeting someone new for the first time.

“Hi, Harry. It’s nice to meet you. Are you hungry?”

Harry’s head shot up and he nodded excitedly.

“No, he’s fine,” Vera answered for her son.

“Come on, get up. You’re both coming to join my friends and I at our table.”

Vera shook her head bashfully and tried to stop Harry from standing up. “We can’t, Sir. We don’ wanna cause no trouble.”

“I can assure you, Vera, you won’t be causing any trouble. I want you there. Now, let’s go. Your kid’s hungry.” Brian offered his hand and helped her up.

Once Brian got them settled at his table, he introduced them to Daphne and Fancy. Daphne fussed over the girl a little, making sure she was settled and comfortable. Vera seemed to relax a little in Daphne’s presence.

“Harry, do you like warm milk?” Brian asked.

The little boy’s eyes got big and he nodded eagerly. “Yes, I likes it a lot. It makes my tummy all nice an’ warm.”

“Yes, Sir,” Vera looked mortified as she corrected her son.

Brian ruffled Harry’s hair but spoke directly to the embarrassed woman. “It’s okay, Vera. You can both call me Brian.”

Vera nodded in acknowledgement but kept her head down with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“What would you both like to eat?” Brian asked. “You can have anything you want.”

Harry looked excited and his little tummy rumbled loudly. “Can I ‘ave sum bread?”

“Just some bread?” Brian couldn’t get over how happy this kid was at the mere idea of having a plain slice of bread. “How about a little butter on there too?”

The little boy shook his head. “It ain’t Sunday. Grandma says we can only ‘ave butter on Sundays.”

Brian stage whispered to the little boy. “Your grandma isn’t here and I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

Harry covered his mouth and giggled happily.

“What about you, Vera? You must be hungry too.”

She shook her head.

Brian looked at Daphne desperately for help.

“Well, I know I’m right ‘ungry. I ‘eard their pie an’ mash is to die for,” she said as she looked over the menu. “An’ ‘m gaspin’ for a cuppa.”

At the mention of a warm meal, Vera’s stomach betrayed her and rumbled loudly.

Brian waved over one of the waitresses and gave their order. He wasn’t even hungry, but he wanted to make Vera and Harry feel as comfortable as possible, so he ordered enough to feed all of them - minced beef pie and mash for the other three adults, a plate of buttered toast for Harry, and a Waldorf salad for himself. He also asked for a pot of tea, some milk for the boy, and another round of drinks for all. He figured that should keep them for at least a while.

It didn’t take long for the waiter to bring over the tea and warm milk.

“Have you ever had warm cocoa?” Brian asked the little boy.

Harry shook his head.

Brian asked the waiter to fetch his bag for him. Thirty seconds later, the man came hurrying back with a small black leather tote bag. Brian unzipped the top, reached inside, fumbled around amid all the contents for a moment and then came out with a large chocolate bar in hand. While the rest of the group was still marveling at this magic, Brian broke off a small piece of the chocolate and plopped it straight into Harry’s cup of warm milk.

Harry’s eyes widened as he watched Brian stir the drink until it was all mixed together.

“For me?” Harry asked as Brian placed the chocolatey drink back in front of him.

“Yep. All for you.”

Brian watched as the little boy took his first sip. The smile that bloomed on his sweet little face was so big, Brian thought it might break his angelic little face. Harry quickly seized the cup and started to drink it down quickly.

“Slow down, Harry. You don’t need to drink it that fast,” Brian told him softly, thinking that the last thing he needed was the kid throwing up. “No one's going to take it away from you. And there’s more where that came from, if you want seconds.”

Harry put the cup down and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, his top lip covered in the most adorable chocolate milk moustache. “Yer ‘asta try some, mummy,” he all but begged his mum.

Vera smiled at the look of pure bliss on her son’s face and took a sip, humming appreciatively as the warm drink ran down her throat. “That’s delicious,” she said quietly. “Thank yer, Mr. Brian.”

When their food came a few minutes later, the group ate in relative silence, savouring the delicious grub.

Harry couldn’t stop smiling as he devoured his toast and licked the butter from his chubby fingers.

Vera looked horrified and scolded the little boy. “‘Arry, where’s yer manners? People don’ lick their fingers in fancy places like this.”

Brian locked eyes with Harry and gave him a little wink before he used his index finger to collect some of the leftover mayonnaise from his salad and popped it into his mouth, giving it a little lick.

Harry giggled at the man’s silliness. “Yer funny, Mista,” he told Brian in between a yawn.

“Are you getting sleepy, Harry?” Brian asked.

The little boy shook his head stubbornly as he climbed off of his chair and up into Brian’s lap - much to the older man’s surprise - settling in and resting his head against Brian’s chest. “No. Not sleepy, but me eyes won’t stay open,” Harry explained as he used his fingers to keep his eyes from closing.

“I think that means you’re tired, little guy.” Brian laughed softly against Harry’s head. The little boy had made himself quite comfortable on Brian’s lap.

“Nah, I ain’t,” Harry argued tiredly, his eyes closed more with each passing moment and, within only a minute or two, he was fast asleep in Brian’s arms.

Vera stood hurriedly, arms open, ready to take the sleeping boy from Brian.

Brian shook his head and motioned for her to sit back down. “Finish your tea,” he told her. “He’s fine here.”

There was something about having the sleeping kid snuggled in his arms that pulled at Brian’s heartstrings. It made him miss his own son, Gus. When he got back to 2016, the first thing he was going to do was invite the munchers to London, and spend as much quality time as he could with his own little boy. If there was one thing 1941 had taught him, it was that time was precious and you just never knew what the fuck could happen next.

“‘E don’ usually take ta strangers,” Vera told him quietly. “But ‘e must really like yer”.”

Her comment made Brian smile. “My son’s the same.”

Daphne’s mouth fell open in shock. “Yer ‘ave a son? Well, I woulda never ‘ave guessed it.”

“I do,” Brian grinned. “His name is Gus. He’ll be three in September.”

“Is ‘e as ‘andsome as you?” Daphne asked teasingly.

“It might be hard to believe,” Brian boasted proudly. “But maybe even more so.”

“That don’t s’prise me.”

Brian turned to Vera. “It’s not unusual for kids Harry’s age to be shy. The world’s a big scary place when you’re that little.”

“Yeah, an’ evah since ‘is Dad died, ‘e just ain’t been the same.”

This caused Brian to hug Harry a little tighter.

Vera continued, “it ‘asn’t been easy, ya know. We ‘ad ta move in wiv me mother ta make ends meet and poor ‘Arry misses ‘is friends and ta old place, right badly.”

Brian didn’t want the woman to dwell on that sadness, so he immediately pressed on to a more neutral topic - something he actually COULD help with. “When you’ve finished eating, I’ll show you where you can sleep,” Brian offered, scooting the limp little body higher up his chest to a more comfortable spot.

“That's very kind of yer,” Vera said softly. “But we ain’t got no money to stay ‘ere.”

Brian shook his head. “I don’t expect you to pay for anything. You’re my guests here, Vera.”

Vera started to argue, but Brian stopped her. “The two of you need a good night’s rest. And this air raid is going to last all night, which means you’re stuck here for the foreseeable future. So, no arguing. You're going to take our sleeping cubicle and that’s final.”

“I . . . I don’ know what ta say, Mr. Brian,” Vera exclaimed, looking so sweet and shy and bashful that Brian’s heart melted a little bit. “Thank yer, Sir. It’s right kind of yer.”

Brian waited till Vera had finished her last bite of pie and sipped her last bit of tea and then he signaled the Hostess over.

“Vera and her son will be taking my sleeping cubicle tonight. Please make sure there’s an extra blanket in there for the boy. And if they need ANYTHING else, please make sure they get it and put it on my bill,” Brian ordered.

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Kinney, Sir,” the Hostess replied, hurrying off to comply with Brian’s wishes.

Once the Hostess had gotten everything sorted in the cubicle, Brian and Daphne helped get Vera and a still sleeping Harry settled for the night.

“It’s probably best you take the top bunk, Vera,” Brian whispered as he started to lower Harry onto the bottom bunk.

As Harry’s head hit the pillow, he half woke and, not recognizing where he was, the small boy began to cry. His little body shook and he wrapped his arms even tighter around Brian’s neck, refusing to let go. Brian immediately scooped the boy back up and rubbed his back soothingly.

“Don’ like it ‘ere,” Harry’s voice trembled as he spoke.

“Shhh. You’re okay, you’re okay,” Brian whispered soothingly.

It must have worked, since the boy’s cries eventually petered out. Brian continued to pet the boy’s silky-fine hair, feeling relieved as even the silent tears dried, leaving the child quiet except for the occasional sniffle. Of course, Brian’s opinion about how sweet little boys were changed a minute later, as Harry wiped his runny nose on Brian’s shirt, causing the finicky man to cringe. But Brian’s feeling of disgust quickly evaporated, though, as he felt the little boy once again rest his small, trusting, head against the big, strong chest.

“It’s real dark in ‘ere,” Harry sniffled again.

It was only then that Brian remembered what else was in his special bag of tricks from the future - something he hoped might help.

“Hey, Daph, can you go get my bag for me,” Brian asked, and smiled as the woman ran off at once.

Then Brian ducked down, Harry still in his arms, and settled himself on the bottom bunk. The boy burrowed even closer into his chest, the little arms clenching tightly, as if to prevent Brian from leaving. When Daphne returned with the bag, Brian actually had a bit of a struggle to get an arm free, so he could find what he’d been looking for.

“I have something for you,” Brian told the kid as he pulled his hand out of the bag. “Aha, here it is,” Brian beamed, as he pulled a bright red Maglite flashlight out of the bag and handed it to the curious little tyke in his lap. “See here,” Brian showed him how to twist the lens end, which caused the small but powerful LED light to illuminate. “Bright, huh?” The boy nodded, twirling the flashlight around so the beam darted all over. “As long as you have this, you don’t need to worry about the dark. Right?”

“Un huh!” Harry replied, so fascinated by the amazing little device that he didn’t even notice when Brian carefully shifted the child off his lap and stood up again.

“That should keep him busy,” Brian stated, happy to see the way the boy was giggling at his new toy. “So, Harry, here’s the deal. You can keep that flashlight, but only if you’re a good boy for your mom and go to sleep now. Okay?” The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Good boy. Now, let’s turn it off so you don’t waste the batteries. But if you wake up and get scared again, all you have to do is turn it on, and it’ll chase away all the darkness. Sound good?”

Harry quickly did as he was told, turning the lens end so that the light went out again. Brian waited patiently till the boy squirmed down, laying his little head on the pillow, the nifty new flashlight clutched tightly in his hand. Then Brian pulled the blanket up to the child’s chin and tucked him in. Like most children that age, little Harry was back asleep within seconds of his head touching the pillow.

“Thank yer kindly, Sir,” Vera reached down and took the flashlight out of the boy’s hand, turning to give it back to Brian. “‘At was nice o’ yer ta let ‘im play wiv your torch. I ‘preciate yer ‘elpin’ me get ‘im ta sleep. ‘E can be right tryin’ sometimes an’ e’s never liked the dark. You best take this, though, fore he wakes up.”

Brian refused to take back the flashlight, though, pushing Vera’s hand back. “That’s Harry’s. I gave it to him to keep.”

“Oh, I can’t let yer do ‘at, Sir. It’s an expensive thing, ‘at. Too fine for me ‘Arry.”

“No. It’s his. You heard me give it to him. I’m not taking it back,” Brian insisted. “Besides, it’s no big deal. I’ve got another right here.” Brian reached in the bag and pulled out another Maglite, this one with a blue casing. “See? I don’t need that one. I’m sure the boy will get a lot more enjoyment out of it than me, and I can always get another when I get home.”

“I . . . I don’ know what to say, Mr. Brian,” Vera replied, reaching down to slide the flashlight back into the sleeping child’s hand and then turning to give Brian a big, unsolicited hug. “Nobody’s been this kind to us since my Frankie died. I wish I had some way to repay you.”

“No need,” Brian insisted as he peeled the woman’s arms off him and made to leave the compartment. “Just take good care of that little boy and we’ll call it even.” Brian waited while Daphne preceded him through the door before turning back to say a final, “Goodnight, Vera. Be safe.”

