Justin exited the redbrick apartment building in the East Village, stopped on the stoop and smiled as he looked around. Pride flags hung from balconies and in windows, and across the street, two men were kissing in front of a café.

It made him feel at home, although he'd rather be on Liberty Avenue. His druthers aside, if he was going to be in Manhattan for who knew how long, he was determined to make the most of his time here. He had clear goals - sell some paintings, find an agent, get established - and then he'd be able to convince Brian to see sense.

He didn't have to be in New York City to be a success; he could paint anywhere - like Pittsburgh. He'd make that happen. Somehow.

In the meantime, not only did he want to get started painting, he also wanted to check out the sights, in particular the clubs and gay hangouts. After Justin's ridiculous plan to make it big as a seventeen-year-old go-go boy in New York, Vic had regaled him with stories of the best places, so he knew where to go.

He'd follow in the older man's footsteps. Kind of like when he'd used Vic's card to get into Babylon, he thought, laughing. The Tunnel had closed down, but he wished he'd thought of asking Deb or Rodney for Vic's membership cards to long-running establishments like the g Lounge, B Bar and Pyramid Club. 

Confident in his appearance nowadays - he was no troll as Daphne had once noted - Justin doubted, despite his youthful looks, that he'd be carded. Or charged an entrance fee. Decked out in club wear and looking fuckin' hot, he'd be waved right in, bypassing lines of hopeful fags.

So he'd go to the clubs for Vic - the tribute he suspected Vic would like best; for Brian - his lover would be expecting tales of his exploits; and for himself. Not only would he need to get his rocks off between rare visits to see Brian, he was no longer married to the idea of a monogamous relationship. 

Steamy phone sex would be another benefit. Justin hoped that if he bombarded Brian with tales of the Village scene he could entice his partner into visiting him, even if it would be months before he actually showed up. As demonstrated by last night's phone call, Brian already missed him, but the man was nothing if not stubborn. Phone sex with blow-by-blow recitations of Justin's future conquests should help things along though.

He'd started the campaign to lure Brian to New York before he left the Burgh, babbling on about all the famous gay clubs and bars. The only one he'd omitted was the Cock; he wanted to check it out and then go there with Brian. The Cock had opened just before Vic got sick, so he'd never been, but it was supposed to be modeled after the best cruising spots from the eighties, featuring hotties in skimpy outfits and no-holds-barred fucking.

The envy on Brian's face, listening to him wax enthusiastic about the other clubs, had been plain to see, no matter how much he tried to hide it. In fact, Justin was pretty sure his eager descriptions of Manhattan's gay hotspots had been the impetus for Brian's most recent ‘conversation' with Vic, only a few days before Justin left for the Big Apple.

The first time he'd overheard one of the one-sided conversations, awakening in the middle of the night, he'd thought Brian was having a nightmare. He'd soon nixed that idea though. His slumbering lover hadn't broken out in a sweat, started flailing about or moaned, ‘Jus, no, Justin!' in the desperate, eerie tone he used when caught in the grip of a nightmare.

Instead, a sly smile on his face, he'd mumbled something like, ‘Best one, huh?' in a teasing tone, followed by, ‘You sure about that, you old lech?' The only person Justin had ever heard Brian call a lecher was Vic and only to the older man's face - when he was having a particularly bad day. It had pepped Vic up and always got him to produce his best imitation of a leer.

A few months after that first time, Justin had again awakened to Brian talking in his sleep, his supposition that he was conversing with Vic confirmed when Brian addressed the deceased man by name. 

Although he couldn't remember everything Brian had said during that chat with Vic, he did recall his lover protesting, ‘No way, Vic. I'm not into drag.' A few beats later, apparently in response to a comment from dream Vic, he'd added, ‘Neither is Jus.'

He giggled, remembering Michael's get-up at Justin's first Pride: he'd done a double-take, not recognizing Michael for a couple of beats. It might've taken him even longer to place the man if Michael hadn't clumsily tottered over to Debbie and clasped his mother's arm in an effort to stay upright.

The funniest of all had been when Michael, uncostumed, arrived at Woody's later in the day. A couple of guys lost in the crowd behind Justin had commented how they didn't know him at first, with one of them stating he looked better as a woman. He hadn't really thought about it until that moment, but the dude was right.

Justin had started giggling hysterically and had trouble stopping even when Brian sidled over to him and asked what his problem was. He'd never told Brian what he was laughing about.

Now, on the stoop outside the East Village brownstone, another giggle escaped as Justin thought about asking Brian for his opinion: Did Michael make a better man or woman?

As if to punctuate his question, two drag queens in colorful outfits and matching dos sauntered by arm-in-arm, deftly picking their way along the snow-frosted sidewalk in high-heeled platform shoes. Like Michael at that long ago Pride, their makeup was impeccable, but unlike Michael, they had no trouble walking in heels.

The queens were followed by a guy in chaps, cheeks hanging out, apparently unfazed by the icy air on his buttocks.

Granted, there was sun filtering through the clouds, but that didn't mean it was warm, not with snowflakes drifting down and a breeze sending icy fingers dancing across Justin's skin. He gratefully clutched the navy blue coat that he'd found in his suitcase closer to his body, the wattage of his smile increasing. 

Brian might've babbled a whole lot of ‘only time' nonsense, stubbornly refusing to listen to his counterarguments, but he clearly wasn't done taking care of Justin. First Justin had discovered the coat in the depths of his luggage. And then a little later in the day, there was a phone call to make sure he'd arrived in New York in one piece.

"You so love me," Justin hadn't been able to keep from crowing, his smile almost as wide as the first time he'd made that boast.

Most telling of all, Brian's muttered "Twat" hadn't contradicted him. 

Flipping up the collar of his coat, Justin tucked his chin into yet another proof of how much his lover cared - a soft white silk scarf. 

He'd been unnerved to discover it when he unfolded the coat; it had made him flash back to the rust-stained scarf Brian wore around beneath his clothes for months. But then Brian had called and threatened never to fuck him again if he got anything on the Armani scarf. No greasy food smudges. No paint. No grass stains.

The thinly disguised love behind the warning had stopped him from quibbling, the message that Brian wanted to protect him, even from something minor like a chill, coming through loud and clear. 

Only Brian would express himself via designer wear, Justin thought, chuckling as he finally stepped off the stoop and onto the sidewalk. He then paused, wondering which way to go.

Normally, he'd be happy just to wander around, but the wind was starting to pick up and the snow to thicken - not the best time for exploring. Once he had what he needed, he'd park himself in a café and settle in for some people-watching.

A short time ago, as he was getting ready to set out, he'd asked Jon, Daphne's friend from whom he was subletting couch space, where to find the nearest art supply store. The dude hadn't had a clue, snickering and proclaiming that he didn't have an artistic bone in his body. Then, giving the blonde woman he was escorting out of the apartment a lewd wink, he'd added, "Except where it counts."

"Geez, you're such a dick," the blonde had chastised Jon, rolling her eyes. Her irritation hadn't prevented her from swapping spit with Jon for a good five minutes however, so maybe he did have something to brag about as well as a flair for dramatics.

Halfway out the door she'd halted, ignoring Jon's wandering fingers and told Justin there was an art shop close by. She'd waved a hand in a vaguely northerly direction before turning around and pointing south.

"Uh, sorry," she'd apologized, her brow furrowed. "I have a horrible sense of direction." She'd held up her left hand, thumb and forefinger stretched out to form an L and confessed, "Can't tell left from right without my hand."

"That's my girl," observed Jon fondly. "Can't find her way out of a paper bag."

Justin had been feeling sorry for the girl, but then she'd let out an inane, high-pitched titter, murmuring, "That's why I have you, lamb chop."

Geez, she gave blonds a bad name.

Shaking off thoughts of the nitwit, Justin took a breath of fresh, snow-laden air - while prudently keeping his nose buried in his scarf. With no idea of which way to go to find the art store, Justin randomly turned right.

‘Stove' seemed liked an odd name for an art shop, but the blonde had sworn it was called that. Maybe they focused on ceramics? 

Half a block from the brownstone, a tall, good-looking redhead gave him the eye as he came out of a corner grocery. Justin thought about asking him for directions but decided against it. He didn't want to look like a rube.

The bigger reason, he privately admitted to himself as he hurried past the redhead, his ears burning, was the memory of Brian once asking, ‘What are you, a girl?' when they couldn't find the place they were supposed to meet a prospective trick.

He'd rather quarter the East Village until he found the art shop, if that was what it took. 

Three blocks from his temporary digs, it seemed increasingly likely he'd have to do that. He settled on continuing for one more block; the blonde girlfriend's sense of distance was probably as bad as her sense of direction. But as he reached the next corner and looked across the street, he realized he'd lucked out and stumbled on the art store on his first try.

A colorful family portrait done in an expressionistic style was set up on an easel in the window, and arranged on a drop cloth beneath the painting were items an artist would need to create the portrait: a canvas, a palette, brushes, paints and varnish. He also saw other essentials: a cup for water, gesso, a palette knife, scraping tools, charcoal and pencil, a roll of paper towels and soap to clean up with.

There was even an apron, which made him laugh. Brian would doubtless consider that more important than the rest - never mind that an apron was something Justin had never worn outside the Liberty Diner.

Smiling at his lover's quirks - who but Brian would think he should wear an apron over already paint-splattered work clothes? - Justin looked around for the name of the shop. He didn't see ‘Stove' engraved on the glass above the window display, but his eyes tracked over to the front entrance, where a carved wooden sign with a kiln, a loom and an easel jutted out from the building and swayed in the breeze.

The name of the shop was stenciled in colorful hues to the left of the art tools: ArTrove.

Well, Justin thought, chuckling, the airhead blonde had gotten part of it right. It did end in ‘ove' and there was a ‘t' in the name.

Justin carefully made his way across the street, skirting an icy patch in the pavement and making his way around the front end of a limo parked directly outside of ArTrove. Something sharp stung Justin's cheek at the same moment that a ping came from the windshield of the town car, causing the chauffeur to look up before returning to his newspaper.

The guy must be glad to be comfortably ensconced in the plush, warm automobile, Justin reckoned, hastening across the sidewalk and pushing open the door to the supply store. He made it in the nick of time, hail dancing across the limo and the sidewalk behind him.

A bell above Justin jingled merrily in welcome and pleasant warmth enveloped him. It was almost like entering the diner - but not overheated from a press of bodies and sans the aromas of frying food and the din from a crowd of customers vying for attention.

In fact, ArTrove was so quiet, he could've heard a pin drop. The weather must be keeping customers home, Justin reckoned as he made his way down one of the aisles.

The shelves on both sides of the aisle were filled with all kinds of paints, the containers varying in size from small tubes to half-gallon cans. While he was looking for studio space, Justin hoped to work out an arrangement with Jon as to when he could paint in the apartment. Then he'd come back; ArTrove looked like it carried every hue he could possibly want. Until he had space however, pencils, not paint, were what he needed. 

He'd meant to pack his new watercolor pencils and a couple of extra sketch pads in his suitcase, but in the flurry of getting ready to leave, they ended up in storage instead. He could only hope they were in one of the boxes Brian had promised to ship to him once he was more settled and not in with the goods stacked behind the boxes of Brian's rarely accessed belongings.

A smile flitted across his face as he thought about Brian's storage space. The manner in which Brian had gone about organizing Justin's stuff and fitting it in with his own had been utterly matter-of-fact. Even though they were going to be living hundreds of miles apart, Brian apparently saw nothing unusual about having their stuff mingled together and didn't comment on it, so Justin had been careful to act as though it was perfectly normal. He'd taken it as a positive sign though that the ‘never again' part of Brian's ‘only time' speech might not mean all that much.

The tension and worry he'd felt while packing up his possessions finally eased, Justin remembering that it was Brian's actions, more than what he said, that counted.

He'd been so relieved at that realization that he must've lost his focus on what he was putting in his suitcase. The upshot was that while he did have a sketchbook with him, it was an old one that didn't have any free pages. He'd intended to bring it with him - some of his favorite drawings of Brian and the rest of the family were captured inside - but he needed something for new sketches.

At the end of the paint aisle, Justin discovered an end cap with sketches mounted on mattes as well as pencils and charcoals. He figured the exhibit must be meant to encourage beginners since the designs were fairly basic. He liked the sketches though; they showed what could be achieved with a minimum of pencil strokes.

Justin was just making his way around the end cap to check out the next aisle when he heard someone state with asperity, "I don't know why you can't tell me the difference between azure blue and ultramarine blue, young man. Why do you have two different pencils if they're the same color?"

An older woman with snowy white hair, dressed in what Justin recognized as a designer pantsuit - Mel had worn almost the exact same thing not long ago - was holding up two pencils, her brow furrowed in exasperation.

The sales clerk, whose back was to Justin, shrugged in apparent disinterest and replied laconically, "'Cause people like to have choices."

His tone, thought Justin in disgust, implied that there was no difference. 

"If I get these pencils, I want to be able to explain the difference to my granddaughter. She's taking an art appreciation class and is supposed to prepare a project utilizing only shades of blue. I had to convince her to let me come here in her stead. I don't want her to regret that decision, or for her to think her grandmother's dotty when she comes back with two indiscernible shades of blue." The elderly woman blew out a frustrated sigh. "Isn't there anyone here who can help me?"

