Jan. 2005, Justin POV.

Getting the hell out of LA.

Justin arrived at LAX a little short on time. Luckily he only had his duffle bag and his carrier pouch and knew from experience the duffle could fit in the overhead compartment. He found his departure gate on the electronic panel, and headed directly there at a jog. By the time he had gotten through security and found his way through the warren of LAX, the passengers of his flight to Pittsburg were already lining up for boarding. Thankfully, he already had a boarding pass, but he needed a seat assignment. Making his way through the crowd, he reached the counter. He gratefully dropped his duffle.

“May I help you?” The airline employee behind the counter was a pretty blonde, with her hair in a French twist. Her eyes matched the blue-grey of her uniform exactly. Her nametag said Beth Miller. She looked up from her keyboard, and her smile went from professional to genuine in answer to Justin’s.

“I don’t have a seat assignment.” He passed his ticket and blank boarding pass to her.

She worked on the computer for a moment and looked up at him hopefully. “Mr. Taylor, our flight is overbooked. Would you be willing to reschedule to tomorrow? We would pay for a hotel room and give you a voucher for the free domestic flight of your choice…”

A very handsome man, in his early fifties, who had made his way to the counter now stood next to Justin and was watching him with an appreciative gaze.

The airline’s offer would have been very tempting except for two things: Justin had to be in New York the next day to start school and couldn’t miss his connecting flight in Pittsburgh, and he could not wait to get out of LA.

He had come here only six months ago, with Ethan, who was to record his first commercial CD. He did not want to think about how happy and optimistic he had been then. They had been “in love”, their future bright.

Justin had transferred from PIFA to the Los Angeles School of Design to follow his lover. He would lose almost a whole semester of credit, but his life was with Ethan, and being at his side while he took the first step to his professional career, even though Justin had to stay in the shadows, being there for Ethan, was all that mattered.

He had been such a fool, and Ethan such a consummate liar. Several times, Justin had been suspicious that Ethan was not faithful to the promises they had made to each other, but somehow, Ethan always assuaged his fears, and even made him feel guilty for doubting him.

Until the fateful afternoon four weeks ago when he had been released from class early and had thought to surprise Ethan by meeting him at the recording studio, only to find him bent over the piano bench, with his accompanying pianist’s dick up his ass. So much for keeping his sexual orientation a secret. Neither of them had even noticed him.

Justin had bought his ticket back to Pittsburg that afternoon. He had gone to their small rented condo, packed his things, and gone to the diner where he’d worked for rent money, fully intending to leave in the morning and go lick his wounds at Daphne’s.

His boss, Sue, whom he really liked, had pleaded with him to give her at least two weeks to find someone else, and hearing of the Ethan debacle had offered Justin the use of her guest bedroom if he would stay. Justin had agreed. On a whim, he had sent his resume and an application to the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, where he had always wanted to go, though the deadline had already passed.

He was astonished when he received a phone call from the Dean of Student Affairs. They loved his resume, they admired his work, especially the paintings he had done while in LA. One of the students who had been accepted had chosen instead to go to Les Beaux Arts in Paris, and the four students on their alternate list had all already decided on other schools.

They would be glad to have Justin, if he could make it for the beginning of the winter quarter in four weeks. Though he would lose yet more credit, Justin decided to go for it. He figured he would be so far in debt with student loans after he graduated, he would spend the first five years of his professional career on bread and water.

Sue was happy to keep him through the holiday season, giving him as many shifts as possible. Now that he did not have Ethan’s feelings to worry about, Justin came to work in clothes that put his assets to their best advantage, and flirted outrageously with the customers, making a fortune in tips. It would give him a little nest egg until he could find a job in New York.

“I’m sorry,” was Justin’s answer to the nice airline employee’s offer, “but I have to be in New York tomorrow. If economy is full, I would be totally willing to sacrifice myself and travel first class though,” he joked.

Beth just looked at him and laughed. “Oh, thank you Mr. Taylor. I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” was Justin’s answer.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Taylor. We will announce our offer to the passengers on the plane once everyone has boarded. There are usually no shortages of volunteers when we offer a free voucher. We will get you a seat.”

The handsome older man had smiled at Justin’s cheek as well. He now tried to change his first class aisle seat for the window, but Beth could not accommodate him either. Resigned, he boarded.

Beth had been right. Within minutes, four backpackers, who were travelling together, exited the plane, having taken the offer. The waiting overbooked passengers stood up to board.

Beth came to him, with a huge grin on her face. “Mr. Taylor, this is your lucky day. Boarding is closed, and one of the first class passengers has not shown. I guess you will have to sacrifice yourself after all!”

Justin gave her his best smile. “This is great! Thanks!”

She could not help but smile back. “We’re not supposed to do this, but since you so generously volunteered…” She winked at him, and preceded him on board.

She went to the man who had been requesting a seat change. “Mr. Anakian, it seems we are able to accommodate you request after all. You may switch to the window seat. She helped Justin cram his bag overhead, and went on to start her duties as a flight attendant.

Justin collapsed into the incredibly comfortable seat, and gave his neighbor a friendly nod.

“It looks like we both got our way,” was the man’s comment. He extended his hand to Justin. “Chaz Anakian”.

“Justin Taylor, nice to meet you.”

“So, what compels a young man such as you to turn down a free ticket?” asked Chaz.

 

 

“I am starting school tomorrow at the Pratt Institute.”

Chaz looked impressed. “That’s a prestigious school, Justin. Congratulations. You are cutting it a bit fine, though, aren’t you?”

Justin laughed. “I know. I worked until the last possible minute. I’m going to need the money. I’ll be sleeping on a friend of a friend’s couch when I get there. I have to find a room of my own. This has all happened rather fast.”

Justin found Chaz to be very pleasant to talk to, and quite knowledgeable about art and design. He ended up showing him his portfolio, and taking out his laptop to demonstrate for him his computer graphics program, after Chaz expressed admiration for some of the designs he had done for one of his classes at PIFA.

“This makes it really easy,” he explained. “The program is amazing, you only provide the creativity, and it does all the rest.”

“Only the creativity?” teased Chaz. “Isn’t that the most important part?”

“Well, yes, sure. But with this tool, the sky is the limit. If you can conceptualize it, it can do it. It’s like magic!”

Chaz was amused. Justin’s enthusiasm was a pleasure to see, after dealing daily with so many jaded people.

“What do you do in New York?” asked Justin, wanting to demo the program.

“I own a dance club, among other things.”

“Okay. Say we wanted to design a logo for your club, and maybe some posters, and brochures. With this it would be super easy.” Justin started a new file on the program.

“What’s the name of your club?”

“Essengy.”

Justin looked at him with a frown. “What does it mean? Is it like a mixture of essence and energy?”

“Most people think so,” laughed Chaz, but it is actually a play on the initials S and G, for Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Oh. A gay club then.”

“Yes.”

“Well, for a gay club, I would want the design to vibrate, you know, to express the glamour, the glitz, and the thumpa-thumpa, as well as showing some sweaty bodies, or at least the suggestion of sweaty, sexy dancing men.” He started working quickly, from stock images, and the special effects in his program. Soon, Chaz was leaning toward the screen, making suggestions, pointing at the design, discussing colors and font with him.

Justin was in his element. Creating was what he thrived on, and he found Chaz’s cooperation stimulating. He could not believe it when the descent to Pittsburg was announced. They had been so absorbed in their task, they had completely lost track of time. He saved their work, and closed his computer. He had not realized that the landing in Pittsburgh was only a stopover. The same plane went on to Kennedy. The continuing passengers did not need to get off unless they wanted to stretch their legs.

Justin and Chaz were still talking animatedly as they got off, intent on taking a break from sitting for so long. Justin’s eyes were sparkling with excitement, and he couldn’t stop smiling. This was the most fun he had had in months. They both ordered Perrier water at the bar on the concourse, and chatted about the finishing touches on their project while waiting to re-board.

At first call, they made their way back, and Justin stretched languorously as they waited in line, his short t-shirt riding up and showing his belly. He did not even notice the admiring glance of one of the other first class passengers, who was boarding in Pittsburgh. He was tall, dark and handsome, wearing a most exquisite suit.

Brian Kinney stared like a hungry wolf at the patch of skin exposed by the blond boy’s stretch, and as he took his place in line, could not take his eyes off the finest ass he had ever laid eyes on (and he had seen rather more than most). Brian was heading back to New York, where he was a partner in a prestigious advertising firm, Plexus, after a visit home to see his friends and son. His hand was almost itching with the desire to run through the silky blond hair of the young man in front of him, and he took a deep breath capturing the arousing scent of sun and youth. Checking out the older man who was in animated conversation with the object of his lust, he concluded they were father and son, perhaps on a college tour. He could tell they were enjoying each other’s company. They seemed to have an easy rapport, tinged with mutual respect. He could only hope he and Gus would be that close when Gus was that age. 17? 18? Too young . Definitely much too young, but oh, so tempting…

Back on the last leg of their trip, Chaz and Justin wasted no time before reopening the file and putting the final touches to their cooperative design.

When they were done, they both sat back and laughed. Justin knew it was unbelievably good. Probably the best thing he had ever produced for this kind of work. It was really a shame it was only a mock up.

“You know, Justin, I have been meaning to revamp the club’s image, as we just finished some major renovations. I would love to buy and use this design.”

Justin was completely taken by surprise. The thought that this work could actually be used was incredibly exciting.

“I couldn't sell it to you. It was totally a cooperative effort! I’ll burn you a CD, and you can absolutely use it!”

“Cooperative effort? You do not give yourself enough credit, Justin. My input was less than 10% at most. Sign the design. I will make sure to credit you. And accept some payment, for heaven’s sake. Your talent is worth a lot!”

Justin added “Justin Taylor design” in minute letters that did not detract at all from either the logo or the other images, placed a CD in, and burned it. He slipped it in an envelope, and handed it to Chaz.

“I don’t want any payment. Really. This was fun. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time.”

Chaz took the CD. “Fine, Justin. Have it your way.“ He took out his iphone, and connected to the Internet. A couple minutes later, he disconnected and smiled. He took out a business card from his wallet.

“This is my club.” Chaz stared at the current logo on the card and shook his head. “My god, I always thought this design was not perfect, but now… I just cannot believe we kept it for so long.” He handed the card to Justin.

“I just illegally used the internet on this flight, at the risk of all of us crashing to our death, to add you to the permanent VIP guest list. You can come to the club anytime. No charge, no wait. You can even bring a guest.” He smiled. “Use it well, and use it often.”

Justin looked at the card. “Wow. Thanks. This is awesome. And that,” he pointed to the logo, “is the ugliest thing I have ever seen.”

They both laughed.

Brian was surprised, while getting in his hired limo in front of the airport, to see the two other first class passengers from his flight say goodbye on the sidewalk, the older man getting in a limo like his, and the younger one walking away in the direction of the subway entrance, a duffle bag on his back. Not father and son, then. He did not spend too much time thinking about it. He was tired, looking forward to getting back to his loft and getting ready for a night on the town.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Life of Brian

Brian loved his life in New York. When he had made his move 3 years ago, he had known it was the right one, but his success had surprised even him. He had parlayed his snatching the Brown Athletic account into a partnership in his new firm. His creativity, work ethics and single mindedness were amply rewarded. He had received recognition every year for his professional achievements.

The second year, he had bought his loft, which was very similar to the loft he had had in Pittsburgh, with the addition of two bedrooms and two baths that came in handy when friends visited. Even his style of furnishing had not changed. He was comfortable in his white leather, metal and glass décor. He had even brought the painting of the naked man Mel objected to so much.

Cynthia had come along, and she thrived in the Big Apple. When necessary, she was the perfect alibi girl, and since she enjoyed the glitz, she was always glad to accompany him to expensive client dinners and award ceremonies.

New York’s gay scene was a vast improvement on Pittsburgh’s. Though he always enjoyed going back to Woody’s and Babylon when he visited, the fact that he had dozens of clubs to choose from here was a definite plus. Though a few of them had basic backrooms like Babylon’s, quite a few had sophisticated VIP lounges, with couches, private alcoves and even private suites.

It had taken him a couple of months to find a drug supplier he trusted, and had done so, amusingly, through a client who ran a chain of Health Food stores. The man was a health nut and had had their E, Special K, coke and crystals tested by his own lab for purity. The drug purveyor ran a classy operation, delivered by special messenger, to one’s home or workplace, depending on the client’s choice, and was fabulously discreet.

Over all, his private life had not changed much since his days in Pittsburgh. He spoke to Mikey weekly, called Debbie and Vic. Ted, Emmett, Michael and their assorted boyfriends sometimes visited. He had acquaintances in most clubs and never had to stand in line. He had even made friends of sorts with several guys who, like him, chose to spend their lunch hour at the men only gym on the thirty-fourth floor of the tower where Plexus Advertising was located. Considering a lunch hour rarely went by without him getting a blowjob in the steam room, his reputation as a seducer had not changed any more than his habits.

In March, one of his favorite dance clubs, which had recently undergone a fabulous remodel, changed its logo and image, with ads in several of New York’s best gay publications. The design was breathtakingly brilliant, the independent components, silhouettes of men dancing, glistening skin on beautiful bodies, glitter, amazing colors and geometric design actually giving an impression of pulsating rhythm, creating a visual representation of the ubiquitous thumpa-thumpa of the gay club life. It was beautiful, stimulating and erotic . Brian immediately tried to find out which ad agency had created the ad campaign and was shocked to find out that the club owner had fired his old agency and that the entire thing had been created in-house.

The designer himself, whose name appeared in very discreet lettering, a Justin Taylor, Brian had never heard of, and he could find no trace of. It was a puzzle. Googling the name, he did find several Justin Taylors. One was an emerging artist, whose work had been shown is a small gallery in Los Angeles. He did not find any images of the work, and the chances of the two being related were negligible. Another had been the victim of a gay bashing in Pittsburgh and had spent time in the hospital, comatose. Brian remembered Debbie going on and on about it. That one, brain damaged, was out of the running for sure. Apparently, the name was fairly common.

That night, when time came to decide which club to go to, Brian did not hesitate and went to Essengy. It was a good thing he was a VIP member, as the line went around the block. The front of the club sported the new design behind glass with back lighting. Brian found himself stopping to again admire its artistry. Inside, the club was packed, the DJ excellent, and one could actually feel an aura of excitement.

After depositing his outer garments at the coat check, Brian entered the fray, finding his way to the bar on the third level, from where he had a full view of the different dance floors.

 

 

The bartender nodded to him. “Mr. Kinney.”

After three years, even in as big a gay scene as New York’s, if you came to a club often enough, they started to recognize you. It did not hurt that he always added a twenty-five percent tip to his credit card slip. He drank two J&B’s in quick succession, and let a tab of E melt on his tongue before drinking half a bottle of water.

He let his eyes wander on the beautiful bodies writhing to the beat. The lights were changing from silver to gold and back, making the falling glitter look like snow and fire in turn. On one of the second floor dance stages, a shirtless youth was attracting a lot of attention. His pale skin and blond hair, like the glitter, looked icy or burning in turn. He was slender, and had a delicious swivel move of the hips that emphasized his delectable ass. He left the platform, and was immediately swallowed by the crowd.

Brian’s cock, which had been half hard ever since entering the club, signaled a definite interest for the blond youth, and he made his way back to the second level. With fifteen years of clubbing experience, it did not take him long, even in this crowd, to find and zero in on his prey. Soon, he was within reach of the unbelievable perfection of the blond boy’s ass. It looked strangely familiar, yet Brian was positive he had never had him. He did not usually go for blonds, or for men that young. This one could not be much more than eighteen. He seemed uninterested by the come hither looks he was getting from all around, intent on dancing.

Brian was getting his share of attention, but was not to be enticed from his prey. A few more steps and he was facing the blond, dancing closer and closer to him. This earned him a smile and a slow blink that went directly to his cock, and he started to discreetly maneuver the boy in the direction of the VIP room’s entrance.

He put one hand on the back of the blond’s head, where the hair was short and soaked with sweat, the other on his hips, and the young man placed both his hands on Brian’s biceps, running them lightly up and down the soft and suddenly hypersensitive skin of his arms. Brian slid a leg forward, and could feel the boy’s cock as he rubbed himself shamelessly on his denim clad thigh. Brian moved both his hands to the blond’s ass and pulled him in tight. The boy literally melted into him and he received a high voltage smile for his effort, joyful, teasing, sexy and innocent all at once.

He just had to fuck this boy.

The VIP room might do for starters, but he was taking this one home.

The music changed to a different song, and his dancing partner got on his toes to say something to Brian that sounded like ‘water’. Then he disengaged from their delicious embrace, turned around and made his way to one of the second floor bars. Brian had no objection, as the bar was right next to the entrance to the VIP room.

Without the blond saying anything, the bartender handed him a bottle of water. Brian requested the same. The bartender then bent down and whispered something in the young man’s ear that had him nod his head. He turned to Brian and said:

“Hi, I’m Justin.”

Brian did not give a shit what his name was. He just wanted to fuck him, but introduced himself nonetheless.

“I’m Brian,” and gave him that look, the one that had literally brought so many men to their knees.

What he got in return was a playful grin. “I’m sorry, Brian. I don’t like one-offs. And since you don’t look like the type to drop to your knees and give me a quick blow in the VIP room, I think we should find other partners.”

Justin finished his water, put the empty on the bar, and with one last smile went back to dancing.

 

 

Brian was completely taken by surprise. He looked at the bartender who gave him an apologetic shrug and smile. Brian leaned forward and asked him, speaking loud enough to be heard. “What the fuck did you tell him?”

“Just the truth, Mr. Kinney. That you fuck and run.”

Brian was totally pissed off. “Do I know you?”

“Nah… But we all know you. You’ve been around for a while.”

“And why should you give a shit what I do with my tricks?”

“I don’t. But that’s no trick, that’s Justin.” As if that explained everything.

“What are you? His Daddy?”

The bartender just laughed. “Nah. We look out for him is all.”

“Why? How old is he?” Brian suddenly wondered if the kid was even younger than he looked. 15? 16?

“Oh, he’s twenty-one, perfectly legal. He’s just a sweet kid.”

Brian was livid. Who the fuck did this guy think he was, chasing his trick away? That had never happened before. His dick was still hard and throbbing, and when he turned back to the crowd of dancers, the sight of ‘Justin’s’ perfect ass, of the light playing on the pale skin of his torso, did nothing to improve his mood.

A few minutes later, a good looking dark haired guy just about plastered himself to Brian, enticing him to go back to dancing by grinding against him. The pressure of the guy’s dick against his own through their jeans was enough to distract him. Twenty minutes later, he was in the VIP room, his dick buried to his balls in the guy’s ass. He used all his savoir-faire and managed to wring three orgasms out of the guy’s dick, though the third was almost dry. He came twice, just continuing to fuck after his first orgasm and never losing his erection.

When he pulled out, the guy turned around with awe in his eyes. “Man, that was unbelievable.”

Brian just tied the condom and threw it in the trash.

The guy grabbed his wrist. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again sometime,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Brian. “Haven’t you heard? I just fuck and run. No repeats.”

“Well, fuck,” was all he heard as he walked away from his trick…

On the way out, in an alcove, he caught sight of Justin, pale and beautiful, leaning against the wall as some short-haired guy’s head was bobbing up and down at his crotch level. The little shit smiled at him, and as Brian watched, he grabbed his trick’s head and fucked his mouth fairly roughly. He closed his eyes as he came down the trick’s throat. He looked unbelievably beautiful in orgasm, and after reopening his eyes, gave Brian a slow smile as he licked his lips.

Brian felt his cock twitch and knew that if he had not just come twice less than ten minutes ago, he would have been hard again. For some reason that made him angry, and he turned and left the VIP room, went to the cloakroom for his winter coat and left the club.

He took a cab home, stripped off his clubbing clothes and took a shower. He spent the next couple of hours smoking and drinking scotch in front of one of his floor to ceiling windows, carefully thinking of nothing. The next day, he went to work with a mild hangover, which he completely blamed on Justin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Justin’s first eight months in NY.

Justin had been dancing for the pleasure of it, as he did at least two or three times a week, when the most beautiful man he’d ever seen appeared in his line of vision. He wore jeans that emphasized his long legs, and a sleeveless black T that showed gorgeous arms. He had brown hair and hazel eyes, that were soulful and warm, and lips… that mouth… Justin had the strangest thought: ‘I have seen the face of God’. He laughed at himself, but the pull the man exerted on him was almost physical. As they danced for a while, they got closer and closer to each other.