Outside the room, Brian summoned over the Hostess one more time. “Two things.” He dug a twenty pound note out of his wallet and handed it to the woman. “First, make sure you get Vera’s address for me before she leaves tomorrow morning. Then, have someone take that money, buy groceries with it, and deliver them to her. And when that’s done, send whoever it was that delivered the groceries up to see me so I can reward them too.”

The Hostess assured Brian it would be taken care of first thing. As soon as she left, however, Brian found himself being violently hugged by yet another woman. This one Brian didn’t mind so much.

“Why, ‘Andsome, if yer ain't the sweetest man I ever met, I’ll be a monkey's uncle!” Daphne gushed, so impressed with Brian’s generosity she was literally beaming at him with a smile that was practically as bright as Harry’s new torch. “If yer ain’t careful, I’m like as to fall in love wiv yer too and then Sunshine’ll hafta fight me for ya!”

That got Brian laughing. “Sorry, Daph, but I’m afraid you’re just not my type,” he confessed, leaning in so he could leave a kiss on her cheek. “But if I did like women, I’d go for you too!” Daphne chuckled and winked at him boldly. “Besides, you’re not going to think I’m all that great by morning, since I just gave away our beds.”

“No matter. We’ll just stay up drinkin’ all night an’ sleep ta’marra!” Daphne proposed, linking her arm through Brian’s and leading him back to their table so they could start in on the plan.

Chapter 15 - Oh Where Can You Be?

Justin was late getting back to London proper that Friday morning. He’d finished his mission and landed his plane well before dawn, getting debriefed and then cleared to finally leave the base not long after that. But, because the raid had taken out large sections of the rail lines from Croydon into the city, he was forced to hitch a ride with a delivery van as far as Earls Court and then take the Tube the rest of the way. So he didn’t actually arrive in Covent Garden until after 0900.

As soon as he’d climbed the stairs and reached street level, though, he was stunned. There was destruction everywhere Justin looked. The streets looked chewed up, with cobbles thrown every-which-way. Several nearby buildings were badly damaged and a few were even still smoldering from fires that hadn’t yet been completely contained. NFS crews were diligently working the pumps, their hoses trained on the ruins. As he crossed the street, he was almost run over by two Auxiliary Ambulance Service volunteers trotting past carrying stretchers piled high with blankets and other emergency supplies.

Even though Justin had been warned by Brian in advance that this raid was going to be a bad one, and he’d seen the huge numbers of German bombers with his own eyes as he flew intercept runs all through the night, he was still overwhelmed by the evidence here on the ground. Justin immediately picked up his pace, headed towards the White Lion. He was even more worried about his friends than he’d been before the raid, which was saying a lot.

His nerves weren’t at all calmed when he got to the lane in front of the pub. Even though there wasn’t as much evidence of HE bomb damage here, at least two of the buildings on this block showed some recent fire damage. One wall of the corner building had toppled over, strewing bricks and pieces of charred wood onto the sidewalk. There was a crowd of people milling around in the street, all discussing the wreckage as if this was just another day. As he ran on past them, he noticed a sad little girl sitting on a beam amid the rubble, chatting with her dolly, telling the toy not to be afraid and that Daddy would take care of it all when he came home from the war. It almost broke Justin’s heart.

Justin’s mounting sense of dread wasn’t eased when he finally made it to the familiar front entrance of his Local and found the door locked. In all the months since he’d first arrived in London, Justin had never once found the doors to the White Lion locked. Not once. He found that one little fact more ominous than anything else he’d seen so far that morning. So, even though the pub itself didn’t seem to have sustained any damage, he was still alarmed.

The panicky pilot turned on his heel and sprinted off towards the closest public shelter. That was the only place he could think of that Daphne and the others might be. Although it was awfully late in the morning for his friends to still be lollygagging in the shelter . . . Unless there was something wrong.

And something wrong was exactly what Justin found when he rounded the corner of Maiden Lane and came to a screeching halt in front of the remains of the public shelter.

Where the building that housed the shelter used to be, there was now only a crater filled with rubble. The building next door was still mostly standing, although the adjoining wall was falling over and the rebar and brickwork were exposed. There were dozens of people swarming over the site, shifting shards of concrete and charred beams, digging with shovels and handing up larger pieces of the rubble from man to man in an attempt to clear portions of the wreckage. There were police standing by directing passers-by and even a few suited men - who Justin thought must be politicians based on their clothing and demeanor - overlooking the proceedings.

Justin barely registered any of that though. All he could see were the rows of blanket draped bodies that were laid out on the pavement in front of the building and the new victims that were being added to those rows as the diggers unearthed more of the unfortunates caught in the collapse. To Justin’s eyes, it looked like an awful lot of bodies.

A little further along, there were more stretchers laid out - these holding the people who were injured but still breathing. There weren’t nearly as many of these as there were of the blanket covered forms. Justin made his way in that direction, hoping against hope that the friends he was looking for would be in that group and not the other.

He passed by a little girl, her head bandaged in a swathe of cotton, while two women knelt by her side, trying to ease the child’s frightened tears. There was an older man who looked too shocked to cry, the side of his face still dripping blood and his arm hanging limply at his side from a dislocated shoulder as another volunteer nurse worked on him. A little beyond that, there was a young woman holding two children on her lap, both of whom looked like they’d survived without too many injuries, but who were all tear stained, dusty and obviously scared.

At the end of the row of injured was a man sitting with his back to the street, a blanket draped over his hunched shoulders, and only the top of his dusty auburn head showing.

“Brian! Oh, no! Brian!” Justin screamed, running over to the injured man and falling to his knees, tears in his eyes.

Unfortunately, the eyes that looked back up at Justin when the man lifted his head were a dull, pain-filled brown and not the teasing hazel he was hoping to find.

“You’re . . . You’re not Brian . . .”

“Sorry, sonny, but no,” the injured man responded, reaching out with his hand to pat at Justin’s shoulder comfortingly in a strange reversal of roles. “I’m afeared, if you’re looking for someone, it’s not likely you’ll find him. The whole shelter collapsed. Was a huge HE bomb, they say. Nothing . . . Nothing left . . .” The man’s voice drifted off as he looked over at the rubble with a blank expression that matched the deadness in his tone.

“No! No, no, no, no . . .” Justin muttered, getting to his feet and staggering over towards where the rescue workers continued to dig in the wreckage. “No, Brian, no . . .”

“Sunshine? That you?” A familiar, deep, booming voice asked, the words slowly seeping through the horror. “Sunshine?”

Justin looked up into the face of a towering black man whose skin and clothing were all covered in soot and small burn marks. “They were . . . I-I-I told him to take care of them, Boom Boom. To get Daphne and the others to the shelter. To make sure they . . . they were . . . were safe. I asked him to do it. Brian . . . Daphne . . . What have I done?”

“Hush now, son,” Boom Boom ordered, taking the much smaller man in his big arms and hugging Justin until the boy’s shaking was contained. “Tweren’t in there, Sunshine. Tweren't ‘ere at this shelter. I don’ know where me Daphne is, but tweren’t here.”

“They weren’t . . . They weren’t here?” Justin asked, almost begging for confirmation that this might be true. “How . . . How do you . . . How can you be sure?

“I’m sure, me lad. Ya see, I was out doing me rounds last night fer the fire squad,” Boom Boom began to explain as he led Justin away from the site of the destruction, “‘an I sees that the pub is closed up. So’s just to make sure everyone’s okay, I stopped round here, early on. But the shelter warden says to me that me Daphne ain’t come round that night. I looked inside the shelter meself, jes in case, you know, but I din’ see hide nor hair of me girl. I din’ see any o’ the reg’lars either, or I would've asked ‘em where she’d got herself off to. So’s, Sunshine, unless they come by after midnight sometime whilst I was off helping with the fire over on ‘Enrietta Street, she couldna’ been ‘ere.”

“You . . . you didn’t see Brian . . . er, Handsome. . . . here either, did you?” Justin asked, starting to feel the first tendrils of hope.

“Nah. I’d’ve noticed ‘Andsome right off iffin he was ‘ere,” Boom Boom reassured. “Big bloke like ‘at? Showy an’ all? Nah, ‘e weren't ‘ere either, Sunshine, or I’d’ve seen ‘im. I’m sure your Brian and me Daph are holed up te’gether somewhere’s else, jes fine. You’ll see, son. You’ll see.”

The young man took a deep, steadying breath, nodded, swiped at his cheek with one hand to remove any evidence of the tear that had escaped and then cleared his throat. “Thanks, Boom Boom. I . . . I was thinking the worst.”

“Natch. Now, I gots ta git back to work ‘ere, me lad. You run along and find me Daphne. When ya do, tells her to come ‘round and shows me she’s alright afore she worries ‘er old man ta death,” Boom Boom ordered, then clapped Justin on the shoulder and turned back to join the rescue crew.

Justin nodded at the retreating man’s back. “Where the hell are you guys?” he mumbled to himself. Then it dawned on him. “The Palace! They have a shelter, at The Palace! Applesauce!”

He was off again in a second, running pell mell down the street, dodging people walking on the sidewalks and even darting out into the street to get around bigger obstacles. It wasn’t a long run - just around the block and two streets over - and then Justin was pelting up the front steps of The Strand Palace Hotel. He loped past the staff in the lobby, disregarding their calls asking if they could help him, and took the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. Breathless and dripping sweat he made it to the third floor, but didn’t slow his pace till he reached Brian’s room. Without bothering to knock, he grabbed the door handle, turned it and shoved open the unlocked door.

The door slamming into the wall behind it startled awake the three people sleeping in the big bed inside the room. Brian, who was lying in the middle on his back, had one arm around each of his companions. Both Daphne and Fancy had been curled up on their sides, their heads resting on Brian’s chest.

While the three beauties in the bed lay there, blinking up at him, Justin slammed the door closed behind him, took two steps over to the side of the bed where Fancy was lying, shoved his friend out of the way and then launched himself at Brian.

“You scared the holy heck out of me, Brian! Don’t you ever do that again!” Justin murmured as he grabbed the older man’s head in both his hands and violently kissed the russet red lips of his lover.

Brian seemed happy enough to be kissing him back. It felt to Justin that he couldn’t get enough of this man, couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t touch enough skin or breathe him in deep enough. He wanted to go on kissing Brian forever. Right at that moment he didn’t care who knew it or who saw them, all he could think of was that Brian was there, alive, unharmed, and kissing him back.

The kissing rapidly turned into something deeper and less frantic. Brian’s arms were wrapped around him, pulling Justin’s body down as tightly against him as was possible. Things all over were heating up. Justin canted his hips forward, pressing his growing erection against Brian’s hip and moaning at the wash of pleasure that threatened to sweep him away.

“Mmmm, Blue Eyes,” he could hear Brian mumbling his nickname whenever their lips weren’t directly engaged.

Then, with a feral growl, Brian tightened his grip around Justin’s frame and rolled them both over.

Only to be stopped cold by Justin shouting, “ouch! Stop, Brian. Stop. Get off. My shoulder . . .”

“What the fuck?” Brian rolled off immediately, sitting up and looking down at Justin with worry. “What’s wrong with your shoulder, Blue Eyes?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Justin tried to dismiss Brian’s concern but couldn’t help rubbing at the area to try and relieve the pain a bit.

“Iffin it’s nothing, Sunshine, ‘ow come there’s a spot o’ blood on your shirt, then?” Daphne asked.

Justin had forgotten that the girl - and Fancy as well - was even there. The two of them were currently standing together at the foot of the bed, smirking down at the lovebirds tangled together amid the rumpled sheets. Justin felt a wave of heat rising in his cheeks and knew he was blushing. He couldn’t believe he’d just jumped on Brian like that, kissing him in front of other people. He’d just been so darned relieved to find him alive that he hadn’t thought . . .

Brian, who didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, was too focused on Justin’s injured shoulder to care about anything else. He was already trying to unbutton Justin’s shirt so he could investigate things personally. Justin barely stopped him before Brian would have pulled the shirt off outright - in front of Daphne even.

“Stop, Brian. Stop,” Justin ordered, snatching at the cloth Brian was tugging at. “It’s nothing. Just a few scratches.”