The clerk shrugged again.

Geez, Justin wondered, who'd leave an uninterested, clueless cretin like this in charge of their store? His opinion of the shop, which until now had been positive, plummeted. ArTrove was a cool, artsy name; the window display he'd seen was enticing; and they had every color of paint an artist could desire. If this guy exemplified the caliber of their staff however-

Justin cut the thought off. That didn't make sense, not for a store that was, like, an artist's wet dream. ArTrove must be short-staffed or something; a nasty flu was going around, so the regular salespeople could be out sick.

They'd really scraped the bottom of the barrel with this guy though. To an untutored eye, like the customer's, it was understandable that the colors might seem indistinguishable. But even if the clerk was fucking colorblind and couldn't perceive the difference, he should be able to explain it, or at the very least, whip out a color wheel and show the variations in the shades.

Fed up, Justin offered, "I can help," sidling past the shop assistant.

"Who the-" the guy bit out before catching himself and stopping.

Justin gave the idiot his back and looked at the elderly woman. She reminded him a little of his maternal grandmother: same perfectly coiffed, snow-white hair, regal bearing and a patrician nose.

With a friendly smile, Justin glanced at the pencils in the woman's hand. "They do look almost identical," he observed. "But if you think of ultramarine in conjunction with water and azure with sky, it might help your granddaughter to distinguish them. Ultramarine adds depth to seas and lakes, while azure is just the right shade for the sky on a clear day."

The furrow etched across the woman's brow smoothed out, and she smiled at Justin. "Oh, that will be easy for Shelly to understand."

Justin scanned the shelves. "There should be a color wheel here somewhere. That would provide a truer representation of the two shades of blue than on the barrels of those pencils." He cast a disparaging glance at the pencils, thinking the manufacturer must have done a poor dye job with that lot.

"You don't work here?" the grandmother asked, her surprise evident. 

The clerk behind Justin snorted derisively.

Neither he nor the woman paid him any heed.

"I thought you must have just come back from a break." The customer let out a tinkling laugh. "Although surely you'd have a hot drink in hand in that case, to help stave off the cold."

"My next stop is going to be a café or a diner," Justin confessed. "Someplace I can get coffee and something hot to eat." His stomach let out a growl, punctuating his need for food.

The grandmother laughed again. "Could you help me decide what to get first? I want to buy the right thing for Shelly."

"Sure," Justin readily agreed. He perused the shop's offerings. "Maybe some watercolor pencils?" he suggested. "You can either use them like regular pencils or dip them in water for a ‘paint wash' effect."

"Whatever would help my granddaughter with her project."

"Derwent is good if you'd like something mid-priced." Justin frowned as he looked at Derwent's set of blue pencils. "They don't have as great a range of hues as some of the other brands though."

The woman waved a dismissive hand, the overhead lights scintillating off the gem-encrusted band on her ring finger. "Don't worry about the cost. I just want the best for Shelly."

It was like he was shopping with Brian, mused Justin ruefully. "Um, Staedtler Karat Aquarell is supposed to be the best." He pointed at a boxed set of their blue pencils.

"You haven't used them?" she asked a trifle sharply.

"No." Justin shook his head. "They're out of my price range."

"Is there a brand you've used that you'd recommend?"

Justin picked up a set of Caran D'ache pencils. "I really like these for detail work, and the colors hold up well." He saw no reason to mention that he'd never have tried those either if Brian hadn't presented him with a boxed set of the ridiculously expensive pencils after Justin agreed to marry him. Unsurprisingly, Brian had refused to return them when they called things off.

Shaking off thoughts of the wedding that wasn't, he observed, "You could get your granddaughter - Shelly?"

The woman nodded in confirmation.

"Um, you could get Shelly a boxed set that includes other colors, in case she wants something to offset or complement the blues." Justin paused and scratched the back of his neck with a gloved hand. "It'd be overkill for just one project though."

"Oh." She flicked her hand dismissively a second time. "I expect they'll get plenty of use. Shelly used to draw all the time, until her dolt of a boyfriend disparaged her efforts and convinced her she should give it up." The woman's lips turned down. "Nothing her parents or I said made any difference. She stuck with the bastard-" 

Justin smiled to himself at the casual but clipped, very WASPy way she'd said that.

"-for four years. It wasn't until she caught him cheating with one of her friends - a truly talentless, wannabe artist - that she gave him the heave-ho. Now, finally, a year after getting rid of him, Shelly's again showing an interest in art. I intend to do everything I can to encourage her."

She paused, glancing at the array of deluxe watercolor pencil sets before turning piercing gray eyes on Justin. "Whatever you'd get for yourself is what I'll buy for Shelly."

Justin pondered for a couple of beats. Even though the pencils weren't for him, it was tempting to get the Staedtler - what artist wouldn't like to try them? - but then he reached for the Caran D'ache pencils. He knew exactly how good those were.

He huffed a little as he hefted the fairly heavy wooden box, thinking absently that he needed to hit the gym.

"This way," came an officious voice from behind him.

Justin turned around a little awkwardly to find that the clerk was now all smiles. He looked right past Justin at the elderly customer. "I can ring that up for you."

He of course didn't offer to carry the box, instead bustling ahead of them as he led the way to the register.

"Asshole," muttered Justin.

"Now, now." 

Justin flushed. He hadn't meant to be overheard.

The granny's gray eyes twinkled at him. "He reminds me of Shelly's ex, so ‘bastard' is the correct appellation, I believe."

Justin burst out laughing.

A few feet in front of them, the ArTrove clerk scurried around the counter, patently eager to reach the cash register, unaware that they were mocking him. Not that he would have cared, Justin guessed, as long as he could make a tidy commission off this sale. Which had nothing to do with his own efforts, he couldn't help musing sourly.

Suddenly, a door behind the counter opened, and another staff member stepped through, beating the deadbeat salesman to the till.

He bleated incoherently in protest, but the newcomer, a brunette who appeared to be in her early forties, gave him a dark look. 

"Not now, Bryce," the woman, who must be a manager, ordered curtly.

Closing his trap, Bryce slunk through the door, evidently not wanting to contest matters.

Justin was a little surprised that he gave up on claiming credit for the sale so easily. Even if staff didn't earn a commission, a sale of this size was bound to earn recognition from his superiors.

The two women exchanged smiles and started chatting away, almost as if they knew each other, but Justin didn't pay attention to what they were saying. He was too busy looking longingly at the wooden box with the Caran D'ache watercolor pencils. 

Justin knew if he asked, Brian would locate the - still unused - set in storage and ship it to him, but he didn't want to look like an idiot for forgetting them or dredge up bad memories for Brian. They'd agreed that calling off the wedding was the right decision, but it was also a sore point. His brow furrowing, Justin second-guessed himself for the umpteenth time. It had been the best thing for both of them, right?

"Could I impose on you one more time, young man?"

The half-heard question penetrated his mental fog. Blinking, Justin looked at the chicly groomed grandmother. "Uh, yeah," he answered, uncertain what he was agreeing to.

"Don't worry," the woman teased. "It's nothing too onerous. I was just hoping you could carry these out to the car for me."

"Sure," Justin agreed. A discreet glance at her mid-heeled pumps assured him they wouldn't be going very far; she wouldn't want to damage her shoes or drag the hem of her trousers through the icy slush on the sidewalks.

"Come back in afterward," the brunette ArTrove manager urged with a friendly smile. "I'll be happy to help you find whatever you need."

"Just some pencils and a sketchbook," Justin replied, a little abashed for no good reason about his meager purchase.

The brunette nodded. "When it comes down to it, all you need to draw a picture is a pencil and a piece of paper."

"Or a ballpoint pen and a paper napkin," said Justin, grinning wryly as he recalled his first try at sketching a superhero.

"Or chalk and a clear patch of sidewalk," the woman added, starting to laugh. "Just something to draw with and a surface to draw on."

"I'll be right back for both of those." Justin picked up the wooden box of watercolor pencils and followed the elderly woman. 

He was right; they didn't go far, just to the limo parked outside the front door.

Carefully balancing the box on one arm, Justin reached for the handle of the back door.

The driver looked up from his newspaper, his eyes going past Justin to the white-haired grandmother. "Sorry, ma'am," he apologized, laying the paper on the seat next to him. "I'll be right there to help-"

"Stay put," she interrupted testily. "I'm perfectly capable of getting into a car on my own."

The woman slid into the back seat, moving over until she was behind the driver. "Just set the box there, please," she requested, pointing at the empty seat beside her.

Justin complied, making sure it was nestled securely and wouldn't slide around.

"Thank you," she said warmly. "You're a very well-brought-up young man."

Justin grinned and made a mental note to relay that to his mother. She'd be pleased to hear that her efforts had borne fruit.

As he went to shut the door, she winked at him and commented, "I foresee good things for you. Sunny skies ahead - you might even say ‘azure' ones."

That was odd, thought Justin, shutting the door firmly. He stared after the departing car for a few beats, snowflakes landing on his eyelashes and cheeks. Then, shrugging off the strange comment, he turned back to ArTrove and almost ran into the unfriendly clerk.

"Fuckin' plant," he cursed, shouldering Justin out of the way and slouching off down the sidewalk, his coat collar up around his ears.

Justin blinked in confusion, wondering if he'd entered an alternate dimension. Everyone was acting really weird.

The clerk let out an inarticulate growl when he hit an icy patch, his feet almost going out from under him. He windmilled his arms frantically, bitching, "Fucking New York weather."

Alright. He probably wasn't in The Twilight Zone after all. Complaining about the weather was as normal as it got.

Stepping back inside the art shop, he headed for the aisle he now knew contained the pencils, but he was waylaid by a halloo from the manager.

He made his way to the checkout counter and raised his eyebrows questioningly. 

The brunette pushed a stack of three sketch pads and a set of Derwent pencils over to him. "These are for you. No charge."

Before Justin could ask why she was giving him the items for free, a wry tilt to her mouth, she explained, "You did me a favor. I'd set up what you walked into with Angela, but with your help, it was far more effective."

Huh? Justin hoped he didn't look as stupid as he felt.

"I needed a good reason to get rid of Bryce."

It dawned on Justin that she might've just fired the clerk with the bad attitude.

"Laziness, chronic lateness and an attitude that could be excused as typical of a New Yorker weren't enough. Not when he's the owner's nephew. The one thing the boss won't tolerate however," she noted with relish, "is someone who doesn't know the products and can't - or won't - answer customers' questions. We're all expected to have a basic knowledge of the products we sell and have expertise in at least one type of art."

Justin nodded. That made sense.

"I'm crap at weaving, but I understand the process and I can talk to customers about yarn, looms and other products."

That was more than he could do, thought Justin, nodding again. His closest acquaintance with yarn was the wildly colored afghans Debbie would periodically crochet, and the sweater Daph had tried to knit for him - which ended up with a ton of dropped stitches and only one armhole.

"What I can do is sculpt. And Joseph is our expert weaver. Sculptor, weaver, painter or some other artist, every single one of us knows colors - except, that is, for Bryce. He supposedly paints, although I've never seen one of his pictures, and he spouts nonsense when he has to help a customer."

A vaguely guilty but also self-satisfied expression flitted across her face. "I needed more than just my say-so or griping from the other staff to prove that, especially since one of us has always been around to help him with customers." 

She shrugged. "So, with Angela Covington's help, I set up a small ‘sting' operation."

Justin didn't hear anything after ‘Covington.' By now, he'd figured out that ‘Angela' was the first name of the elderly woman he'd helped, but that hadn't meant anything. Paired with her last name though, it left him utterly mortified. Adrienne Bennett had even explained how Angela's work influenced her own and pointed out how her technique was evident in the picture Adrienne had gifted him. 

Justin wished he could sink through the floor and disappear. He'd gone and explained the difference between two shades of blue to an internationally renowned artist.

An "Are you okay?" penetrated his embarrassment, and from the concerned way the brunette was looking at him, he got the feeling it wasn't the first time she'd asked that question.

"Uh, Angela Covington," Justin croaked, unable to get anything else out.

The manager's laugh was laced with satisfaction. "Angela plays the doting, slightly dim grandmother really well, doesn't she?"

"I- blues." Justin tried again, the words finally emerging coherently. "I described the difference between two shades of blue. To Angela Covington."

Her brown eyes twinkling, the brunette remarked, "Angela said it was one of the most concise, easy-to-comprehend distinctions she's heard. Better than from any of the MFA students she occasionally tutors."

She had? Justin's brow crinkled in puzzlement.

The fortyish woman chuckled. "You must've really ‘checked out' while I was checking Angela out," she teased. 

Justin smiled weakly at her sally. It was a little funny, but it would be funnier if he wasn't the butt of the joke.

"Angela was practically gushing about how helpful and knowledgeable you were."

Bemused, Justin shook his head. "It must have been the watercolor pencils that made me sound that way. I was just kicking myself for forgetting to pack mine."

As he spoke, he had a flash of himself in the loft - setting the box of pencils right next to the suitcase he had open on the bed. Weird. He didn't remember putting the box in the suitcase, but what had he-

"Ah." The woman's tone held a wealth of understanding, while she appeared to study him with even more interest than before. "Did you move here recently?" she guessed.

"Uh, yeah. Yesterday." Justin scuffed a sneaker against the floor and manfully avoided saying he'd rather be in Pittsburgh.