Before he knew it, the man was holding his neck and hips possessively, and Justin was caressing the silk on steel of his arms. When the man slid a leg between his, Justin couldn’t help but rub himself on it, scarily close to climaxing. Then the man pulled him closer, their bodies pressed against each other and he melted into the embrace and would have followed the promise in the man’s eyes anywhere, starting with the back room.

The change of music brought him back to earth, and he decided that before anything else he needed to drink some water. He had been dancing for a couple of hours, and his mouth was dry, in no condition for kissing, which he seriously intended to do as soon as possible.

Karl was at the bar. He was a good friend. Justin had designed his sister’s wedding invitations. He knew all the employees of Essengy. Chaz had introduced him when he had presented the new logo and design to his crew. He now considered a few of them good friends. Of course he was also at the club a lot.

Karl leaned over and Justin hated what he had to say. “Watch out for that guy, Justin. I hear he is a great fuck, but he has a one time only policy, and no matter how charming he is before the fact, once he pulls his dick out, he’s a real bastard.”

Justin nodded, grateful for the warning, considering how much knowing this hurt already, when he had so far only danced with the guy.

He turned back to the man, basking again in the amazing warmth and soulfulness of his eyes, even now that he knew the charm to be just a means to an end. Better get as far from this guy as quickly as possible.

“Hi, I’m Justin.”

“I’m Brian.” God! That look! Like you were the only person on earth, the love of his life. It was a thing of beauty. Justin was really glad he knew better. He gave the man his best smile.

“I’m sorry, Brian. I don’t like one-offs. And since you don’t look like the type to drop to your knees and give me a quick blow in the VIP room, I think we should find other partners.”

Now Brian looked completely nonplussed. That made it much easier to turn away and go back to the dance floor, though part of Justin wanted to go back, wanted to believe that other look.

 

***

He called Daphne as soon as he got home, even though it was the middle of the night.

“Daph, I have met the perfect man.”

“Oooo-Kay. This better be good. It’s two in the morning.”

“It is good. “ Justin started doodling on one of his pads.

“What’s his name?”

“Brian.”

“And? Come on, Justin. You just woke me up. I’m not going to play twenty questions!”

“He is beautiful. Dark hair, tall, soulful eyes, and his mouth, my god!” His pencil was racing, Brian’s face, apparently burned in the back of his eyelids, appearing in perfect precision on the paper. “I’m sending you a drawing.”

“And he’s nice?”

“No. Apparently he is a total prick, who fucks you and never wants anything to do with you again.”

“Did he fuck you?” Daphne sounded panicked.

“No! Of course not! Not that I didn’t want him to, but Karl, one of the bartenders warned me off.”

“You would have let him?”

“Probably. The way he looks at you, you just feel… special, unique, wanted. Like he’s been waiting for you all his life or something. And he does this thing with his lips, rolls them under, kind of, like he’s dying to tell you something, but holds it back at the last minute. He is… I don’t know. I actually thought, get this: “ I’ve seen the face of God.” I’m not kidding. How weird is that?”

“Send me that picture.”

The perfect likeness of Brian was looking back at him from the page.

“No way. I changed my mind, I’m keeping it.”

Daphne laughed at him. “You got it bad, Justin.”

“You have no idea…”

 

***

For a couple of weeks, every time Justin went to the club, he could not help but look for Brian. But he never showed again, and knowing how many clubs there were in New York, Justin eventually figured they would never see each other again. He didn’t know whether to feel pissed or relieved.

He loved his new school. PIFA had been good, but he felt that at the time he had not really known what he wanted to get out of his education. His time in LA had been strange, as he had been playing catch up to their curriculum, studying oil painting, acrylic painting and drawn animation. His courses now were more balanced, with figure drawing, classical and architectural studies, acrylics and art history.

He had moved in with seven of his classmates in a beautiful four bedroom brownstone belonging to an old lady, alumni of the school, who now lived in Florida and insisted that only students of the school should be renting, and that they should be two to a room. His rent was laughable even though only six of them paid it.

Two of his classmates, James and Pete (nicknamed Petunia for unfathomable reasons) were champions in dumpster diving, something Justin had known nothing about before meeting them. They brought home dairy barely past the due date from the Safeway dumpster, vegetables that had looked better but could still be eaten, if the bad spots were removed from the Whole Food Market, and even misshapen chocolates from the dumpster behind a Godiva store upstate. They also shopped at coops and went upstate twice a month to buy directly from farms. They bought Ramen Noodles by the case at ten cents a packet. So they provided food in lieu of rent.

The upkeep of the house was well divided. Justin was the kitchen clean up guy. He had worked enough as a busboy to be very good and very efficient at it. One of the girls, Phuong, did all their laundry in her parents’ Laundromat, once a week. As long as you had enough clothes and did not miss the laundry pickup, it was great. Three others, Cassandra, Lilah and Rory, took turns cooking and preparing lunches for everyone, and finally, Andrew, Justin’s roommate, kept the common areas clean.

Justin had never lived so cheaply in his life. He even got to go to the club for free. His major expenses were his art supplies. He had found a busboy job and worked from seven to nine AM and twelve to two PM. It was right next to campus, and most of the patrons were students, so the tips were awful, but after work it took him five minutes to go to classes.

From word of mouth, he got quite a bit of work designing business cards, invitations and even ads for small businesses. He loved the work, though he could not imagine doing it full time. It was easy for him, his creativity endless when it came to making up interesting designs.

Andrew was from Washington State, completely introverted and spent most of his free time reading. He did not understand at all Justin’s love of clubbing, and Justin could not fathom being in a vibrant city and spending so much time sitting, reading and drinking tea. As long as Justin came and went quietly they got along fabulously.

He felt he had much more in common with Lilah, one of his cooking roommates. She sometimes came with him to the club, and they spent a lot of time in the museums. They both loved painting and often reserved slots together when there was open studio time.

Justin was constantly busy, and for the first time in his life felt like a whole person. He was learning who he was, what was important to him, and what he wanted out of the future.

In August, he got a month off from school. The first two weeks, he and Lilah spent their vacation painting, visiting galleries, and partying at the club. Lilah flew to Hawaii with her folks for the rest of the break, and Daphne came to spend some time with him. She was starting a Master’s program in Psychology in September. They hadn’t seen each other in almost a year, and yet, it was as if they hadn’t been apart. Of course they spoke on the phone several times a week, but still, Justin had thought there might be a time of adaptation after so long. Instead, it was as if the conversation had never ended.

It was the day before she arrived, five months after they had first met, that Justin saw Brian again. The weather was incredibly hot and sticky, and Justin had gone to the club wearing the shorts and high tops he had worn all day. He was shirtless, having tucked his T in his belt, and was enjoying the relative coolness of the club, though his body was covered with a sheen of sweat. He needed a haircut badly. His fringe was so long he could tuck it behind his ears, though on the dance floor his hair was just pushed straight back, wet with sweat.

Suddenly arms came around him from behind, and a mouth started nibbling at the back of his neck. Strangely, even after all these months, Justin had no doubt whose they were. He could feel a large erection against his crack, and pushed back against it. He also let his head fall back on the shoulder behind him, melting into the embrace and caressing the arms around him.

Brian’s legs were outside his, his knees bend to better match their bodies’ alignment. It had to be hard on his knees. Surely he could not keep it up very long.

“I want to eat your ass, and fuck you all night long,” he whispered in Justin’s ear.

“Considering I haven’t showered in about eighteen hours, I would not recommend it,” was Justin’s answer, though getting rimmed was one of his most exciting fantasies, since he had never had the pleasure.

“All the better,” answered Brian, still speaking low, directly in his ear. “I want to taste and smell you, not soap.”

Justin could not help it: His cock was immediately as hard as it ever got, and he shivered in Brian’s arms. Brian was working his hands down the front of Justin’s shorts, heedless of the people around them. Justin swiveled in his arms, facing him. Brian pulled to his full height, but bend down to lick and nibble on Justin’s lower lip.

Justin could not resist. Being in Brian’s arms felt so amazingly right. He opened his mouth, and welcomed Brian’s tongue with his. Their mouths seemed to know each other. The kiss was slow, languorous, incredibly hot and intimate. It was, hands down, the best kiss Justin had ever experienced.

He thought about how perfect sex would be between them, if it was anything like this kiss, and reminded himself of how difficult it would be physically and emotionally to know this depth of harmony once and then never again, being discarded like yesterday’s newspaper the morning after.

That thought gave him the strength to break away and step back. He smiled up at Brian, still dancing with him, but now from about a foot away. He did not try to hide his glance at the impressive bulge in Brian’s pants, and shamelessly enjoyed looking at his gorgeous face and body. He was beautiful, wearing a black wife beater and crisp white linen pants. How they could look crisp in this heat and humidity, and after Justin had pressed himself so wantonly against Brian’s crotch, he had no idea.

Brian’s all-knowing smile was incredibly sexy and irritating. Justin turned his back on the man, and made his way to the nearest bar. Mark, who looked as if he should drive heavy equipment for a living, but was in fact a kindergarten teacher, was tending bar. Without asking, he handed Justin an ice-cold bottle of water.

“You know about that guy, right?” he confirmed.

Justin drained the whole bottle before answering. “Yes. Which is why I am here drinking water, and not dragging him to the VIP room…”

Mark nodded. “Beautiful fucker, isn’t he,” he added thoughtfully.

Justin sighed. That was an understatement. Mark poured a J&B, and Justin and Brian passed each other, arms and shoulders brushing, as Justin headed back to the dance floor. His erection was not going anywhere.

Once bodies surrounded him, he started dancing again.

A guy with a military cut noticed his boner, and cupped it with his hand. He leaned into Justin. “I’d be glad to take care of this for you, if you want,” he said, with a smile. Justin smiled back, and they headed for the VIP room. They picked an alcove, because Justin liked a modicum of privacy, and GI Joe went to work. He was good, going slow and diving deep, no teeth, all velvety warmth. Justin let himself lean against the wall, and closed his eyes.

Brian’s face, his smile, his eyes, his amazing body were all he could think about. His trick was taking his time, and that was perfect.

“Oh God, oh God, your cock feels so good.“

Justin was pulled out of his fantasy by a voice not three feet away.

He opened his eyes, to meet Brian’s, who was fucking a blond boy against the wall of the alcove. Brian’s eyes never left Justin’s face, and Justin couldn’t look away. Brian’s hips were moving at the same pace as his own trick’s mouth on his prick, and it was the most arousing thing he had ever seen. The blond Brian was fucking was now mumbling incoherently. He came, noisily, though both of Brian’s hands were on his hips, and he had both of his on the wall.

Brian did not stop, but continued fucking him, changing his angle a little. When Justin’s trick started to move faster, so did Brian. He did that thing with his lips, but never stopped looking at Justin. Finally, he brought a hand to the blond’s cock getting it fully erect again, and pulling it hard and fast.

Justin unconsciously matched his rhythm, fucking his trick’s mouth. He could tell exactly when Brian started to come, from the light in his eyes, and he let himself go too, shooting come in the back of his trick’s throat. Brian gave him his annoying, all knowing smile. Justin closed his eyes for a moment. The blond had come again as well, and his own guy had brought himself off.

By the time he reopened his eyes Brian was walking away. He had literally pulled out and walked. Justin had not even noticed him removing the condom. The blond next to him was still in the aftershock of his orgasm, resting his head on his arm. It was Justin who handed him a towel from the neat piles on a perfectly located shelf.

The guy who had blown him tucked him back in his shorts after wiping his hands, and gave him a peck, saying with a smile, ”You have a very pretty cock,” before walking off. Justin turned to the blond.

“All right?”

The guy looked a little shaky buttoning his 501’s. “Why are the best fucks always the biggest jerks?” he asked. He was not really talking to him, but Justin felt compelled to shrug in response. They ended up leaving the VIP room at the same time and dancing together until it was time for Justin to head home.

He leaned to the blond. “See you.”

As he was turning away, the guy caught his arm, and gave him a smile. “Thanks.”

Justin smiled back, and walked away.

 

***

He picked up Daphne at the airport the next day.

“I saw him again.”

Because it was Daphne, even after five months she knew immediately whom he was talking about.

“At the club?”

“Yes. We kissed. I couldn’t help it.”

“Any good?”

“Only the best kiss ever. God, I wanted him so bad.”

“But you didn’t…”

“No! Of course not. I wanted to though.”

“So what did you do?”

“Let this other guy blow me. He was nice, and gave really good head.”

“Good.”

“Except that in the middle of it, Brian started fucking this other blond three feet away from us. We were staring at each other the whole time. We even came together. It was so… erotic. Like fucking with our eyes.”

“Was he any good?”

“Well, the guy came twice, the first time just from being fucked. Yeah, I would say he’s pretty good. But I felt bad for his trick.”

“Why?”

“As soon as Brian was done coming, I mean like the instant he was done, Brian just walked away. The blond was still shuddering and Brian had already left the room. I think he did it just to piss me off. I’m sure he’s not always that much of an asshole. He didn’t even hand the guy a towel. It was…heartless. He was punishing the guy for me refusing him. He’s a complete jerk.”

“Well, just keep that in mind.”

“That won’t be a problem, believe me.”

 

***

He and Daphne had a blast together. Justin liked Lilah, but Daphne was his soul sister. They went to Essengy several times, but never ran into Brian. He learned however that Coolidge, another bartender at the club who was a student at NYU during the day, was straight. It was a surprise, as he had always assumed all the employees were as gay as the owner and the clientele. Coolidge and Daphne got alongreally well, and he hung out with them quite a bit, keeping Daphne company when Justin had to go to work.

The last weekend she was there, he received a note, and a nice check from the gallery in LA where he had once been part of a show for young artists. He had left two pieces that were unsold with the gallery. They had said they would store them for him. All the smaller pieces had sold, but these were quite large.

They were his favorites, but he could neither afford to ship them over nor find a place to put them in the New York apartment. That they had sold came as a very pleasant surprise. He had not been aware the Gallery had taken them out of storage to show them again. He now had plenty of money to buy his first quarter’s supplies, and bought matching silver bracelets for Daphne and himself.

A few years ago, they had had braided rope ones, which had disintegrated over many months. The new ones were Moebius strips, with the words ‘stand strong’ and ‘stand proud’ engraved at regular intervals.

It was a reminder of the months Daphne had stood by him, as he recovered from being assaulted by a classmate because he was a ‘faggot’, after hanging out in the gay area of Pittsburgh. He could not have done it without her, or her parents, who had taken him in when his father, upon discovering his son’s orientation, had kicked him out of the house.

His mother had paid the hospital bills, and the rehab, as well as his two years at PIFA, but had been unable to offer anything more than monetary support without losing her marriage. All support had ceased when he had moved in with Ethan. Now he was completely on his own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Conspiracy of Justins.

After being blown off by Justin yet again, Brian drank his scotch in one swallow, and Mark served him another, which Brian contemplated a good ten minutes before tossing it back as well.

By the time he turned back to the dance floor, he caught a gleam of blond hair heading for the VIP room. That someone else was going to enjoy the hard on he had created annoyed him beyond words. He walked up to a skinny blond who looked a little high and had been cruising him invitingly earlier.

“I want to fuck you,” said Brian.

“Okay,” answered the blond, looking quite pleased about it. He was nowhere near as pretty as Justin, but so much more willing. Brian grabbed his wrist and dragged him off the dance floor. It took him only a couple of minutes to find Justin and his trick. The guy was sucking him slowly but deeply, a technique of which Brian heartily approved, and Justin’s eyes were closed. Brian had no doubt it was him and not his trick Justin was thinking of behind the lowered lids.

He turned the skinny blond so he was facing the wall, close enough to Justin to reach him with the tip of his fingers if such an idea had ever entered his mind. He prepared the blond to three fingers quickly, nuzzling his neck, tweaking his nipples and playing with his cock, making sure he was really gagging for it, and entered him in one quick motion. He stopped moving for a moment, allowing the trick to adjust to nine and a quarter inches of cock being suddenly shoved up his ass. Apparently he could take it, and started squeezing Brian’s cock with his sphincter in an obvious bid for some motion.

Brian began moving in and out in the same rhythm as Justin’s cocksucker’s mouth, plunging deeply every time, hitting and rubbing the blond’s prostate with every pass. Soon the guy was babbling in pleasure and calling him God, as in, “Oh God, oh God, your cock feels so good.“

Justin’s eyes opened at the racket, only to meet Brian’s and hold them, through Brian’s trick’s first orgasm (he came completely untouched), to his second one, when Brian came as well, deep into his ass while fisting his dick.

That Justin and he came at the same time did not surprise Brian at all, considering that was his goal and that their eyes had never left one another. He loved the way Justin bit his lower lip as he shuddered, and wished he had set himself up just a little closer so he could have bitten it for him.

 

 

He broke eye contact with a self satisfied smile he knew would piss Justin off, pulled out of the guy’s ass, slipped off the condom, pulled his pants up and left, making a point by leaving his trick to catch his breath and recover alone, his pants around his ankles. By the time Justin came out of the VIP room, Brian had already left the building.

Brian had voluntarily stayed away from Essengy for almost five months, trying to forget the perfect ass that had turned him down, but it seemed he was to be constantly reminded of the little fucker.

The name Justin was apparently the “Michael” of the nineties. His drug delivery boy’s name was Justin. The new personal trainer at the gym was called Justin. His favorite actress was dating a Justin. The designer of one of the most beautiful logos he had ever seen (and whom he still could not find any trace of) was a Justin, and the LA artist, whose exquisite work Brian had finally obtained photos of by contacting the owner of the small LA gallery was named Justin. It was a fucking conspiracy.

On one of the most sweltering days of the year, he had gone back to what used to be his favorite club, telling himself the little fucker would not be there, but of course he was, right in the middle of the main floor, dancing alone, his eyes closed, wearing clothes that made him look fourteen. He was deliciously sweaty, and his amazing white blond hair had grown so it curled at his neck and covered his ears.

He appeared to be completely alone in his own little world, and Brian had only to take one look at that ass to know he wanted to fuck him as badly as ever. He had wrapped his arms around him from behind, to rub his erection in his crack and lick the sweat from his neck, and Justin had pushed back against his cock and leaned into his nuzzling like a man starved, evidently not caring who was manhandling him.

Brian could see the impressive bulge of his erection forming in his ridiculous shorts, and had reached in to weigh it and measure it in his hand, but the little fucker had turned into his arms and melted against his chest.

Justin had opened like a ripe peach into his kiss, and Brian had imagined his entrance would be just as welcoming, opening without resistance under his tongue and lips, were he ever lucky enough to get them there. He had never wanted to rim an ass so badly.

But then Justin had backed off, like the coward he was, to go get a cooling drink and a soothing blowjob from someone else. Brian wasn’t fooled. He had seen how the boy looked at him hungrily, had seen his yearning eyes go down to the bulge in his own pants. He would get him yet. It was only a matter of time until the boy gave in, and revised his ‘I don’t do one offs’ policy. And that day Brian would be waiting, cock up and arms open.

 

***

September rolled in, and as was the case every year at Plexus, it came with a crop of interns who were working towards their master’s degree. They were both a curse and a blessing. They worked for next to nothing, were generally full of enthusiasm and creativity and were in awe of the senior partners. On the other hand, they were potentially a security risk, running their mouths off about the campaigns they helped with. They also sometimes fucked up royally, and therefore, at least at the beginning, required constant supervision and they occasionally pushed the awe a little too far and became freakishly stalker like.

Cynthia and the other partner’s assistants had reviewed their CV and selected the lucky few from the many candidates and these got to each meet one of the partners for their final interview. She had set up all four of Brian’s bright and early on a Monday morning, no doubt expecting the candidates who made it to proceed and work a full day. Two were hoping to join client relations, and two were interested in the Art Department. He needed to eliminate one of each.

Cynthia had their names and departments on sticky notes next to their appointment times in his diary. His eyes fell on the third one. Justin Taylor, from the Pratt Institute, for the art department. Son of a bitch. No wonder he had not been able to find anything about the designer of Essengy’s new image. It was a fucking student. Unbelievable. Brian started to get excited. This was excellent news. They could expect great things from this candidate. He loved being surrounded with gifted, creative people, and if Essengy’s new image was to be believed, this one was both.

His first two interviews were run of the mill. Bright, eager kids who needed to go through their internship to get their degrees, and wanted to learn as much as possible in the process. Perfect.

He had rushed through those a little and was ten minutes ahead of schedule. He rang Cynthia.

“If Justin Taylor is here, send him in.”

“He’s here.”