Unfortunately, Brian had already seen the bandages that were wrapped around Justin’s left shoulder and chest. And there were indeed a few spots where fresh blood had begun to seep through. Justin probably shouldn’t have been so rough when he threw himself down on Brian and started rolling around like that. He hoped he hadn’t popped any stitches.

“What the fuck happened to you, Justin?” Brian demanded, frowning down at the pilot with a proprietary air. “And don’t tell me THAT’S nothing. You’re covered in fucking bandages!”

“It was a busy night, is all,” Justin answered, hoping against hope that the man would let it all drop.

Unsuccessfully.

Brian continued to stare at him angrily. Justin sighed and then, as Brian began to unbutton his shirt, he finally answered.

“I got caught in a firefight with two Gerries,” he explained, trying to underplay the whole thing as much as possible so as not to worry his friends, although, as the story progressed he did get a bit caught up in it. “I was holding my own at first, but then one of them did this amazing loop maneuver I’d never seen before and came back at me from above. I managed to peel off to the right, but he got a couple of good rounds in anyway. I would have been okay even then, except one of the bullets shattered the canopy and the pieces went flying everywhere. Luckily, my flight suit protected my face, or I’d a been a goner. Couple a shards sliced straight through to my shoulder though.” He shook his head at the memory. “I had to head back to the base after that, but I did manage to take out one of the Gerries on the way.”

“Shit, Justin! What the fuck happened to you promising to be careful?” Brian complained, once again undoing all the buttons Justin had just finished buttoning up. “Daphne, can you get me that first aid kit from my bag over there?” Brian directed, pointing to the leather valise sitting on one of the chairs.

“I’m fine, Brian. I just stretched it a little too much,” Justin tried to shrug off the concerned older man. “I guess I was just a little happy to see you.” He felt himself blushing again at the memory of just how happy that had made him.

“It’s NOT fine. You’re fucking bleeding, Blue Eyes,” Brian argued, zipping open the soft sided first aid kit and rifling through the contents. “Now hold still and let me fix this or I’ll have Daphne and Fancy pin you down until I’m done.” Brian took up a pair of scissors from his kit and started to cut away the part of the bandages where the bleeding seemed to be. “Damned fucking hero complex . . . Think you’re fucking John Wayne or something . . .” He was mumbling as he worked, causing Justin to smile and look away before Brian saw how pleased he was by the attention.

Of course, that’s when he saw both Daphne and Fancy looking on at the two of them with indulgent affection. With those two watching everything that was going on, Justin figured he and Brian were bound to be the primary topic of all gossip at the pub for the next week or so. Well, if the raid didn’t distract them all.

That brought to mind why he was here looking for them all in the first place. “Boom Boom is looking for you, Daph. When I couldn’t find you at the White Lion, I went by the Maiden Lane shelter to see if you guys were still there . . . Applesauce, I’m glad you weren’t, though.” The curious looks he got prompted him to explain. “Your father’s there helping out with the rest. Digging the place out . . . The shelter took a direct hit, I’m afraid. Not many got out . . .”

“Blimey!” Fancy exclaimed, sinking down on the end of the bed and shaking his head. “It’s a good thing our Brian insisted on taking us here to The Palace instead. I thought he was crazy going the extra distance to get all the way over here, but . . .”

“‘At WAS lucky, waddnit?” Daphne remarked, looking at Brian with an assessing stare that sparked a similar curiosity in Justin.

Meanwhile, Brian was ignoring all of them. He’d got the old bandages off and then checked over the various small wounds to Justin’s shoulder and chest. They were mostly small and shallow, although there seemed to be a lot of them. There were only two large gashes that had required stitches. Luckily, it didn’t look like he’d broken open any of the stitches, but the one in front, close to his clavicle, was seeping, and the big one on his arm just below the ball of his shoulder was bleeding outright. Brian ‘tsked’ at him and then tore open a package containing a large self-adhesive bandage. Justin watched as Brian smeared some ointment from a small white tube on the pad of the bandage and then he slapped it on the bleeding wound. Whatever was in the ointment almost instantly began to soothe the pain away. Justin tried to look at the bandage - it wasnt like any bandage he’d ever seen before and he’d been patched up quite a few times over the past few months already - but Brian ordered him to sit still while he went to work on the other injury. When Brian was done there, he added a few more of the smaller self-sticking bandages to one or two of Justin’s other cuts and then, examining his work with an approving nod, the man carefully pulled Justin’s shirt up over his shoulder again.

“You’d think ‘e was a right doctor, wouldn’t yer?” Daphne commented on Brian’s nursing skills. “Feel better, Sunshine?”

“I’m sure if we two left, Handsome would kiss it better right quickly,” Fancy added, giggling along with Daphne like two school girls.

“You know what - that's an excellent idea,” Brian asserted as he gathered together the trash from his doctoring work and then moved towards the door. “Not that I didn’t enjoy your company last night, guys, but . . . Didn’t you say Daphne’s father was looking for her, Blue Eyes? You wouldn’t want to worry your dad, Daphne, right?”

“Right-o! I’m off then,” Daphne said, taking the hint with good grace. “You two pop round the pub later though  . . . after you’ve ‘ad a chance ta get reacquainted like.” She winked at Justin and then turned to give Brian a big hug. “Thankee for the ‘commodations last night, ‘Andsome. Yer drinks is on the ‘ouse ta’night, big guy.”

“Later, Daphne,” Brian answered, holding open the door for the woman.

“And I better hurry home and get spruced up,” Fancy declared with a flounce. “I’m meeting Mr. Saxophone from last night for coffee at 1100. Ta ta, gentlemen!’

“Alone at last!” Brian carefully closed the door after them, deliberately locking it before turning back to Justin. “Now, where were we, Blue Eyes?”

Justin grinned up at his lover, lifted his hand and pointed to his lips. “I think you were right about here, Mr. Kinney.”

Chapter 16 - In The Mood.

“Now, where were we, Blue Eyes?” Brian asked as he locked the door behind Daphne and Fancy, happy to finally have his blond back and all to himself.

“I think you were right about here, Mr. Kinney,” the sexy young man waiting for him in his bed replied, pointing with his index finger at the coral pink lips that Brian was so eager to get back to.

“Yum,” Brian smiled as he walked the few steps back to join Justin on the bed.

Brian took the boy in his arms, making sure to be careful of the injured shoulder this time, and gently pushed the blond down onto the pillows. Then he leaned in and sipped deeply from the lips he’d been fantasizing about all damn week. And the kiss tasted just as sweet as Brian remembered. The lean body was just as warm and pliant. It was soft and yielding in all the right places and hard where Brian liked things to be hard. It was just as good as he’d thought it would be.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re okay, Blue Eyes,” Brian murmured against those delicious lips, receiving only a moan in response.

As their kisses deepened even more, Brian held on tightly. He loved the way Justin seemed to fit so perfectly in his arms, their bodies twined around each other. But it wasn’t long before Brian started to notice that his Blue Eyes was no longer kissing back as ardently as before. Then he noticed the younger man was actually shaking.

“Justin?”

Brian pulled back enough to be able to see the expressive gemstone blue eyes. Those eyes were showing definite signs of distress at the moment. The young man was panting and the eyes squeezed shut as his face contorted with a look of panic. Every single muscle in the boy’s body had gone rigid and the shaking was only getting worse.

“What is it, Blue Eyes? Justin? Justin! Is it your shoulder? Did I hurt you again?”

Finally the boy opened his eyes again and it seemed like that helped a little. Brian looked on worriedly, running his hands through the thick blond hair, caressing the slightly stubbled blond cheeks with his thumbs as he waited patiently while Justin struggled to pull himself together. It took several minutes, and even then Brian could feel the radiating tension coming off the other man’s body in palpable waves.

“Tell me, Justin?” Brian asked again, hoping that this time he’d get some answer. “Is it your shoulder? Did I hurt you?”

Justin shook his head. “No. My shoulder’s fine. I thought . . . I thought . . . I thought you were dead, Brian. You, Daphne, everyone . . . dead,” he panted the painful words out, tears blurring the blue of his gaze.  

“But we aren’t, Blue Eyes. We’re all fine,” Brian tried to reassure him.

“Yeah, but . . . If you HAD been in that shelter, Brian, you’d have been killed. You COULD have died last night . . . I could have died last night, too. Heck, I could die tomorrow. In the next raid. On my next mission . . .”

Justin’s words faded away but Brian could tell he wasn’t done. The young man was fighting against the realization of his own mortality, and something like that didn’t pass easily. Brian had experienced a few moments like that in his own life, so he could understand. Add in the backlash from the adrenaline rush of the pilot’s last mission and the stress of the morning’s discoveries and it wasn’t surprising that Justin was feeling a bit unsteady.

“I don’t want to die like this, Brian,” Justin finally announced, sounding like he’d come to some important conclusion. “I don’t want to die without knowing how it feels to make love with a man I care about.”

“I thought you wanted to take it slow, Blue Eyes,” Brian asked, wanting to make sure that Justin was sure. “You said you weren’t ready.”

Justin looked Brian directly in the eyes as he spoke. “I don’t have time to take it slow. I need to be ready. I don’t know how long I have. None of us do,” Justin insisted. “And I want you, Brian. I want it all. I want to experience everything you can teach me . . . so if I do die tomorrow, I’ll at least have had that. With you.”

Brian scrutinized the earnest young man’s face, and found only sincerity.

“Okay.”

Brian started to roll off the bed.

“Wait. Where are you going? Don’t you want . . .”

“Patience, Grasshopper,” Brian replied with a grin and a little quelling kiss. “I’m not going anywhere; just getting supplies.”

“Supplies?” Justin seemed confused.

Brian dug what he needed out of his toiletries kit and tossed the tube of lube and a ribbon of his favorite Trojan Black Velvet condoms on the bed.

Justin picked both items up, looking at them curiously. When he looked back up at Brian it was obvious he still didn’t understand, causing the experienced Stud to laugh out loud. Justin blushed again. Brian crawled back up the bed, shaking his head at the tyro, and reached for the apparently confusing articles.

“Lube,” he said, taking back the tube. “And condoms,” he pointed to the condoms in Justin’s hand.

Justin nodded but it was clear to Brian the boy still didn’t get it.

“Lubrication,” he explained, waving the tube in front of the boy’s face. “Makes things MUCH easier. Trust me, you don't want to do this without lube. Especially your first time.”

“Okay.” Justin shrugged acceptingly. “But why the rubbers? Don’t tell me you’re worried about getting me pregnant?” He teased, giggling to cover the fact that he was still embarrassed.

“Ha, fucking, ha,” Brian scoffed. “No, that’s one of the many benefits of being gay. No unplanned pregnancies. But condoms prevent more than just pregnancy. They’re the best protection available against sexually transmitted diseases.”

“So the docs in basic training told us,” Justin admitted. “But WE don’t need it, do we?” Now it was Brian’s turn to look confused, unsure where his blond was going with this. “I mean . . . Well, that’s only with women right? All the stuff the RAF made us read and watch . . . It was all about women, you know. . .”

Brian actually snorted with laughter at that assumption. “Sorry, Blue Eyes, but the rule applies to ALL kinds of sex. In fact, sex between two men is even more likely to transmit some diseases than straight sex. So you ALWAYS need to wear a condom.”

“Really? . . . I guess that makes sense,” Justin responded, wrinkling his nose adorably. “You probably think I’m an idiot . . . It’s just that they never said anything about, well, men . . .”

“Yeah, well, I don’t expect the Air Force will get around to covering gay sex ed for a few more years.”

Justin laughed at Brian’s joke, then added, “true. But still, we probably don’t need that. I mean, it should be safe - I’ve never been with anyone else.”

“But I most certainly have, Blue Eyes,” Brian stated as he pulled his shirt off over his head without bothering with all the buttons. “And even though I get tested regularly, and as far as I know I’m clean, I still wouldn’t ever put you at risk like that. So, no sex without the condoms. Ever. Got it?”

“Got it,” Justin conceded as he examined the condom packages he was still holding. “Hmm. These don’t look like the free rubbers they hand out on the base. Fancy.” He turned the package over and squinted at the writing there. “Use by June, 2017? Wow! These ones last a long time. Impressive.”

“They’re . . . A new kind.” Brian snatched the incriminating condoms away from the overly inquisitive neophyte and immediately changed the subject. “So, are you sure about this, Blue Eyes? Cause if you really do want to fuck, I generally find it works much better without your clothes on . . .”