"I know the Derwent pencils aren't quite the same caliber as the D'ache, but they should help tide you over?"

"Oh, yeah. They're great, thanks." He hadn't meant to seem unappreciative. "I mainly paint, but until I find studio space..." Justin trailed off, shrugging.

She blinked at him, her mouth hanging open a little before she snapped it shut. "I'm sorry," she apologized, shaking her head and laughing ruefully. "I assumed you were a university student - a fresh-" She abruptly stopped speaking, red tinting her cheekbones.

At least she didn't think he was a high school freshman. She wouldn't have been the first one to make that mistake. Maybe his new coat made him look older? Justin smiled, blissfully unaware that he now looked even younger than before.

"I'm Susan Lopez," the woman belatedly introduced herself, outstretching her hand. "I should have led with that, huh?" she laughingly castigated herself.

"Justin Taylor." Justin shook her calloused hand firmly.

Susan's eyes narrowed in thought. "Wait," she said after a moment. "The Justin Taylor who was written up in Artforum?"

"Um." Justin was too nonplussed to say more. 

"Oh, that's rich." Her eyes lit up with glee. "You got Bryce's goat twice, and he doesn't even know it."

"Huh?" Justin blurted. 

"Bryce was so incredibly jealous of you," Susan expounded. "He couldn't stop talking about ‘Justin Taylor, the nobody from the Pitts,'" she sneered in a voice that sounded remarkably like Bryce's - based on the little he'd actually heard the erstwhile sales clerk say.

Susan scoffed, "You'd think he knew Simon Caswell personally. ‘How could Simon peg him as ‘the next Warhol'?" she whined, mimicking Bryce's outrage.

Justin paled at hearing Simon's name and ‘peg' in association with him. "Caswell's a cu-" came his knee-jerk reaction, only stopping himself at the last moment. He wasn't talking to Lindsay; he didn't really know anything about the ArTrove manager and shouldn't be so disparaging about a well-known art critic.

"Cunt?" Susan said for him, raising her eyebrows.

Justin shrugged.

"Mmm, I happen to agree with you," Susan observed, "but he's an influential cunt, so be careful who you say that to."

She sounded just like Lindsay, thought Justin, resentment again coursing through him as he thought about the way the blonde had manipulated Brian - and him. Linds might have done it with the best of intentions, but the results were hard to swallow.

Justin sighed - as much about Lindsay as Simon. "I know I should be grateful to Caswell for getting my name out there, but-" He grimaced in disgust.

"Well, I'm grateful that Cuntwell-"

She waggled her eyebrows at Justin, making him laugh. He obviously wasn't the only one to come up with that alteration of Caswell's name.

"-got you to New York, and indirectly, into my shop. If not for that, I might still be stuck with Bryce."

Justin doubted that. The whole thing must've been captured on video, and he couldn't imagine the store owner would allow his nephew to remain on staff after viewing it.

"I am short a retail clerk now," Susan noted. "I could use someone who actually knows his stuff." She examined Justin speculatively. "You interested?"

That brought Justin up short. He'd been planning on getting a job at a local diner or restaurant. He had no retail experience, and except for his years as a busboy cum waiter, he didn't have much of a résumé. 

In fact, almost everything else that he could put on his CV would probably look like a quitter's record: an aborted internship at Vangard; a stint as an assistant art director for Rage, the movie - also aborted; and an abandoned degree at PIFA. 

He was proud of the comic he and Michael had created together, but it had been written for a niche market and they'd only produced a handful of issues. Justin didn't regret the focus for the final edition, but he did regret the way he'd sprung it on Brian. He should've had the common decency to tell Brian beforehand about Rage and JT getting hitched, instead of surprising him at Michael and Ben's housewarming party. Brian never would've done that to him, he'd realized much too late. 

The one positive result of the whole thing was that he'd put his foot down and told Michael there wouldn't be any more editions of the comic. His disposable income would take a hit, but he didn't care. He refused to put Brian on the spot ever again.

Surprisingly, Michael hadn't quibbled about his decision. Not yet anyhow. He must've gotten what he wanted out of the experience - besides the defeat of Proposition 14.

Susan scattered his thoughts, stating more than asking, "You already have a job lined up?"

Startled by her evident disappointment, Justin replied, "Huh? No. I just, uh, don't have any experience in retail." 

"Have you used a cash register?"

"Uh, yeah." Not just the one at the Liberty Diner either. He'd rung up purchases at Red Cape a few times. However both of those registers were so old that they looked like dinosaurs compared to the sleek machine on the counter. "Not as fancy as what you have though."

The manager shrugged. "This one does all the work for you; you just have to know which buttons to press. If Bryce could figure it out, I'm sure you won't have any problems." She paused for a moment before challenging, "Any other objections?"

This had to be the strangest job interview ever, if that was what it was. Justin's closest encounter with an interview was for the Vangard internship, and that had been largely pro forma.

"I don't know anything about sculpting - never mind weaving!" he spluttered. He wasn't sure why he wasn't grabbing the job offer with both hands, except that it was so unexpected - and maybe a little intimidating. He'd never worked in a shop before.

"We don't expect you to weave a blanket or throw a pot. Not in the first week anyway," Susan deadpanned.

Justin countered, "You have to give me at least a month."

Susan chuckled and held out her hand. "Deal."

 

 

Three weeks later, Justin was finally putting some of the supplies he'd acquired at ArTrove to good use. The sales clerk position was only part-time, but the pay was above minimum wage and he got a sizable employee discount. Best of all, Sue had agreed to display a few of his paintings in the shop, once he had something ready.

As he stepped back to take a critical look at the canvas he was working on, the Moby CD came to an end, and there was a light clicking noise as the stereo changed to the next disc. Justin had inserted five different CDs, all from artists he and Daphne had listened to - and crushed on - over the years, as well as the disc she'd burned for him and pressed into his hands the last time he saw her, two days before he left home. 

‘D & J's Music Mix,' which Daph had penned on the disc, had gone in last. While setting up to paint, Justin had determined that this was the right occasion to listen to the compilation for the first time. Second time now that he'd been painting for hours, but he hadn't felt like changing the discs, instead simply pressing ‘play' again. Although Justin never would have thought to arrange the eclectic mix of club music, oldies and popular songs the way Daph had, he was enjoying the results.

"When you're down and troubled, and you need a helping hand," sang James Taylor, making Justin smile to himself. It was so Daphne; she'd always been there for him, he mused fondly.

No wonder that while constantly sketching pictures of Brian in the last few weeks - nothing new there - he'd found himself missing his bestie almost as much as his lover and ended up sketching her with surprising frequency. There were drawings of other friends and family of course, especially Gus, but almost a third of the pictures focused on Daphne.

That was how he'd ended up deciding to paint a collage of him and Daphne, depicting some of the special moments in their lives. It was an ambitious project - the canvas that rested on his new easel was huge - but he was positive Daph would love it. She'd be blown away by the gift for her twenty-third birthday, he thought smugly. Nothing else she got would even come close.

Thank fuck that occasion was still months away. If Susan liked it, he wanted to display the painting at ArTrove before he transported it to Pittsburgh, a feat he'd have to figure out how to arrange later. 

Daph's present wouldn't be for sale. It wasn't in the abstract style that had been touted in the Artforum article, but that might prove to be a good thing. The painting would show some of what he could do - that he could manage a range of styles equally well - and he'd have other paintings available for purchase.

As he was visualizing the painting in his head and then outlining it on paper, he'd determined that he wouldn't - couldn't - shy away from the bittersweet memories. They were too entwined with the good ones. That meant Daphne's first time was there, with hints of the fight that followed. 

So was prom and the fun they'd had dancing and kidding around before Brian arrived. 

After You've Got a Friend, the next song had been Pete Townshend's Rough Boys. Now, his gaze shifting to the spot on the canvas where he'd tried to bring their prom to life, the strains of Save the Last Dance for Me filled the apartment as if he'd deliberately timed it.

Justin huffed out a mirthless laugh and swallowed down a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging as the oldie took him back to Brian and Daphne's efforts to recreate prom at the loft and help him regain his memories. Frustrated that he couldn't recall a single moment of the dance with Brian - and scared he never would - he'd lashed out, feigning disbelief that they'd danced to such a ‘corny, old song.' 

Hazel eyes glinting with hurt, Brian had retorted that he preferred to think of it as ‘ridiculously romantic,' but Justin, lost in his own misery, didn't pick up the cue. They'd been at opposite extremes, Justin wanting to remember and Brian wishing he could forget.

Now, humming along to the song, Justin let out a watery giggle. His lover had a not very well hidden penchant for old pop music; just look how often the man had watched Dirty Dancing, for fuck's sake.

He glanced to one side, his eyes landing on the photo of him and Daphne, which had apparently been taken when they entered the hotel ballroom together. He'd had to base the prom scene on photos along with hearsay, but he liked the way it had turned out, the elegance of Daphne's salmon pink dress and the black and white of his tux revealing where they were - if you knew what to look for. 

Some of the scenes were deliberately blurry, but Daphne shouldn't have any trouble recognizing them.

Another panel depicted the two of them stumbling around, giggling in a weed-induced haze, going right past 6 Fuller without even realizing it. 

He grinned at the representation of the pillow fight they'd gotten into in sixth grade, then frowned. The feathery wisps from the pillow that had burst open didn't look right. 

First, though, he had to fix the curl of Daphne's lip in the section he'd been working on. Justin could still visualize Daph's reaction and hear her flabbergasted wail, ‘But he's ugly!' when they walked in on Brian fucking the Zuke over his couch.

Although it hadn't been funny at the time, the Zucchini Man made him laugh now. God, Brian had such bad taste sometimes. 

Daphne had later turned that same sneer on Ethan, his ex's butt-ugly, two-faced personality doubtless earning that reaction. Justin picked up the liner brush, dabbing it in the color he wanted, and reached out to adjust the flare to Daph's upper lip. 

Ethan's vows of love might have proven meaningless, but that wasn't what made Justin the angriest. It was his willingness to hide in the closet - and drag Justin in there with him - all for a recording contract.

Although he didn't know it, Justin's lips curved in the exact motion he wanted to show Daphne's forming the painting. 

He was most pissed off at himself, of course; he should have left Ethan the moment he denied his homosexuality. 

Shaking off the dark thoughts and relegating the fiddler to the past where he belonged, Justin stepped back again. He nodded in approval at the way his friend now looked in that corner of the painting.

Intentionally ignoring the not-feather problem, he considered which of the remaining blank portions on the canvas to tackle next: either the two of them ice skating at Schenley Park last year, Justin getting off balance and windmilling wildly before landing on his ass while his friend howled with laughter; or a white-faced Daph holding out the envelope from the ETS, shit scared to find out her SAT scores.

True Faith suited the SAT better, he decided, grinning impishly as a new song blasted through the speakers. After checking to make sure he had the colors he wanted, he extruded a bit more of the dark blue onto his palette, picked up the brush he wanted, dabbed it in the paint and got back to work.

He had a good rhythm going a few minutes later when someone pounded on the door. The pounding was even louder than this morning, the driving beat of the music not enough to drown it out. 

Justin scowled. This was how he'd ended up with white blobs instead of feathers - the pounding had interrupted his rhythm, and he'd lost control of the brush. This time, fortunately, he was able to lift the paintbrush away from the canvas without causing any unsightly splotches.

Fuck. "Keep your panties on!" he shouted. 

It was doubtless another one of Jon's girlfriends, so he saw no reason to rush over to the door. When Daphne had pointed him towards her friend who lived in the East Village, she'd failed to mention that Jon was a chick magnet who juggled dating several women at once.

Every single one of the women was blonde, whether naturally or from a bottle, and they were all either willfully blind or total airheads. They had to be, or they would've figured out that Jon was scoring on the side - multiple sides.

Justin couldn't help wondering if Daphne suspected that her friend might be gay and that was the reason she'd arranged for him to stay here, rather than with the cousin who was studying at NYU and had actually had a spare bedroom. Had being the operative word, someone snatching up the room right as Justin's plane was touching down at LaGuardia.

Since Jon was almost always banging a girl when he was home - and hadn't shown a scintilla of interest in him - Justin could confirm that the man didn't have a gay bone in his body. He just hoped Daphne didn't want to make a play for the guy. 

He'd really lucked out with Brian; the man fucked around, but he was honest about it and he'd never once broken their rules, not even during that dismal period when Justin fell for pretty words and left him. One night after he'd returned from Hollywood - when things were getting tense again - Brian had stumbled into the loft drunk and high. He'd clutched Justin fiercely after they fucked, mumbling about how if he kept to the rules, his boy would never leave.

Why the fuck hadn't he listened and accepted that for the declaration it was? Justin might've had good reasons for feeling resentful - the shitty way Brian announced he had syphilis, for instance - but he should never have moved back in if he wasn't willing to accept his lover for who he was.

Breathe, he told himself, staving off panic. He and Brian were okay. Since the first phone call - which Brian had initiated - they'd talked a couple times. Okay, he'd talked and Brian grunted - but, after a fashion, they were communicating. Justin would've gone home to Pittsburgh to tell Brian he was being an idiot about this ‘only time' business, but that wouldn't do any good. He had to let the stubborn asshole figure it out for himself.