Brian actually got up to welcome this one, though he fell right back into his leather chair when the potential intern entered his office. He’d gotten a haircut and was wearing a suit, but nonetheless, the blond hair, the lush lips, the blue eyes were unmistakable: It was the little fucker from the club.

Taylor certainly had poise. He walked in, approached Brian’s desk, coolly shook his hand.

“Mr. Kinney, I’m Justin Taylor, thanks for seeing me.”

Without batting an eye, he sat down in the chair across from Brian. Who could not fucking believe it!

The strangest thoughts raced through his mind.

The kid was in the Pratt Institute master’s program, which made him 22 at the very least and yet, even in sharp daylight, he still looked 17.

And he realized that he had seen that ass before: On a plane from Pittsburgh to New York, a kid in line in front of him, having a great time with his dad, who then turned out not to be his dad after all.

Justin Taylor must have traded his designing talents for an Essengy club VIP membership, which explained why he always saw him at Essengy, and never at any other clubs.

He had seen how beautiful that face looked in the throes of orgasm.

Finally the all important fact that the internship lasted three months registered. He would never fuck an intern, it was career suicide, so, though he was sure the little fucker was close to giving it up, he would have to wait three more months to even think of getting in his pants. That was NOT acceptable. Brian regrouped and cleared his throat.

“I am sorry, Mr. Taylor, but I do not think Plexus is the right place for you.”

“Is there a problem, Mr. Kinney?”

“There are many other ad agencies in New York City. I suggest you apply to one of them.“

“Because of our prior encounters?”

Brian just looked at him, saying nothing.

“That’s not fair. Plexus is the one I want. I was accepted here solely on my merit. It has nothing to do with you.”

“And so, I should get to see you around here everyday?”

“I didn’t realize that being turned down by a trick was such a blow to your ego that you couldn’t handle being reminded of it by seeing my face every day.” The little fucker certainly had balls.

“It has nothing to do with that.”

“What then? Are you concerned about problems that may occur between us due to unresolved sexual tension?”

Brian stopped staring at the gorgeous mouth, and tried to concentrate on the clear blue eyes. Amazingly blue. He had never realized that in the lights of the club. Completely innocent and unveiled. Under their gaze he had problems thinking clearly.

“Do not flatter yourself,” he answered dismissively. After all, how often did he find himself in the art department? He could manage to go the entire three months without seeing him.

“Then I really see no reason why you would object to my working here. Unless…”

Brian raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Unless you are concerned about having to delay your sexual gratification for three month from fear of a sexual harassment lawsuit.“

Justin looked at him questioningly. Smart little fucker. He’d hit the nail on the head in three tries. Brian made sure to keep his face expressionless, but must have failed as Justin continued:

“Well, let me reassure you on that account, Mr. Kinney. My working here will in no way delay your ability to fuck me, as that is something that is simply never going to happen, regardless of whether I work here or not.”

Brian smiled, frankly unconvinced. “Never? That’s a very long time, Mr. Taylor.”

“Never. I do not want a one-off with you, Mr. Kinney. And that is NEVER going to change. Therefore,” Justin looked up slowly, and smiled lightly, “you should erase the idea that my working here might delay the reaching of your…” he paused momentarily, “sexual goals completely from your mind.“

“I see.” They would just have to see about that. It was very clear, though, that if Brian denied him the internship Justin rightfully deserved, the kid would never put out. Brian just stared at him.

 

 

Justin remained completely cool under pressure. After a minute he asked, “So… Do I have the job?”

 

 

You had to hand it to him. He’d won that one fair and square. All the better for Plexus, Brian consoled himself. “I see no reason why not.”

They both rose, shook hands again and Justin made his way towards the door.

 

 

 

“Mr. Taylor?” Justin turned questioningly. “Do not expect any special treatment.”

“Of course not, Mr. Kinney.”

And he left Brian’s office, demonstrating that a well-cut suit does not in any way hide a man’s assets. His glorious ass looked as good in it as it did in jeans and in shorts. An ass that Brian, according to Justin Taylor, was never to be more closely acquainted with. Brian considered that for a few seconds. There was simply no way in hell that could be true. He would fuck that ass, or die trying.

He got through his last interview, and called Cynthia in.

“We are keeping Adamson and Taylor, send the other two home with our thanks.”

She looked pleased.

“What are you so happy about?”

“I am glad you picked Justin Taylor. I like him.”

“He is an arrogant little shit.“

“Gifted, driven, handsome, cocky. He reminds me of you.”

Brian gave her his forced smile.

“But he can’t fire you, and I can.”

“Right,” she smiled. “Moving right along…”

He sighed, and started working on the Vuarney campaign.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Justin’s first month at Plexus.

“Daphne, you are not going to believe this!”

“What?”

“I went for my final interview today.”

“I know, I know! What happened? Did you get the job?”

“Almost not!”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“The guy, doing the interview? The partner in the firm? His name is Brian Kinney.”

“So?”

“So BRIAN Kinney!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Shit!”

“Yes!”

“So what happened?”

“He started by saying I couldn’t have the job, which really pissed me off. I mean, I own this job! I’m probably the best candidate they‘ve ever had!”

“Yeh. The most modest too…”

“Come on, Daph. You know I’m right. So I asked him if it was because he was too humiliated that I had shot him down…”

“Oh, good move, Justin!”

“Well, at that point, I didn’t have the job, so it’s not like I had anything to lose,” Justin pointed out. “He said no, that wasn’t it.”

“Bullshit!”

“Right. So I asked if he thought it would be too distracting to have me around, you know, sexual tension and all. He said no, again.”

She just laughed at him. “That might be a problem for you though…”

“Shut up. Anyway, I figured it out.“

“Justiiiin. Spill!”

“He still thinks he’s going to get in my pants. And he can’t if I work for his firm. For three whole months. And he just didn’t want to have to wait that long.”

“Oh my god! What a jerk.”

“No shit. So I told him that was NEVER going to happen. Just NEVER.”

“And he believed you.”

“Well, it is never going to happen.”

“Of course not.”

“Daphne, it’s not. I’m not a masochist.”

“I know. So you convinced him, and…”

“Evidently I did. I got the job.”

“So now you go to work, and you get to see him every day?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know. I doubt the partners ever come down to the Art Department. I might not see him at all.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“…Good. Yeah. That’s good.”

“Poor Justin.”

“Shut up!! …So, have you found a roommate yet?”

“Trying to change the subject?”

“Not trying. Changing the subject.”

“Okay. Well, I have a prospect. Kat, from my abnormal Psy class, works at this store, Torso, and there is a guy she knows, who used to work there, looking for a place. He is older, but she thinks I’ll like him because he’s gay.”

“Because you like me and I’m gay.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, that’s kind of an insulting generalization.”

“Yes. Apparently I’m officially a fag hag.”

“You are my fag hag.”

“Don’t worry, Justin. You’ll always be my favorite fag.”

“Oh, yes. I am terribly concerned. When are you meeting this guy?”

“Thursday, for coffee, at that diner on Liberty Avenue where we went that one time, when we couldn’t get into Babylon.”

“…God. That was such a long time ago…” A lifetime ago. A bashing ago.

“How’s your hand?”

“It’s fine.”

“…”

“Really Daph. It’s good. I don't draw that much, I use the computer mostly. It’s all right.”

“Okay. Shit. I gotta go to work. Talk to you soon?”

“Thursday. I want to hear about my competition.”

“Don’t worry. He can’t be prettier than you.”

“Or have a better ass.”

“Oh, Justin. No one has a better ass.”

“Thank you, Daphne. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

 

***

 

Justin had spent the day getting acquainted with the Art Department at Plexus. The environment was exciting. The pace was daunting though; they were all under pressure. They had put him to work coloring layouts.

For each campaign, the art department received general directions, sent up some mock ups, got feedback and more refined directions, until what they sent back up was exactly what the person responsible for the account wanted. The partners handled the biggest accounts, with the associates handling the smaller ones. The partners were also responsible for bringing in clients.

Plexus was very successful, a small company, but with many very lucrative accounts, giving more personalized services than the bigger firms. At least they liked to project that boutique image. In reality, they had bypassed a few of the ‘bigger’ companies in client numbers a long time ago. In advertising, image was everything.

From the rumor mill, in his first couple of weeks, Justin learned that Brian Kinney, though the most recent partner in the firm, had also brought the lion’s share of accounts in the past eighteen months. He was driven and demanding, creative and exacting.

All four partners had nicknames in the art department.

Alan Curry was ‘His Nibs’. He had founded the firm, came from old money, and brought in accounts through his country club contacts.

Paul Markowitz was ‘The Coach’. He had most of the sport related accounts and created the images a couple of very successful sports teams projected to their fans.

‘The Professor’ was Marcus Shelburn. He taught part time at New York University, and was responsible for market surveys, projection analysis and customer trials.

Brian Kinney’s nickname was still fluctuating from the most common one, ‘The Asshole’ to ‘Rage’, to more rarely but no less meant, ‘God’. There was a definite love-hate relationship between him and the Art Department. He was creative enough to sometimes put them to shame, and arrogant enough to rub it in, (The asshole), driven enough to keep them working overnight if need be, terrorizing them with barely contained anger when he felt they were not bold enough, not pushing the envelope hard enough, not giving him their full potential, (Rage) and brilliant enough to make clients accept campaigns they all thought were way over the top, and doomed to fail, until they were all proven wrong (God).

Seventy-five percent of his campaigns used sex rather blatantly to sell products. The other twenty-five percent used sex as well, but in a more subtle approach.

The first of his campaigns Justin got to see develop from beginning to end was the Vuarney account, focusing on their designer sunglasses. The account representative for the company was female, which led most of them to worry about the obvious use of female objectification Brian had chosen for the campaign, the lens of the glasses reflecting a scantily clad female.

Justin was gay, and still he thought it was brilliant. Were he stupid enough (and rich enough) to be in the market for a three hundred dollar pair of sunglasses, he would totally want Vuarneys, after seeing the campaign. The only thing he didn’t like was the color of the lettering, though The Professor’s market research showed the blue color chosen to be the customer’s preference. He would have used orange. It was warmer, more evocative of the sun, of being blinded by the setting sun on the road while driving west.

For his own edification, he prepared the boards in both colors, doing the orange one during his lunch hour. It was better. He had no doubts. The Vuarney meeting was at three. He was supposed to bring the boards to Cynthia at two. Brian came down to pick them up himself at a quarter of one, while everyone else was still out to lunch, and while Justin was admiring his orange ones.

“Taylor.”

“Mr. Kinney.” Though he looked great at the club, Brian Kinney in his work attire was hotter than hell. He looked right out of the pages of Esquire, with sex appeal added.

“Where is everyone?”

“At lunch.”

“What the fuck is this?”

“The Vuarney panels”

“No,” Brian answered, as if speaking to a two year old. “The lettering on the Vuarney panels is blue. This is not blue.”

“Well spotted.”

Two could play that game. “The blue ones are over there. Ready to go.”

Brian was raising an eyebrow at him. Fuck. He explained, “I just wanted to see them in orange. It’s the new blue. I did it during my lunch hour.” Justin hated to feel on the defensive. The expense in materials to produce the extra panels was completely negligible, yet Brian was looking at him as if he had been squandering the company’s resources.

Without another word, Brian grabbed the blue panels and left the room. Justin’s cock was half hard, his heart was beating as if he had just run a mile, and his hands were sweating. Fuck. He carefully stacked the orange lettered panels behind his desk as his co-workers started to return from their breaks.

When the phone on his desk rang at three-twenty, he jumped out of his skin.

“Justin, it’s Cynthia, Mr. Kinney’s assistant. Brian wants the other Vuarney panels in the conference room NOW.”

Justin hung up the phone, grabbed the panels and ran.

Cynthia was waiting outside the doors. He made to hand her the panels, but she shook her head.

“Go right in.”

Justin walked in as Brian was finishing speaking.

“…Which is why, despite the overwhelming preference for the blue lettering in the preliminary survey, we opted to give you another choice. Taylor, could you put the orange panels over the blue ones, please?”

If Marcus Shelburn looked a little nonplussed at the sudden appearance of a seventeen year-old-looking blond into the make or break meeting with Vuarney, with panels that had no right to exist, he certainly recovered rapidly. The Vuarney account representative was an attractive woman, in her early thirties. She did not look impressed, until Justin finished placing the new panels up. Then she smiled.

“That’s much better. You can feel the sun. It’s warm, it’s suggestive. It’s perfect.” She turned to Brian. “I see where you get your reputation. You do not disappoint. Excellent work.”

Brian did not even acknowledge the compliment. They were starting to discuss magazine spreads when Justin discreetly walked out of the room.

Cynthia, who apparently was following the meeting on the interphone, gave him thumbs up. He stopped by her desk, curious.

“Why did you send me in instead of going in there yourself?” he asked.

“Brian did not want another female in the room with Ms. Chadwick. He wanted her to enjoy the undivided attention of two attractive males. With you, that made three. Even better.”

“He thinks about these things?”

She shrugged. “When it comes to work, he thinks of everything. Except apparently, in this case, he didn’t think of the fact that ‘Orange is the new blue.’” She grinned at him.

He frowned. “What?”

“That’s what Brian said when I came back from lunch. ‘Cynthia, did you know Orange is the new blue?’” Her imitation was spot on, including the roll of the lips. Justin just cracked up. She shook her head. “I had no idea what he was talking about. Now, I know. He was talking about you…” Her eyes twinkled as she added, “But then, he does that a lot.”

“What?”

“Talk about you…” She smiled at him again, and her phone rang.

Justin went to the elevator, not really knowing what to make of the conversation. When had Brian Kinney the occasion to speak about him to his assistant?

The next time his phone rang, the Art Department was half empty. It was late, his gimp hand having earlier stopped him from finishing some work due the next day. He had taken a break from hand coloring copies for Randy, one of the three creative directors, and worked on computer based stuff that was a lot less urgent for a couple hours to give his hand a break before going back to it. He was almost done. It was Cynthia again.

“Justin, could you come up to Mr. Kinney’s office before he leaves, around eight o’clock?”

 

"What time is it now?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“Sure. Cynthia, am I in trouble or something?”

“No idea.” She was such a liar.

He put on the last touches of ink and set his work to dry. He realized he was starving. There was nothing left in his lunch bag, so he grabbed a power bar from the Art Department’s stash, and emptied a bottle of water. He had not drank enough today. Lack of hydration seemed to make the cramping in his hand worse at times.

Cynthia was at her desk, for which he was grateful. It would have felt weird to be alone with Brian in his office after hours. She gestured for him to go right in. The office was empty, but Justin hardly noticed. There was a new, large piece of art hanging on the back wall. He just stood there and stared.

“I just received it four days ago. Do you like it?”

Brian had evidently returned. Justin turned toward him, uncertain of how to react.

“Yes, I like it.” He was trying to read Brian’s face, but Brian was just looking at the canvas, a little happy smile on his lips, apparently enthralled.

“I got it from a small gallery in Los Angeles. I was googling ‘Justin Taylor’, trying to figure out who had designed the new image for the Essengy club months ago. I didn’t find you, obviously. But, happily, I did find this. I think it's exquisite. Did you know there was an artist called Justin Taylor in Los Angeles?”

Justin was amazed to see that Brian was totally serious.

“I am familiar with the gallery, Mr. Kinney. The painting is one of mine.”

Brian’s eyes went from the canvas to his face, and he stared at him, expressionless. Finally he said, “You go to the Pratt institute in Brooklyn, but show your paintings in Los Angeles?”

“I transferred to Pratt nine months ago. Before that I was at the Los Angeles School of Design.”

Justin could see the wheels turning in Brian‘s mind. His tongue was pushing the inside of his cheek. He frowned.

“Of course you were. I should have known. We were on the same flight from Pittsburgh to New York, and the flight was coming out of Los Angeles.”

“We were?”

“Yes. You were traveling with an older man. I thought he was your father, until you shook hands and parted ways in front of the airport.”

“That was Chaz Anakian, the owner of Essengy. We designed his new image together on that flight. You have an amazing memory. Do you always pay that much attention to the other passengers on your flights?”

“I remember your ass. I was behind you in line, and I wanted to fuck it.“

This, delivered in all seriousness. Apparently in Brian’s mind, a perfectly natural explanation.

“Of course.”

“You designed their new image on the plane?” How Brian could be a completely hedonistic sex driven machine as well as a cool, brilliant ad executive in the same conversation was truly amazing.

“Yes. It was the quickest trip ever. We worked on it the whole time. By the time we made it to New York, we were done.”

“And you just gave it away.” A sarcastic and less than flattering comment on Justin’s naïveté.

“I would gladly have.” Justin wanted to rub it in. “But he wouldn’t let me. He made me sign it, and made me a permanent guest at the club: Free entry, free VIP access, free drinks, free guest.”

“That’s not much of a sacrifice on his part. You are prettier than most of the go-go boys and you only ever drink water.”

Trust Brian’s jaded attitude to make a kind gesture look like some calculated move. Justin felt the need to defend his friend. Brian made him sound like a jerk taking advantage of a kid.

“I happen to like Chaz.”

“Did he fuck you?”

Justin shook his head, disgusted. “You are such an asshole.” He got up, and started to leave.

“Taylor?”

Oh. Right. He had been summoned. And he’d just called his boss an asshole. Shit. He took a deep breath and turned back to face the music.

“Mr. Kinney?”

“Next time you think of an improvement to a finished campaign, like you did today, don’t keep it to yourself. The font color change was brilliant, but I would’ve never known about it if I hadn’t happened to walk in on you during your lunch hour. While you work here, your creativity belongs to us. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“Okay.”

“Good job.”

“Thanks.”

Brian made a little dismissive gesture with his hand, and Justin walked out. The man was such a prick. So why did Justin feel so pleased?

He was done for the day. He grabbed his messenger bag and his jacket and headed out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the phone with Daphne

“Justin, you are going to love Emmett!”

“I know. You’ve only told me this what, five hundred times?”

“I know. I can’t wait for you to get here. I am warning you. We are going dancing every night.”

“I can’t believe you go to Babylon. Don’t you want a boyfriend? Or are you going to be a fag hag for the rest of your life?”

“Shut up. I am having more fun than I’ve ever had in my life. It’s like hanging with my girlfriends, except my girlfriends are gorgeous guys.”

“But, aren’t they a little older than us?”

“Big whoop. Blake is twenty-six! Emmett is only turning thirty. Besides, except for a couple of them, they are totally immature! You’ll fit right in!”

“Well, gee, thanks. What is it like to hang out with one of your professors though?”

“Ben is great. Is one of the mature ones. He is really smart, and analytical, and hot.”

“Hot?”

“Yes, but he’s with Michael, so I guess you can look but not touch.”

“I don’t want to touch anybody in his forties!”

“Well, isn’t Brian in his forties?”

“Oh my God. If he heard you, he’d probably kill himself. No, I think he is thirty, thirty-one.“

“That’s awfully young for being a full partner, no?”

“He’s brilliant.”

“Crush much?”

“He has brilliant tastes.”

“In what? In teenage boys? In designer clothes?”

“I’m not a teenage boy!”

“No, but I bet he thought you were the first time he saw you shake your ass at that club, and that didn’t stop him!”

“Never mind that. He has great taste in art.”

“Yeah?”

“He bought one of my paintings. I had to go to his office the other night, and on the back wall is one of my big paintings.”

“The green one or the red one?”

“The green one. Anyway, he goes on about this artist in LA he discovered while googling my name to find out who had designed Essengy’s new image, and about how his work is, and I quote, ‘exquisite’, and this whole time I think he is pulling my leg, but it turns out he had no idea I had gone to school in LA, and that it was mine.”

“Wow!”

“I know!”

“You told him though, right?”

“Yes, I told him. Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him. Shit. I shouldn’t have!”

“Why not?”

“Well, I’m sure he enjoyed it more before he knew it was mine.”

“It’s still there though, right?”

“Yes. Everyone in the Art Department has gone up to see it because Sam, my boss, said that ‘Kinney’s new painting showed that The Asshole has great taste’. It’s still there.”

“So maybe he likes it better now that he knows it’s yours…”

“Daphne, cut it out. He either doesn’t give a shit that it’s mine, or it reminds him daily that I turned him down and annoys the hell out of him. Ugh... I am so ready to get away from here. I need a break from Brian Kinney.”

“I tell you what. Let’s make a pact. While you’re here, having fun with all my new friends, we will not even mention his name. I think you’re right. You need a break.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea. Not a word about him. Complete Kinney blackout.”

“Perfect.”