“Oh, yeah,” Justin blushed again as he looked down at his still fully clothed body and self-consciously began to shrug off his shirt and then start on the fly of his trousers.

Meanwhile, Brian shucked off his own pants, leaving only his black thong in place. Justin seemed to get a little distracted by that sight, his fingers slowing even more on the buttons of his fly. Brian shook his head and smiled at the guileless wonder on the kid’s face. It was sort of fun to be able to shock the brave little pilot like this. But, that wasn’t going to get them fucking any faster, so it was time to take things in hand.

He quickly removed his underwear and then turned to his dawdling companion. “Need help with that, Blue Eyes?” Brian asked, rolling around till he was kneeling at Justin’s feet.

Without waiting for an answer, Brian took hold of the legs of the young man’s trousers and pulled hard, which caused Justin to flop backwards on the bed. Then Brian reached over and, with one hand, dexterously popped all the buttons in mere seconds. With another tug at the trouser legs, the pants were off, leaving the boy in only his ridiculously large and baggy, white cotton undershorts. Brian ‘tsked’ at the boy’s ugly briefs, glad that men’s underwear had progressed from this unfortunate stage by the time he’d been born. These things were an embarrassment.

But it was easy enough to rid Justin of those too - Brian simply pulled on the elastic waistband and in seconds they had followed the pants over the side of the bed. And then Brian got a chance to see his boy in all his bare blond beauty. Damn the kid was hot. That huge cock sprouting from the nest of dark blond pubes almost made Brian’s mouth water. He wanted to taste it again, but resisted, because he knew neither of them would last if he took that route and Justin wanted more this time. So, with a longing sigh, Brian sufficed himself with only a quick grope and then slapped at the boy’s thigh.

“Roll over, Blue Eyes,” he ordered.

Justin nervously bit at his bottom lip but nodded and then complied, flipping onto his stomach and lying there while clutching a pillow to his chest. Brian could see the tension in the boy’s shoulders as the blond lay there, hunched over that damned pillow, as if he was waiting for a punishment or something. Brian knew he had his work cut out for him to get the kid to relax a bit. But he was a master at this particular type of performance and was more than prepared for the task ahead of him.

Brian quickly arranged the boy how he wanted him, spreading the stocky, well-muscled legs wide enough so he could kneel between them. Then he ran his hands up the younger man’s sides, lightly tickling along the whole length of the slim body - up furry calves, thighs, over bony hips, sensitive sides and then down the hunched over shoulders until his fingers trailed to the boy’s wrists. Circling a wrist with each of his own hands, he pulled them out from under Justin’s pillow and stretched them over the kid’s head. This left Brian spread over the top of the smaller body, skin on skin all down their lengths, with his weight only minimally supported by his hands and knees. His cock naturally found it’s way into the inviting crack of Justin’s ass, twitching with anticipation as soon as it made contact. Mr. Johnson was going to have to wait for a bit though, since Brian had a few agenda items to take care of before they could get to the main attraction.

Brian started by kissing his way back down the boy’s neck and shoulders, leaving sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses everywhere his mouth could reach. Justin seemed to relax a bit with the kissing. All part of the plan. As soon as Brian felt that first easing of tension, he stuck out his tongue and began to slowly trail a line of wetness down the knobs of the boy’s spine. The lower he got, the more Justin’s head lifted, almost as if there were an invisible string between Brian’s tongue and the top of the kid’s head. When Brian progressed low enough that his tongue began to dip in between the plump globes of the fuzzy, plump ass cheeks, then the blond head reared all the way back in surprise. And, when his tongue tickled over the tiny pink pucker hiding there, he heard a gasp of stunned pleasure. Brian took an extra big slurp across the tender entrance, poking the tip of his tongue in just the tiniest bit as a teaser, and then waited through the inevitable clenching he’d been expecting.

“Now you know what rimming is, Blue Eyes,” Brian announced, lifting his head just enough to speak and then diving back down for another taste.

After that there was nothing but moaning for several long minutes as Brian prodded and nibbled and explored, until the sensations reached a critical mass and Justin’s moans began to crescendo.

“B-b-brian! I . . . I-I-I . . . Oh my . . . Ap-Ap-Ap . . . Apple . . PLE . . . S-S-S-SAUCE!!!!”

Brian held on while Justin’s hips bucked wildly in front of him and his ass muscles spasmed through what appeared to be a pretty strong orgasm. The older man’s eyes fixated on Justin’s ass as the kid humped the mattress with gusto and the lustful sounds emanating from Justin shot straight to his own dick. When the last twitch of pleasure had passed, the blond boy slumped back down into the mattress as limp as a ragdoll. Brian chuckled at how thoroughly sated the kid appeared. Little did he know there was so much more still to come.

Brian used the sheet to wipe off his face before sitting up and grabbing hold of an ankle to try and flip the boy over onto his back. “Hey, Blue Eyes! No sleeping yet. There’s more where that came from,” he ordered, trying to get some help from the kid.

“There’s more?” came a sleepy murmur. “How can there be more than THAT? That . . . what did you call it?”

“Rimming.”

“Mmmm . . . rimming,” Justin repeated as he reluctantly allowed Brian to roll him over onto his back. “I’ve never even heard of that before. That was . . . I don’t think there are words for what that was, Brian. I think all my bones have melted already. How can there be more?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Brian chuckled as he bent over and licked at the sticky, salty, residue that coated the young man’s stomach, enjoying his treat before moving on. “There’s so much more. Consider that just an appetizer, Blue Eyes. That was just to take the edge off and help you relax.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more relaxed in my life, Brian,” the kid said and sighed happily, only to yelp with a new spark of pleasure when Brian engulfed his half-hard dick and sucked on it with relish.

“What are you . . . What are you doing now, Brian? I-I-I . . . Ooofph!”

Brian’s mouth made a popping sound as he released Justin from his lips. “If you don’t know what I’m doing, Blue Eyes, I’m clearly doing it wrong,” Brian teased, as he went back to work, sucking and nibbling at the boy’s growing erection.

Justin hummed with happiness as Brian took him back into his mouth and rolled him around on his tongue, teasing and flicking the sensitive head of his cock. His trim hips bucked off the bed as Brian took him even deeper. Even Brian was surprised at how fast the young novice was becoming ready again, but that was the beauty of youth, he supposed. It was going to make his work so much easier, though.

With his mouth still working Justin’s cock, Brian reached for the lube, squeezing the tube and coating his fingers liberally. He knew the boy was going to need a lot of prep, which is why he continued to blow the boy as though his life depended on it. 2016 Studly Brian wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing, but this Brian knew Justin needed the extra care, so he simply shoved 2016 Brian away into a walled-off, sound-proof, compartment in his brain and carried on.

“Brian . . .” Justin sighed out the older man’s name passionately as he tugged at the brown hair he was, just moments before, running his fingers through with such great care.

Taking his boy deeper into his throat, Brian ran his lube covered finger teasingly down Justin’s crack and tapped lightly on his waiting hole.

Justin gasped, which only encouraged Brian more.

He traced the lube over Justin’s hole, getting it nice and wet before pushing just the tip of his index finger inside. Damn, he was so fucking tight, Brian had to fight to keep from coming at the mere thought of his cock pushing through that constriction.

His boy nearly shot up off the bed at the feel of Brian’s wandering fingers. “Whaaaa?” Justin hissed, as Brian started to push more of his finger inside of him. “What are you doing, Brian?”

Once again, Brian pulled his mouth away from that beautiful dick, and looked up into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

“I’m getting you ready,” Brian explained softly, but without removing his questing fingers.

Justin looked confused. “I am ready.”

Brian shook his head. “You might be ready,” he smiled, pointing to the boy’s straining erection, “but your ass most definitely is not.”

“It’s not? What . . . I don’t understand. How do you get your . . . you know . . . ready?” the boy questioned, his cheeks growing pinker and pinker with each passing second.

“I need . . .” Brian took a deep breath as he worked his finger up to the first knuckle - he’d never had to fucking explain why he had his fingers buried in someone’s ass before. “I need to stretch you out,” he explained patiently, even though this was quite possibly one of the unsexiest conversations he’d ever had while fingering someone, although he couldn’t be pissed off or irritated by the blond’s honest questions.

“Stretch me out?” Justin looked scared by the very concept.

“Easy, Blue Eyes,” Brian soothed. “Feel this?” he asked, as his finger worked on relaxing the tight rings of muscle in Justin’s ass. “I need to help you relax this a little. If I don’t it’ll hurt a lot worse.”

“It’s . . . it’s going to hurt?”

“A little,” Brian admitted. “But that’s all part of it. Trust me. You trust me, right?”

Justin nodded but still looked worried. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as Brian’s finger pushed through and opened him up a little more. However, as soon as Brian’s finger found Justin’s prostate, his blue eyes shot open and he gasped loudly. That was the reaction Brian had been banking on. That was what made it all worthwhile. That little spark of indescribable pleasure was the whole reason a gay man pushed through the slight pain in the first place. Justin moaned quietly as Brian’s finger worked it’s way in and out of his ass a few more times, apparently figuring it out pretty darn quickly on his own.

Adding a little more lube directly to Justin’s hole, Brian slowly added a second finger. As he breached the tight muscle, he again took Justin deep into his throat, swallowing the boy’s renewed moans. At the same time, Brian was wondering, how could someone taste so fucking delicious?

Justin brought his legs up and planted both feet firmly on the mattress, spreading his knees wantonly.

“Brian, Brian, Brian,” the blond chanted each time Brian tapped his prostate teasingly.

Brian loved the way the smaller man’s body reacted. The way Justin didn’t hold back anything. The way his body writhed and squirmed, giving evidence to just how much he was enjoying every single thing Brian did. There was no coyness. No affectation. No playacting to try and impress Brian. The boy didn’t know how he was supposed to act, so he had no choice but to respond naturally. Brian admired that sense freedom and it spurred him on to work even harder to please the young tyro.

When Brian saw that his Blue Eyes was as relaxed and ready as he was going to get, he added a third finger, scissoring them in and out of Justin’s spasming hole. He could feel the tight muscles clenching around his knuckles and he had to reach down and squeeze his own dick so as not to embarrass himself. He felt he could probably come from this alone - something that had definitely not happened since he had started topping way back when he was a teenager. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

With his mouth full of yummy blond boy and his fingers buried deeply in this tasty ass, Brian reached blindly for the strip of condoms he’d placed somewhere next to him on the bed. This was it. Holy shit.

Brian gently pulled his fingers out and dropped a small kiss to the head of Justin’s penis. “Are you ready, Blue Eyes?”

Justin bit his lip nervously and watched as Brian ripped open the condom package with his teeth.

“Go on. Put it on me,” Brian insisted, holding it out towards his companion.

Justin shook his head, his mouth was open wide and his breathing was already laboured.

“Here,” Brian took Justin’s shaking hands in his and brought them up to his aching cock, pinching the top of the condom. “Help me roll it down.”

Justin watched as the condom was unrolled down Brian’s straining dick.

“You’re . . . you’re really big. Will you . . . um . . . will you fit inside me?”

If this was another time, or anyone else, Brian would have died laughing at such a ridiculous question, but the look of pure innocence on Justin’s face told him that laughing right now would be a massive fucking mistake. So, instead, he leaned forward and kissed the hell out of those delectable pink lips. “I’ll fit, Blue Eyes. You’re just going to need to relax, okay?”

Justin nodded trustingly, his eyes never leaving Brian’s dick as their still joined hands coated the condom in extra lube.

Brian hooked his hand under the blond’s trembling knees. “Put your legs up - on my shoulders. That's it,” Brian sighed as he pushed forward slightly, using one hand to run his cock up and down Justin’s crack.

“Now relax.” Brian wrapped one arm around the boy’s thigh and hefted him up slightly. “I want you to always remember this, so no matter who . . . wherever you are, I’ll always be there.”

Brian pushed in slowly. He’d never felt an ass that tight before in his whole long and promiscuous life. Before he was very far at all, Justin’s ass clenched tightly around the head of his dick, refusing him any further admittance.

“Ahhhh.” Justin screwed his eyes up tight and his hands grasped desperately at the sheets. “It hurts. It . . . it hurts.”