Speaking of assholes... He scowled when another round of banging started up. Goddammit, it looked like they weren't going to let up until they were satisfied that their swinging dick of a boyfriend wasn't here.

He wondered if the bimbo at the door would also shove him out of the way like the one this morning, checking in the bedroom and bathroom to be sure Jon really wasn't here - and then talk his ear off for half an hour about how Jon was ‘the one' and ‘totally, like totally, right' for her.

Jon probably hadn't told any of the girls that he was going out of town for the weekend, he thought sourly. Or that he was ‘auditioning' someone new to add to his stable of girlfriends.

It figured that he'd keep getting interrupted by lovelorn blondes the first time he was able to paint. Justin'd had no luck finding affordable studio space, but Jon had been pretty understanding about letting Justin paint in the living room when he wasn't there. He'd just asked that Justin field any inquiries as to his whereabouts. The ‘family obligations' excuse always worked well, he'd informed Justin when he left for the weekend - girls always went gooey over family.

He still thought it was strange that a ‘straight Brian' had chosen to live in one of the city's gayborhoods. Not that there weren't other straight people in the Village, but it was predominantly gay - and that was the clientele businesses catered to.

Jon's reasoning didn't make much sense to Justin, but living in the East Village apparently gave Jon cachet - and having a gay artist for a roommate just added to his appeal with straight girls. 

Unfortunately, contributing to Jon's coolness didn't do much for Justin beyond providing him with a place to sleep. The location might be great, but it was way too small for two people. Unless they were a couple, and even then, Justin mused sourly, it would probably be the reason they broke up; you just couldn't get away from each other.

The living room, with the sofa on which he was couch-surfing, was the only room of any size in the apartment. Jon had barely been able to squeeze a queen-size mattress into the small bedroom, which meant that except for sleeping, fucking and showering - in the claustrophobically tiny bathroom - Jon spent all his time in the living room.

Like Daphne's cousin, with whom Justin would rather be rooming, Jon was a student and had books piled on the desk that was sandwiched into one corner of the room, but Justin had never seen him sit at the desk or crack any of the books. The books were apparently just for show since as far as Justin knew, the guy still hadn't declared a major.

Justin couldn't help being a little jealous that Jon's mom and dad were funding his aimless studies; a year older than Justin, he'd been pursuing the undetermined major for almost five years. That support included paying not only his tuition but also his rent, along with a generous allowance for groceries and other necessities.

Even with its deficiencies - the kitchenette was tiny and not designed for cooking - the apartment was a find. It was in a decent area and close to the trains, and Jon didn't have to cough up a penny for it.

Not only that, but if Jon burned through his allowance too quickly, he now had Justin to supplement his income. That, as Justin had learned, was the main reason he'd been welcomed with open arms. He used the money Justin paid him for budget-conscious seductions: takeout meals eaten by candlelight, cheap wine and sickeningly romantic movies.

If wooing was needed, then painting was out. 

Justin perforce either played third wheel or went for a walk. A really long walk since listening to the headboard of Jon's bed bang against the wall, counterpointed by squeals and groans, was otherwise inescapable. 

If only Jon would pick up girls during the day - even just once in a while - it wouldn't be so bad. Then Justin might be able to escape to ArTrove. The other part-time job he'd found at a local diner wouldn't start till next week. He had to laugh; who knew the main reason he'd want a job wouldn't be to make ends meet?

More banging on the door intruded, and a loud, irate female voice calling his name penetrated past the music. It was definitely one of the girlfriends Jon had introduced him to, and they clearly weren't going away until he answered the door.

Sighing, Justin set down the palette and paintbrush. The timing could be worse, he supposed; it was getting late in the afternoon, so he was about to lose the natural light anyway. He'd clean up for the day after he got rid of the latest visitor.

Even though, irrespective of the interruption, he'd have had to stop soon, Justin couldn't help but feel a little annoyed. He stomped over to the door and wrenched it open, ready to give the blonde bimbo a piece of his mind. What he got wasn't what he expected.

Brian extended his arms to the side and gave him a cheesy grin. "Hey, Sunshine."

Shocked half witless, Justin blurted out, "What're you doing here?"

Brian arched an eyebrow. "Someone once said, ‘It's only time.'"

Justin was torn between grabbing onto his lover and never letting go - and kicking the smug bastard. 

Before he could make a move, he heard a familiar voice say, "Someone really dumb."

Justin started giggling at the outraged look on Brian's face.

"Fuck," muttered Brian, hauling Justin over to him until they were plastered together. He buried his nose in Justin's hair and inhaled deeply, seemingly content to do no more than that.

Justin threw his arms around Brian's neck and held on tight. Three weeks was way too fucking long to be without his partner.

Brian lifted his head, and his gaze devouring Justin, admitted, "Okay, okay. It was a weirdly philosophical and dumb thing to say."

"But also ridiculously romantic," Justin murmured as Stand By Me started playing.

"Don't you mean corny, Sunshine?" Brian teased.

"And it's an oldie," Daphne threw in, peering around from behind Brian.

"This song could be about us," Justin observed, pinkening a little at being so mawkish. "All three of us." It was true though; they were always there for each other when the chips were down.

"You know," Brian deadpanned, "Ben E. King was one of the lead singers for the Drifters, once upon a time."

Daphne saved Justin from having to say anything. "He's way cool," she chirped.

He kind of was, thought Justin, resolving to do some research on the Internet. Maybe he still toured?

"How'd you get here?" he asked, not wanting to give away the idea he'd just had.

"There's this thing called a car..."

Justin rolled his eyes at his lover. Brian never could resist an opportunity to get snarky. "In this weather? Are you crazy?"

His bestie giggled. "We were weed inspired."

"You drove high?" Now Justin was shocked. Brian rarely drove after he'd imbibed or done drugs of any kind anymore. He was even cautious about one or two beers.

"Nah," Brian drawled. "That was yesterday. Your little girlfriend stopped by last night, just as I was testing my latest eighth of Chronic." He shrugged. "So I invited her to join me."

"I thought I'd finally get to take him up on his offer," Daph said in a dead-serious tone.

Offer? What did that mean?

Daphne succinctly elucidated, "To fuck me."

Huh? Justin looked back and forth between Brian and Daphne, totally baffled. Maybe the weed was having lingering effects.

"You had to be there, Sunshine," Brian told him.

"You should see the look on your face," Daphne giggled. "Don't worry. Nothing happened." 

He hadn't been worried and he wasn't now, Justin assured himself, darting a glance at Brian, who just raised an eyebrow at him in an infuriatingly uninformative manner.

Daph volunteered, "All we did was talk about you, and since we missed you, we decided we might as well come for a visit."

He flicked another glance at Brian, who didn't deny anything, leaving Justin smiling giddily. 

"So, you gonna invite us in?" Daphne asked, tapping the toe of one shoe against the floor. "It took forever to get here. Brian drove like a little old lady."

"I didn't want to ding the Vette," Brian huffed, shooting a dark look at the girl.

"Yeah, yeah." Daphne waved off the excuse, squeezing between Justin and the door frame to get into the apartment.

Brian's lips descended toward Justin's, his intent clear.

His mind clouded with desire, Justin remembered a moment too late what he'd been working on. His shout of "Wait!" was overridden by a piercing squeal from Daphne.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" his bestie squealed, running over to hug him from behind. "I love it!" she shrieked, jumping up and down and bouncing Justin along with her. "I love it!" she repeated enthusiastically.

"Don't go all Valley Girl on me," Justin joked.

"Valley Girl!" Daphne echoed, punching him in the arm. "Valley Girl?"

Brian nudged Justin out of the way and peered into the apartment. "Christ, Sunshine. Does whatshisname have a pet parrot?"

Justin, who'd just been wondering if there was such a thing as ‘parrot disease,' cracked up.

"Ha ha." This time Daphne punched Brian in the arm. "Ha ha," she reiterated. Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she looked at Brian from under her eyelashes. "Seriously, Jus," she relented a couple beats later, "it's incredible." She waved a hand toward the easel. "You, like, captured every second of the pillow fight." Her brow creasing, she dropped her voice. "You, uh, know those white blobs don't look like feathers, right?"

Sighing, Justin muttered, "Fucking blonde bimbo."

Brian lifted an eyebrow. "Blond bimbo?"

"That would be ‘himbo' and I'm not one," Justin huffed.

"Hmm, you're half of one." Brian leered at him and licked his lips, leaving Justin in no doubt as to which ‘half' he meant. "Now, why don't you show me what's got Daphy's feathers all ruffled."

Justin raised a mental eyebrow at that one, especially when his bestie didn't retaliate with a jab of her elbow to Brian's ribs for using the despised childhood nickname.

"You weren't supposed to see it yet," he told Daphne, leading the way over to the painting. "It's for your birthday, but when it's done, I want to show it at ArTrove for a while. If Sue likes it."

Wrapping his arms around Justin from behind, Brian scoffed. "It's genius. Susie Q's not gonna want to let it go."

Was Brian thinking of the Creedence version, the original oldie or one of the other remakes? Knowing his lover, it could be any of those. Regardless, he suspected Susan would like the nickname. She'd let slip that she wasn't originally from New York, and he'd caught a hint of a southern accent in her voice a couple of times.

"It's mine," Daphne stated fiercely, a possessive glint in her eyes. "Susie Q" - she readily adopted Brian's nickname - "better not try to keep it."

Justin smiled, pleased and secretly a little relieved that his friend liked the collage so much. 

"How'd you get us so right at prom?" Daphne asked wonderingly. "That's exactly how we looked. Even your goofy smile, Jus," she quipped.

Brian's arms tightened around Justin, his pointy chin digging into the crown of Justin's head and a fine tremor running through his body.

Justin's thumb stroked soothingly across the underside of Brian's wrist. "You've talked about it often enough. It's almost like I was there," he joked feebly.

The tension in his body perceptibly easing, Brian vowed, "No one else could've made me want to relive my youth. Fucking teenagers."

Justin grinned at the double entendre. "How about a twenty-something?" he asked.

Brian grinned. "I'm all for equal opportunity."

"Really," Daphne pressed. "How? I mean, that's the dress I had on."

"Remember George?"

Daphne frowned. "The geeky chess guy?" she asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Justin verified. "He was at prom with his beard-"

"He's gay?" Daphne's jaw dropped. "I mean, he was a geek but, like, totally built."

Justin looked from Daphne to Brian, who smirked, and then back at his friend.

"Geez." Daphne held a forefinger against her temple and mimed shooting herself. "I should've known. The hottest guys are always gay."

"Anyway, George tracked down my mom and left a couple photos" - Justin gestured at the wall near his easel where he'd pinned them up - "in a sealed envelope for me. Mom mailed it here."

Justin swallowed down a lump in his throat, and his voice cracking, noted, "You were right, Daph. We did look amazing."

It was Brian's turn to soothe him. "We always look amazing," he husked into Justin's ear.

Huffing out a laugh, Justin tilted his head up so he could see the older man's expression. "In the morning? With bedhead?"

"It's the hottest bedhead ever," Brian averred, his lips twitching.

Daphne sighed. "It's true. Justin could roll off the couch and already be, like, ready for the day."

As if. Justin rolled his eyes affectionately at his friend. "Yeah? Then why were you always yelling at me to stop primping and get out of the bathroom?"

Daph waved an airily dismissive hand. "I don't get how George managed to take those photos without anyone noticing."

"Mm-mm." Justin shook his head. "He put a note in with the photos. It was his beard." Tilting his head back again, he rested his head on Brian's shoulder and looked up at his lover. "According to George, once we started dancing, no one was looking anywhere but at us anyway."

"Yeah," Daph confirmed, smiling broadly. "It was so romantic."

For once, the allusion to ‘romance' didn't give Brian hives. "Ridiculously," he murmured, bending his head down to press a kiss to Justin's lips.

"Guys!" Daphne remonstrated after fuck knew how long. "I want the rest of the story."

"Uh." It took Justin a moment to gather his scattered wits. "Uh, she could've videoed the whole thing, and I bet no one would have noticed. I wish she had."

Daphne sighed in sympathy. "I've asked everyone I could think of who might've had a video camera there, and they've asked their friends, but no luck." She sighed again. "Sorry, Jus."

"It's okay," said Justin. He didn't mind as much as he used to, back when visual proof of the prom dance would've made him feel more secure in his relationship with Brian. Although he'd rather have remembered dancing with Brian, the only moment he'd gotten back was of Hobbs hitting him with the bat. 

He figured that was a big part of why even the rules he and Brian had come up with hadn't been enough to stem his insecurity. Brian had been just as scared to lose him, even if he refused to put it into words, and that had fed into Justin's lack of confidence in their relationship.

Now he could finally move past that uncertainty. Just three weeks! - that was all it took, Justin mentally crowed - to make it evident how much Brian had missed him. He wasn't calling it quits after they'd canceled the wedding; instead, Brian had shown up here, confirming his commitment to them.

Brian lifted an eyebrow as if he could guess what Justin was thinking - he probably could - so he restrained himself to a soft smile. The eyebrow hiked up farther, but Justin didn't take the bait; if he said something about them being a ‘couple,' it would just make Brian skittish.

Glancing at the pictures, Justin smiled, thinking how the classmate he barely recalled was now one of his favorite people. 

"George, uh, kinda went overboard in his note," he mumbled, unsure if he should reveal what the other boy had said. 