Justin was really looking forward to going to Pittsburgh, which was astonishing, considering that when he had left, he had thought he would never go back. But he couldn’t wait to see Daphne, and her new group of friends certainly sounded interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Justin kicks ass.

Justin couldn’t believe it was already November. He had learned a ton, had done a lot of different jobs, and really liked the Art Department’s team. They were a serious, dedicated bunch, extremely good at what they did.

After the ‘Orange is the new blue’ episode, people sometimes came and ran things by him, and intimidated at first, he had learned to honestly give his opinion. They all seemed to agree he had a good eye, and just took advantage of it.

At the end of a busy week, Sam, his direct boss, came over to his desk.

“Hey, Justin.”

“Sam.”

“I have something a little bit more fun for you to start on this afternoon. Kinney just got a new account, ‘Body by Design’. Heard of them?

“Yes. Upscale gyms, right?”

“Right. Their image is five years old, it needs revamping. We’re going to present a few ideas to Brian on Thursday, to give him something to go on, and he will choose which direction he wants to go with it. So you can go ahead and get started with that. Here are their stats, and the target profile. Remember, this is just a prelim, so don’t kill yourself. It’s just a chance to use a little creativity.”

This was something Justin could really get into. Just as he had done for Essengy, he pulled up his computer program and went to work. He had missed using his creative side, and worked happily for the next few hours, totally absorbed. It was cool to use some of the things he’d learn since joining Plexus to help direct his natural creativity: Keeping the target customer in mind, making sure the client’s product was unmistakably bound into the design. He couldn’t believe it when Julie broke through his concentration by rapping her knuckle on the side of his head. They were the last two people there.

“Earth to Justin! Time to go! It’s the weekend! Get out of here!”

“Oh. I got involved in something.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter to nine, you weirdo. They pay me a lot of money for this job, which is why I’m still here. You’re an intern. You hardly get enough for subway tokens. So what’s you excuse?”

He laughed. “Stupidity?”

She waited for him as he packed up, and they took the elevator down together.

“Where do you live?” she asked as she flagged down a cab.

“Brooklyn.”

She shrugged. “No luck. I’m in Harlem. See you Monday.”

“See you!”

He went home, and after eating his reheated dinner and cleaning the kitchen, he felt too worn out to go out. Instead, he showered and went to bed.

***

Lilah had reserved some studio time for them all weekend, and he happily went, doing prep work on canvases, and enjoying feeling part of the school again. He and Lilah went out to Essengy on Saturday and an early movie on Sunday night. Monday came awfully fast.

When he got to work, he remembered his new project, and actually felt excited he had something fun to work on. Sam had asked for several different ideas. The one he had finished on Friday was all about health. He looked back at it, tweaked a few things and called it good.

He knew these mock-ups were for Brian, so he decided to make the next one all about sex. Because, after all, gay men did not go to the gym for their health. They went to the gym to look good, so they would get laid. It was a much stronger motivator than the possible decrease of your risk of heart attacks…

This ad would say, “Go to the ‘Body by Design’ gym. You will fuck more often, fuck better, fuck longer, and at the end, come harder than ever before.” He kept Brian in mind throughout the whole design, laughing to himself as he incorporated a little single mindedness and desperation.

After all, the target client was 25 to 34, and any club boy over thirty started feeling a little desperate. At the end he switched the whole thing to black and white. Now the bruises on the hips and the love bites he had digitally added to the model’s perfect skin were almost subliminal. You mostly saw the lean but muscular back of a guy working out, and couldn’t really tell why it was so evocative of sex.

With the higher contrast, the face of the other man in the picture, who was cruising the guy whose back was the main focus, became blurry with motion and light. If you looked straight at it, you couldn’t tell what it was. But you could tell from the corner of your eye when you were not focusing on it.

It was perfect. And completely devious. Justin wondered if anyone would notice and call him on it. Probably not. The trap was set for gay men. Straight men and women might notice some things, but would not understand their significance.

The next campaign, he designed around the idea of play. You get in shape through play, to play. It was an easy theme, already built in all our psyches by professional sports. A vague image of team sport in the background of the design set the tone for the whole thing.

Finally, the last message he started working on was working out as a way to improve one’s looks, or preserve one’s looks forever. It would mostly be female oriented, because the desire to remain young was so much more engrained in the female psyche, though, sadly, gay men were not far behind.

By quitting time, he was in the midst of working the last campaign when Sam came over and looked over his shoulder.

“Wow, Justin, this is beautiful. I told you it didn’t have to be a finished product, right? This is just the prelim.”

“I’m not entirely sure what you mean by that. With this program, if you can think it, you can do it, so you can’t really do it halfway, you know?”

He reopened the other files. “You want to see the other ones?”

“What other ones?”

“Well, you said a few ideas, so I’m working on the fourth.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry Justin. I didn’t mean for you to do more than one! Usually, I do one, and Randy does one, and Julie does one. I was about to start on mine. I gave you a little more time since this was your first.”

“Oh. Sorry. Well, do you want to see them or not?”

“Sure. Show me what you got.”

Justin opened the one he thought of as ‘Work out for your health’ one.

Sam just stared. Then he called out. “Randy, Jules, come look at this!”

Justin showed them all three finished products, and the one he was still working on. Soon they were asking questions, making suggestions, pointing out areas that could be improved. It was like cooperating with Chaz all over again, except that these guys were very sharp professionals, and had years of experience in the field.

Julie loved the ‘Workout Means More Sex’ one. She found two of what Justin considered his triggers to sexual association, but missed the bruised hips. He had been right. Straight people would not know their significance. She pointed out to the others the love bites, the impression of the cruising guy. Justin pointed out the bruised hips and flushed a little explaining those to her, as she looked at him speculatively.

Sam caught on, and wondered if a slight abrasion on the wrists would play in the theme. Justin added it digitally; blurring it until you had to know it was there. They were all laughing. Randy, who was usually quite reserved asked about fingernail marks on the shoulders. That was good, because it would trap heteros as well.

Sam suggested some slight color modifications to the ‘Workout to Play’ campaign and the health campaign, and they all helped Justin with the completion of the beauty campaign.

By the time they were completely finished, it was almost two in the morning. Justin had been working on the designs since nine in the morning. They had hardly taken a break, and had all neglected everything else they had been doing, but the results were fabulous, they had completely bonded as a team, and they were high on life. Justin had learned more in one day than in a couple quarters at school.

Sam wanted to give Justin the lion share of the credit, but Justin wouldn’t hear of it. He explained as best he could without going into details that Brian and he knew each other from previous association and had a rather conflicted relationship. It would be better to downplay his role. A LOT.

Sam eventually agreed, but promised himself that at some point, when it would make no difference to the campaigns, credit would be given where credit was due.

Justin was thrilled when Sam gave him the next day off to recuperate. That way he would not even be in the building when Sam presented their work to Brian, two days before the prelims were due, and the entire thing actually completed.

He went home and slept the sleep of the just. He woke up at one in the afternoon, and hung out with Lilah. That evening, he went to Essengy, and danced for three hours straight. Before heading home, he went to one of the alcoves in the VIP room with a guy who looked like he spent a bit too much time working out, and maybe used steroids.

He had offered Justin a blowjob, which happened surprisingly often. He insisted on sitting Justin on one of the couches, something Justin avoided, not wanted to think about what the covers would look like in daylight. His companion seemed to sense his hesitation, and very kindly lined the upholstery with clean come towels before Justin sat down.

Then he proceeded to make love to Justin’s cock in a way he had almost forgotten could happen, so used had he become to back room encounters. The blowjob must have taken forty-five minutes, and Justin’s whole body was singing at the end.

He felt horribly guilty that the entire time he had fantasized about Brian, but muscle man looked quite happy, and ruffled Justin’s hair before walking off. He had not jerked off, and did not appear to be hard, which confirmed Justin’s suspicions of steroid use. Aside from incredibly pleasurable, the encounter had been very sweet.

 

***

The next day, in the Art Department, the buzz was all about Brian’s reaction to the four “Body by Design” campaigns. He had been gratifyingly impressed. Sam thought he could sell the client all four, which Justin really doubted. Sam showed him the couple of modifications Brian had requested, and Justin could not help but be annoyed that they did indeed make their hard work even better. Sam pointed out that there was a reason Brian pulled in a seven-figure salary.

“Seven-figure, as in, over a million a year?” asked Justin in complete disbelief.

“Yeah. Probably closer to two actually. He handles some of the biggest accounts. Brown Athletics brings in two million in profit alone.”

“What do you do with that much money?”

“I’m sure I could find something to spend it on,” quipped Sam. “I think Brian paid over four million for his loft last year. And did you see the new gorgeous painting in his office? I bet that’s worth a couple hundred thousand right there.”

Justin burst out laughing.

“Sorry to disappoint you Sam, but that set him back a whooping seventeen hundred dollars, of which the artist only received twelve hundred once the gallery took its share.“

“How do you know?”

“It’s one of mine.”

Sam just stared at him for a moment.

“Why the hell are you wasting your time working here with talent like that? You should be painting.”

“A boy’s gotta eat, Sam. Twelve hundred dollars don’t go as far as they used to…”

“Are you working on anything now?”

“Nah. Not since I started working here. But I need this for my degree.”

“Do you have any finished work?”

“Yes, a few stored at school, and a couple in my apartment. The problem is that I like big canvases, and they are hard to store so most of them are at Pratt.”

“When was the last time you had a show?”

“Eighteen month ago, in a small gallery in Los Angeles. That’s where Brian, sorry, Mr. Kinney got his painting. I bet it cost him more to ship it than to buy it.”

“I’d love to see what you have sometime.”

“Sure. I’d be happy to show you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brian's priorities.

After finding out that there was one less Justin Taylor in the world than he had originally thought, Brian stared at his new painting. He absolutely loved it. It was completely abstract, and yet had the feel of a landscape. On the wall, it felt like a window to the natural world, to an untouched primeval forest, fresh yet dappled by sunlight.

It had been more expensive to have it shipped in its special container than it had cost to buy it in the first place. The other one (he had bought both, of course), was hanging in the loft, on the wall behind his bed. Abstract as well, yet full of eroticism and primal sex. You could stare at it for hours (as Brian had done), and never be able to pinpoint what gave that impression of the raw celebration of life, but you could feel it like a tingle in your skin.

So now, the two places he spent the most time, doing what he did best, working, and fucking, were dominated by gorgeous paintings. Gorgeous paintings created by one Justin Taylor, previously of Los Angeles, and now of New York City.

What an amazingly fucked up coincidence. He took a deep breath. He loved the paintings. They were staying.

He, on the other hand, was going out. He needed to fuck. He changed quickly into his usual clubbing attire, had a scotch for the road, and had a cab drop him at an upscale gay club which had a magnificent orgy room, and a private membership that cost more than Justin Taylor would be paid for his three months of indentured servitude at Plexus. Somewhere, in short, where he was absolutely sure never to run into him.

He played pool, cruising a hot little blond who wore tight silver pants showing off his cock and a short shirt that let perfect abs peak through. He fucked him three times, on his back, on his knees, and once more as they took a shower together. His ass was nice and tight, his skin and hair soft, and he had the face of an angel. Yet Brian couldn’t bring himself to kiss him, and every time he came, he closed his eyes and thought about Justin. Fuck.

He ended up at two in the morning standing at the foot of his bed, a glass of scotch in hand, staring at his painting.

He made a firm resolution to stay away from the Art Department, and to only go clubbing in upscale, expensive establishments. He also decided he would fuck hard and often, which always did him good.

Once again, he started spending his lunch hour working out and getting satisfying blowjobs in the steam room, and his evenings fucking at least one, and sometimes two guys a night. After five weeks of that regimen, Cynthia remarked on how healthy and well rested he looked, and he had even gone back down to three percent body fat.

It would be a crying shame to waste that on the Pitts. He made arrangements to go to the Miami white party instead of home for Thanksgiving. He would go back for Christmas.

He had just finished booking his flight when the preliminary layouts came up from the Art Department for the “Body by Design” gyms. They had evidently been inspired, because where he usually expected two or three ideas, he was presented with four.

Wow. These were not prelims. They were completed and awesome. The first concept focused on health, and made him feel like he needed to have his blood pressure checked and go for a ten-mile run. The second concept emphasized fun. Now he couldn’t wait to join a pick-up basketball game. The third one was about looks. Brian knew he looked perfect, and yet felt the urge to prolong his abs workout next time he was at the gym.

The last concept, his favorite, made clear that guys who worked out got to fuck more, and fuck better, though how that transpired from the black and white back of some guy working his delts, he had no idea.

The best part of each and every one of the concepts was that you were aware the entire time that the only gym where you would get the results you really wanted was the ‘Body by Design’ gyms, and that nothing else would do.

The guys at the Art Department had totally outdone themselves. He tried to identify who had come up with what from past experience, but could not even guess. He looked at Sam, the head of the Art Department, who was grinning like a fiend, and grinned back. Now, that’s what they paid these guys the big bucks for.

“I know the one you want,” said Sam.

Brian smiled a little smile. Right he was.

“But we were thinking that maybe this could be a multi-facetted campaign, with this one in sports and health magazine, this one in women’s publications, this one in the popular magazines, and this one in the men’s publications. They are all so good. Why limit ourselves?”

It was not often the Art Department came to him with suggestions, and this was brilliant. Running four parallel campaigns would cost the client more, and make more money for the firm, and all four were good enough that he was quite sure they would all be successful.

At least he could present the client with the idea and blow their socks off, even if they ended up downscaling for financial reasons. This was the kind of extra effort that created client loyalty. Brian was thrilled.

He suggested a couple of minor modifications, as well as the addition of a billboard size panel for the presentation, with only the central theme of each represented.

The client had not expected anything until Christmas, and now they could present this to them before Thanksgiving.

He had Cynthia call to make an appointment with them the day before his trip to Miami, making sure to emphasize that this was a final presentation, and not a preliminary meeting, to be certain they brought their big guns.

That morning, Brian reviewed everything, and felt so good about it he actually got a hard on. As predicted, the clients were blown away. Brian would have been happy to show up with any of the campaigns, but to be able to give them all four at once was a total power trip.

The best part about being so far ahead of schedule was that it would allow the campaigns to start well ahead of the new-year, when most memberships to gyms and health clubs were purchased.

They bought the whole thing, hook, line and sinker, almost doubling their initial advertising budget and Plexus profits for the account. All three of his partners had sat in on the presentation, and they all came back to him during the day to congratulate him.

 

He was still on a high the next day when he caught his flight to Miami, and had the best Thanksgiving any gay man had ever had. He did his best to fuck every blond in Miami, and to show himself he was not doing so because of any blond of his acquaintance, he also fucked every other guy in sight.

 

 

 

 

 

Justin’s Thanksgiving in Pittsburgh

For weeks, since before Thanksgiving, Brian had not been to Essengy, and had avoided the Art Department, having Sam come to him instead of coming down. That was fine by Justin. Then he had gone to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving, and it had been a nice break.

His time there had been fabulous. It was great to see Daphne, and Emmett was a hoot. The first evening he was there, they went to Babylon and danced together until two in the morning. The DJ came down at one point, and tried to take Daphne away. “As he does every time,” confided Emmett, but she laughed it off. They had a great time.

Back at their apartment, Daphne shared her bed with Justin. She wore flannel pajamas, and he slept with light sweats on. It was way more comfortable than the couch, and she had slept in his bed in New York. He liked waking up with her in the morning, and talking in bed.

While they were still lazing there talking, Emmett poked his head in. He was leaving to go help Debbie with dinner, and told them they should be there around four, because that’s when it really started. They were spending Thanksgiving dinner at a Debbie Novotny’s house, where apparently all of them congregated for the major holidays. Justin felt a little weird going to someone’s house he did not know for Thanksgiving, but Daphne and Emmett both assured him it was all right, so he gave in.

They arrived just in time to hear the end of an argument, and Emmett stopped them for a moment on the porch, explaining that there was some tension since, once again, Gus’s father had changed his plans and was not coming.

Gus was disappointed, which meant that his mother Lindz was upset and his other mom Mel was pissed off. Mel took it out on Michael, who, because he and Gus’s father were best friends, was somehow supposed to control Gus’s dad, though apparently no one ever could. Of course Michael was hurt because his best friend wasn’t coming and annoyed that he was being blamed for it, which meant that Ben was upset, which meant that the entire party was at each other’s throat.

Apparently, Debbie had just solved the problem by saying that the son of a bitch was not to be mentioned again, and now that Daphne and Justin had arrived, all would be well, because everyone could concentrate on Justin and forget all about anyone else who should have been there… That did not sound so great to Justin.

“Don’t look so worried, Justin. They’re all going to love you!” said Emmett, reassuringly. Emmett opened the door, and announced to the brooding assembly, “Look who I found loitering on the porch!”

“Daphne!” A wild looking woman, who looked as if she relied on transvestites for fashion advice, greeted Daphne like her long lost daughter, with a hug and a kiss. “And who do we have here? This must be Justin!” He got a hug as well, and a pinch on the cheek. “You are even cuter than Emmett said! Would you look at that smile! Come on, Sunshine! Come meet everybody!”

He met Mel and Lindz, Mike and Ben, and later, when they arrived, Blake and Ted. Gus, Lindz’s son, took a shine to him and he played with him most of the afternoon. JR, Mel and Michael’s daughter, was cute as a doll and smiled at everybody. Justin really enjoyed the mish-mashed family, and the feeling of love that filled the horribly over-decorated house.

He did not mind being the center of attention. He talked about art with Lindz, who ran a gallery, about comics and comic book drawing with Michael, who ran a comic store and about skiing with Blake. He liked Blake especially. He was a little shy, and crazy about Ted. Justin didn’t think Ted was anything special, though he was nice, and had a wicked sense of humor, but he loved to watch Blake and Ted together.

Their feelings for each other were in all their small gestures, their smiles, and their constant awareness of each other. He learned later from Emmett some of the hurdles they had had to overcome to get where they were now, and it made him hopeful that maybe someday he would know the same kind of relationship with someone.

Ben’s son Hunter arrived just in time to eat dessert, and he was the funniest, most obnoxious teenager Justin had ever met. He obviously had a huge crush on Daphne, and was not in the least shy about it.

“How did you two meet?” he asked Justin and Daphne, while digging into half a pecan pie that he evidently had no intention of sharing with anyone.

“We’ve known each other since kindergarten. She kept stealing my shovel in the sand pit,” complained Justin.

“And he kept pulling my hair!” Daphne whined.

“And we’ve been best friend ever since.” They leaned into each other, holding hands, batting their eyes.

“I had a crush on him in junior high, until he told me he was gay.”

Justin gave her an apologetic grin. “She was my alibi girl from then on…”

“Yeah, more like his fag hag…”

“And then, she saved my life.” Justin gave Daphne a kiss on the cheek. “My hero!”

Daphne smiled, blushing. “I did, didn’t I?”

“How did she do that?” asked Hunter, realizing they were serious.

“Well, when we were seniors in high school, I came to Liberty Avenue once, to check it out. To my great disappointment, nothing happened. I spent the night leaning on a lamppost, too scared to do anything. So the next night, I dragged Daph with me. I wanted to go to Babylon, but I didn’t want to go alone.

“Well, we couldn’t get in: I didn’t have a membership, or any fake ID, so we ended up at the Liberty Diner. On our way out, we met these kids from our school. One of them, the captain of the football team, called me a fag. So I told all his friends how I’d given him a hand job in the football storage locker, and I felt pretty good when he was so embarrassed that he ran off.

“When we got back to our car, he came at me out of nowhere with a baseball bat and tried to brain me. He knocked me out, fractured my skull. Daphne kneed him in the nuts, and broke his collarbone with the bat, then called 911.”

Hunter high-fived Daphne, who giggled.

“Way to go, Supergirl!”

Justin continued. “Without her, I would have died. As it is, I was in a coma for like three weeks, and in rehab for months.”

“Oh, my God, Sunshine! You were that kid in the newspaper!” Debbie sat down next to him, with her arm around his shoulders.

“Hobbs, the guy who bashed me, only got 500 hours of community service. Can you believe it?” Even after all this time, that still rankled.

“I thought they said you were brain damaged!“ said Michael.

“Michael!” Lindz looked at him, astonished as ever by his lack of tact.

“Well, they did!”

Justin laughed. “I was. I am. My right hand… I can’t draw like I used to. It shakes, and I lose control of it after a little while.” He shook his hand out, as if it had just cramped again and looked sheepish.

Lindz smiled at him. ”But you made it to art school anyway.”