“Look at me, Justin. I want to see your eyes.”

Justin opened his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose, the pain evident on his face.

“When you feel me pushing inside you,” Brian explained, as he leaned forward and kissed the blond’s tightly closed lips. “I want you to push down, as though you’re trying to push me out, okay?”

Brian thrust again with his hips and he could feel Justin pushing back, which allowed him to slip further inside the deliciously tight channel. He looked down and saw that there were still lines of tension wrinkling the young man’s brow. He knew it would pass, but he still hated causing the kid any pain at all. Grabbing onto the boy’s thighs tightly, he bent Justin almost in half so that he could bend down and kiss away the pain lines. While he was there, he bussed the coral pink lips as well. It seemed to work well, too, as the boy apparently forgot the pain long enough to realize his own growing sense of pleasure.

“App . . . Applesa . . .” Justin moaned as Brian licked at his neck.

“That’s it, let me in.”

It only took one more push and Brian was balls deep inside his Blue Eyes. He waited a moment to give Justin time to adjust, and then began to thrust slowly. The moment Brian hit Justin’s prostate, it was clear from the way the boy’s face lit up with wonder. And after that, it was like Brian had flipped a light switch or something. The eager neophyte started to not only actively push back, meeting Brian’s every thrust, but to arch his back and press upward using his thighs as a fulcrum to obtain the most effective angle. And then it was just hot and fast and sweaty and oh, so, fucking good that Brian forgot himself in the bliss as much as his Blue Eyes seemed to.

Justin’s hands scratched at Brian’s back as he drove in deeper - deeper and harder than he probably should have on the boy’s first time, but it was as though neither of them could control themselves. The way Justin was writhing around and groaning, Brian didn’t think either of them would last much longer anyway.  And, whereas Brian would usually be mortified at finishing off so fast, he was in fact quite proud of himself that he’d lasted as long as he had. Justin’s ass was tight - tighter than any he’d ever had - and he’d had a lot of ass. It didn’t help much that Brian had been sort of trying out the ‘exclusive’ thing all week and was therefore hornier than hell.

Brian quickly felt the tell tale signs that he was close to shooting his load. The pressure in his balls grew but he continued to thrust through it, knowing he was about to have the best fucking orgasm of his life. He groaned as his balls tingled and it wasn’t long before that wonderfully delicious feeling began to overtake his entire body, signalling that he was close - very, very close.

His hand reached for Justin’s dick, and started stroking in time with his thrusts. For Justin, the sensation of having his cock played with at the same time his ass was being pummelled was too much and he came almost immediately, announcing his ecstasy with heaving breaths as his body shook and his muscles tensed until his orgasm began to overtake him.

The look on Justin’s face alone was enough to send Brian over the edge. He couldn’t control the erratic way his hips pumped as he came. Meanwhile, Justin’s ass was literally squeezing the life out of him. And he fucking loved every second of it.

“Applesauce!” Brian cried out as his cock was milked dry by Justin’s still spasming ass.  

Brian’s body eventually slowed down but he continued to come, shooting his load into the condom. He didn’t think he’d come so much in his fucking life - how was there even anything left? All he could do, though, was hang onto his blond’s hips and shake until there was nothing left and he collapsed on top of the comfortably warm body underneath him.

Once Justin’s body had stopped shaking, Brian reached down and clutched the base of the condom, ready to pull out.

‘Mmmm. Wait. Don’t go,” Justin pleaded, as he wrapped his legs around Brian’s back and pulled the man down flat against him. “That . . . That was . . . I . . . You . . .”

“Try that again in English, Blue Eyes,” Brian teased.

His pale legs squeezed Brian tightly. “It’s just . . . I never understood before . . . I mean, the guys at the White Lion talk about it all the time, but . . . Now I get it,” he grinned happily. “Thank you, Brian. That was perfect.”

“Actually, it kind of was . . .” Brian found himself admitting, even though it went against the grain for him to say something so inherently romantic.

Thankfully, right at that moment Justin himself broke the serious mood with a boyish giggle.

“What are you laughing about, Twat?” Brian asked, trying to sound irritated.

“Nothing.” But when Brian continued to stare at him, Justin explained himself a little more. “It’s just that I was a little surprised is all. I kind of thought . . . Well, it’s just, I always assumed that two guys would have to, you know, do it . . .” Another of those adorable blushes gave away the fact that whatever his boy was struggling to say was embarrassing as hell. “I just always thought that, with two guys, you’d have to . . . come in for a landing from the rear, so to speak.”

That got Brian laughing so hard that he actually slipped out of Justin altogether, despite the boy’s groan at the feeling of loss.

“Dammit, Blue Eyes. If you don’t stop being so fucking adorable all the time, I’m going to get thrown out of the Studs-R-Us Club and have to become a lesbian,” Brian complained when he could finally speak again.

“What did I say?” The sweet little blond asked, with unfeigned innocence.

Brian only laughed harder, rolling onto his side and clutching at his stomach.

“It’s not my fault I can’t understand what you’re saying half the time, Brian,” Justin responded, adding a teasing slap to Brian’s shoulder. “What in the dickens is the ‘Studs-R-Us Club’? Oh, and while we’re at it, what the devil is a ‘Twat’?”

When Brian was still wheezing with laughter several minutes later, Justin simply gave up, rolled over onto his side facing away from the infuriating giggler, pulled the blankets up over himself and pretended to go to sleep. Brian eventually pulled himself together and curled up behind his innocent little blond. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this great after a fuck in his entire life. Not only had he experienced one of the greatest orgasms of his life, but his Blue Eyes had given him the rare treat of shared moments of laughter. Which, in Brian‘s world, was priceless.

As he slowly drifted off to sleep, sated and content with his arms full of warm blond boy, Brian wondered vaguely if there was, maybe, something to that old saying about how things used to be simpler in the past . . . and if, maybe, simpler was also a lot more fun.

Chapter 17 - Contrasts.

Brian had fallen asleep almost immediately after they finished, but Justin was too excited to sleep. He SHOULD be exhausted after flying all night, dealing with the craziness of the morning, and then the release of his first time having sex, but there was just too much adrenaline running through his body to let him rest. He felt more alive than he’d ever felt in his whole life. He imagined he might actually be glowing, he felt so amazingly alive. There was no way he could sleep right then.

So, after waiting to make sure Brian was so far out of it he wouldn’t be disturbed, Justin carefully shifted Brian’s arms off of him and slowly crawled out of bed. Brian only stirred a little, seeming to reach out in his sleep to find Justin, but then settling down again a minute later. Justin wondered briefly why Brian was so tired. He’d have to ask him later. Or he could ask Daphne - seeing as he had found the woman in his lover’s bed that morning, she certainly owed him an explanation. But, whatever had happened the night before, Brian obviously needed some rest now so, with a last tender look at him, Justin left the man wheezing quietly in bed.

Justin decided his first order of business should be to go take a piss and maybe get a little cleaned up. He still smelled of their love making and thought it wouldn’t hurt to freshen up before they - hopefully - went at it again. So, the young man pulled on his clothing, grabbed Brian’s ditty bag along with a fluffy Palace Hotel towel and quietly let himself out of the room. Luckily, it seemed the men’s W.C. was unoccupied at the moment, so Justin was able to walk right in and take over the elegantly appointed space.

After making use of the toilet, Justin pulled his shirt off and lowered his trousers, then made good use of the available soap and a towel to wash up. It felt good to get the itchy, dried jism off his skin, not that he minded in the least the way it had gotten there in the first place. He also cleaned up back there, noting the residual soreness and surprised how messy everything was despite the condom they’d used. None of those inconveniences mattered though, not considering how wonderful the act itself had felt. The mere thought of what he and Brian had done just a few minutes before was enough to make him want to crow with happiness. But that didn’t mean he had to go around smelling like a stinky pair of y-fronts either.

As he was washing off his face, Justin noticed that he really could use a shave. He hadn’t wanted to take the time that morning when he was washing up after his mission debriefing and the visit to the infirmary for the stitches. But, now that he had the time, Justin figured he might as well take care of that little chore as well.

Unzipping Brian’s elegant little black leather bag, Justin dug around inside, looking for a razor. Unfortunately, the toiletries bag was packed so full, it was difficult to find anything. So Justin started to remove the items one by one, setting them on the bathroom counter as he continued to dig.

The first thing Justin unearthed was another ribbon of Brian’s fancy rubbers, which he quickly set aside. Next though, came a strange-looking bag made out of some material Justin didn’t recognize. It was slick to the touch and crinkled loudly when he handled it. It reminded him of an advertisement he’d seen just before he left the states for some new-fangled thing called ‘cellophane’ but he’d never heard of the substance being used to make a bag like this before. This was see-through just like cellophane, though it was thicker, and was covered all over by printing. On the front of the package it said, ‘Disposable Dental Flossers’ - another thing he'd never heard of. Justin pried open the package, wondering over how the top edges of the bag stuck together, and pulled out one of these ingenious little ‘Flossers’. It looked just like other dental floss he’d seen before but it was threaded into a hard y-shaped object made of something like Bakelite. He scanned the package again, saw the section that said ‘Directions’, and followed them as he tried out the little piece of floss between his own teeth. It was really easy. He’d never really bothered with the stuff before, but thought if it was this simple, he might.

Setting aside the dental flossers, Justin pulled out the next item in the bag, which was a small glass cologne bottle. This he understood. He admired the beautiful, purple bottle for a moment before uncapping the top and taking a whiff of the scent. Yep, it smelled like Brian. He loved the cologne on his man. He’d never heard of this particular cologne before, though; Ralph Lauren Purple Label. You probably couldn’t find it here in London during the war anyways. But he knew the moment he made it back to the states, he would be hunting this down.

Next, Justin unearthed another small item which, when he pulled it apart, turned out to be a toothbrush that fitted into a case made out of its own base. Justin hadn’t ever seen a toothbrush like that, but again, he thought it was a great adaptation and wished he had one himself. The toothpaste that went along with it came in a strange-looking tube, was a brand he’d never seen before, was also gooey and a strange blue color, but everyone knew what toothpaste was. Justin quickly made use of both, feeling much better after he’d cleaned his teeth. The odd blue toothpaste was quite nice tasting too.

Setting the teeth stuff aside, Justin continued to pull out tubes and bottles of stuff - all made out of the same hard yet pliable substance that was sorta like Bakelite but also not - none of which was at all familiar to him. The bottles were all labeled with strange names. He’d never heard of any of them before. There were two matching black bottles, both with the name ‘Aveda’ on them, one saying it was shampoo and the other conditioner. He knew what shampoo was, of course, but didn’t have a clue about the other one. Next there was something called ‘Body Gel’. Justin figured out how to open it by flipping the top back, and found it smelled just like the cologne but was a sticky, goopy substance that looked a lot like the toothpaste and which he didn’t know what to do with. There was another smaller tube with something called ‘hair gel’ in it. Justin didn’t know why you’d put goopy stuff in your hair, either, and just set it aside too. Finally, there was one last black bottle labeled ‘Rugged & Dapper - Skin Fuel For Men’. From the rest of the packaging, he surmised that this was something you used to clean your face, not that he understood why you’d need it when you could just use regular soap. It seemed Brian certainly had a lot of strange bottles of stuff.

Once all those bulky bottles and tubes were out of the bag, justin could see the rest of the contents better. There was a small manicure kit - no wonder Brian had such nice hands and smooth nails. There was a little jar of ‘anti-wrinkle creme’, which made Justin laugh thinking of the beautiful man’s apparent vanity at worrying about getting wrinkles. There was a small hand-sized brush with odd-looking bristles which appeared, from the strands of hair caught up in it, to be a hairbrush. And finally, in the bottom, he found another container of something inexplicably called ‘Degree Men Dry Protection Cool Rush Antiperspirant’ that - even after he’d pulled the cap off, sniffed, and read the packaging further - he couldn’t figure out at all.

It appeared that the one thing he’d hoped to find - a razor - was the only thing Brian didn’t have. Or at least that’s what Justin thought till he noticed there was another pocket inside the small toiletries case. He unzipped that extra pocket and pulled out two additional items. They both seemed to be mechanical gadgets of some kind that Justin didn’t recognize at all.