"What did he say?" Daphne asked, her curiosity piqued.

Justin hesitated, not wanting to sound boastful or like he bought into what George had written.

"What?" Brian echoed Daphne, his tone teasing. "The chess player discovered you're a twat?"

Laughing, Justin swatted Brian on the chest with the back of his hand. "George, uh, thanked me for coming out during our senior year," he divulged. "He said I'd inspired him to do the same, even though he didn't have the guts to do it until he was in college. He even apologized for not visiting me in the hospital. He didn't dare in case anyone figured out he was a fag and went after him too." An embarrassed flush suffusing his face, he finished, "George made me out to be some kind of hero. I'm not. Getting bash-"

Before he could completely disavow any claim to heroism, Daphne interjected, "Isn't JT modeled after you?"

"Yeah, but I'm not JT."

Brian huffed out a laugh, his breath stirring Justin's hair. "You're as close as it gets, Sunshine."

Twisting around in Brian's arms, Justin stared at him in challenge. "Does that mean you're Rage?"

Brian shrugged, one corner of his mouth curving into a wry smile. "Maybe. Sometimes. When JT won't stop nagging at me."

Jesus. Justin's cock jumped in his pants and started to thicken as he stared into Brian's eyes. 

Brian's eyes darkened in response, the pupils expanding, and he tugged Justin even closer.

The moment was broken by Daphne asking, "What're you gonna put here - and here?"

Justin, who'd just been stretching up on his tiptoes to kiss Brian, went flat footed with a soft thump.

"Hold that thought," Brian muttered.

Justin pressed his forehead against Brian's chin. Like the surge of lust was just gonna disappear with Brian anywhere in the vicinity.

Turning back around - Brian loosened his grip just enough for that - he inquiringly lifted an eyebrow.

Daph pointed at one blank spot on the canvas and then another.

Justin's nonchalant expression didn't change.

"C'mon, Jus," his bestie wheedled. "It's for my birthday. Gimme."

"Nope." Justin refused to give in to her pleading look. "You weren't supposed to know about the painting till then. At least part of it will be a surprise."

Daphne pouted for a moment but then smiled at Brian over Justin's head. "You'll be coming back again soon, right?" She didn't give Brian a chance to answer, simply noting in satisfaction, "I'll come with you and check out the finished painting."

"You'll have to wait," Brian replied, sidestepping the question about whether he'd be dropping in again or not. 

A little disappointed, Justin let out the breath he'd been holding before chiding himself. He hadn't known Brian was coming for a visit this time; knowing Brian, he'd also want it to be a surprise the next time. Justin couldn't control that, but he could pack this visit full of memories to pull out when he was homesick for Brian.

"I'll arrange for FedEx to pack and ship the painting so it gets to you for your birthday," Brian provided some consolation for Daphne.

For Justin too, who until now hadn't thought about how he was going to transport the painting. Shipping it would have cost a mint.

Daphne squealed and ran over to hug Brian, and perforce, Justin. "Thanks, Bri!"

Justin giggled at the pained look on Brian's face. His lover hadn't been able to stop Daphne from calling Justin ‘Jus,' so he probably figured there wasn't much point in trying to stop her from calling him ‘Bri.' The girl was now part of an elite trio: him, Ted and Daph. Linds too, albeit rarely.

"Why don't you take a hike, Daphy?" Brian growled.

That was one way to get even, thought Justin, giggling harder. It wasn't like Brian hated having his name shortened, as long as it was Justin, or occasionally Ted. As another giggle escaped, he wondered who'd started the name-calling, which knowing his lover and his bestie, might never end.

A hurt look flitted across Daphne's face at the unusually gruff tone, but it quickly changed to a look of understanding when Brian's hands slid from Justin's waist to his ass.

"You could pretend you're in the backroom at Babylon?" she suggested hopefully. "I've seen both your bits-"

Bits? Justin was torn between outrage and laughter.

"-so I can be your audience."

Brian chuckled, a fond note in his voice as he informed the girl, "That's not the way it works."

Rather than give Daphne a chance to quiz them about how it did work - he didn't want to hear about her getting off while she watched them - Justin piped up, "How about you go for a walk?"

That earned him a glare.

"You could check out ArTrove," he hastily tacked on before she decided to punch, kick or pinch him. "See where your painting will be hung. Just turn right when you leave the building, go down three blocks and you'll see the shop across the street. You can't miss it."

Daph hmmed in consideration.

Justin sweetened the offer a little. "I'll, uh, call Susan - she should be there this afternoon - and ask her to show you the wall where it will go."

"I guess." Daphne cast a dubious look out the window, at the fat snowflakes that were swirling down.

"Get me a double nonfat latte on your way back," Brian ordered, extracting his wallet from his jeans. "A cappuccino for Justin." He handed over the twenty he'd just pulled out. "And whatever you want."

"Gee, thanks." Apparently resigned to her fate, Daphne did up the coat buttons she must've unbuttoned while waiting for Justin to answer the door. "We're going clubbing tonight, right? All of us?" she stressed.

"Sure," Justin agreed with a shrug.

Brian raised an eyebrow but then nodded. "Don't go thinking you're gonna get a glimpse into a backroom in the Big Apple. Women are persona non grata here too."

"What about on dyke night?"

Justin and Brian exchanged looks of horror. "They go home," Brian flatly declared. "They're not allowed to contaminate the backroom."

"Or they find a lesbian bar," Justin threw in. There had to be some of those, although he had no idea where. "You could use your Melissa Etheridge obsession to get in," he joked.

Daph gave him the finger as she slammed the door behind her.

 

Sometime later, knuckles rapped against the bedroom door, Daphne's voice easily penetrating through the plywood. "Thanks a lot for calling Susan, Jus. She didn't know who the fuck I was."

Brian chuckled, making Justin's head rise and fall where it rested on his chest. "Oopsie," he teased, sounding a lot like Emmett.

Justin growled inarticulately. Like he was gonna remember to call when Brian had his hands all over him. Slitting an eye open, he tilted his head and looked up at the ceiling, where the clock one of the girlfriends had gotten Jon projected the time for easy viewing. She'd had it custom-made, and it displayed her name, with hearts on each side, above the numbers. Incredibly, the other girls weren't disturbed by it; they bought Jon's story that his sister had given it to him.

Focusing on the readout, he silently thanked his bestie. She'd left them alone for a little over two hours. 

He summoned the energy to get up, groaning, "Ugh," as his cheek separated painfully from Brian's skin. "We're glued together."

"Nothing a shower won't fix," Brian returned. "How about another round first though?" The erection digging into Justin's hip underlined his readiness. 

His own dick barely twitching, Justin shook his head in amazement. With a little encouragement, he could probably get it up again, but, sheesh, they'd just finished the third round a few minutes ago.

"Later, at the club," Justin promised, extricating himself from Brian's clasp, skin unsticking with popping noises.

He slowly stood up, wobbling a little as he sought for secure footing in the narrow space between the mattress and the wall. His glutes protested the vigorous ride he'd taken atop Brian, and the outside of his hole twinged, letting him know it was sore from the unaccustomed exercise.

The heel of his right foot landed on a used condom, and his nose scrunched up in disgust. It was one of Brian's, but still. Looking down, he saw the edge of one of the sheets he'd stripped off Jon's bed stuck under his right foot. That was way worse; talk about icky.

He frowned, a stray thought nagging at him. There was something he should've-

"How about a shower fuck?" Brian proposed, drawing Justin's attention to his naked body, which was splayed out on the mattress, his shaft sticking up proudly.

Justin's gaze drifted from his lover's body to the bare mattress. "Shit," he groaned. "Jon's gonna kill me."

"What for?"

Gesturing at the mattress, Justin expostulated, "You didn't give me a chance to put down a clean sheet, Brian."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Just throw the mattress pad in the washer, princess."

"What mattress pad?" Justin asked with an evil smirk.

Brian rolled off the bed, crashing into Justin and driving him against the wall. "Christ!" he exclaimed, warily eyeing the mattress. "That thing must be soaked in- in-"

Justin refused to think about that substance. "You go take the first shower," he urged. "I'll double-sheet the bed for later; that'll help."

"I could get us a hotel room."

"Don't be ridiculous." Justin was reassuring himself that the mattress couldn't possibly be that bad, but then he remembered the amount of female traffic in and out of the bedroom. "I'll just, um, put down a blanket."

"A duvet would be better," Brian slyly remarked. "You've got a track record with those."

Justin shook his head in fond exasperation. "You're such a drama queen. You're never going to forget that, are you?

"It was brand new!" Brian objected. "Straight from Lisbon."

"You just wanted someone to blame," Justin teased. "Besides yourself, when you jerked off all over it... imagining you were fucking some hot guy."

An irresistibly sweet smile curved Brian's lips, making Justin's heart thump.

"There was a hot guy." Brian paused, his smile turning into a grin. "Who came all over my new duvet."

Only Brian could do this to him, Justin thought, his face warming in embarrassment - more at the confirmation that Brian had thought he was hot way back then than for any other reason.

"Twat," Brian chided, reading his mind. "I don't do trolls."

Justin could've debated that point - some of the guys he'd seen Brian fuck were borderline at best - but he let it go. 

"You want the first shower?" he asked.

With a one-shouldered shrug, Brian opined, "We might as well save water and time - like always."

"I wish." Justin sighed. "There's not enough space."

Brian waggled his eyebrows. "I'm sure we can manage." Stepping into his briefs, he pulled them up and then left the bedroom to check out the bathroom.

An appreciative "That boy is fine!" floated into the bedroom, making Justin laugh.

He pulled on his paint-splotched cargo pants and followed after Brian.

He was expecting a scathing assessment but not a pale-faced Brian, who backpedaled out of the dinky space and crashed into him.

"What was that?" Brian shrieked at an abnormally high pitch, pointing into the bathroom with a shaky finger.

Justin looked through the open door and wrinkled his nose at the large cockroach that was perched on the mirror above the sink, its antenna waving a cheeky greeting at him. He'd try to squash it, but he knew from experience it wouldn't work; the roach would skitter away just before he made contact - and laugh its fucking beetly head off at him.

"What's the big deal?" Daphne asked, sidling up next to Justin and peering into the bathroom.

Brian gave the girl a look that indicated she must be blind. "Look at the mirror."

"Yeah?" Daphne turned a puzzled glance on Brian. "We have roaches in the Burgh too." She looked back at the oversized insect. "Granted, the New York variety may be bigger-"

"The ones in the Pitts don't fly!" Brian insisted in a voice that wavered between squeaky and its normal tenor. "And they fucking well aren't in my loft. Unless they're all that's left of a doobie."

"It's the air shaft." Justin pointed at the partially enclosed vent that took up as much space as the shower cubicle. "They love it in there. I've tried Raid strips, but the cockroaches just ignore them."

"Maybe it's the humid air?" Daphne posited. "It might make the strips ineffective."

Justin shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe they've built up resistance. You've just gotta ignore them, you know?" He didn't like the roaches - it grossed him out when one landed on his bare skin, but there wasn't much he could do about the problem. 

His bestie nodded in understanding, doubtless recalling the periodic insect infestations in her apartment building. At least there the landlord had been proactive about pest control treatments. Jon said the super for the brownstone had making noises for years about having the whole building ‘bombed' by a pest control service, but it had yet to happen.

Brian took a step back as another creepy-crawly fluttered out of the shaft. "Ignore them?" he asked, his voice rising again. "How am I supposed to take a shower with those crawling all over me?" He planted his hands on his hips. "Where's my cell? I'm going to get us a room at-"

Justin shut Brian up with the simple expedient of pressing a kiss to his lips. The brunet was such a queen, he thought, swallowing back a laugh. He could out-Emmett their southern friend at times - almost always over something Em wouldn't bat an eyelash at.

"I'll shower with you," he assured Brian, who was rather chalky white under the color acquired in a tanning bed. Valuing his hide, he left unsaid that it was to keep Brian safe from the New York cockroaches. 

He eyed askance the ill-fitting shower curtain, around which water always leaked onto the floor. There was no point in closing it with two of them trying to cram into the shower; it would be more useless than usual. "We can put Jon's sheets on the floor to soak up the excess water," he came up with a solution. "They need washing anyway."

"You got your Guerlain with you?" he asked in a further attempt to distract his fidgety lover. "Jon buys Irish Spring."

Brian gave him an appalled look. "You're not using that, are you? It'll dry your skin out." His brow knitting, he strode over to the front door before Justin could respond and yanked it open.

A wolf whistle and, "Nice legs, sugar," came from the drag queen who lived down the hall as she sauntered past in a black turtleneck, red and black buffalo plaid miniskirt, and knee-high, patent-leather boots with four-inch heels.

"You didn't happen to see a Tumi suitcase, did you?" he addressed the queen in a not-very-hopeful tone after glancing to the left and the right of the door. "It's matte-"

"Brian," Daphne cut in before he could describe the case, "it's over here."

"Thank fuck." Brian whirled around and let out a sigh of relief. "My toiletries are in there." He shut the door on the drag queen, whose gaze was fixed on his posterior, and charged over to the suitcase.

Thank God, thought Justin, grinning as he watched Brian root around in the case before triumphantly holding up the bag with his toiletries. Brian without his Guerlain body wash and shampoo, anti-wrinkle cream and hair products didn't bear thinking about. 