“Yes. There was a follow up article in the paper about me a couple of months later. It was buried in the back, and talked about how my life had been ruined, how I could no longer go to art school because of the brain damage, how I had lost control of my hand. It was mostly a sob story. They must have been having a slow news day.”

“Yeah, remember, Ma? You cut it out and had it taped to the cash register for weeks.”

“You did? Really? Thanks…” Justin was really touched.

“Yeah. I hated how quick everyone forgot. It happened right down our street, and people just went on, business as usual. It made me sick.”

“Well, a good Samaritan read it, and sent me this computer anonymously, with a brand new program on it that allowed me to draw with a stylus. It took me a while to give it a try, but I did eventually. I started drawing again, and I was re-admitted to art school.

“I contacted the software company to thank them, to let them know what a difference they had made in my life. They have been using me as a guinea pig ever since. I try all the modifications they do to the program, and give them feedback. Some get to the market, some don’t, but on my own computer I have everything. I learned some programming to make it all work together. It’s a mess, and only I can make heads or tales of it, but it’s a great tool for me. I do 75% of my work on it. I plan my paintings, I do design work, I draw, everything.”

“Do you still work without it?” Lindz was curious.

“Yes. I sketch; do portraits, things like that. But nothing that takes too long. Well. I paint, also.”

“Pratt is a great school. You must be extremely talented.”

Justin blushed.

“He is!” said Daphne. “He had a show in California, and they sold all of his paintings, even the really big ones.”

“You had a show in California?”

“Yes, I was there for a few months, at the LA School of Design. I mostly painted there, and a few of us were part of this emerging artists expo. I had eleven pieces. The last two just sold a couple months ago.”

“Do you still paint?”

“Oh yes. I’ve had to stop recently to concentrate on design, but painting is what I love.”

“Do you have photos of your work?”

“On my computer.“

“I’d love to see them. Why don’t you two come to our house tomorrow, for lunch?”

Justin looked at Daphne, who was nodding enthusiastically.

“Sure, why not?”

That night, all the boys and Daphne went to Babylon. Dancing with everybody was a total blast. The couples left after a while and soon it was just Emmett, Daphne and Justin, just like the previous night. The DJ came down from his booth to get a drink, and just like the night before, hit on Daphne. This time, she yielded, and went back with him to his booth.

Emmett started grinding a guy with tattoos, so Justin felt no guilt when a cute guy, who looked about Emmett’s age, dragged him to the back room. It was dark in there, with a blue light creating shadows that made everything and everyone look mysterious and sexy. The guy started sucking him off, and was pretty good, but then he stopped, stood up, and whispered in Justin’s ear.

“I want you to fuck me…”

Justin did not usually fuck total strangers in back rooms. To him, that was real sex, and he was not all that comfortable doing it with someone he’d never see again, but the guy was pulling down his own pants and repeating, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…”

He told the guy: “Are you sure? I’m from out of town, I’ll probably never see you again…”

“Yeah, I’m sure… I want your nice big dick up my ass, now…”

He even got a condom out of his own pocket and put it on Justin. Justin turned him to face the wall, and saw that the guy had a plug in his ass. Obviously, he really knew what he wanted. He slowly eased out the plug, and put it in the pocket of the guy’s pants, and slid into the guy’s ass in one push. It felt fucking fantastic. He had not fucked anyone since Ethan, and this guy’s ass was tighter, yet more welcoming than Ethan’s had been.

He had forgotten how good fucking was. He had to stop for a moment so as not to embarrass himself, but then closed his eyes, and concentrated on the sensations as he pumped hard and long, holding the guy’s hips, pulling them towards him as he pushed in, his balls slapping the guy’s balls, his cock in as deep as it could go.

“Yeah, yeah, oh, god, yeah, fuck that ass, just like that!”

It was nice to know he was doing a good job, though right now, he just didn’t care that much. He just wanted to fuck and fuck hard and fuck fast.

The guy started grunting with each of his shoves, pushing back on the wall with both hands into Justin’s cock, responding to his every move. Finally he let out a cry: “Fuuuck!” and sprayed his come all over the black painted wall. His rectum tightened around Justin’s pumping cock, and Justin let himself go, coming hard into the condom. He kept pumping a couple more times, pulled out, slipped the condom off and tied it up.

Unlike in the VIP room of Essengy, there were only paper towel dispensers at Babylon, not nice terrycloth come towels, but he offered a couple to his trick before cleaning himself up, putting himself back together and zipping up his pants. His trick was still leaning against the wall, getting his breath back. He rested his chin on the guy's shoulder, and asked, “Do you want me to put your plug back in?”

 

 

The guy turned to look at him, and smiled. “No sweetie. You did good. I’m done for tonight,” and kissed him on the lips.

 

 

Justin tucked him back into his underwear and pants, and zipped him up. The guy turned into his arms and kissed his neck.

“Well! Cute, shags like a god, and treats his tricks like a gentleman. Now you’ve made me sorry you’re from out of town… Take care, sweetie.” One last kiss on Justin’s cheek and he was gone.

Justin felt tired and well fucked. It was time to go home. He came out of the back room, found Emmett at the bar, drinking water, and managed to get Daphne’s attention. They left, arm in arm, singing the last song that had been playing, You think you’re a man, on their way back to the car.

They got to Mel and Lindz’s the next day at noon and Justin was welcomed by a jubilant Gus, who dragged him away to show off his room and his toys. Justin just laughed and let Gus have his fun. They were called down to lunch and ate leftover turkey sandwiches, the best part about Thanksgiving as far as Justin was concerned.

He loved their house. It was so homey, with artsy knick-knacks and dozens upon dozens of framed photos on shelves (so many only the more recent ones, mostly of Gus and JR together, could be seen), toys everywhere, eclectic art on the walls, and cozy throws and cushions.

He showed Lindsay (he learned that was her real name and liked it a lot better than Lindz), the photos of his paintings. He hated hovering when someone else was looking at his work, so he got out his sketchpad, and started drawing Gus, who was listening to Mel read a book to him and JR. He was a beautiful boy. His lips, his eyes and the way his hair parted in the front looked somewhat familiar. Justin did two quick sketches, and then went back to fill in details.

Then he made a portrait of Mel with JR, who had fallen asleep. He wasn’t able to finish, his hand having started shaking. It looked nice unfinished. The details were only in Mel and the baby’s face, everything else defined by simple bold lines. He stacked up the sketches, and slid them under a magazine on the coffee table, for them to find later as a thank you for lunch.

Lindsay finally looked up.

“These are amazing, Justin.”

“Thanks.”

“Which are the ones you sold in California?”

“These.” He pointed to a line in the thumbnails. “Those are in Daphne’s parents’ basement, except for this one, which seems to have found its way on her wall.”

Daphne giggled guiltily.

“These are all in New York, the small ones in my closet, the large ones in storage at Pratt.”

“How large are the larger ones?”

“These were 8X8 feet,” he said pointing to the green and red ones from the California exhibit. “These are 4x6 , this one 6X6 and these 4X4. This one is huge. 10X8. I don’t know why. I like big canvasses. It’s impractical. I can’t put them anywhere, and even if I tried, they would be really hard to sell. Nobody has walls that big in New York. But it had to be that way, you know?”

“So right now you have twelve paintings in New York, and four here in Pittsburgh, five if you count the one purloined by your so-called friend?”

Lindsay was smiling at Daphne, showing she was only joking.

“Yes. But I don’t like this one, or that one.” He said showing two of the ones in New York, a big one and a small one. “I wasn’t in a good space when I painted them. They were an assignment, so I didn’t have much choice, but they suck. When I’m done with that class, in February, these are gone.”

Lindsay nodded. “I understand.” Then she looked at Justin seriously.

“My gallery is doing a new artists expo in December. Would you be interested in putting a few of them in, say, maybe six?”

“Are you joking? Of course I’d be interested. Which ones do you have in mind?”

Lindsay pointed to the first line of thumbnails. “This one, this one and this one, which are already here, and this one, this one, and one of these two from New York.”

“This one is 4X6 feet, Lindsay, and this one 6X6. I can’t afford to ship them.”

“Well, that’s where you are in luck! Our Gallery is picking up paintings from an artist called L.J. Hiller, in New York, week after next. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”

“Of course. She's great!”

“She was commissioned to do a mural at city hall, and we are doing a retrospective of her work, with sketches, studies, drawings, and seventeen paintings in January. Most of the paintings are on loan from private collectors, but six are at her studio, in Jersey City. Our van could detour by Brooklyn and pick up your paintings then. It would be…” She checked her day planner. “…the 9th of December. Would that work for you?”

“I’ll make it work!”

“Great. It’s a deal, then. The new artist exposition will start the week before Christmas. It’s a chance for young people to show their art, and buyers to be able to purchase affordable art for the holidays. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

She made a face. “Every year, we have one or two art investors who come and pick up the work of artists whom they feel have the most future, to put it back on the market in a few years, when they have made a name for themselves. We can’t do anything about it. Critics and people have a chance to see the paintings at least, until they store them away, so it’s not all bad. We do have some pretty big names come to opening night. Both Sid and I call in favors to bring them to the Pitts, and Emmett throws a terrific opening party. This year, it will be…” She checked her day planner again, “…the 19th. I hope you can make it.”

“I will. I’m off on the 18th and I’ll be coming in on the 19th anyway. It’s Daphne’s birthday. I don't start again until the 3rd of January.”

“Terrific!”

They spent another hour there, and then left. Daphne’s school friends were throwing a party, and she was dragging him there as her alibi guy.

“It’s time you return the favor. They all think I can’t get a date.”

“Of course you can’t. You spend your life hanging out with fags!”

“Well, tonight you are straight. And my date. So look it. Don’t check out the guys’ butts.”

“Me? Do I ever?”

She gave him a look that told a long story, and rolled her eyes. He grinned.

“So, do we get to make out?”

She laughed at him. “If you promise not to gag!”

“Daphne, if you had a dick, you’d be totally my type! Hell, if you had a dick, I’d marry you…”

So they went. Justin wore a flannel shirt, and they danced and made out like teenagers. They got totally high on hash-brownies. They came back to the apartment stoned out of their minds, giggling like twelve-year old girls, and ended the evening watching A Streetcar Named Desire with Emmett. Since he didn’t want to be left out, he got out his grass, and got as high as they were. They ended up all falling asleep on the rug in front of the TV, and Emmett was almost late for work.

Justin and Daphne went to the diner for breakfast, and met Ben and Michael there, who moved to make room for them in their booth.

 

 

Hunter was working, and was the best busboy Justin had ever seen, which really came as a surprise. He also flirted outrageously with all the customers, getting his ass pinched more than once.

“Isn’t Hunter straight?” Justin asked Ben.

“Alas, yes. Our boy likes girls,” answered Michael, faking despair.

“He does a good job pretending he’s not!” Justin pointed out.

Ben leaned forward. “He does it for the tips…”

“Yes,” said Hunter, coming out of nowhere, and obviously gifted with extremely good hearing. “I play gay for pay.” He gave Justin an alarmingly realistic come hither smile. “See something you like, Sunshine?”

Seeing Justin's stunned look, he added. “Pretty good, eh? I used to fuck for a living.” And without missing a beat, he went back to busing.

Ben shook his head, looking resigned.

“Well, you’re the one who’s always telling him he has nothing to be ashamed of!” commented Michael.

“He doesn’t!” said Ben. “His past made him who he is today, and I’m proud of him.”

“We all are,” said Debbie, coming to take their order.

“Thanks Grandma!” said Hunter, giving her a kiss as he walked past with a tub full of dishes.

“You’re welcome, Honey. So what will it be?”

Justin and Daphne both ordered the pink plate special.

Ben explained: “Hunter’s adopted. He had a difficult childhood.”

“He’s got a new girlfriend,” whispered Mike, with a big smile.

Daphne put her hand on her heart, looking crushed. “What? I thought I was the love of his life!”

Hunter came back out of the kitchen. He put his tub down, and slipped in the booth next to Daphne, putting his arm around her shoulders. “You are, Daphne! Say the word, and I’m dumping the bitch!”

“Back to work, you!” said Debbie, putting down their breakfasts. Hunter got up, and picked up his tub. ”Just say the word, Daphne!” She cracked up.

“He has amazingly fine hearing,” commented Justin.

“Yes,” said Mike, softly. “It’s like living with a superhero. Imagine trying to have sex with him sleeping next door…”

“I heard that,” said Hunter loudly from the other end of the diner, “and the way you two go at it, I sure don’t need superpowers…”

They all started laughing, Michael rolling his eyes. After breakfast Daphne went to her grandparents, Ben to the gym, and Michael offered to show Justin ‘Red Cape’, his comic book shop. He obviously loved it. He showed Justin some of his favorites, and told him he had always wanted to write a comic, but couldn’t draw to save his life.

While he was helping customers, Justin took out his sketchpad, and drew a comic-like character, which he based on the most beautiful man he knew.

It was Brian, in a tight sleeveless costume, with a small black mask and a sneer on his face. He chuckled to himself.

“Wow,” said Michael. ”This is really good! What’s his name?”

Justin grinned. “Rage”

“Cool. What does he do?”

“He’s the Gay Avenger, saving Liberty Avenue from evil!”

“What’s his superpower?” Michael was so into it, it was cute.

“Huh. I don’t know…” Justin emphasized the shadow on Rage’s crotch. “A really big dick?”

They both laughed. “Here,” said Justin. “You keep it. I’ve got to go. I’m meeting my mom for lunch.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize your mom still lived here.”

“Both my parents do. My dad kicked me out of the house when I came out. I lived at Daphne’s for my senior year. My mom tried to smooth things, but there was never any hope. My father never even visited me in the hospital when I was bashed. But she did. She tries to keep in touch. She paid for my school until I left town. She’s all right.” Justin shrugged. He was not looking forward to it, but could not, in good conscience, not see her when he was in town.

“Daphne and I will be at Babylon tonight. You coming?” he asked Michael.

“Nah. Come have a drink with us at Woody’s before Babylon though. We’ll be there.”

“Ok. See you tonight!”

“See you!”

 

***

Seeing his mother was always difficult. They had been so close when he was growing up. He told her about his life in New York, about his work at Plexus, trying to make her feel like a part of it, but the truth was he hardly thought of her when he wasn’t home.

His Dad was an asshole, had cheated on her for years, and yet, when it had come down to it, she had taken his side, had let him kick out a seventeen year old into the street. She‘d known Daphne’s parents would take him in, but still. It wasn’t right.

His Dad owned a chain of electronics stores, and when he had received his computer anonymously, he had been sure it was from his Dad. He had held on to that fantasy for months, and when he had been readmitted to art school, he had gone to thank him, thinking his Dad would be proud. His Dad had brought him back to reality in no time at all, asking him why he would ever think he would help ‘some faggot’ who was lucky enough just to be alive, and to get the hell out of his store before he called the cops.

As usual, after their lunch, his mother tried to give him some cash, but he turned her down. God knew there had been a time where he could have used it, but after she had stopped paying for his schooling because his Dad had found out, he had never taken another cent. Truthfully, even now, a little extra cash would have been nice, but he was OK on his own. He told her to buy something nice for Molly from him.

He kissed her cheek saying goodbye, and she smelled like she always had, a scent that for years had meant love to him, and he ended up hugging her really tight for a long time. Still, he was glad to get away.

 

***

That night, at Woody’s, he learned to play pool. He was really bad, and Ben, Michael and Emmett all tried to give him tips, but it was hopeless. Daphne, on the other hand, was quite the pool shark. Her granddad had a table in his attic and she had played for years. She swindled Michael out of twenty bucks, pretending that, like Justin, she had never played before and Ben laughed so hard at Michael’s outrage, it got them all going, even Michael joining in at the end.

Emmett bowed out of Babylon that night, needing his beauty sleep. Apparently his boy friend Drew was coming home Sunday night for a few days. He was a football player. He had played for Pittsburgh, but had switched to Chicago, and didn’t come home very often. He had a fabulous house in the posh part of town, but Emmett refused to stay there on his own, which is why he shared an apartment with Daphne, though he ran his catering business from its huge professional kitchen.

Daphne disappeared suspiciously quickly up to the DJ booth, and Justin just danced alone for a while, but then Blake showed up. Ted was out of town on business, and wasn’t one for dancing much anyway, so Blake sometimes came alone just to dance.

They had a great time together. Blake was rather quiet and gentle when you met him, but on the dance floor, he was wild, and killer sexy. They were both shirtless, sweaty and attracting others like flies. An amazingly hot guy started putting the moves on Justin, and Blake just winked at him, letting him know he’d not mind if Justin left for a while.

Justin and his conquest went to the back room, where they started making out and playing with each other’s cocks, pants down to their knees. The guy really was gorgeous everywhere, and sexy as hell. He wanted to fuck, but Justin let him know that wasn’t in the books. Taking it in stride, the guy dropped to his knees and gave him a blowjob to remember, sucking on his balls and playing with his hole, receiving Justin’s come on his tongue and coming back up to share it in a kiss.

Justin wanted that beautiful cock in his mouth, and for once, reciprocated. He loved that the guy was uncut, and played with his foreskin, which was apparently a really good thing to do. He rolled the guy’s lovely balls in his hand as he deep throated his ten inches with a vengeance. He loved the feel of the spunk hitting the back of his throat. When he came back up, his partner in crime kissed him long and hard.

“That was one of the best blowjobs I’ve ever had,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Justin.”

“I’m Brandon. I’d love to get together again, sometime. Not here, though.”

“Sorry. I’m going back to New York tomorrow.”

“Fuck. That’s too bad. Coming back around here anytime?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here for Christmas.”

Brandon got a business card out of his pocket. It only had his name and his number. “Give me a call before you get back. It’s a really busy time for me, but I’d love to see you again.“

He looked a Justin for a second, his hand playing with Justin’s hair, as if he was hesitating about something. Then he said, “Do you like ballet?”

 

 

That was a question Justin hadn’t expected. “Sure. Why?”

 

 

“I am with the Pittsburgh city Ballet. We do The Nutcracker at Christmas. I’m the lead in the gold cast. If you tell me when, I could leave your name at the box office. We could go out to eat afterward. I’m always starving after a performance.“

He was still playing with Justin’s hair, but not looking at him. Justin had a feeling Brandon was doing something quite out of his comfort zone by asking him on what could be seen as a date. His blowjobs must be way better than he thought.

“That would be really cool. Thanks.”

Brandon looked at him. “If you were here at another time, it would have been better. We do amazing choreography, exciting stuff, usually. But at Christmas, we have to do The Nutcracker. It’s our bread and butter for the rest of the year.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

Brandon looked a little dubious, which was really adorable on his perfect face.

“Really,” Justin added, and kissed his lips. Brandon kissed back. It was very nice, and Justin squashed the memory of another kiss down. He was enjoying himself. And so was his cock. And Brandon’s. Brandon reached in his pocket, and came back with a lube packet. He squirted some inside his right hand, and Justin put his right hand out for a serving.

Then they continued kissing as they gave each other mutual hand jobs. Justin was ahead, and had to stop for a while as he came, his head against the wall, Brandon sucking his neck, but he resumed immediately after, and if Brandon’s noises were anything to go by, did a really fine job.

He hated those stupid paper towels of Babylon, and thought wistfully of Essengy’s nice soft come towels, but they did the job. When he was presentable again, he and Brandon went back out together. Blake was gone, and Daphne was waiting for him at the bar. Justin introduced Brandon to her before heading out. Brandon grabbed his shoulder as he was stepping away, and kissed him quickly. Justin smiled at him and put his arm around Daphne as they crossed the dance floor.

As soon as they stepped outside, she turned to him. “What in the hell was that?” she asked.

“What? You mean the kiss?”

“Yes, Justin. I mean that Brandon guy kissing you!”

“We… uh. We spend some time in the back room, and… we actually talked for a little while. Why?”

“Did you let him fuck you?”

“Daphne! What the hell? Of course not!”

“Justin, Brandon is, like, the Brian Kinney of Babylon. He fucks guys once and moves on. And they line up for it. It’s pathetic. They all think he’s so hot, he can have anyone he wants. He’s a prick, completely egotistical.”

Justin laughed. “He asked me out to dinner and the ballet when I come back for Christmas.”

“He what??”

“He asked me out.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Nothing! Much. You know, the usual.”

“Justin, you always tell me you go to back rooms for guys to give you blowjobs!”

“Well, yes. He did.”

“He gave you a blow job.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Unbelievable. You have hidden powers. That must be it. From what I know, he fucks guys, or he gets head. He never gives head. He is like an alpha dog.”