The first one was a long metallic cylinder with a blunted tip and a black knob at the other end. It was about eight inches long and maybe two or three inches in circumference. It seemed to be made of chrome and was very shiny and slick. To the pilot’s eyes it sort of looked like a small bomb canister or maybe a really large bullet of some kind. When Justin turned the knob the whole thing started to vibrate. As far as Justin could tell, though, it didn’t have any purpose. Who wanted a large shaking bullet?

The final gadget took Justin a minute or two to figure out, but he was glad he’d dug all the way to the bottom of the kit and found it. It was about the same length as the shaking bullet but bulkier. The body was comprised of a hard black material which Justin couldn’t identify although he knew it wasn’t metal. The one end tapered to a flat rounded base. The other end, though, flared out into a wide head which was topped by an angled three-sided metal piece that held three round metal-toothed circles. The circles gave a little when you touched them with a finger.

At first Justin couldn’t figure out what the heck this thing was either. It didn’t have any writing on it except for the word ‘Broadcare’ in small silver lettering on the tapered part of the body. Only, right above that word was another round circle, this one black like the casing, with a symbol carved into the material that looked like a circle with a line radiating out from the center through the top. And, when Justin touched that circle, the gadget whirred quietly to life, sending the three toothed, metal circles on top spinning around.

He tentatively touched one of the spinning circles and noted that the metal pieces didn’t bite into his skin. Then he tipped the whole thing sideways and saw that it kept spinning no matter what angle you held it at. Finally, he held the device up to his forearm where all three circles could spin against his skin and felt a slight pull on the hair there before the whirling circles shaved it off.

Of course! Justin had seen electric shavers before; his father had even received one from a friend as a birthday present the year before he’d left the states. But he’d never seen one like this. He couldn’t figure out how it was powered since it had no cord to plug it in. Plus he’d never seen any shaver with three round cutting blades. However, when he put it up against his cheek, it worked incredibly well. He didn’t think he’d ever had a smoother shave. He quickly ran the shaver all over his face and was stubble free in only a minute or two.

When he was done, Justin cleaned the shaver and put it back in the ditty bag along with the shaking bullet thing. Then he started reloading all the other stuff back in the bag as well. As he was going through all the odd little bottles and tubes again, it struck him just how mysterious this stuff was. Which seemed appropriate for a mysterious and enigmatic man like Brian Kinney. And, despite how close Justin felt to Brian after the morning they’d spent together, he realized he knew very little about the man himself.

Who was this man? He’d been pondering that question all week long. Why did Brian have all these strange things - items that Justin hadn’t seen or heard of before and gadgets that seemed so inexplicable. Even more perplexing, how did Brian know all those things he shouldn’t have known? How could he possibly have known about the prior night’s air raid BEFORE it happened?

When Justin had told his CO that he’d heard rumors from an American friend about a coming raid, the commander’s first question was who he’d heard the information from. He’d said only that it was an American acquaintance who was here in London as a war correspondent and that Justin couldn’t confirm the source of the information but that he’d thought it prudent to pass the intelligence along nonetheless. The next question was how well did Justin know this reporter - the intimation being, was there any reason to suspect the ‘rumor’ came from a foreign agent with ulterior motives? Justin hadn’t really been able to answer his CO on that subject, because he’d wondered the same thing more than once.

Who else but a German agent would know the exact date of a German air raid?

Despite everything, though, Justin didn’t believe it. He didn’t think Brian could possibly be a German spy. Not the Brian he was coming to know. Even setting aside his personal connection to Brian, though, he just couldn’t see someone who spoke about the Nazi’s with such disgust and horror  ever working for the Germans. The hatred in Brian’s voice when he’d spoken of the atrocities he claimed the Nazis were committing was too real. No, despite the evidence to the contrary, Justin didn’t believe it.

That didn’t negate the possibility of Brian being a spy for some other foreign power, though. There were a lot of other governments interested in the course of this monstrous war. If Justin had to guess, he would have to say Brian most likely represented the Americans in some way. Which would explain the dodgy credentials.

That was, of course, problematic for Justin as an RAF Officer. Even though he was American too, Justin felt no loyalty to the country that had refused his offer of service merely because he happened to be queer. Instead, he’d pledged himself to the Royal Air Force and the British government that HAD accepted him, and for now his only loyalty was to Britain. So, if Brian really was an American spy, that meant Justin needed to keep his guard up around Brian even as their relationship deepened.

Maybe he was being naive thinking that this thing with Brian could work under such trying circumstances. Perhaps he should break it off? How could you have any kind of real relationship with someone you inherently couldn’t trust? Not that Justin didn’t trust Brian with his body - he did, even more so after that glorious morning - but he wasn’t sure he could trust him on a more professional level. He’d always be afraid he was giving away some critical piece of information without even realizing it. How could you love someone with that always hanging over you head?

As Justin finished tidying up after himself in the W.C. and started to make his way back to Brian’s room, he reluctantly came to the conclusion that this fling with Brian was doomed from the start. He was going to have to break it off. He simply couldn’t seriously pursue this relationship. It was impossible. What was he thinking?

The minute Justin opened up the door to the room, though, all thoughts of ending things with Brian evaporated from his brain. The gorgeous man was lying there on his back, in the bed, the sheets puddling low around his hips, leaving most of the man’s long, lean body fully revealed. Applesauce! That was one amazing specimen of manly beauty! Every single line of Brian’s well-defined frame was simply perfect. Justin had never seen anything that alluring in his entire life.

As Justin watched, Brian startled a little without waking fully and then rolled over onto his side. He seemed to be searching for something in his sleep. When he didn’t find it, the man pulled one of the pillows close to his chest, hugged it and murmured ‘Blue . . .’ before he settled down into a deeper slumber again.

“Applesauce!” Justin whispered, his heart melting all over again.

‘I don’t care if he IS a spy,’ Justin thought as he set the ditty bag back on the dresser, pulled off his clothes again and then crawled into the bed behind the sleeping beauty. ‘How could I NOT want this magnificent man?’

Curling around Brian and wrapping his arms around the warm sleeping body, Justin realized he was in far too deep already. He couldn’t break things off with Brian. The man had already got under his skin. He couldn’t possibly do without him now.

And once that was settled in his mind, Justin finally drifted off, falling asleep with the man he already loved too much held tightly in his arms.

Brian awoke several hours later to the dim yellow light from the afternoon sun shining through his hotel window. His arms felt heavy from being wrapped around his sleeping blond boy for the last few hours. Fuck, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept the day away like this, but they’d both obviously needed it.

“What time is it?” Justin mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled from being pressed up tight against Brian’s side.

Brian lifted his arm lazily, glancing at his watch. “Almost four.”

“Mmm, I haven’t slept this well in months,” Justin replied as he snuggled closer and wrapped his arm around Brian’s waist tightly.

“Yeah?” Brian kissed the top of Justin’s head. “I’m glad. You feeling okay?”

“I’m good.”

Brian rolled them over so that he was lying in between Justin’s legs. “I mean . . . are you sore?”

The young man’s cheeks turned a delicious shade of pink and he looked everywhere but at Brian. “Uh . . .”

“It’s okay if you are,” Brian smiled. “It’s normal.”

Justin wiggled around nervously. “A little, yeah.”

Brian kicked the covers off and wrestled the wriggling man still. “Let me take a look.”

He could literally feel the heat radiating off of his embarrassed little Blue Eyes’ body as he spread the young man’s cheeks and blew cold air onto Justin’s exposed hole.

“It looks a little red,” Brian mumbled, as his fingers brushed along the swollen bud, making his blond squirm. “I’ll pick up some cream for you before next time. That should help. But you’ll be fine,” he soothed, using his tongue to stab gently at Justin’s entrance.

Justin reached down and tangled his hands in Brian’s hair.

“You taste so good,” Brian breathed heavily as he brought a thumb up to his mouth and sucked on it briefly, before working it inside Justin’s tight hole, massaging the tense muscles that only hours before had been massaging his dick. He groaned loudly just thinking about it.

Justin planted his feet heavily on the mattress and gripped Brian’s head tightly between his legs as he squirmed against the older man’s face and rocked himself against that expert tongue.

“Brian . . . I . . . I’m . . .”

Justin didn’t need to tell Brian he was close; the way his ass clenched around the experienced man’s tongue told him enough. Brian kissed and licked and sucked and nibbled until he was sure his boy was done.

“That was . . .”

“Wonderful? Fantastic? Mind blowing?”

Justin threw his head back and laughed. “I was going to say it was a dilly, but I think I want to change my answer to mind blowing.”

“So,” Brian grinned as he crawled his way up Justin’s body and stopped to kiss that beautiful pale belly. “What do you want to do for the rest of the day?”

Justin started to answer, when all of a sudden, his stomach rumbled loudly.

“Well, I think that answers my question,” Brian laughed at the way Justin covered his pinkening face with his hands. “I just had my tongue up your ass, and THIS embarasses you?”

Justin kicked him off his body and sat up. “That’s different.”

“Whatever you say, Blue Eyes.”

Justin ignored Brian’s teasing and continued on. “We could go to The White Lion for some grub, maybe?” He suggested. “Daph makes the best Spam Hash.”

Brian’s stomach churned at the thought but he agreed anyway.

The two got dressed quickly and headed downstairs. On the way out the hotel’s door, a porter ran over, holding out a piece of paper and calling Brian’s name.

“Here’s the information you requested on Miss Hastings, Mr. Kinney, Sir.” The porter handed him the small, folded piece of paper. “I delivered the food as you asked, Sir. The woman was right chuffed, getting all that grub and all.”

“Oh, good. Thanks for handling that,” Brian replied distractedly, stuffing the note into his pocket and pulling out his wallet as he spoke. “Here you go. I appreciate the great service.”

Brian handed the man a five pound note, ignoring the gasp of wonder from the man who was holding out the note like he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his whole life. He really did need to do some research into the relative costs of things back here in 1941, he thought to himself privately. He was tired of getting that shocked reaction to his generosity. Not that he really cared about the money - especially since he could always have Cynthia print up some more if he needed it. But it was getting a little embarrassing.

Brian quickly turned back to his blond and ushered the boy out before he had to listen to the porter’s streams of gratitude. Justin was looking at him with that indulgent smile of his, like Brian was some confused little boy who didn’t understand money at all. Whatever. They had no idea how difficult it was to be a time traveler and keep all that shit straight.

Luckily, Brian had regained his usual aplomb by the time they reached the White Lion. That was almost shattered, though, the minute they walked through the pub’s doors and were greeted by a rousing cheer from pretty much all the patrons. Justin, predictably, blushed so pink that it looked almost like his face was on fire. Brian just rolled his eyes, huffed in annoyance and avoided looking at everyone as he shouldered his way through the crowd to an unoccupied table at the back.

Before he’d had a chance to sit, Fancy was in his face, hanging off him like a limpet, with a stranglehold on Brian’s neck. “Here he is - my saviour!” Fancy pronounced loudly enough so that everyone in the bar could hear. “If it weren’t for THIS man, I’d have been crushed to death along with all the other unfortunates on Maiden Lane last night, and my father would have got his dearest wish . . . never having to lay eyes on me ever again.” Fancy turned his adoring eyes up to Brian, “How can I ever repay you, kind sir?”

“Letting go of my neck would be a good start,” Brian grumbled as he attempted to peel the man’s hands away.

“Back off, Fancy,” Justin warned as he quickly inserted himself bodily between the clingy queen and Brian. “Don’t you have someone else to paw at? A sexy saxophonist, maybe?”

“Oh, you’re so so cute when you’re jealous like that, Sunshine,” fancy teased him. “But until you’ve sealed the deal, I would argue that Handsome here is fair game for everyone.”

“Yeah, well . . . like I said, back off,” Justin insisted, glaring at his friend in a very possessive manner.

“My, my, my! Sunshine, does that mean what I think it means? Did our little baby finally take the big leap?” Fancy asked with all the nosiness a true flaming queer could bolster. “Have you finally become an Able Grable like the rest of us?”

Justin didn’t have to answer Fancy’s question, seeing as the fact that he had turned a bright crimson and refused to look anyone in the eye completely gave away the nature of their activities that day.

“Oh! Isn’t he adorable?” Fancy fawned, putting his arm around the young blond’s shoulders and giving a familiar squeeze. “It’s about time you finally got yourself deflowered, though, Sunshine. We were beginning to doubt you were capable . . .”