Besides, Brian was right. The Irish Spring did dry his skin out. He was already planning to nick the bottle Brian had with him.

"C'mon." Toiletry bag in hand, Brian took Justin by the hand and tugged him toward the bathroom.

"Just a sec." Justin quickly scooped up the dirty sheets from the bedroom floor and snagged the spray bottle in which he'd mixed vinegar with water before hurrying into the bathroom.

He wasn't quite fast enough to prevent a screech of "Justin!"

So much for the roaches staying quiescent and forgotten, he thought on a sigh. Maybe he could restrict them to the air shaft though, if he sprayed them enough.

 

 

"I reek of vinegar," Brian grouched as they made their way toward Second Avenue late in the evening. He barely moved his cigarette away from his lips before taking another drag - more, Justin suspected, to hide any residual vinegary odor than because he craved nicotine.

The older man was doubly cranky because Justin had nixed calling a cab. Even in the bitter, snowy weather, it was quicker to hoof it than crawl through Saturday evening traffic, especially since the place Justin had in mind was only a short distance away.

Daphne giggled and banged into Justin. "Nuh-uh," she countered Brian's assertion. "We smell like ‘we-eed,'" she singsonged, adding an extra syllable to the word.

Justin steadied his friend, silently agreeing that the joints they'd all shared before leaving the brownstone masked most other odors. Never mind that Brian and Daph had been toking away last night and probably still had that round seeping out of their pores. He couldn't detect even a hint of vinegar in Brian's aroma. Besides the marijuana, it was the usual heady mix of cigarettes, Guerlain body wash and shampoo and Brian's natural body odor.

It wasn't like the drop or two of the vinegar and water solution that might have gotten on Brian while they were showering would have tainted the older man's skin. And it had immediately been washed away. The roaches weren't stupid; they didn't want to be drowned, so they hadn't ventured anywhere close to them. You'd think they had though, the way Brian had squawked, constantly directing, "Spray the fuckers, dammit!"

Once they were done showering, Brian had dashed for the safety of the bedroom - deciding to make do with the small travel mirror in his toiletries bag rather than deal with the cockroaches.

"Girl can't handle her weed," Brian opined, recalling Justin's attention to the present moment.

"Can so," Daphne retorted as she stumbled and collided with Justin again, thereby proving Brian's point.

Justin grinned, thinking again how much he'd missed his bestie. She was such a lightweight; The Thai they'd shared beforehand wasn't his and Daph's usual fare, but since they ate before starting in on the dope, Brian had vetoed the carbs.

"Where're we going anyway?" Brian intentionally bumped Justin with his hip.

Looking around, Justin realized he'd missed East Second Street, which he'd meant to turn down. No biggie; they could just go down East First instead. "Huh?" he asked, having missed Brian's question.

"Where are we going?" Brian reiterated slowly and precisely, as if speaking to a simpleton. "Christ, neither of you has any tolerance."

"Do too," Justin protested.

"Right!" Daphne bounced along at his side, stepping on his toes and making Justin wince.

Brian ignored their protests. "I'd better get you to a club, stat. You can't sweat out pot, but moving around on the dance floor should keep you stoner kids out of trouble."

Daphne gave Brian a raspberry.

"Thecock," Justin answered Brian, slurring the words together so that it came out sounding like ‘Thock.'

"Thock?" Brian shot him a baffled look. "What the fuck is that?"

Justin motioned at the street sign which read ‘E 1st St' and guided everyone around the corner before attempting a reply. "The Cock," he repeated, carefully and distinctly.

Amusement evident in his voice, Brian noted, "I don't remember Vic talking about that one. And there's no way he would've passed on a club with that name."

A wave of sadness passed over Justin and sobered him up a little. "It opened right before Vic got sick. He never had a chance to check it out."

"Fucking AIDS," cursed Brian. "That's why it's so important to always be safe. For everyone," he emphasized, peering around Justin. "You too, Daphne, okay? You never know when someone might have an STD."

"Um, okay," Daphne replied. She understandably sounded a little confused, considering the way Brian had brushed off being diagnosed with syphilis - not all that long ago either.

"You heard about my little run-in, huh?" Brian guessed, lifting an eyebrow at Justin.

Justin elbowed him in the side. "Everybody on Liberty Avenue knew, Brian. You might as well have put an announcement in Out."

Brian chuckled ruefully. "Babylon grapevine - same thing." He paused for a couple of beats before looking over at Justin again. "I was an asshole."

"Yeah," Justin acknowledged the implicit apology. "But you're my asshole."

"Yeah," Brian breathed out a confirmation.

Justin smiled to himself as he directed everyone around the next corner and onto Second Avenue. He tilted his chin at a building across the street in the center of the block. "That's it."

"What gave it away?" Brian asked dryly.

"Hmm? Oh, the sign," Justin deadpanned, nodding at the neon outline of a rooster in the window that identified the premises.

"Huh."

Laughing, Justin led the way past the long line that snaked from the entrance toward East Second Street and around the corner. He'd only been here once before but was confident they'd get in without having to wait. Hot blonds were always in demand. Besides, he had Brian with him, his lover oozing his usual sex appeal.

Sure enough, the hunky bouncer waved them in.

Daphne quipped, "You're, like, famous, Jus." Her head swiveling around as she tried to take everything in, she then exclaimed, "It's like Babylon... only better!"

"Please." Brian shot the girl an affronted look. "This is a dive bar."

Neither Justin or Daph paid him any heed. Dive bar or not, Justin could tell Brian was in his element, eye-fucking the hot guys crowding up to the bar and swaying on the dance floor.

"Didn't you have on a pink dress with some kind of... boa the first time we went to Babylon?" Justin asked Daphne. Except for the eye-searing color, he had trouble picturing what she'd been wearing.

"Oh God, that dress. It was so 2000." Daphne cringed. Recovering, she teased, "You were so nervous, Jus. You were ready to drag me back out as soon as we were in the door." She laughed, shaking her head. "I still can't believe the bouncer let you in, Mr. ‘born in 1952' Grassi."

Both Brian's eyebrows rose this time. "You used Vic's ID?"

"Yeah," Justin acknowledged. "He just handed it over, said he didn't need it anymore. And Deb made some comment about how he'd paid his dues."

Brian smiled in fond reminiscence. "He was a bonafide gay lothario. I wanted to be just like him."

There was a wistful note in Brian's voice, like he wasn't sure he measured up. How could he question that? In an effort to lighten the mood, Justin related, "The first time I came here, I meant to pull out my ID, but I grabbed Vic's Babylon membership card instead. The bouncer - same guy as tonight - laughed and said I not only had the wrong club but also the wrong city."

"First time?" Brian inquired, placing a slight, but unmistakable emphasis on ‘first.' Then, in a clear attempt at nonchalance, he quickly followed up with, "The bouncer's been to Babylon?"

Justin carefully hid a smile. Brian definitely got jealous even though you'd never get him to admit it. "Yeah, he's got an aunt, uncle and cousins in the Burgh," he replied. "He visits every few years."

Hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion. "He told you all that at the door?"

Shit. He didn't want Brian to worry that the bouncer was the new Ian. "Nah. He found me on the dance floor when he was on his break. Filled me in then." The tension running though Brian's body was palpable, so Justin offhandedly added, "We danced and then he went back to cover the front door. Tonight's the first time I've seen him since."

Brian's shoulders loosened and his forehead smoothed out.

"I told him a little about Vic and he said something really nice - how Vic would like me using his Babylon card the first time I went to a gay club in New York. He thought Vic might even be watching me, but I dunno. Is that even possible?"

A smile stole across Brian's lips. "Vic and Judy? Yeah, it's possible; in fact, I'd say probable."

Justin blinked, confused. Who was Judy? He glanced at his bestie, but Daphne just shrugged, equally clueless. Maybe the pot was getting to Brian after all and he meant the guy who used to be Vic's partner, before he got infected. Justin'd never heard his name, but it could be something like Judah, Brian's tongue twisting it into Judy.

Whatever. Shrugging it off, Justin grinned as he looked at the heaving, dancing throng of men, with a few women interspersed here and there. It was a little like the first time he'd set foot inside Babylon. 

Bumping Daph with his shoulder, he recalled, "I really was fuckin' nervous that first time."

A burst of laughter had him looking over at Brian, who mocked, "I like your... kitchen. Special K is okay but I like Cheerios better."

"Cheerios?" Daphne giggled. You never told me about that, Jus."

His face flaming - it was probably hot enough to fry eggs - Justin mumbled, "Not that first time." Christ, Brian had the memory of an elephant about that night - except when it came to recalling Justin's name. "My first visit to Babylon-"

"Nope," Brian interrupted, contradicting him. "That was the first time. You came strolling down Liberty Avenue, the smoke from your cigarette mingling with the colored steam pouring out of the vents. It was almost like you coalesced out of thin air. No club wear - just ordinary clothes - but you had a touch of the otherworldly about you." 

Justin was stunned. Not so much at Brian remembering that moment, but it was shocking to have him reveal, in such detail, what had led him to pick Justin up.

"Then, right outside Babylon, you stopped under that damned lamppost, which a thousand drunk fags must've pissed on." Tongue in cheek, Brian smirked at him. 

Daphne scrunched up her nose. "Thanks for the visual, Brian."

No shit, thought Justin, his face falling. That was about as unromantic as you could get.

"I blame that lamppost, you know." Brian shook his head in apparent disbelief. "If it hadn't haloed your fuckin' hair" - his fingers threaded through blond strands as he spoke - "I never would have noticed you-"

His spirits buoyed back up, Justin returned the smirk with a self-satisfied grin. Brian had already admitted to noticing him before that. It might not have been love at first sight - for either of them - but Brian had just revealed that it was more than simple lust for him.

"-and you wouldn't have turned my life upside down." Brian gave him a judgy look. "I mean, you were wearing flannel, for fuck's sake."

Justin rolled his eyes. With the way Brian had been laser focused on his face, he doubted the man had noticed his shirt until after Justin took his jacket off at the loft - and then only because it was rubbing up against his bare skin.

"I meant my first time inside Babylon," Justin attempted to clarify, poking Brian in the ribs.

Brian chuckled. "Uh-huh."

"Anyway," Justin picked up the thread of what he'd been telling Daphne, "I was about ready to call it quits - for, like, the zillionth time in twenty minutes - but then I remembered how you said I wasn't exactly a troll and that I should, er-"

"Er?" Brian queried when he stumbled to a halt.

Justin's mind was going a mile a minute as he searched for an alternative to ‘make you jealous.' "Make you notice me," dropped out of his mouth, to his relief sounding almost natural. "So you'd fuck me again." He smiled triumphantly. "I got what I wanted. Just like the first time outside Babylon."

Sliding his hand down, Brian stroked his thumb across the fine hairs at the base of Justin's head before slinging his arm around his shoulders. "Me too. Even if I didn't know it right away."

A smile stretched Justin's lips, growing so wide that he thought it might split his face in two.

"Don't go all lezzie on me," Brian warned.

Justin couldn't have stopped smiling if he tried, especially when Brian pressed a kiss to his temple, negating the effectiveness of the warning.

"C'mon," he got out, "let's dump our coats."

At the coat check, Justin helped Daph remove her coat.

"Better than when we went to Babylon?" Daphne twirled around to show off the lime green top and skirt ensemble, cinched in the middle with a black belt.

"You gonna tell me it's ‘so 2005' in a few years?" Justin joked.

Deftly undoing the buttons of Justin's peacoat, Brian gave his cargo pants and T-shirt a knowing look. "At least she recognizes when something's outmoded." 

"They're classics," Justin retorted, secure in the knowledge that whatever Brian thought of his outfit, he desperately needed the body underneath for his own.  

He moved behind Brian to help the older man out of his peacoat, which, except for the color, was a ringer for the one Justin had on. A strange, echoing sensation, as if he'd gone through these same exact motions before, slid through his mind, but he couldn't place when that might have been. The weed was really getting to him.

Their winter gear deposited at the coat check, they made their way over to the bar, where Brian snagged the attention of one of the bartenders and got a couple bottles of water. Digging some E out of his jeans, he held out a tab. "You kiddies can share. I'd have to scrape you off the ceiling if I gave you one each."

"Um, no," Daphne declined, although she did accept one of the bottles of water, taking a couple sips after unscrewing the cap. "I'm good."

Justin wasn't surprised that his friend had refused. She never did anything stronger than weed, and she was still high from the shared joints. Come to think of it, he probably shouldn't have any either.

"Another time," he told Brian. "I don't wanna have a bad reaction."

Brian laughed as he knocked back one tab of ecstasy, chasing it with water. "Yeah, no spewing on the Cavalli or the Armani." Glancing down at his feet, he added, "Or the Prada." When Daphne giggled and swayed into Justin, he narrowed his eyes, laying down the law, "Keep it inside. Both of you."

Like they were the ones in danger of tossing their cookies, Justin thought, growing worried when it looked like Brian might swallow a second tab. Brian paid for the good stuff, so he was going to get high anyway. If he needed it, he could take another tab later - and bitch Anita out for selling him subpar drugs.

Brian caught his gaze and hesitated for a moment before pocketing the tab again.

Justin endeavored to keep his face blank, not wanting to egg Brian into taking the second tab, just to prove he could handle it. 