“Well, he gives good head. Can we stop talking about this now? You’re just being weird.”

“Maybe he has a cold and took too much Nyquil. That stuff can really mess you up.”

“Yes, Daphne. That must be it. Why else would the hottest guy I’ve met beside Br… Why else would one of the hottest guys I've ever met want to take me out? Silly me. I thought he liked me, and it was only the Nyquil talking.”

Daphne looked mortified.

“I’m sorry, Justin. Any guy with half a brain would want to go out with you. Hell, I’m a girl and I go out with you. You are cute, and smart, and sexy, and very, very forgiving when your bestest friend says something stupid. Of course, if anyone could get Casanova to act like a person instead of a sex machine it would be you. Maybe I’ve had too much Nyquil.”

“I love it when you grovel. Hey, I don’t know the guy. He seemed nice. I’ll probably call him. And if it turns out he was having an off moment and is another Brian Kinney whom, by the way, we were not supposed to mention, I’ll tell him to fuck off. End of story. Let’s move on.”

They had made it back home. They talked for a long time, about things that mattered, like her thesis and his painting, and ate a lot of ice cream. They went to sleep at four, and at 1:00 PM, Justin was on a flight back to NY. It had been an awesome Thanksgiving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just a taste.

Flying home on Sunday afternoon Brian, received a very obvious invitation from the gorgeous male flight attendant in first class, but passed it up, preferring to sleep instead. He was exhausted. He’d never gotten this much action in one long weekend before, and for Brian Kinney, that was saying a lot.

Home, he unpacked, showered, opened his mail, checked his e-mail, drank a lot of water to rehydrate and ran five miles on his treadmill. He was asleep by ten.

Monday morning, he was at the gym at five, when they opened the doors. He arrived at the office at 7:00 am, holding the door open for Cynthia. They exchanged a knowing smile. By nine, when everyone else rolled in, they had already done an amazing amount of work.

Brian was literally offered a new campaign, by the brother of one of the ‘Body by design’ owners. It was for upscale flatware. So far, they had only sold to professionals in trade magazines, and had thought for a long time of going for the private market. The ‘unbelievable’ work Plexus had done on ‘Body by Design’ told them that Kinney was the man for the job. Brian agreed. By late morning, when he called Sam to his office, he had a pretty good idea of how he wanted to go about it.

The rest of the day was occupied with lunch with clients, work on existing campaigns, and his share of the administration of the firm. He left the office after a twelve-hour day, and went home to shower and change. It was only nine-thirty when he made it to Essengy. He told himself he was tired of upscale, and just needed the mixed crowd and thumpa-thumpa of a larger club.

He spend the first hour drinking J&B at Mark’s bar, turning offers down, and only felt the sudden urge to dance when a familiar blond head made its appearance. He hooked up with a gorgeous piece of ass whose hips gyrated in the most provocative manner and who had a killer smile, and danced, keeping Justin in sight.

The blond, as usual, danced with anyone and everyone, his eyes closed half the time. His shirt came off after an hour, and the falling sparkles were sticking to his skin. Brian’s companion tried to pull him to the VIP room, but Brian shrugged him off, just wanting to continue staring at Justin. When gorgeous, wanting some action, hooked up with another dancer, Brian went up to one of the galleries and kept staring.

Finally, he decided self-control was an excuse for the weak, and made his way to the dance floor again. Soon, as he had wanted to do all night, he was holding Justin’s hips from behind and grinding his erection against his ass.

Eyes closed, apparently lost in the music and the sensations, Justin turned around, pressing his cock on Brian’s thigh and tilting his head back. Brian leaned down and took the proffered lips. He hadn’t kissed anyone in weeks, and the perfection of Justin’s mouth on his was even better than he remembered. Somehow, knowing from experience that this was not going any further made the kiss so much more.

For a long time, they kept dancing and kissing, hands roaming on each other’s bodies. At some point though, when Brian’s own arousal was off the chart, Justin opened his eyes, acknowledging who he was kissing, and he got on his toes, his arms around Brian’s waist. Brian’s hands, one between Justin’s shoulders, one at the small of his back, held Justin tight. They just kissed, standing in the middle of the dance floor, sweaty bodies in motion all around them.

Beyond the rhythm of the music, and the beat of his own heart, Brian could feel Justin’s heart hammering in his chest. He brought his hands to Justin’s face, and just kissed him, as if nothing else existed but their mouths together, his tongue and lips saying things in a language he didn’t understand, but that felt so good he couldn't stop.

In the press of the dance floor, their bodies were motionless, molded to each other, and suddenly he felt Justin’s tremble and then the muscles of his belly tightened in that unmistakable rhythm as Justin came. He moaned in Brian’s mouth, the most erotic sound Brian had ever heard, but then stepped away from his embrace, so quickly that he disappeared into the crowd before Brian could react. Brian looked around but couldn’t see him. He made his way to the restrooms, but Justin wasn’t there. He walked through the VIP room, went back to the balcony and scanned the dance floors, but did not find him.

By the time he saw a flash of blond by the exit and had gone downstairs, grabbed his coat and ran into the street, Justin was long gone. He took a cab home, staring at the nightlife from the window. In the loft, he toed off his shoes, dropped his coat and collapsed on the bed. He held a pillow to his chest, his whole body remembering the shaking and pulsing of Justin’s as he came in his arms, from his kiss.

He lay there, reliving that moment again and again and again. He finally fell asleep, still fully dressed, his cock still hard, but unwilling to do anything about it lest his own pleasure erase the memory of the trembling, and the pulsing of Justin’s orgasm in his arms.

He woke up in the morning his pants wet with come. He had just had the most erotic dream: He had awoken spooning Justin, and had started nibbling on his neck, kissing his shoulders, caressing his side. Then he had slid into his amazing ass, into his amazing warmth, and had made unhurried love to him, holding him tight, both of them reaching completion in the sweetest orgasm.

The rare few times he had kept a trick overnight, they had sucked him off in the morning, and if he had fucked them, there had been nothing sweet about it. Brian spent twenty minutes looking at Justin’s painting before finally getting out of bed.

He really needed to fuck him and get him out of his system.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After the Essengy kissing debacle.

Justin couldn’t get out of the club fast enough. He had just come in his pants, like a teenager, and from nothing more than a kiss!

He had felt the pleasure building, the tingling in his groin, the tightening of his balls, but he had not believed his own body’s warning. He had been lost in the kiss, riding the waves of arousal, taken over by the sensations, his heart beating so loudly it drowned out the music.

Brian’s scent, his hands on his face, the warmth of his body through their clothes, and his tongue, oh so soft, yet so possessive, and his pleasure had cusped, focusing so fast from his whole body to his cock that before he could do anything about it, he was erupting in waves of exquisite agony… in his pants, in the middle of the dance floor.

“And next thing I knew, he was there, and we were dancing, and we had our hands all over each other, and then we were kissing and I…I can’t go back to work, Daph. I just can’t!”

“Wait a minute. You danced, you kissed, and now you can’t go back to work? Justin, you kissed him before. Did you let him fuck you in the back room?”

“Essengy doesn’t have a back room. It’s a lounge. And no! I told you I wouldn’t do that!”

“Then what are you doing kissing him?”

“I know!”

“You think he’s going to fire you or something?”

“Oh, god, I hadn’t even thought of that! Shit! I’m so fucked! I’m not going back…”

“Justin! Dammit! You are not making any sense. What happened?!”

“…”

“JUSTIN!!!”

“Icameinmypantswhilewewerekissing.”

“What?”

“I FUCKING CAME IN MY PANTS WHILE WE WERE KISSING!!! We weren’t even, you know, frotting or anything. We were just standing there, he was holding my face in his hands and just kissing me, and I just lost it, and just came.”

“You had an orgasm just from kissing him.”

“Yeah.”

“Standing in the middle of the dance floor.”

“Yeah.”

“With his hands on your face.

“Yeah.”

She started laughing “Oh my GOD, Justin!” She was laughing so hard she was snorting. And kept on laughing. For a long time.

“Thanks Daphne. I feel so much better.”

“Wait, Justin. Wait. I…” She giggled, “…I’m sorry. There. I’m not… *Giggle* …I’m done. I’m not laughing any more. I’m sorry. Okay. “

“Thank you.”

“Hum…so now you feel you can’t go back to work?”

“I can’t face him. I am completely infatuated with him, I just made a complete ass out of myself and I never want to even run into him ever again. At work, at the club, wherever. Thank God we live in New York, or I would have had to move out of town…”

“You are being ridiculous.”

“Daphne, this is so incredibly embarrassing!”

“You should be embarrassed. That you let him kiss you! Again! You know the guy is a total jerk. That’s what you should be embarrassed about! But coming in your pants?” She snorted again. “…Well I guess that’s pretty mortifying. But why in the hell did you let him kiss you!”

“It just feels so good, Daphne. It’s so good between us!”

“Hm. Obviously.” She was laughing again, at him and at her bon mot, no doubt.

“Stop it!”

“Sorry… If you think so, he probably thinks so too, you know.”

“No, not necessarily. I think it’s him. I think he’s just that good…”

“If that were true, why would he come after you again and again?”

“Because I said ‘no’. No one has ever said ‘no’ to him before.”

“Can I ask you a question about that?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve fucked in back rooms before.”

That was a statement, but he felt the need to clarify. “Not very often. I usually only go to the back room when a guy offers to suck me off, and that’s it. I hardly ever reciprocate, and the two or three times I fucked in a back room, I was doing the fucking and the guy asked for it. And I always made it clear I didn’t think it was going anywhere."

He sighed. “Brian is not the type to give blowjobs in back rooms, or to bottom, anywhere. Everything about him screams, ‘I’m a top’. And I don’t bottom. To me, that would really mean something. To open myself to someone. It’s more than the normal back room stuff, more than fucking. I’m not about to let him fuck me and walk away without even bothering to hand me a towel. I would feel… horrible. Violated. And that’s all he is after.”

“You would have, the first time you met him…”

“I would have sucked him off, and followed him home for more, I’m sure. The way he looked at me, the way he held me… I can’t explain it.”

“I would love to meet this guy.”

“He is… beautiful, Daphne. The most beautiful man I have ever met. I want him so badly. It’s insane.”

“Wow. But you know you can’t quit your internship over this. You have to go back to work. Just avoid him. And avoid the club!”

“I just wish I never had to see him again. He knows. He always looked at me with that look on his face that says he knows I want him, and anytime he touches me I just… let him. And now… His smug look was bad enough before. Now, it’s going to be unbearable.”

“But you have not gone to bed with him, Justin. And you won’t. So he can look smug all he wants.”

 

 

“Yeah, well, except for the fact that he made me spill in my pants.”

“… Yeah. Well, he can’t do anything at work, so you are just going to have to suck it up and go. And just stay away from the club.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right…”

“I know. That’s why I love you.”

“Love you too. Call me.”

“I will. Bye.”

Justin thought long and hard about what Daphne had said. She was absolutely right. No matter how good it felt, he had no business kissing Brian. His self-control wasn’t that great (obviously. Oh, God!). Eventually, if it happened again, he would break down and justify going further and further down that slippery slope, until he woke up one morning, his ass sore and his heart broken. He had to stay away from Brian Kinney.

He called Sam first thing on Tuesday, asking if it would be okay to work from home. Sam had given him some time to work up an idea for one of The Coach’s account, a new sport drink called ‘Fuel’. He could work on it as easily from home as he could from the office. He told him he could concentrate better. Sam did not seem too happy about it, but he eventually acquiesced. It was a huge relief.

That meant no risks of accidentally running into Brian.

Sam called him at ten, sounding upset.

“Kinney found out you weren’t here, Justin, and he’s not happy. You better get your ass here fast. He wants you to bring him the Wilkin’s boards as soon as you get here.”

“But, that’s Julie’s account! Why does he want me to bring the boards?”

“I guess he feels those little errands should be run by the interns, not by one of the Art Department’s creative managers. Just hurry up, Justin. And sorry if I got you into trouble. I kinda knew letting you work at home was a mistake. I should have said no.”

Cursing under his breath at the interruption of his work, at Kinney for wanting to use him as an errand boy when he was an intern, and at himself for feeling so vulnerable, he rushed to the office.

 

 

It was almost an hour trip, and he had been lounging at his computer at home in his sweats, without showering. By the time he arrived at Plexus, it was eleven-thirty.

He went to Julie to ask for the boards, and she was a little surprised that he was bringing them up, though relieved because she had so much to do.

He made it to Brian’s, strike that, to Mr. Kinney’s office, by a quarter to twelve, and was utterly relieved when Cynthia told him he had left for lunch, which Justin had heard actually meant that he was working out at the gym on the 34th floor. Justin set up the boards, making sure they were in order, and presented to their best effect. Julie had done a great job. He left again, and started back for the elevator to the Art Department and his own work for the ‘Fuel’ campaign.

Alan Curry’s office door was open, and Justin could not help but give the treadmill in the corner of the office an envious glance. By not going back to the club, he was depriving himself of his main source of exercise, and that thought was already weighing on him.

“Can I help you?”

Shit. He had been just standing in front of the open door, and now Alan Curry was back, wondering who the hell he was and what he was doing.

“Sorry, sir. I was looking at your treadmill, and thinking how much I need exercise.”

“You’re an intern, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Justin Taylor, I’m in the Art Department.”

“Why don’t you join the gym, on the 34th floor? Plexus’s employees get a group discount.”

“Huh… Because even with a group discount, it cost more per month than I actually make working here?” Justin was trying not to sound like he was complaining, but the facts were the facts.

“Oh. Right.” Alan Curry had the decency to look a little sheepish. Then he totally surprised Justin. “I only use my treadmill in the early morning. If you wanted, you would be welcome to use it during my lunch hour. I am always out of the office from 12:30 to 1:30. Would that work for you?”

“Wow! Yes, that would be… just great! That’s really kind of you. I don’t know what to say…”

Alan Curry looked quite pleased with himself. He slapped Justin on the shoulder. “Think nothing of it. Let me introduce you to Betsy. She’s my assistant. She’ll be the one letting you in.”

Betsy was just as nice and dedicated to her job as Cynthia. She apparently always ate her lunch at her desk. She was Justin’s mom’s age, and she smiled at him warmly. Alan left them talking about arrangements. She assumed that Justin would be using Alan’s shower as well, though he certainly hadn’t said anything about it.

“Well, naturally, Justin. I’m sure he doesn’t expect you to go back to work all sweaty. You can set your watch by Alan, so as long as you’re out of his suite by 1:30, it won’t be a problem. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot!”

Justin went back to his work feeling really pleased. Exercise would do him a world of good.

He was interrupted from his work again at 1:50. Apparently, he was needed to sit in and take notes at the Wilkin’s presentation, in case some things needed to be changed on the art. Justin was a little surprised. He had not realized anyone from the Art Department ever sat in on presentations. He walked in on time, and worked hard to blend in with the furniture, sitting next to Cynthia, who gave him a small smile. It would be all right. After all, Brian would be too busy to pay any attention to him.

By the time he was packing up the boards, his image of Brian had changed again. He had never seen him in full work mode with clients before. He was… amazing. The clients were completely dazzled (as was he). He totally got the “God” nickname, now. Brian had had them eating out of his hand. Justin also realized that if Brian, club boy, was sexy, it was nothing compared to Brian Kinney, advertising God. Justin sported a hard on the entire presentation and wanted nothing more than for Brian to come back after dismissing his clients, bend him over a desk, and fuck him senseless.

He hurriedly made his way to the elevator and punched the call button repeatedly. Suddenly, he became aware of eyes on his back and knew Brian was watching him. Just then the doors opened. He stepped in, punched his floor and at the last second looked up to meet Brian’s eyes. When the doors were fully closed, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Only four short weeks and he would be out of Plexus. He would never have to see Brian again.

That thought did not bring him quite the relief he thought it should…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ad executive’s week.

“Sam, can you send your intern up with the boards for the Wilkin’s account?” Brian just had to see Justin, to get the remnant of that dream out of his system. It was playing havoc with his concentration.

“I can send Jules. Taylor is not here today. He is working from home.” Sam sounded a bit unsure. Brian was instantly pissed off. The little fucker was trying to avoid him.

“Sam. Do you ever work from home?”

 

 

“No, but…”

“Does Jules? Does anyone else?”

“Huh… no. But he is working on his own computer, and sending things via email, it’s…”

“You call Mr. Taylor and you tell him to get his ass in the office like everybody else. Interns are here to get experience. How he is supposed to do that from home, I really don’t know. If coming to work is too much bother, I seem to recall he was not the only candidate for the job.”

“Ok, Brian, no problem.”

“As soon as he gets in, do send him up with the boards, will you?”

The boards were set up on the easels in his office when Brian came back from lunch. Now Brian was really annoyed. He called Sam again.

“Please send Taylor to the conference room at two to attend the presentation.”

“Huh… Brian, the Wilkin’s account was Jules’ project.”

“I know. I just want someone to be there to make note of any changes we require.”

“But you usually just tell us yourself afterward… Why…?”

“Sam, just send him up, will you?”

“Yes, ok, no problem.”

Taylor showed up just in time, and sat unobtrusively next to Cynthia. The presentation went extremely well, Brian doing his job brilliantly as usual. There were no changes to be done by the art department. Brian walked the clients out, and when he returned, the boards had been taken away and the room put back in order. He stepped back out. Taylor was waiting for the elevator, the boards under his arm. His hair was getting long again.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped in, turning around to press the button to his floor. The doors started to close, and right before they were fully shut, Taylor looked at him. He had obviously been aware of Brian the whole time. Brian could read nothing from their eye contact before the doors were fully shut.

That night, Brian went home, changed, went to a bar to hang out a couple of hours, and then to Essengy. He danced, loitered, had his cock sucked and left for the loft at 2a.m. Justin never showed.

The next day, Sam told him they had the first mock up for the Jeffrey Sidoff flatware account and that he could come up at three to discuss them. Brian asked that they be sent earlier for him to look at before their meeting. Usually, Cynthia would have come down to get them, but Brian requested Taylor bring them up.

There were three approaches to the campaign, one focusing on Sidoff, the other two on the flatware.

In the first one, in sepia, with the scene set in the fifties, Sidoff’s parents were called in to the principal of his school, where they were told their son would never live up to his potential if he didn’t stop doodling in class instead of paying attention. Then he showed them his notebooks, the margins filled with designs of knives and forks. It was sweet and funny, aiming at increasing his name recognition outside the restaurant trade.

The second showed a table set for two in a very masculine apartment, as in the background a man and a woman were having drinks. The flatware was clean-lined and sexy, part of the set up of seduction, but the tables were turned once the couple started eating, as the images concentrated on the fork, sliding out of the woman’s mouth, then the spoon, full of ice cream, passing her lips. It was sleek, sophisticated and erotic.

The last one was a takeoff of the film ‘Kill Bill’, where two very sexy women were fighting to the death. The pieces of flatware were used as weapons, forks almost planted in hands, knives thrown and ending up embedded in the walls, and so on. The flatware was put on display, very efficiently, without any reference to food. Its beauty was separated from its function, and the whole scene was violent and sexy.

Justin Taylor had knocked, and immediately upon being admitted, had set up the boards for the magazine ads on the easels and entered the DVD, containing the shorts destined for television spots, into the player. Brian watched him the entire time.

His ass was as spectacularly tempting as ever, but now Brian found he also enjoyed watching the way Justin moved, his long fingered hands, the way he pushed away the hair that kept falling in his face. He was wearing khaki pants and a long sleeve black t-shirt that was snug enough to show off his flat stomach.

There was something luminous about his pale skin and blond hair. He put the remote on Brian’s desk. Brian remembered the feeling of those luscious lips against his own, the unique pleasure of their kiss. But Justin, who had only said a quiet “Hi” after coming in, was about to leave again, without another word.

“Taylor?”

Justin stopped at the door, turning slightly around, but not making eye contact. “Is there anything else, Mr. Kinney?”

“Would you like to watch the TV spots?”

“I’ve already seen them, sir.”

“What do you think?”

“They’re all good, sir.” Still no eye contact.

“I’m sure they are. But which is your favorite?”

Finally, Justin looked at him. The blue of his eyes was still a pleasant surprise. “Which did I like best, or which do I think will sell the most flatware?”

“The two are not the same?”

“No.”

“Really. Tell me about it.”

“I don’t think I know enough about advertizing for my opinion to be valuable. You should watch the spots without prejudice.”

“Do you think your opinion might actually influence mine?” Brian was amused. “I don’t think that will be the case.”