“Oh, trust me, Blue Eyes is MORE than capable,” Brian cut in with a knowing wink towards his boy. “In fact, he was capable multiple times in multiple ways.”

“Brian!” Justin gasped, glaring back at him and hissing, “we talked about this! I don’t think it’s appropriate to let everyone know my business . . .”

“What?” Brian asked, going for innocent but failing completely. “Come on, Blue Eyes. It’s not like they’re under any delusions that we spent the whole day holed up in my hotel room playing checkers.”

“Oooo - that’s what I’m going to call it from now on! ‘Playing checkers!” Fancy posited gleefully. “As in, ‘Sam and I were playing checkers last night and I let him king me!’”

That got a round of jubilant laughter from all.

“I figured you were more a poker player, Fancy,” Brian interjected. “You look like the type who’d like an ‘Ace in your hole’!”

And after that, the conversation just devolved into raunchier and raunchier humor until Brian’s embarrassed little Blue Eyes apparently couldn’t take it anymore and, with flaming cheeks, got up and fled the table.

Justin got up to get them both drinks, too embarrassed to continue listening to Brian and the rest of the boys trading jokes and stories about their various sexual escapades.

He was going to have to have another talk with his lover about being so blatant. Brian really needed to be more careful - Justin couldn’t afford to have rumors about him getting around, even if the talk was all meant in jest. His career was at stake, and it wasn’t a laughing matter. Not to mention the fact that it embarrassed the heck out of him. But for now, he’d hold his tongue and let the boys have their jokes. He didn’t have to sit around and listen to it though.

While ignoring the jokesters and watching Daphne pour out two pints of the best, Justin remembered to ask her what it was they’d all been doing in Brian’s bed when he’d walked in on them that morning.

“Ooh, tweren’t nothin’, Sunshine,” Daphne reassured him, correctly surmising that he was a little miffed at her. “We was up all night palaverin’ and on’y got to sleep ‘round dawn when we was sure the raid was over. If yer Brian ‘adn’t given away our beds down in the Palace’s shelter, we’d’ve ‘ad some shut eye earlier, but ‘at one’s got a big ‘eart, dontcha know it. ‘E gave our sleepin’ cubicle to a young girl an’ ‘er son who got caught out in the middle o’ the raid and ‘ad no place else ta go. ‘An ‘e paid for her dinner and such ta boot,” Daphne beamed a smile over in Brian’s direction, obviously quite fond of the generous man. “So’s, since we ‘ad no beds, we decided to jes stay up drinkin’ all night instead. An’ when we finally got the All’s Clear, we was too tired to go further ‘an your Brian’s room. ‘E was nice ‘nough to let us both impose on ‘im a little bit more an’ we all fell inta bed right there and then. Above an’ beyon’, I’d say, seein’ as ‘e already saved our skin by gettin’ us to the shelter in the first place.”

“I’m glad he managed to get you to someplace safe,” Justin replied. “I was really worried about you, Daph.” She waved off his concern as she set the two fresh pints in front of him. “How’d he manage to get you to go with him after all? I thought he’d have a hard time talking you into it - you’ve told me, I don’t know how many times, you’d rather be here than in a shelter.”

“An’ I would, too. On’y, yer Brian went an’ kidnapped me, so’s I din’ ‘ave a choice now, did I?”

“Kidnapped you?” Justin was incredulous. “He wouldn't . . .”

“Yep. ‘E would an’ ‘e did. I told ‘im the same thing I always tell you, Sunshine, but he wouldn’t listen, o’ course. ‘E went and threw me o’er ‘is shoulder and carried me out o’ here like a sack a’ oatmeal, ‘e did! Right big bully,” Daphne complained, but with an indulgent smile on her face. “E’s got nice strong arms, ain’t ‘e?”

“Yes, he does,” Justin agreed with another blush.

“So, what’s the deal with ‘im knowin’ ‘bout the raid ‘fore it ‘appened, huh?” Daphne asked, leaning in so as to ensure they weren’t overheard. “‘E said e’ told ya ‘bout it before’and. What do ya think?”

“I don’t know what to think, Daph,” Justin replied. “He did tell me about it and . . . Well, the only explanation I can see is that he’s got inside information from someone. How else would he know in advance exactly what day the German’s were going to bomb us?”

“So, yer think ‘e’s a spy or summit?” Daphne whispered, getting only a shrug from the RAF officer. “Well, I don’ b’lieve it, Sunshine,” she responded confidently. “I may not know yer Brian as well as yer do,” she grinned at him and winked, “but I seen ‘ow ‘e is ‘round you. ‘An I seen ‘ow he was wiv that young girl last night. ‘E’s a right good ‘un if you asks me. Nope. If ‘e’s a spy, then I’ll eat my ‘at.”

Justin sighed and looked over his shoulder at where Brian was still joking with Fancy and Lucky at the table in the corner. “I don’t know, Daphne. I want to agree with you. I really do. I . . . Jeepers, Daphne - I’ve never liked anyone the way I like him, you know? But, I just don’t see any other possible explanation for how he knew about the raid in advance.”

“Well, I do . . . But, yer may not like it, Sunshine,” Daphne stated, once more leaning over the bartop to whisper confidentially. “‘Im bein’ a spy might’a explained ‘ow he’d know the date of a raid, but it wouldn’t explain ‘ow he’d know NOT to take us to the Maiden Lane shelter . . .”

“Huh?” Justin asked, not following.

“It were the strangest thing, Sunshine,” Daphne continued with her explanation. “After ‘e picked me up and dragged me out ‘o here wiv Fancy taggin’ along, ‘e insisted we go ta The Palace. Francy tried to get ‘im to go along to Maiden Lane, tellin’ ‘im it was closer an’ all, but yer Brian, ‘e says, ‘we’re goin’ ta The Palace ‘cuz IT was never bombed.” Daphne straightened up, looking at Justin with a knowing glint in her eye. “I din’ think nothing o’ it at the time, mind you. We was kinda busy dodgin’ fire bombs an’ all, yer know. But, later, after I started thinkin’ on it, it struck me right strange. ‘Ow in the world would ‘e know NOT to go to Maiden Lane, huh? Or that The Palace would be safe? A spy might know the date o’ a bombin’, Sunshine, but ‘e’d have no way o’ knowin ‘xactly WHERE the bombs would be landin’, would ‘e?”

“So . . . what are you saying, Daph?” Justin asked, looking a little stunned.

“I don’t bleedin’ know. ‘Cept . . . Well, my old Granny Chanders was said to ‘ave the second sight, you know, an’ she could tell ya when ta bring in the wash ‘cuz a storm was comin’ or what time the bread boy would show wiv the day’s delivery wiv’in a quarter hour. Always give me ta collywobbles when she done ‘at, ya know? It was right uncanny.”

Justin simply shook his head at his fanciful friend. He’d never been the superstitious type. He really didn’t believe in the occult or second sight or anything like that. However, he didn’t have any alternate explanation to offer Daphne about the matter either. And there certainly was something inexplicable about Brian Kinney . . .  

Chapter 18 - ‘S Wonderful.

“Is that stomach monster of yours finally satisfied, Blue Eyes,” Brian asked after Justin had eaten all of his Spam Hash and more than half of Brian’s.

Justin leaned back in his seat and rubbed at his rounded stomach. “I think so. He’s good for an hour or so, at least. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you told me I couldn’t ask the janitor up to help with my heating problems, so I’ve been waiting for you all week, Blue Eyes. You didn’t think you’d be getting away from me that fast, did you?” Brian whispered in the young man’s ear, sneaking a little bite to the tender lobe before he sat up grinning. “Besides, you said you wanted to learn everything I could teach you, and I’m not even started yet.”

“There’s more?” Justin asked with wonder in his tone.

“Sooooo much more, little boy,” Brian purred.

Justin abruptly jumped to his feet and trotted over to the bar. “Daphne, we’re leaving,” he stated with a kiss to his friend’s cheek.

Brian followed him a little more slowly, tossing the spare coins he had in his pocket on the top of the bar as a tip for Daphne. Before he left, though, Justin saw Brian pause for a moment, as if thinking through something complicated. The way the big guy’s face was all screwed up, it seemed like he didn’t care much for whatever conclusion he was coming to.

“Daphne . . .” He hesitated again even after he started to speak, but then took a deep breath and plowed on anyway. “Tomorrow night, the 19th, you need to be in a shelter again. It’s gonna be just as bad as last night, maybe worse.”

Daphne froze in the act of wiping down the bar and focused her gaze on Brian’s face with an apprising look. “Any partic’lar shelter this time, ‘Andsome?” She asked with a sideways glance Justin’s way.

Brian shook his head with a ghost of a smile. “Nah. I think they’ll all be okay this time. At least around here. Just be careful getting there and back. Don’t wait till the last fucking minute this time, okay?”

“Will do, Love. Thank yer fer the ‘eads up.” She nodded and smiled at Brian, who rapped on the counter with his knuckles twice, pointed to her and nodded back before turning to follow Justin out of the bar.

When they were a couple of meters down the street, walking  shoulder to shoulder in a companionable silence, Justin finally spoke up. “So, I’m assuming you can’t tell me how you know there’s going to be another raid tomorrow, right?”

“I’d rather not,” Brian replied without looking Justin’s way.

“You’re as confident about this one happening as you were about last night’s?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” the big guy answered.

Justin shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers, hunching his shoulders and kicking at a small rock on the sidewalk. What was he supposed to think? What was he supposed to say? Brian’s prescient knowledge was completely inexplicable. How the heck could his otherwise rational and down-to-earth lover know these things? And not only did Brian know the exact date of ANOTHER raid, but he seemed confident that he knew which shelters would be safe. That was impossible, right? How was Justin supposed to react to his information? What was he supposed to do with this knowledge?

“Are you going to be flying tomorrow night?” Brian asked, interrupting Justin’s spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah. I have tonight off since Hobbs is back on rotation, but I’m supposed to be on again tomorrow.”

Brian sighed heavily. “I wish . . . Fuck, I don’t know what I wish.” Brian finally looked over at Justin. “I know you love flying - that it’s your job - but I just . . . Oh, fuck it.” He fell silent again, leaving Justin wondering what Brian was thinking inside that complicated mind of his.

They walked in silence for another few minutes, both so immersed in their own thoughts they didn’t have space in their minds for conversation. They were heavy thoughts too. So heavy that it actually slowed both men’s steps to the point that they were merely shuffling along. Finally, though, Justin came to a conclusion that he hoped would relieve at least his half of the problem.

“I don’t want you to tell me about any other raids you might happen to know about, Brian. Okay?” Justin voiced his request, stopping and turning to face Brian as he spoke in order to emphasize how serious he was about the matter.

“But . . .”

Justin cut Brian off before he could voice whatever his ‘but’ entailed. “I’m sorry, Brian, but I mean it,” he insisted. “See, the thing is, I can’t do anything with the information . . . I can’t keep telling my CO that I know about these raids in advance - he already has questions about how I knew of the last one, and if I tell him about this next one, there will be no end to all the questions. I was able to avoid telling them about you last time, but if I speak up again, they’re going to haul your rear in there and interrogate you till they get to the bottom of it. And since I don’t particularly want my lover being subjected to whatever torture the RAF Intelligence Service thinks is appropriate, I really can’t say anything.”

Justin looked up pleadingly at the taller man, hoping Brian would see his sincerity. “But that puts me in a really tough spot, Brian. I’m an RAF officer. I owe the Service my loyalty. And not only that, if I fail to tell the CO something that might save lives - including maybe my own life . . . Well, I can’t ethically NOT tell them without feeling like I’m to blame for any harm that comes to any of my fellow service members.” Brian nodded, obviously seeing the dilemma Justin was being put into. “So, since I can’t say anything without hurting you, and I can’t not say anything without it weighing on my conscience, I’d really rather just not KNOW.”

“I get it, Blue Eyes,” Brian replied sadly. “But, that leaves me in almost the same situation. If you had knowledge that could save lives - specifically the life of someone you . . . you really cared about - and you didn’t use that information to help them, could you live with yourself if they later got hurt because you didn’t say something?”