"C'mon," Brian urged, abandoning the bottles of water and taking Daphne by the hand to lead her onto the dance floor, halting close to where a go-go boy was dancing on a raised platform.

Uh-oh, thought Justin, giggling as he followed them.

Losing himself in the music, he almost forgot about his companions - until a hard pinch to the bare skin of his midriff, where his tee had ridden up, got his attention.

"Why didn't you warn me?" Daphne hissed, glaring daggers at him. "I thought Brian could dance, but he stepped on my toes, like, three times!"

The built redhead who'd been working his way toward them - Brian had doubtless been eye-fucking him - blanched and reversed course. Thank you, Daph, thought Justin. He was pretty sure Brian didn't intend to fuck the guy - not after three Justin-less weeks - but this might serve better than a ‘fuck off' would. 

"He does the two-step pretty well," offered Justin in a weak defense of his lover. "You just have to kind of... guide him." More like plaster your body to his so he could follow your lead, but Daph didn't need to know that.

The girl turned her head toward Brian, who was awkwardly two-stepping over to them. "But... prom.... how?"

"Fairy dust?" It was the best explanation Justin could come up with.

"Mmm, it's raining fairy dust," Brian husked, wrapping his arms around Justin from behind and executing an offbeat sway. "It's all over you, Sunshine." 

Justin turned around in Brian's arms. "Well, I did turn into a big queer."

Brian grinned in recognition and asserted, "I wouldn't have wasted my time otherwise."

That sounded like an almost exact facsimile of what Brian had said all those years ago. Justin certainly wouldn't put it past the man to remember it word for word. Even if he couldn't recall exactly what each of them had said, he hadn't forgotten the gist.

Placing his arms on Brian's shoulders, he feathered his fingers through brunet strands while looking into his lover's expressive hazel eyes. "You made me the best homosexual I can be." 

"I may've helped," Brian acknowledged, "but it came down to you, Justin. You made yourself into the best possible homosexual."

The usage of his full first name told Justin how serious Brian was. Blinking rapidly, he did his utmost to stave off tears; otherwise, the next thing he knew, Brian would be calling him a verklempt lesbian.

Brian redirected his attention, aiming a finger at the disco ball overhead and saving him from becoming overly sentimental. "Tick, tick, tick," he enunciated, head tilted back.

Huh. That was weird. The gigantic, silvery ball had hour and minute hands affixed to the side closest to them, and around the curve of the ball, he could see the tip of another minute hand. There were no Roman or Arabic numerals to make it easier to read the time, but the clock appeared to be fully functional, the minute hand jerking forward as they watched.

"Must be time to fuck," Brian proclaimed. "Where's the backroom?"

His dick swelling, Justin salivated at the thought of having Brian fuck him in the Cock's backroom with a bunch of hot guys watching every move.

"Uh, where's Daph?" he asked, looking around as he took Brian's hand to lead him to the backroom.

"You remembered I'm here, huh?" Daphne ribbed him from where she was dancing just a few feet away, a tall strawberry-blond guy twirling her around in time to the music.

Justin shrugged and flashed a smile at his bestie, knowing she'd forgive him.

"Go on." Daph shooed them away with a flick of her hand. "I'll be dancing with Shane when you get back."

The guy didn't scream gay to Justin. Maybe he was bi, or even straight, and had come to the Cock with a group of friends who wanted to check out the cruising scene at the dive bar.

"He gets too frisky, just ask a bartender for help," Brian advised.

"Frisky?" Justin cracked up at Brian coming out with a word that made him sound like an old geezer.

"Don't worry," said a brunette, who was dancing nearby with three other people. "Shane's okay."

"Go on," Daphne repeated, now sounding exasperated. "I know you two haven't gotten it out of your system yet."

And they never would if Justin had anything to say about it.

In perfect concord, Brian spouted one of his favorite maxims, "There's no such thing as enough." He rubbed up against Justin, the glint in his eyes betraying how turned on he was.

"Damn," Justin heard someone sigh, "I want a guy who looks at me like that."

"Yeah," another person chimed in, "like they're gonna devour me."

"Each and every bit of you," Brian growled as they left Daphne and the others behind.

If the cotton of his old olive-green cargo pants hadn't been so stretchy, Justin wasn't sure what he would have done - his erection was now rock hard, making it difficult to put one foot in front of the other without stumbling over his own feet.

"I'm gonna lick your balls and roll each one around on my tongue," Brian vowed. "Cover you in my spit."

It was a good thing Brian was pressed close against his back because Justin's legs weren't doing a very good job of holding him up. Was Brian seriously talking about giving him a blowjob in the Cock's backroom? The closest he'd come to doing that in public was in the men's room at Woody's and at the diner.

"You need me to carry you?" Brian asked, his hard-on digging into Justin's lower back.

"Huh?" the dazed lad asked.

"Down the stairs," Brian clarified.

It took a few beats for Justin to focus and realize that, despite being here only once before, he'd unerringly led Brian to the head of the spiral metal staircase that debouched into the basement backroom below them. How in the hell had he gone through the doorway that led back here without hearing the clanging chains that covered it?

"Uh, no," Justin got his wits together to reply.

Brian caressed his right butt cheek before running a couple fingers along the seam of his cargo pants. "You sure?"

Justin rounded on his lover and ineffectually batted at the fingers now sneaking their way under his T-shirt. "Stop that!"

Brian chuckled. "You sure?" he reiterated.

Fucker. Brian was completely irresistible in playful mode. It was all Justin could do not to attack him right there. Clearing his throat, he rasped, "Just till we get downstairs. I don't wanna take a header down the steps."

Brian made a show of clasping his hands behind his back. "After you." He nodded for Justin to precede him.

With how slowly and cautiously he made his way down the stairs, Justin reckoned anyone watching him would either think he was old and decrepit, or that he had some kind of groin injury. He did - a Kinney-induced hard-on.

Brian's warm breath fanning across his neck caused the fine hairs to stand erect and made it almost impossible for Justin to concentrate. Fortunately, he made it to the bottom without causing himself harm.

Justin inhaled deeply - the smell of sweat and come heightening his arousal - as he navigated around clusters of naked men. He was making a beeline for the nearest bare patch of wall when Brian grasped his arm, instead directing him to a cluster of furniture.

"Here," Brian grunted, halting in front of an unoccupied couch and pushing on Justin's shoulders to get him to sit down. Crouching, Brian went to work on his shoes and cargo pants, divesting Justin of them in short order. With no underwear to remove - he'd gone commando - Justin was now naked from the waist down. 

It was strangely erotic, having only his lower half exposed.

His hard-on brushed against Brian's cheek, and the brunet ran his nose along the length, nostrils flaring.

"Jaysus, look at the size of that kid's dick," someone observed in a gravelly, lightly accented voice.

Irish, Justin guessed.

Another guy, speaking in a flat American twang, sighed, "Fuck, yeah. He could do me."

"Lucky sod that's with him," came from the Irishman.

Only peripherally aware of the conversation - most of his focus was on Brian and what he'd do next - Justin was still shocked by the last comment. Since when did guys notice him over Brian?

Brian pressed a palm to his stomach, indicating Justin should lie back on the sofa and positioned him so that his ass was hanging just over the edge of the armless sectional.

For a fleeting moment, Justin was disappointed. It looked like Brian was heading straight for the main event, meaning he wouldn't get that blowjob after all. Then again, as long as he got Brian inside him - right now - it didn't really matter.

But then Brian did the unexpected: He sank to his knees in front of Justin.

"Up," he commanded, tapping Justin's right knee.

Dazed, Justin complied, raising his feet and setting them on the very edge of the sofa, spread out akimbo, his arms falling to his sides on the faux-leather surface of the couch. He could barely take in what was happening. Brian seemed unbothered that his ridiculously expensive, brand-spanking-new Roberto Cavalli jeans were resting on the less than pristine cement floor; he'd removed the tag before slipping them on just a short while ago, and gave Justin sticker shock when he saw the amount.

Never mind how hard it had to be on his knees. Heck, Brian had been known to whine about how hard the loft floor was, and his wood flooring was way more forgiving than cement.

This time, however, Brian didn't utter a word of complaint. He hungrily drank in the sight of Justin's swollen cock, pre-come seeping out of the slit and forming a pool on his stomach, just beneath where his T-shirt had ridden up. Justin's balls drew up tight to his buttocks, and his hole clenched convulsively while Brian avidly watched.

Finally, after what seemed like an interminable length of time, Brian leaned down and touched the tip of his tongue to the pre-come bubbling out of Justin's slit and began lapping it up. 

"Mmm," he hummed.

"Mmm," Justin helplessly hummed along with him.

Brian's tongue disappeared after long, pleasure-filled seconds.

Justin's body bowed up in search of more.

Brian put a hand flat on his stomach in a clear command to stay still, and Justin reluctantly allowed his body to sink back down onto the sofa.

Torturously slowly, Brian ran his tongue down the length of Justin's rock-hard erection, which jumped at the attention, and then slowly farther down between his testicles. He stopped a hair's breadth from Justin's hole and blew warm, moist air across the opening.

"Nngh," Justin groaned. "More."

Spreading his cheeks apart with his hands, Brian lazily circled Justin's hole with the tip of his tongue, again and again and again.

Justin distantly heard a long, drawn-out "Jaysus" from the Irishman.

"You think I can pay him to do that to me?" asked his companion.

Justin's attempt at a laugh came out as a breathy, high-pitched moan. If he didn't want to come so badly, he reckoned he could lie here for hours while Brian rimmed him.

"Bri," he finally got out, lifting his head only to have it thud back onto the sofa. He scrabbled for something to hold onto, but his fingers couldn't find any purchase on the slick, imitation-leather sofa. "Fuuuck."

A dark chuckle was the only response, Brian's tongue continuing to circle his opening for fuck knew how long.

The instant Justin moved his hand toward his painfully hard erection, Brian reached up and stopped him, pushing his hand away.

"Bri, pleash," he tried again, his words slurring.

Brian finally dipped his tongue into his hole, Justin's muscles constricting and doing their best to grab hold of his tongue.

In between more circular motions around the edge of his hole, Brian's tongue probed at his opening. In and out, in and out.

God. Justin was going to die if Brian didn't let him come soon. The Face of God was giving him a fucking stellar rim job; he'd have to remember to tell Daph, he thought giddily.

His legs were trembling so hard that he knew he couldn't keep them braced on the edge of the sofa much longer. "Briii," he helplessly cried out.

As if that was the signal he'd been waiting for, Brian placed his tongue flat against Justin's hole and licked a broad stripe up over his perineum, across his balls and all the way up to the flanged head of his dick. Then, without the slightest pause, he deepthroated Justin in one fell swoop.

He might want to enjoy the sensations of Brian swallowing around him, but no way was he gonna last. Justin flailed about wildly, trying to warn Brian.

Hazel eyes locked on his and Brian hummed, at the same time sticking his index finger into Justin's hole.

He'd only inserted it to the first knuckle when Justin's control disintegrated. He exploded down Brian's throat, waves of ecstasy rolling through his body.

"Fuck," he croaked. After a final spurt, he flopped down bonelessly, utterly spent.

Brian hummed around Justin's cock, which he held securely in the warm cavern of his mouth. Post orgasm, the sensation was almost too much for Justin to bear, so he held still and took shallow breaths.

Justin wasn't sure how long he lay there like that, but as the intensity of his orgasm receded, it occurred to him that Brian must be desperate to relieve his own hard-on. His lover rarely jacked off when giving him a blowjob, by far preferring to come inside Justin.

In spite of shaky limbs, he again tucked his hands under his legs and drew them back in invitation, exposing his opening. He knew from experience that it wouldn't take long for Brian to get him hard again.

Justin watched as Brian stood up, knees popping, and winced in sympathy. His lover's knees had to hurt like hell after hours - it had felt that long to Justin - on the dirty, unforgiving cement. But then, instead of unbuttoning his jeans and gloving up, Brian took off his Prada boots and jeans, setting his boots next to Justin's sneakers beside the couch and haphazardly tossing the Cavalli jeans on top of his cargo pants.

A hysterical giggle almost escaped Justin at the cavalier treatment of his expensive designer jeans. Normally Brian would have a cow over the least little stain getting on his duds.

Then, his eyes landing on Brian's crotch, he promptly forgot everything else. Brian was also freeballing, and Justin licked dry lips, avidly eyeing the purplish-red, distended organ that was jutting out from his body. It made him flash back to their first time together and how he'd wondered if Brian would fit inside him, although, thank fuck, he hadn't voiced that concern. 

"Upsy-daisy," Brian commanded, placing his hands under Justin's armpits and hauling him to his feet.

"Wha-?" Justin was utterly confused.

Brian sat on the couch before lying back. Scooting down slightly so that his ass was at the edge of the couch, he propped his feet up.

Weird. He must want a blowjob, Justin assumed, although why Brian had gotten half undressed for that was beyond him.

Justin was willing to provide whatever he wanted though, especially after the mind-blowing orgasm Brian had just given him. He started to lower himself down to the floor, bracing himself for the moment his knees would contact the cement. 

Brian stopped him with a curt "Justin."

Now Justin was even more bewildered. He gazed at Brian, a question in his eyes.

Brian raised an eyebrow at Justin's cock, which was starting to fill out again.