“Well then, I really see no reason to give it, and show my ignorance,” was Taylor’s answer, and he walked out. Brian did not know whether to be annoyed or amused.

He spent the next hour analyzing the mock ups, familiarizing himself with the surveys done by Marcus Shelburn’s team, and watching the TV spots. They were exactly what he’d asked for. Now he just had to choose which approach would be best for the client.

He had pretty much made up his mind by the time Sam came around, but valued the Art Department head’s untainted opinion, so he decided to hear what he had to say before finalizing his decision. He wondered which ad Justin had liked best, which one he thought would sell the most flatware, and why they were not the same. He guessed he would never know.

He went back to Essengy that night, but once again, Justin did not show. He found another blond boy to rub against, one whose body was pliant and tall enough that he did not have to make any efforts for the right areas to come into contact together. His thin lips did not call for kisses though, and while pleasant, his smell was wrong somehow. The boy’s ass was firm, and very welcoming as he fucked him over the back of one of the couches in the lounge, but his hair was not soft enough, and his moans sounded wrong.

Brian closed his eyes, and forgetting the body under him, concentrated on the sensations in his cock, on the hard prick he was fisting, and he came hard as warm spunk spurted in his hand. He ran his other hand down the boy’s sweaty back as he gently pulled out, and handed him a towel before cleaning himself up.

The blond smiled at him. “Do you want to continue this somewhere else?” he asked.

 

 

But Brian had now completely lost interest. “No. Thanks. You were good but we’re done here.”

 

 

The guy looked disappointed as Brian left.

Every single day that week, Brian thought up some excuse to see Justin. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. Justin looked great, but that wasn’t it. He tried, to no effect, to engage Justin on different subjects, but was effectively deflected, so that they never had an actual conversation. It was puzzling that he wouldn't want to.

He went to Essengy every night, enough to grow bored with it. Finally, on Saturday night, he paid the bouncer at the door a hundred bucks to call him on his cell when Justin showed up next, and went to play billiards in a gay bar.

He took home a trick from Louisiana, who was in New York on business, fucked him hard all night, and again in the shower after only a few hours of sleep. He gave the guy a cup of coffee, but had to make it clear that breakfast was not included to get rid of him. Why the trick imagined Brian would enjoy showing him the sights was beyond his understanding.

He went to a nearby hotel for breakfast, which included a lot of his favorites, from the egg white omelet, to guava juice, and spent almost an hour there reading the New York Times. Then he went back to his loft and worked six hours straight on a presentation.

He ran seven miles on his treadmill, watching CNN, and ended the evening watching Superman on cable, right along with Mikey in the Pitts, both of them getting high while Mikey’s husband and son went out to a movie. He heard the latest news from everyone, and had to listen to Mikey rhapsodizing about his daughter.

By unspoken accord, they did not mention Thanksgiving, but Brian did bring up repeatedly his coming visit at Christmas, specifically asking Mikey what he thought would be good gifts for JR and for Hunter. Truthfully, he was really looking forward to a visit home. It had been way too long.

As usual, he wished he hadn’t sold the loft, although keeping it for only a couple of weeks a year would have made no financial sense, and the Four Seasons’ suite he always rented was perfectly adequate and came with the benefit of housekeeping, room service, and a fabulous spa.

He was in bed by a quarter to eleven, after changing the sheets and reminding himself to try to only bring tricks home on the evenings before the cleaning service came. He put his pillows at the foot of the bed, and smoked one last joint staring at his new painting while slowly jerking off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Justin’s week from hell.

Justin was extremely grateful for the use of Alan Curry’s treadmill and shower. It helped relieve his frustration. Every single day, while he tried to work on his idea for the Fuel campaign, which he thought could be really great, he had been interrupted and called upstairs for one reason or another.

He had brought up boards for campaigns, been sent up to take notes on necessary changes, had sat in on a couple of presentations for no apparent reason and had even been called to help Cynthia with some end of the year organizing, which she seemed to find highly amusing.

He had brought in coffee to clients in their initial meeting with Brian and had been called to help Julie take down her materials after she’d had a meeting with Brian regarding the next Brown Athletics campaign.

He had to admit that he had learned a few things about the advertizing business in the process, but this was definitely not why he had applied for the internship. He was here to work in the Art Department and learn about design.

He was utterly confused about Brian’s intentions in all this. Even when he came up to the business area of the firm, he hardly saw him, or talked to him. A few times Brian had asked his thoughts on matters he felt were utterly out of his area of expertise, and he had deflected the conversation rather than give a completely uninformed opinion.

He knew he had a nice ass, but he doubted that staring at it for a few minutes a day would give Brian enough incentive for him to manufacture the number of excuses he had used to make it possible.

Strangely enough, though he had absolutely dreaded seeing Brian again after the Essengy kissing debacle, he had not felt self-conscious about it. At no point had Brian alluded to it, or given him the all-knowing smile that so annoyed him, or even acted smug in anyway. In all their dealings, Brian acted in a perfectly professional manner.

Justin tried hard to hide his annoyance from Sam, feeling bad about having put him in an uncomfortable situation by not showing up for work on Tuesday. But by Friday afternoon, as he was once again being summoned upstairs just as Sam had asked how he was getting on with his Fuel project, Justin lost it.

“I’ve gotten nowhere, Sam.” He angrily balled up yet another aborted sketch. “I have an idea, and I think it has potential, but it seems I can’t work for more than half an hour at a time without interruption. I have to do coloring for other people’s projects, and both Jules and Randy like to show me stuff, and bounce ideas around with me, which is great. But now I’ve apparently become Mr. Kinney’s personal errand boy. I’ve been upstairs at least ten times this week. He’ll be sending me out to get his dry cleaning next…”

“You’d mention before you guys have some kind of history. Is that what this is all about?”

“…I think so.”

“But this is new, though. Since Thanksgiving, I’ve noticed. He never did this before, right?”

“Right…” Justin could feel himself blushing, and hated himself for it. “Something happened Monday night, after work. It just made things… worse. But his reaction seems so random. It makes no sense to me.” He looked at Sam but could not read him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he worked here when I applied for the internship, and it didn’t seem to have any negative consequences until now. I wish you didn’t have to deal with this. I’d perfectly understand if you felt you needed to get an intern who actually was able to do some work around here.”

He headed for the elevator, feeling disheartened. Sam was very nice, and he loved his work here. He was upset with himself for bringing up his issues with Brian to his own boss. It made him sound like such a wimp, making excuses for himself. And he could just imagine the kind of history Sam would speculate existed between Brian and him. Why had he opened his big mouth?

At least, in this case, the summons was art related, although since it was Randy’s project, which Justin had had nothing to do with aside from hand coloring the background, he had no clue why he had to be the one to report the changes Kinney deemed necessary.

He could feel Brian's gaze on his face and on his hands as he wrote down the new instructions. Worse yet, he could feel his hand starting to lose it. He had been sketching earlier and hand coloring. His hand needed a break. He tried to shake it out, pretending his pen was running out of ink. Without a word, Brian handed him another pen.

“Thanks.”

He was just praying there wasn’t much more. For the first time this week, he welcomed it when Brian interrupted his dictation with an apparent non sequitur.

“Have you painted anything new lately?”

In his relief and surprise, he made eye contact, something he had avoided as much as possible. Brian was looking at him seriously, as if he really was interested. He was so distractingly beautiful.

“No. Not since I started working here. I’m pretty busy. I’ve gone to the studio on the weekend when free studio time was available, but I’ve mostly been preparing canvases for future work. I’ve planned a few pieces on the computer, though.”

That was way more information than he had planned on giving, which he chalked up to the fact that he was busy discreetly massaging his cramping hand under the edge of the desk.

“Do you have any finished pieces?”

“A few, yes.”

“I’d love to see them.” Well, the man had bought one of his paintings before knowing it was his, so his interest was probably genuine. Still, Justin who had thought nothing of showing pictures of his work to Lindsay, or of showing the actual pieces to Sam, felt strangely shy about showing them to Brian. It was stupid. Brian was the one person who’d asked who might potentially be interested in actually buying a painting.

“I was going to show them to Sam next weekend. If you wanted, you’d be welcome to come along.”

Brian nodded. “Good.”

Then he went right back to dictating the changes he wanted on Randy’s project. Justin’s hand had had enough of a break for him to finish without problems. He was opening the door to leave when Brian said, “Have a nice weekend, Justin.”

Considering he had always called him “Taylor” at work, it sounded almost inappropriate. Yet when Justin looked at him, Brian's small smile seemed devoid of guile. He smiled back and said, “You too, Mr. Kinney.”

As he walked away, he couldn’t help but feel that it had been the wrong thing to say, as the small genuine smile had disappeared, replaced by an unreadable mask. He shrugged. As far as he knew, they were not friends. At work Brian was his boss, and at Essengy, well, he wasn’t sure how to qualify what they were there, but it was definitely not “friends”. He was at a complete loss to understand what was going on with Brian.

 

***

Justin tried hard to get Brian Kinney out of his mind that weekend. He spent Saturday and Sunday at the studio at Pratt, happy to hang out with Lilah again. That new boyfriend of hers was taking away all of their ‘hang out’ time. Justin could totally relate, but was glad Max was out of town for the weekend, so he could have his pal back.

He had planned on preparing more canvasses, but felt the need to paint. He worked all day Saturday on a 3X3 panel, not even one he had pre-planned on his computer. He painted quickly, the colors seemingly calling to each other, being more spontaneous than was his habit.

He had no idea where he was going, just getting the paint onto the canvas, while listening to Lilah’s music. And her gossip about school, classes, their roommates, and of course the wonderful Max. It was very cathartic.

They went out for pizza that night, followed by a movie, which he really liked. She teased him about being the only guy she could drag to a chick flick, and he told her that was one benefit of being a fag hag.

When they went back to the studio on Sunday, he fully expected to hate the painting he had started the day before, but as both he and Lilah stared at it, he realized it was really, really good.

“Justin, this is really, really good, you know?”

Justin laughed. “I was just thinking that.” Once again, he felt the colors calling to him.

“Are you going to finish it?”

“Yeah. I think so. “

He got out his brushes, his paints, his solvents, and realized he didn’t have the color he needed. He felt absolutely crushed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“What?”

“I need cadmium. I don’t have any. I never use it. Fuck!”

“Calm down! I have some. She went to her cart, dug around awhile, went “Aha!” and threw him a tube that had definitely had better days.

He squeezed every last drop onto his easel, mixed it with white and light yellow to an apricot color he would have never thought would ever be in his repertoire, and applied it in small touches, highlighting all the darker colors on the canvas with it. To his relief, he had enough. He finished off with swirls of pure zinc oxide white, which made no sense but felt totally right.

Then it was done. Anything more would screw it up. He felt this huge relief. One did not always know when to stop, but this time, he had no doubt. The colors were so vibrant. Several shades of green, several shades of blue, some brown, and the apricot, and the white.

He walked away from it, cleaning all his supplies thoroughly, organizing his cart, listing what he needed to purchase for the next quarter, chatting the whole time with Lilah about her plans for winter break.

She was going skiing with her family in Vail, and Max was going to meet them there, being introduced to her folks for the first time. They were Jewish, and didn’t do Christmas. She could not believe she had a Jewish boyfriend. Her parents were in heaven, as were his. She thought it was funny, considering that, very strangely, she had not known he was Jewish for the longest time, seeing he was blond with blue eyes and spoke with a waspish Massachusetts accent, like the Kennedys.

Of course, with her red hair and her southern drawl, one did not immediately peg her for a member of the tribe either. It had been a very pleasant surprise all around, especially since she was pretty sure Max was The One.

For some reason he chose not to dwell on, this brought Brian to mind. Brian at Essengy, kissing him to orgasm, and Brian at the office, acting so strangely.

He had never spoken to Lilah about him. She was an amazing gossip, so he wasn’t about to now. Besides, in these situations, no matter how much he liked Lilah, he wanted to talk to Daphne. Before they left for the day, they both stood in front of his painting again.

“Can I have it?” asked Lilah.

“No way. I’m keeping this one. I love it.”

“Selfish bastard.”

They both laughed.

She looked at him seriously. “You know how incredibly good this is, right?”

“Yeah. It is good.”

“Will you remember me when you’re all famous?”

“Fuck no! Lilah who?”

She hit his arm playfully.

“You know, I can tell everybody I was there when you painted this, when they hang it at the Museum of Modern Art. I can tell everyone it’s MY cadmium.”

Justin laughed. “Cut the crap, Lilah! It’s good, but not that good.” He took it off the easel and carefully stored it in his cubby, the one that held his works in progress, giving it a chance to fully dry before putting it in his storage locker. As he was locking up, Lilah asked, “Why aren’t you taking it home?”

“A guy I work with has asked if he could see my pieces. I’ll be bringing them all back here so I don’t have to drag him to two locations.”

“Why does he want to see them? Is he a buyer?”

Justin had forgotten Brian had asked to come along with Sam. Once again, he chose not to mention him to Lilah.

“No, just my boss in the Art Department at Plexus. A really nice guy. You should try to do your internship there. I’ve learned a ton.”

“I applied. They turned me down. Didn’t even get an interview…”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s OK. I’m interning at this little gallery in the fall. I think it will be fun. And frankly, I think my future is more in showing other people’s work. I’m not that good. So it will be perfect for me.”

Lilah was good. She just wasn’t great. She could copy any style, but didn’t seem to have her own. Justin withheld any comments.

“Where is the gallery?” he asked instead.

“In the village.”

“Wow. It should be fun!” Working in the village would certainly be that, and the galleries there were hip, and fun. Maybe Lilah had found her niche.

When they got home, there was homemade chili on the stove, with cornbread, and Ben and Jerry ice cream for dessert, probably dug out of some grocery store’s dumpster. He loved his house. He took his food to his bedroom and called Daphne, telling her last week’s woes.

“He’s driving me insane, Daph. I have no clue what’s going on.” Justin spooned more Cherry Garcia into his mouth.

“That is kind of weird.”

At least he could always count on her to see things his way.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he’s confused too. Like you’re a puzzle and he’s trying to figure you out.”

“I’m not a puzzle. He knows I want him. He knows I totally get off on being with him. And he knows the only reason I won’t let him fuck me is because I want more than a one off. No mystery there…”

“But you did send him mixed signals. It’s ok for you to come while kissing him, and never have anything to do with him again, but it wouldn't be ok for you to come while he fucks your brains out and then never has anything to do with you again.”

“Well, I happen to think one is very different from the other. And I know he happens to think so too.”

“How do you know?”

“If we’d fucked on Monday, he would be avoiding me. He’s doing the opposite, and not just at work. He’s been at the club every night this week.”

“How do you know? You said you hadn’t gone!”

“I had a message on my machine last night, from Jeremy, the bouncer at Essengy. Brian has been there every night, and yesterday, he gave Jeremy a hundred bucks to call him on his cell phone next time I show up. How weird is that?”

“Maybe after Monday he feels you won’t be able to resist him next time.”

“But he knows that even if I was willing, he couldn’t fuck me! I work for him!”

“Maybe his prick is overriding his brain?”

“But that doesn’t explain the constant excuses he makes up at work for me to be around his office! He’s not making overtures, or crude remarks or even allusions to what happened. He is just totally professional.”

“Oh my God, Justin. Do you think he could be falling for you?”

Okay. So sometimes even Daphne was out of her depth.

“No, of course not. That’s ridiculous. Guys like him don’t fall for people. They don’t believe in love. They believe in fucking. The maximum pleasure with the minimum of fuss.”

“I think you’re wrong. I think he is falling for you. I think he is totally confused about how he feels, but he likes to have you around. It makes him feel good. And he doesn’t go to the club hoping to fuck you. He goes to the club hoping to kiss you. Hoping to make you come again in a manner that you don’t object too. Because it makes him happy to make you happy. I’m telling you, Justin. He is in love with you!”

“You are out of your mind.”

“That’s the only explanation that makes sense!”

“Yeah. Maybe if he was a 14 year-old straight girl! We are talking about a 30 year-old gay guy here, one that has been around the block quite a few times.”

“No he hasn’t! He has NEVER been around that block! When it comes to love, he has about as much experience as a 14 year-old straight girl!”

“The only person Brian Kinney is in love with is Brian Kinney. Believe me. You are completely off the mark on this one.”

“I think you should go to the club.”

“What???”

“I think you should go to the club and test my theory. Go there, dance, watch him show up and take you in his arms and kiss you, and not push for anything else. I’m telling you. He’ll choose making out with you over fucking some other guy.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Go. Go now!”

“It’s ten-thirty! It would be eleven-thirty by the time I got there!”

“How far is he from the club?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“You have to give it… an hour and a half. So by one, if he hasn’t shown, you can come home and be in bed by one-thirty. You can have six hours of sleep and still be at work on time. I’m hanging up. You’re going. Call me tomorrow, bye.”

Daphne was out of her mind.

There was no way Brian Kinney could be ‘falling for him.’ And he was in bed, and hadn’t showered today. But then again, if she was right, in a couple of hours, he could be in Brian’s arms, dancing, kissing and…

Justin was out of bed and in the shower in record time. He threw on his favorite jeans, going commando, and a shirt that wouldn’t be too bulky tucked in his belt.

He was lucky with his subway connection, and got to the club at eleven ten. Jeremy was at the door, and winked at him.

“Don’t worry, Justin. I’m not calling anybody.”

“Huh… Actually, I was kind of hoping you would.”

Jeremy looked at him as if he was crazy.

“I know it’s weird, but I need to know if he’ll show up.”

“O-Kay… No problem. I could use another hundred…”

“He’s going to pay you another hundred if you call him?“

“Yep.”

“And you were going to pass up on that? You’re a real pal, Jeremy. Thanks. I really appreciate it. Now, get on that phone and earn your cash!”

Jeremy laughed and dialed. He hung up.

“It went to voice mail…”

Great. Daphne and her great plans. For all he knew, Brian had left his phone at the office…

“Would you mind trying again and leaving a message?” Since he was here, he might as well stay and dance. Who knows? Brian might pick up his messages and show up anyway. Of course, if he didn’t, the entire experiment would have been for naught.

Jeremy shrugged and hit redial.

“Mr. Kinney? It’s Jeremy, from Essengy. Justin just showed up at the club. Just thought I’d let you know.”

Well, that was that…

“Thanks, Jeremy.”

“That wasn’t a message, Justin. He picked up. He sounded a little out of it, like he was sleeping, or high or something. He said thanks and hung up.”

“Oh. All right. Hey, thanks a lot. Really.”

“You’re welcome. Really.”

Justin laughed and made his way in.

 

 

 

 

 

It pays to pay the doorman.

Brian had just drifted off to sleep when he heard the buzzing sound of his cell phone as it vibrated on the kitchen counter, followed by the clattering sound it made as it fell off to the ground. Shit. Who could be calling at this time of night?

He suddenly had visions of Gus in the hospital, and almost killed himself trying to get to the kitchen with a leg still tangled in the sheet.

Of course, the phone had come apart. He hunted around for the battery, and had just put it in when it started vibrating again.

“Hello?” Fuck. He needed to wake up. What kind of moron answered the phone with ‘Hello’?

“Mr. Kinney?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Jeremy, from Essengy. Justin just showed up at the club. Just thought I’d let you know.”

“Thanks.”

He had showered after his run. He went to the bathroom to check himself in the mirror. He needed a shave and his hair looked terrible. He hopped in a very hot shower for five minutes, the heat softening his beard. He came out, shaved, and did his hair while planning what to wear.

He called a cab, put on his favorite jeans without underwear and a sleeveless black shirt. He went back to the bathroom to floss, brush his teeth and gargle with some minty mouthwash. Pot always gave him funky breath.

It was exactly midnight when he got to the club. He slipped Jeremy a hundred, and walked in. On Sunday nights, the clubs were usually less crowded, and Essengy was no exception. It took Brian less than five minutes to spot Justin.

He looked amazing. His naked torso was covered in glitter and his low riding jeans were tight in all the right places. He was dancing, sandwiched between some tall hunk wearing an open silvery shirt, and a shirtless muscle guy with a great tan. The contrast made Justin’s skin look luminous. His eyes were closed, and he leaned his head back on muscle guy’s shoulder. Mr. T seemed to take that as a permission to start running his hands down Justin’s arms, and that was definitely not on.

Brian made his way over, slipped an arm between Justin and each of his companions and pushed them off. They might have protested if it weren’t for the fact that Justin turned to him with the most amazing smile and put his arms around his neck. They rested their foreheads together for a moment, looking at each other, and Brian ran his hands lightly over Justin’s back, savoring the satin smoothness of his skin. Then they were kissing, and all was right in the world.