“Hmm,” Justin hummed, thinking how confusing this had become in such a short time period. “I don’t know what to do, Brian. I really don’t see any solution.”

“Fucking Catch 22,” Brian mumbled.

“Huh?” Justin asked, confused again by Brian saying stuff he didn’t understand.

“Catch 22 . . . You know, a paradoxical situation that has no good solution . . .” Brian started to explain and then caught himself. “Damn. That book hasn’t even been written yet, has it?” Justin looked at him even more confused. “Never mind,” Brian shook his head with a huff of unamused mirth. “The point is that we’re stuck.”

“I don’t want to give you up, Brian,” Justin asserted, defying the world enough to reach out and grab his man’s hand even though they were in public. “It would kill me . . . But if you can’t do this . . . If you can’t honor my wishes on this, then I can’t continue seeing you. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Even if YOUR life might depend on the information I have, Blue Eyes?” Brian asked, looking so serious and intent that it gave Justin pause for at least a minute as they stood there together in the street with crowds of people passing by them.

Justin thought about it, but in the end, that didn’t change his analysis. “Even then, Brian. I just really don’t want to know.”

“Fine,” Brian replied after a heart-stopping pause. “I don’t like it, Blue Eyes, but I can see your point.” He gave Justin’s hand a squeeze and then let go. “I won’t say anything more. I promise.”

“Thank you, Brian,” Justin responded, all of a sudden unsure if he’d done the right thing and maybe a little disappointed that Brian had given in so easily.

“Come on,” Brian spoke up as he started walking again. “I’ve had enough of this introspection shit for one night. I’d rather fuck while we can, Blue Eyes.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring, Brian,” Justin responded as he trotted the few steps needed to catch up with his lover.

“Fucking is ALWAYS reassuring,” Brian insisted, a little loudly.

“Oí! Language, Mate,” a random passer-by admonished him.

Brian only shrugged and kept on walking. “Fucking is the only way you know you’re really alive. It’s the best way to tell the universe that you don’t care what the hell it’s agenda is. You’re not going to give in. You’re going to keep on living no matter what it hurls at you. So we fuck and say ‘fuck you’ to everything else.”

Justin might not have said it quite like that, but he did have to agree with the sentiment. That was the same attitude that got him through every single mission he flew. It was the motto the citizens of London had lived by since the beginning of the Blitz. It was the only way they could go on. They defied the Germans just by continuing to live. And Justin figured that it was as good an approach to life as any in wartime.

“Excellent plan, Brian,” Justin agreed and picked up his pace so as to make it back to Brian’s hotel that much quicker and thereby put that philosophy into action as soon as possible.

Brian seemed just as intent on getting started on their new pact as Justin and was taking such long steps as they neared the hotel that Justin almost had to jog to keep up. They ran up the front steps and into the hotel together. With a glance, they seemed to come to a mutual agreement that waiting for the elevator would take too long, so they both turned to the stairs without a word. And even after three flights of steps, they were both still so intent on their goal that they didn’t stop to catch their breath until they tumbled through the door and landed in a heap together on the bed, arms and legs already entangled.

While they rolled around, kissed, groped and moaned, a part of Justin's mind was engaged in wondering how he’d become this depraved after only such a short time of knowing the enigmatic hazel-eyed brunet. He’d never been the demonstrative type. He’d always been so restrained. Always worried about being found out. Caught. Exposed. But in just a couple of weeks, Justin had found himself essentially freed from all those constraints. He felt slightly out of control, but at the same time, so freed that he couldn’t really care sufficiently to stop himself. This thing - Brian and everything the man did to him - felt so liberating that Justin seemed to be turning into a different person. And he really didn’t care either.

In fact, he was feeling so abandoned right at that moment, that he didn’t seem to have any inhibitions left at all. It wasn’t Brian that was driving him at this point. Justin was the one flailing at their clothing, desperate to get to naked flesh, so intent on his goal that he actually ripped a couple buttons off his shirt in the process. Once he got his own clothing off, he practically attacked Brian to get the older man’s clothes all the way off as well. And the next thing he knew, Justin was rolling them both over, straddling the larger man’s body, and manhandling Brian into position beneath him.

At first Brian seemed to be just as caught up in the moment as Justin had been. However, as soon as the young pilot reached over to the side table and grabbed the ribbon of condoms Brian had left there earlier, the older man seemed to take notice of what was going on. Before Justin could grab the bottle of lube, Brian reached out and snatched it away.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, little boy?”

“I’d think that would be obvious, Handsome. I’m going to put the lessons you taught me earlier today into practice,” Justin announced with a bold assertiveness that caused Brian’s right eyebrow to raise questioningly.

“I don’t think so, Blue Eyes. What gave you the idea that your second time out of the chute you'd be taking charge?” Brian questioned, plucking the condoms out of Justin‘s hand and then using his greater weight to flip them both over.

“I’m a fast learner,” Justin asserted, trying to grab back a condom packet even as Brian held them aloft, just out of his reach.

“Not that fast, Justin. NOBODY’S that fast.”

But, while Brian was distracted trying to keep the octopus boy’s hands away from both the lube and the condoms, Justin deftly squirmed out from underneath the larger man’s body and, in a move too quick for Brian to stop, he managed to wrap one arm around a long lean thigh, heave it up high enough to gain some leverage, and then overturn his lover once again. While Brian was still trying to figure out what the fuck just happened, Justin pinned him to the mattress, his one hand pressing with sufficient pressure at the base of Brian’s neck to hold the surprised Stud in place without completely strangling him. The other hand then skillfully yanked the ribbon of condoms out of Brian’s hand.

“What the fuck! Get the hell off me, little boy,” Brian demanded, beginning to struggle.

“I told you I was a fast learner,” Justin repeated with a huge grin on his impish face. “So fast that I was the squadron champion in our hand-to-hand combat course during basic training.”

“Yeah, well, when I need to take out a platoon of enemy commandos, I’ll give you a call, Soldier Boy. In the meantime, get the hell off me,” Brian ordered, biting off the words with a tone that sent immediate warning flares up in Justin’s mind.

Justin, of course, had simply been playing around. He hadn’t meant anything by his seemingly aggressive actions. But it seemed that Brian was taking it all much more seriously. Justin thought he might have even detected the tiniest spark of panic in the usually unflappable man’s eyes. There was clearly something here that he wasn’t seeing yet.

“Sorry, Brian,” he instantly apologized as he quickly rolled off his lover’s body. “I didn’t mean to get so rough. I guess sometimes my military training just takes over in the heat of the moment. Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m fucking okay,” Brian growled as he practically vaulted off the bed and stalked over to the dresser to get his pack of cigarettes and lighter.

Justin laid there on the bed, wondering what the heck had just happened, while Brian puffed at his fag like a locomotive engine. He thought Brian was overreacting a bit, but judging by how agitated the man was, there had to be a reason behind it. The young man knew enough from listening to the talk of his friends at the White Lion that he understood different men approached sex differently. Some of the guys there had said point blank they’d never let anyone cornhole them, while others professed repeatedly that they loved it. He’d always been doubtful about the idea himself, although he’d still wanted to try it at least once just to find out what it was all about. Now that he’d enjoyed the experience, he knew he wanted to do it over and over again. He didn’t know why anyone wouldn’t. But it seemed like Brian - as open-minded and experienced as the man professed to be - apparently belonged to the group not willing to be on the receiving end of things. Justin figured there had to be some story behind that decision, but he wasn’t going to push for it yet. He and Brian were still too new for that kind of discussion. He would let it slide for now, but planned to get back to it later.

He also planned to eventually get back to the idea of HIM getting a chance to try out his lessons on his lover.

For now, though, Justin was more than happy to be on the receiving end a few more times. And Brian HAD assured him there was a lot more still to learn. He really did want to experience EVERYTHING Brian had to offer, so it wasn’t a hardship to assume a less dominant role for the time being. If he could only cajole his skittish lover back into their bed.

“I really am sorry, Brian,” he apologized again, crawling to the foot of the bed so he could reach out and grab his lover’s arm. “Please come back.” Brian blew out a lungful of smoke and seemed to relax a bit in the process. “Come on, Handsome. I’m eager to see what my next lesson is. If it’s as amazing as my last one, I might just pass out before we’re done,” he added with a coquettish giggle that he hoped would entice Brian from his foul mood.

Brian looked down at Justin, shook his head with a trace of a smile and crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the dresser. But he did let Justin tow him back to the bed. Before he was out of reach of the dresser, though, Brian grabbed hold of his ditty bag and brought it with him.

“You do know that I’m going to take that as a challenge, right?” Brian asked, looking at Justin with a predatory gleam in his eye. “I mean, if I DON’T make you pass out now, I’ll feel like I’ve failed.” Brian smirked down at the waiting blond. “Are you sure you’re ready for that, Blue Eyes?”

Justin, who was simply glad that Brian had snapped out of his funk so quickly, merely smiled up at the man. “I think you’ve got your work cut out for you, Handsome. I can take multiple g-forces while flying without passing out. I don’t think sex is going to do it - not even sex with the likes of you. But you feel free to give it your best shot, though.”

“Oh, little boy, you have no fucking idea . . .” Brian said with a chuckle. He then unzipped the little leather bag, dug around inside, and came out with the mysterious shaking silver bullet thing that Justin had been curious about earlier. “Normally I would have held off on the orgasm denial lesson until much later, but since you claim to be such a quick learner, I think I’ll step up my training plan.”

“Orgasm denial?” Justin asked, not really sure he liked the sound of that.

“Yep.”

“O-kay . . . So, then, what’s that thing supposed to do?” Justin asked, now eyeing the shaking bullet with distrust.

“Roll over and you’ll see,” Brian insisted, prodding at the younger man’s hip with the cold tip of the metal bullet.

Justin was torn between trepidation and curiosity. He was starting to get an idea of what the shaking bullet thing was for now. Was Brian really going to stick the thing up there? He supposed it couldn’t be any worse than having Brian himself inside him. But why would it shake? And did Brian seriously intend to try and make him pass out? Would that be a good thing? Applesauce, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything about that passing out thing.

“Come on, little boy. School’s in session and you’re gonna be late to class unless you get on your stomach and get your ass in the air in the next thirty seconds,” Brian ordered, poking more insistently with the shaking bullet.

Reluctantly, Justin complied, rolling over and pulling one of the fluffy down pillows under his chest to support himself. He could feel the mattress dip as Brian kneeled down behind him, nudging his legs further apart so he had room. Justin gasped when the cold metal of the bullet touched the skin between his shoulder blades and then lightly trailed down his spine. He was already so hard his cock was dripping with jism, and Brian had barely even touched him yet. The anticipation itself was enough to practically make the randy young man ejaculate. He didn’t exactly know what ‘orgasm denial’ was, but he thought Brian was going to have a tough time with it at the rate he was going.

“Good boy,” Brian whispered, leaning over his back closely enough so that Justin could feel the heat of the other man’s body just millimeters from his skin even though they weren’t actually touching. “Now, this, Blue Eyes,” there was a small whirring of a motor and Justin could feel the bullet thing start its shaking as the tip was pushed against the very base of his tailbone, “is called a ‘dildo’.” The shaking moved a hairsbreadth lower, just barely touching the tender flesh of his crack. “It’s a VERY handy little device. You’d be amazed what I can do with one. And I’m going to teach you every single trick . . .”

The thing slid a little lower, passing over his hole and moving inexorably down till Justin felt it pressing hard against a spot somewhere between his hole and his balls. It seemed to be a very sensitive spot, too. A spot that caused him to gasp as he felt an amazing twinge of pleasure. His body instinctively tried to arch up, so he could get more of the wonderful sensation.

“Oh no you don’t,” Brian huffed out a laugh as his free hand pressed down on Justin’s lower back, holding him in place.

That was okay, though, because the pleasant, tingling vibrations were still zapping through him.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Brian asked with a soft chuckle . . . just before he pulled the pleasantly rumbling little toy away from Justin’s perineum. “Unfortunately, since you’ve been a bad boy, you don’t get to have that. Not for long, at least.” Justin gave an unhappy little grunt that only made Brian laugh again. “Welcome to the Advanced Placement course on orgasm denial, Blue Eyes. Hope you weren’t planning on getting any rest tonight. It’s going to be a long lesson. Better start taking notes, little boy.”