Justin's eyes flicked from Brian's face to his exposed hole and back again. He couldn't mean-

A nod - a little shy and hesitant - confirmed what Brian wanted.

Justin swallowed convulsively, trying to moisten his dry throat, as he stood back up. He got off - majorly - when Brian topped him in public. But this? His dick was suddenly harder than ever before, and he was sure he'd combust before he could get inside his lover.

"Jaysus!" he dimly heard the Irishman exclaim once more. "The lad's up again already?"

"Right?" the twangy American chimed in. "I don't think I'll get it up again tonight."

"No harm in tryin', boyo," the Irish dude countered.

Justin did his best to shut out the chatter making him nervous. He might never get the chance to do this in public again, so he needed to make the most of it.

Focusing solely on Brian, he moved closer, until he was standing right in front of his reclining lover.

"You know what to do, r-ight?" Brian quipped. The way his voice broke, ‘right' coming out as ‘ruh-ight,' betrayed how nervous he was.

Instead of tensing up more himself, his lover's display of nerves helped calm Justin. He slowly opened Brian's red shirt, taking his time and smoothing his fingers across the newly revealed skin. 

The shirt completely unbuttoned, he let it fall open to either side of Brian's chest and rubbed his thumbs over exposed nipples. Then, as their groins pressed together, Justin leaned down and sucked one and then the other, laving them with spit.

"Mmm," sighed Brian in pleasure.

Leaving the small, hard peaks behind, Justin made his way up Brian's neck, where he bit down on the sensitive spot beneath Brian's ear. He expected a warning not to leave any visible marks, but Brian just moaned and writhed beneath him. 

Justin worried at the spot until he was certain he'd raised a respectable hickey. If it bothered Brian, Justin reckoned he could always disguise it with a scarf.

Gradually drawing back, he looked at Brian, checking to ensure he wanted to proceed.

Brian looked back at him, an eager gleam lighting his eyes.

The moment he'd been working toward now at hand, Justin realized he didn't have a condom or lube. Shit. Bending over, he grabbed hold of Brian's jeans and hurriedly stuffed a hand into one of the side pockets - there were bound to be supplies in both - pulled out a string of condoms and a small packet of lube and dropped the jeans back on top of his cargos. 

He hastily tore open a condom, the rest of the strip following the jeans. Lightly lubricating his shaft, he then covered himself and slicked up the rubber in record time.

Deep breath, Justin told himself, not wanting to rush matters and hurt Brian. It helped that Brian had bottomed for him this afternoon - his muscles should still be partly relaxed, but he'd need to take care. They didn't reverse roles all that often, meaning Brian wasn't nearly as practiced as Justin at unclenching and welcoming the intrusion.

Squirting more of the lube onto his fingers, he circled Brian's hole before gently working it inside.

"Not a fucking virgin," Brian grumbled.

Justin laughed and rolled his eyes, his tension easing. Like anyone would ever accuse Brian of that.

"'Sides," Brian added querulously, "damned stuff is cold."

Could the man possibly be serious? "You just now figured that out?" Justin bantered, arching an eyebrow as he placed his cock at his lover's opening.

Brian curtly ordered, "Just get on with it."

The shortness of Brian's response bothered Justin; he didn't sound as eager as before. Maybe he was offended by the lighthearted joking? Or maybe he wanted to back out?

Justin didn't want to stop, but he forced his attention away from his yearning cock. Brian's eyes skittered away before returning to him, indecision written across his features.  

No. Something wasn't right.

"Hey," Brian rasped, summoning what might be a smile - it looked more like a grimace - as Justin started to take a step back, prepared to call it quits. "It's okay. Go on."

Justin hesitated. He wanted to fuck Brian - here and now. But, if Brian wasn't ready, he'd forgo the thrill of fucking him in public.

It was hard to tell in the backroom's dim lighting, but Justin thought there was a red flush to Brian's face as he tilted his head to one side, evidently listening to something.

Justin had successfully blocked out the noise around them, but now he heard sighs and moans along with mutterings of "Stick it in," "How the fuck can he hold back like that?" and "Do me instead of that wuss."

Ouch. Brian would hate being called a wuss. That wasn't enough of a reason for Justin to fuck him now though. He took another half-step back, but then Brian outstretched a hand and halted his retreat.

"Fuck me," Brian urged. "Jus," he breathed out a beat later.

It was the almost reverently spoken ‘Jus' that decided him. Brian wouldn't call him by the shortened version of his name - wouldn't use an endearment in this setting - if he didn't want this as much as Justin.

Smiling softly at the older man, Justin reclaimed the half step that separated him from Brian's beckoning hole. He didn't leave time for either of them to grow nervous again, instead pushing slowly but steadily into Brian.

His lover breathed out, deliberately relaxing to ease Justin's passage.

All the way in, Justin bumped against Brian's prostate, drawing a gasp of pleasure from the older man.

Brian wound his legs around Justin's slender hips and dug his heels into his buttocks.

God. Justin never wanted this to end. If Brian hadn't gotten him off already, he'd have no choice... That had him wondering if Brian had planned this all along, knowing Justin wouldn't last otherwise. Up till now, he'd put it down to Brian flying high on E and weed, but maybe there was more to it?

He could obsess about it later, Justin decided, setting aside the fruitless speculations and instead concentrating on Brian. His lover's mouth gaped open, grunts and groans issuing forth.

Hands braced on the sofa on each side of his lover, he endeavored to establish a slow, even rhythm, making sure to hit Brian's prostate on every pass. He couldn't do this for very long; not only was the urge to come growing, but it wouldn't be fair to make Brian wait when he had yet to come for the first time. But he also didn't want to hurry things; he wanted to relish every moment.

Justin's hips started to jerk faster, sweat dripping from his hair onto Brian's torso.

"Fuck," Brian groaned. "Fuck me."

Wasn't that what he was doing? Justin wondered hazily, again picking up his rhythm, pumping in and out of the man beneath him.

Brian arched his back to meet every thrust.

Neither of them was going to last much longer. With that in mind, Justin bent double over his lover and stretched up as far as he could. Brian tilted up his head to meet Justin's lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

Justin ground relentlessly against Brian's prostate, his hips moving in a stuttering, circular motion.

Screaming into Justin's mouth, Brian erupted, coating their stomachs.

The clenching of Brian's muscles around him had Justin following him into oblivion mere seconds later. Wrung out, he collapsed on top of his lover, panting, Brian's chest rising and falling beneath him as he sucked in air.

Justin slithered backward just enough to pull out of Brian, reaching around with clumsy fingers to remove the condom. He didn't bother to tie it off, letting it fall to the floor with a wet splat before flopping back down on top of his lover.

He wasn't sure how long they lay there like that before he summoned the energy to move. One hand on top of the couch, he levered himself up, his skin separating from Brian's with a painful snap.

"Ow!" Brian protested.

Justin glanced down, his nose scrunching up in disgust. Gross. They were covered in bodily fluids. He glanced around, but the Cock apparently didn't provide come towels - not even the cheap, brown, non-absorbent paper ones - and the bathroom was all the way up the stairs. They didn't even have a pair of underwear he could use to wipe them off.

Sighing, he decided he'd have to sacrifice his shirt and just leave it behind; he was hardly going to carry a come-covered T-shirt around.

Just then, someone tossed a couple of individually wrapped wet wipes at him. "They're all yours, blond boy. Thanks for the entertainment."

Brian chuckled, probably taking the thanks as their due, while Justin stammered, "Uh, you're welcome." Not about to reject the gift, he quickly tore open one of the packets and cleaned Brian off with a towelette before using the other one on himself. The wipes weren't very big, but they removed the worst of the jizz.

A couple minutes later, the rest of their clothes back on, they meandered toward the stairs, arms around each other. A final comment from the peanut gallery followed them. "I've never come so hard in me life as I did watching you two..."

"We are the two hottest fags he'll ever see," Brian murmured into Justin's ear.

"Yeah," Justin agreed, pressing a kiss to the underside of Brian's chin.

He didn't bother to hide the blinding smile that was still there as they re-entered the Cock's main room. Making their way over to Daphne, they joined her in dancing to INXS' Tight.

Moving closer, Daphne shouted, "Geez, you're like white on rice. Didn't you just ‘do it'?"

Brian chuckled, obviously amused by the audible air quotes around the last two words. "Boy's a great fuck," he announced. "But then you'd know, wouldn't you?"

Coloring up, Daphne mumbled, "Uh, yeah, you too, Brian," which made no sense whatsoever.

Justin shook his head at his bestie. Such a lightweight - she still hadn't worked off the effects of the weed.

 

"Wanna go again?" Hours after they'd left the club, Brian was sprawled out on top of Justin, contemplating another round. In between screwing each other's brains out, they'd been constantly touching, stroking, kissing. 

Before Justin could make a smart-aleck remark that there was no way he could get it up again, Brian's phone pinged once. Then, moments later, once more. After a third ping, it finally stopped.

"It must be the munchers," Brian surmised. "Apparently all isn't well in the Great White North." 

Justin mentally rolled his eyes. Fleeing the country had to be the dumbest, most ill-conceived idea ever. Bigots could be found everywhere, including in Canada, even if there were more protections for gays. Plus, there was no way relocating would solve all the problems the two women had been having; all it did was distance them from the friends and family who would've been there to help or at least listen to their woes.

Grunting in displeasure, Brian sat up and fished around in the jeans he'd left at the foot of the bed, before falling down dramatically and holding out the phone so Justin could see the display.

‘Mikey' flashed at him, and Justin did another mental eye-roll. Since patching up their differences, Michael and Brian were attached at the hip again.

Pressing a couple of buttons, Brian opened his text messages. "Six messages?" he muttered in disbelief. "Really, Mikey?"

"What does he want?" Justin asked in a neutral tone.

Brian rolled his eyes. "To meet at the diner for brunch. What'd he do, get up at the crack of dawn to text me?" He went to toss the phone on top of his dirty clothes but then stopped, staring at the phone. "It's ten thirty? No way."

His memory jogged by the lateness of the hour, Justin recalled that Sue had been complaining about the impending time change for the last week. "It's fucking daylight savings."

"I forgot it was this weekend." Brian reasoned, "I suppose that explains the weird-ass clock on the disco ball at the Cock."

"Mmm. Fucking our way through the time change was hot." Justin smiled at the older man.

Brian was silent for a bit before musing aloud, "‘Fucking daylight savings,' huh?"

Justin looked at him questioningly.

Eyes lighting up, Brian suggested, "Let's make it a tradition. Fuck in the time change."

Really? Justin scoffed, "Like we need a reason to fuck."

"No, that's not an issue," Brian agreed, snickering. "But we could mix things up more..." He trailed off, a blush rising up his neck and staining his cheeks.

Jesus. Justin had assumed that fucking Brian in public was just a one-off. Never mind taking turns topping after they got back to the apartment at dark o'clock in the morning. 

"Um, okay," Justin replied tentatively. Of course he wanted to top Brian - as often as the man would spread his legs for him - but it was still a relatively new thing to have it happen more than a couple times a year.

"Mhmm," Brian hmmed. "Hot, kinky, sweaty sex - whatever we want - when we switch to daylight savings or back to standard time."

Justin's dick, which he would've sworn was out for the count, twitched in interest. He'd started imagining what they could experiment with when the front door to the apartment banged open before slamming shut.

"What the heck?" they heard Daphne yell from the living room.

"Daph?" was the astonished response.

Shit. His ne'er-do-well roomie had returned early.

"What're you doing here?" Jon asked.

Daph replied, "Sleeping, till just now, you asshole."

"What, I'm an asshole because I woke you up? I didn't even know you were here," Jon retorted.

"Not because of that. Because you jerk girls around, letting them think you want more."

"Shit. Justin must've given you an earful."

A bitter note to her voice, Daph observed, "I already knew about you, Jon."

Crap, it sounded like Daphne really might've been interested in the loser.

"Yeah, well, it didn't go so well this weekend. I got kicked out of Marlie's parents' house," Jon noted in a disheartened voice. "I just wanna get some sleep. It was a long drive back here."

Justin heard him clomping toward the bedroom and let his head fall back on the pillow. 

Brian raised an eyebrow at Justin, smirking as he splayed his legs wider.

Giggling, Justin thought that Jon was about to get an up-close-and-personal eyeful of what having him for a roommate meant.

He watched the doorknob turn, but then Jon paused, asking, "Wait. What're you doing out here on the sofa bed? Where's Justin?"

"He took your bed."

"Shit," Jon grunted. "He's a nice guy, but I don't wanna sleep with him."

"He's not interested in you," Daphne commented tartly. "Don't freak."

"Whatever." Jon blew off the comment. "Can I just join you on the couch and get some sleep?"

Daphne sighed. "It's your place. You'll just have to make do with me instead of a top-heavy blonde."

"I give up on blondes," came Jon's morose response.

Brian nuzzled Justin's blond hair. "You just gotta know how to pick the right one."

Justin smiled, his gaze landing on the box of Caran D'ache watercolor pencils, which had appeared next to the mattress while he was cleaning up the watery mess they'd made in the bathroom yesterday afternoon. Brian hadn't offered a word in explanation when Justin stumbled over it, instead acting like it had always been there.

He was sure now that Brian had hidden the pencils when Justin was packing to fly to New York - all so he'd have an excuse to visit.