He loved the taste of Justin’s mouth, the scent of his neck and the smell of his clean sweat. He loved running his fingers through his incredibly soft hair and running his hand all over his warm smooth skin. He loved grabbing his ass, and grinding against him, feeling Justin’s erection against his own. He loved the way the smaller body felt against his, everything seemingly within easy reach. He loved the way Justin seemed to melt in his arms, in complete surrender, his mouth all softness for him to plunder.

He wanted to take him to bed and lick and kiss and bite every inch of his skin. He wanted to spend hours worshiping the perfect ass in his hands, rimming him and listening to him moan and beg, he wanted to fuck him gently until he asked to be pounded into, and feel him tighten and pulse around his cock as he came screaming his name. And come morning, he wanted to do it all over again.

He wouldn’t, of course. There were few hard-set rules in his life but on those, he never strayed. Never fuck without a condom was the first one. Never fuck a subordinate was another. Plexus’s policy was crystal clear, but more to the point, he had been down that road at his previous job and learned his lesson the hard way.

Another three weeks and Justin’s internship would be over. He knew Justin wanted him just as badly as he wanted Justin. As Christmas presents went, this was going to be spectacular. Justin didn’t fuck strangers. They certainly weren’t strangers anymore, and Brian could think of no better way to say goodbye now that their association was going to be over.

Until then, there was this. Kissing Justin was hotter than some of the blowjobs he’d had lately. He would give his left nut to have Justin come in his arms again, to feel him shake and pulse and know he’d done it with no more than a kiss.

His own cock was throbbing, and then Justin’s hand was there, caressing him through the denim, and that was just unfair. He pushed his own hands down the back of Justin’s jeans, grabbing the soft firm cheeks, almost lifting him off his feet to line up their erections. Justin moaned into his mouth, and when Brian smiled, bit his lower lip.

What were the rules here? No fucking, no blowjobs, but what else? Was it OK to bring each other off, as long as it was on the dance floor? Were these his rules, or Justin’s? Could he get sued for frotting an intern to completion in the middle of a club? He knew Justin regularly got sucked off in the Lounge. Was a hand job OK?

With anyone else, this would have been too infantile to even bother, but Justin felt so damn good, his kisses so… right. Instead of being puerile, the whole thing was intensely erotic. He ran a finger up Justin’s crack, continuing up his spine, collecting a bead of sweat. He brought his finger to his mouth and savored the saltiness.

Once again, they had abandoned any pretense of dancing, and were just making out, getting more and more worked up with their pants still on. Justin’s hands were inside Brian’s shirt, playing with his nipples, scratching his back. Brian's hands were in Justin’s hair, holding his head as he devoured his mouth.

He slipped a hand down Justin’s back again, to his jean clad ass, and moved him even tighter against him, and there it was, the trembling he remembered, as Justin tried to back away. Brian held firm, sucking on Justin’s tongue. And Justin stopped fighting, molding himself on Brian’s body as the shaking gave way to the telltale pulse of orgasm.

Brian leaned over to Justin’s ear, licked the outer rim, enjoying Justin’s shiver, and whispered in his ear, “Good boy…”

Justin chuckled, and answered against his neck, “Asshole”.

“If you come to the lounge, I’ll lick you clean…” suggested Brian, looking at him with his eyebrows raised.

“I just bet.” Brian loved Justin’s smile. “No, I think I’ll go home now.”

Brian kissed his forehead. “Share a cab?”

“…OK.”

“Let’s go.”

Brian kept his arm around Justin as they crossed the dance floor and went to the coat check, and put it back again once they were clothed for the outside. Jeremy whistled, a cab pulled up and Justin gave his address. They got in the back of the cab, Brian’s arms wrapped around Justin, his chin on his head.

Brian's cock was still hard as steel, but he ignored it in favor of enjoying holding Justin’s body against his. Traffic was nonexistent, and they got to the edge of Brooklyn, where Justin’s brownstone was, in no time. Justin turned to him, and was about to say something but changed his mind, giving him a kiss on the lips instead.

As they pulled away, Brian gave the cabby his address, back in Manhattan, and rested his head on the back of the seat. He was half asleep when the cab pulled up in front of his building. He paid and walked to the side door that led to his private elevator. He tapped in the code to open the door, and the code to bring down the elevator. He typed the code to open his front door, and the one to disarm his alarm, and rearm it taking the loft’s occupant into account.

He stripped off, and went to bed, Justin’s taste and smell still with him, and jerked off, bringing himself to the edge, stopping, and doing it again and again, images of the evening alive behind his lids. He came hard, and long, thinking of Justin’s trembled warning and pulsing release. He had never wanted anyone so much in his life.

 

The ‘Fuel’ Campaign.

As Justin climbed the steps to his front door, he heard the cab pull away. He was glad he had not had to take the subway again with his pants full of come. He was going to have to do something about this, knowing well that if he met Brian at the club it would no doubt happen again. Maybe he should just wear a condom. That was an idea.

Daphne was going to be unbearable. She had been completely right. Brian had showed up, and way faster than Justin expected. He just loved the way Brian had taken charge, and taken him away from both his dancing partners. Justin had been incredibly happy to see him.

Was Daphne right about everything?

Was Brian actually falling for him? It was hard to believe, and yet, the way he had held him in the cab had been so…loving. Justin knew he had to have had a very hard cock, and had almost expected Brian to hint at a blowjob on the way. Part of Justin wanted it very much. Even through his jeans, Brian’s cock was impressive, and he would have loved to taste it, to take it in his mouth and down his throat.

But Brian was his boss. Plexus’s policy, and apparently Brian’s personal rules were very strict, and very clear. Plexus’s higher ups did not engage in sexual congress with employees. He wondered which of them had done it and suffered some kind of legal consequences. He thought the rules predated Brian’s arrival, so Alan? Paul? Marcus? One had to wonder.

He himself had laid down the law with Brian. He didn't do one offs. Of course Brian was not some strange guy in a club anymore, and if one counted anything leading to an orgasm as a sexual encounter, they were already past the one time only, no repeats. Or did only penetrative sex matter, in Brian’s accounting? The whole thing was confusing, and a little asinine, but Justin knew damn well he would do it again at the drop of a hat.

He went to sleep at 2:30, already hating his alarm. Strangely enough, when it went off, he felt refreshed and full of energy. There was porridge on the stove. After doing a full kitchen clean up, he had a bowl, then grabbed the bagged lunch that bore his name. He really needed to mop the floor. He would do that tonight.

***

He started working on the Fuel campaign immediately upon arriving, got fully absorbed, and was astounded when he realized from others leaving that it was past noon and he had not been interrupted. He ate his almond butter and honey sandwich and headed to Alan’s office.

The 45 minutes of dancing he had done before Brian arrived at the club were too short to count as a real workout, and whatever happened after that had nothing to do with cardiovascular health.

He ran hard for forty minutes. He reached the five-mile mark, and headed to the shower. He was out fifteen minutes later, and went back to his desk. He ate his yoghurt and his banana contemplating the morning’s work and got back to it.

Once again, he was able to get into it without interruption until 3:30, when Julie brought him a bunch of stuff to color. It was actually a nice break, and since he had been working on the computer, his hand was in great shape. By five, he was done, and brought everything back to her desk.

“Julie? Are you working on the Fuel campaign?”

“I’m supposed to have a proposal for The Coach by the day after tomorrow, yes.”

“Would you mind taking a quick look at what I’ve got? I think I’m done.”

“Sure. I need a break from Brown, anyway. If I see one more picture of Drew Boyd in underwear, I’ll go cross eyed.”

“Oh, yeah. Poor you! I feel your pain!”

“He’s gay! You know what torture it is to salivate over him for hours, knowing full well he plays for the other team?”

“No, Jules. I wouldn’t know. He plays for my team…”

She just laughed.

“I happen to know his boyfriend, by the way,” added Justin, smiling when thinking how crazy Emmett was about Drew.

“Really? What’s he like?”

“Tall, gorgeous, funny, dances like a god, and as flaming as they come. I’ve not met Boyd. He had a game last time I saw Emmett. I will though, at Christmas.”

“Do you know we have to strip down to our underwear every time we do a shoot with Boyd?” asked Julie. “Otherwise, he is too self conscious to strip.”

Justin laughed. “That’s hilarious. Everybody?”

“Yeah. The cameraman, the lighting guy, the Brown’s representative, Brian, me, everybody. It’s an education, let me tell you.”

“Why?”

“People act different when they are in their underwear. It’s a great equalizer. Well, except for Kinney, of course.”

“What do you mean?”

“The very first shoot, he was apparently going commando under his Hugo Boss. He just stood there, butt-naked as the day he was born, and was exactly the same asshole he always is. Made no difference at all. He was sporting a boner for a while, and was completely un-phased. Everyone else was trying as hard as possible not to stare.

“He was just like: 'More light, Devon!' 'Let’s have some wind for this one.' Cool as a cucumber. Finally, the gal from Brown handed him some briefs, and he just raised an eyebrow at her like 'What’s your problem?' Cynthia took them and put them in his hands. 'Put them on, Brian. You’re distracting me.' So he did, and that was that.”

Justin was laughing so hard he had to stop and catch his breath when they got to his desk. Julie was smiling. “I know. It’s a good story. But people who don’t know him don’t find it that funny. So. Show me your stuff.”

Justin was worried for a second. After all, he had modeled ‘Rage’ on Brian. But he figured, after that story, that if anyone could appreciate it, it would be Julie.

He showed her the pages. They were set up like a comic book, with the bold drawings and the primary colors. ‘Rage’ was the superhero, doing his superhero thing. The captions were only vaguely related to his actions. They talked to the reader.

“Others want to compete. You have the rage to win.”

“Others play. You have the rage to fight.”

“Others work out. You have the rage to control your body.”

“Fuel your rage.” In the last image, ‘Rage’ was guzzling down the potion that was key to his superpowers, whatever they were, a bottle of ‘Fuel’ sport drink.

Julie looked up with a smile. “So! That’s why Sam told us to leave you alone, today… Let me get him and Randy. Looks like we won’t have to sweat over this after all…”

Obviously, Sam and Randy agreed that his approach was fantastic, because they were rejoicing at the fact that it was one less thing they’d have to work on before Christmas.

“I want you there with me when I show this to The Coach, said Sam. You’re definitely getting credit for this one.” Then, teasing, “You don’t have a history with The Coach, do you?”

“Oh, ha, ha, very funny. And no. I’ll be happy to be there.”

“Good. We can show him tomorrow.” Sam was rubbing his hands, looking quite pleased. “Go home, Justin. Get some rest. You look like you need it.”

“Yes, mother.” Truth be told, his short night and his hour and a half of hand coloring were starting to weigh him down.

All three of them stood there smiling while he grabbed his bag. He looked at them. “Go back to work, you slackers!” and he headed out, glad to be going home at a decent time for once.

It was on the subway home that he realized he had not seen Brian all day. No strange request to come and pick up boards, or anything. He remembered what Julie had said about Sam’s directive to leave him alone, and wondered if Sam had send someone else to run Brian’s errands. Or maybe Brian had had his fix of him last night, and did not feel the urge to bother making an excuse to stare at his ass today. He felt strangely disappointed.

At home, he did a major kitchen clean up, getting to the oven, the floors and even the window. He organized the pantry, and cleaned the cupboards. It was sadly needed, and he felt a bit guilty that he had let things get this bad, only doing dishes and doing a cursory wipe down for several weeks now.

He felt good once it was all done, and really tired. He crawled into bed and was asleep in minutes. He dreamt of Brian going around the office naked, as no one else seemed to think anything of it. In his dream, he mentioned it to Cynthia, who answered, “Of course he is. How do you think he gets all these clients?”

He woke up in the morning highly amused by his own subconscious. There was a note in the kitchen from the cooks: “Thanks for cleaning up! You are our hero!” He thought that was awfully sweet considering he had been such a slacker lately, and promised himself to do better. There was no oatmeal this morning, so he had a couple bowls of Cheerios and a yoghurt, grabbed his lunch bag and left for the day.

He was wearing his suit pants, dress shoes and a tie. After all, he was supposed to go with Sam to The Coach’s office. He might as well match Sam's usual attire. When he got to work, he was assaulted with people wanting him to do coloring. Apparently he was going to pay for yesterday’s peace.

By lunchtime, he was only halfway done, and his hand had given up. He tried working left handed for a while, since he was somewhat ambidextrous, but it was slow going. He decided to break for lunch. Today’s sandwich was cheese, tomato, cucumber and lettuce, with mayo and mustard. It was really tasty.

He went for his usual run, but only managed a little over four miles in forty minutes. He felt pretty sluggish. He took a cold shower, which did wonders to wake him up, and was back at his desk at 1:25. There was a brownie in his lunch bag, and two clementines. At the bottom, there was a Hershey’s kiss. He loved his roommates.

His hand was up to the task again, and he got through a lot before Sam came to get him for the meeting with The Coach.

Paul Markowitz, AKA The Coach, was totally thrilled.

“This is amazing. How in the hell did you think of something like that? ‘Fuel your Rage’. They are going to eat it up.”

Sam introduced Justin, and admitted it was all his doing. Then he hinted that Justin would make a great addition to the Art Department, once his internship was over. Justin was happily surprised.

Paul looked at the comics again. “This Rage guy reminds me of someone. An actor, maybe?” He looked at Justin.

“No, I didn’t model him after an actor. Maybe it’s just one of those faces?”

“I guess that’s good,” said Paul. “People will identify with him more if he looks familiar, right?”

Sam and Justin agreed. They left everything with Paul who had to prepare the presentation to the client, and headed downstairs.

“Maybe it’s just one of those faces?” sing-songed Sam, cracking up. “That was so lame! Though, how he failed to recognize Brian, I’ll never know. He’s only known him for three years…”

“It’s that obvious, eh? I tried to tone it down…”

“Well, in the Art Department, ‘Rage’ kind of gives it away, you know?”

Justin frowned. “Do you think he’ll be pissed when he finds out?”

“Knowing him, he’ll probably say his bulge is too small…” They both started laughing. God, they really had Brian pegged in the Art Department, didn’t they.

The rest of Justin’s week was uneventful. He worked hard, stayed late, and tried to keep his hand going. He went home at night pretty tired, and after a third day of not seeing head nor tail of Brian, he was unsettled.

After all, last week, Brian had found excuses to see him two or even three times a day. This week, nothing. Was that it then? Did Brian feel he’d had Justin now, and that anything more would violate his no repeat policy? Fuck. Justin was trying to sort out his feelings, and it was not pretty. He was hurt, angry, sad, disappointed, let down, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He had let Daphne put ideas in his head that he knew were complete bullshit. She had crowed endlessly when he had talked to her on Monday, about being totally right about Brian falling for him. He had so wanted to believe that, though he ought to have known better. He was an idiot. Fuck. He did not like to dwell on how much it hurt. It was just too stupid for words.

By Friday, he just wanted to go out after work, dance to exhaustion, and get some guy to suck him off in the lounge.

He had arranged to show his paintings to Sam on Sunday afternoon, and though he was pretty sure Brian was no longer interested, felt compelled to go and invite him to come along, as he had said he would. On his way out, he stopped by Brian‘s office. He just stood at the door for a while, doing nothing.

“Knock. He’s in there,” said Cynthia, unhelpfully.

Justin did.

“Yes?”

Justin walked in.

Brian had obviously been in the middle of something. There were papers everywhere, his computer was on, and his suit jacket was off.

He dropped everything and got up when Justin entered. He started toward him, but seemed to think better of it and said instead, “Taylor, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Sit.” He pointed to the sitting area. “Can I get you something?” He walked to a cupboard that turned out to be a bar, and poured some whiskey in a glass.

“I’m having a drink. Would you like anything?”

Justin was totally thrown by this welcome. Taylor? Unexpected pleasure? A drink?

“I’ll have what you’re having,” he answered.

Brian poured another glass, and brought them both to the low table in the sitting area. “Sit, please,” he said again.

Justin complied.

“How was your week?” asked Brian.

“Busy.”

“Did you finish that ‘Fuel’ campaign?” Brian seemed genuinely interested. How had he even known about this?

“Yes. It was finished Tuesday. Mr. Markowitz liked it. It’s a go.”

“Was it a group effort, or was it completely your baby?”

“Huh… Everyone looked at it, but it went up pretty much as I had designed it.”

Justin started to wonder if Brian had seen it and was pissed about ‘Rage’.

“I can’t wait to see it,” he said, either being straightforward or completely sarcastic, Justin was not sure. “What is it like?”

“It’s like a comic, with a superhero named Rage. ‘Fuel your Rage’ is the slogan.”

“That’s good. Actually, no. ‘Fuel your Rage’ is a great slogan. Well done.”

“Huh, Mr.K…Brian?”

He might have imagined it, but it seemed that Brian's gaze had warmed up at his use of his first name.

“I hope it’s all right. I should have asked first, I guess, but I modeled the superhero after you.”

“Come again?”

“The comic book hero, in ‘Fuel your Rage’, I used you as a model. He looks like you.”

Brian’s face was expressionless. He rolled his lips in, in that way he had, and said, “Let’s see it.”

“Paul has the whole thing.”

Brian got up, took a piece of paper out of his printer, and handed Justin an automatic pencil.

“Let’s see it,” he said again, and Justin really felt there was no getting out of it. Luckily, he had drawn ‘Rage’ often enough that he could do it quickly. He took off his jacket, put the paper on the coffee table and went to work. In less than ten minutes, he had ‘Rage’ down, standing with his hands on his hips, his torn superhero costume and his mask on. He slid it to Brian.

Brian looked at it, his tongue pushing his cheek. Then he looked up at Justin.

“Is this how I look to you?”

“Not with a mask and tights, no.”

“But otherwise?”

“Yes. That’s how you look.”

“I wish I could draw you.”

Justin was completely thrown by that.

“I wish I could show you how… hot you looked to me. The other night, at the club. With the glitter on your body, and those jeans. I wish I could show you that as easily as you drew this.”

Brian had just brought Essengy into their business conversation. Justin felt himself blush. Betrayed by his fair skin. “So, you’re not pissed about this?”

“Why should I be? You make me look hot. I love it.”

Justin felt so relieved, he couldn’t help but smile. Brian smiled back.

“It’s almost worth not seeing you this week,” Brian added.

Confusion must have shown on Justin’s face, because Brian continued.

“I asked Sam to send you with some mock ups on Monday. He came instead, and gave me a stern lecture about you being way too gifted, and way too important to his team to constantly be disturbed to run my errands. He told me to lay off.”

Oh. Well, he had bitched to Sam about it. But still, Brian caving in?

“And you did?”

“He told me you designed all four ‘Body by Design’ campaigns. And of course I’ve seen Essengy’s. He’s completely right. No matter how much I like having you around, you should really be down there, doing more of it. You have a gift, Justin.”

Hell. He was blushing again.

“I thought maybe you were … done with me. I’ve been warned about you.”

Brian looked at him, expressionless. “So, what the fuck are you doing making out with me?”

“Can’t seem to help it.” Justin knew his face was scarlet by now, but fuck, they were talking. There were things he wanted to know. “Things are good between us, I think. But maybe it’s you. Maybe for you it’s always like this, always this good.”

“That’s why I so often make out with tricks for hours on the dance floor.” Brian got up, the conversation obviously over. “It’s better than good, between us.” That last one was said with his back turned, mumbled softly, maybe, probably, not meant to be heard. Brian went back to sit behind his desk. “So, did you only come here to confess having abused my likeness, or was there something else?”

Justin had to think back for a minute. Oh, yeah. “I’m going to show Sam my paintings at Pratt Sunday at three. If you’d like to come.”

Brian was picking his paperwork back up, no longer looking at Justin. “Should I pick you up?” he asked, “Say, 2:45? Save you the subway ride?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.” Justin could not help but smile again, and apparently, Brian looking at him in time to catch his smile, could not help but smile back.

“I’ll let you work,” said Justin, getting up.

“Thanks a lot.” Brian smiled ruefully running his fingers through his hair. He looked tired.

“You’re welcome. I’m going home now. I’m just a lowly employee. Nine to five, you know?” Justin teased.

“Yes. I’ve heard of it. Though it’s seven now, by the way. Go home, Taylor. We don’t pay you enough for you to hang around.” Justin was opening the door, when Brian added, ”Have a nice weekend, Justin.”

Justin smiled at him. “You too, Mr. Kinney.” Except that this time, Brian smiled back.

 

 

 

 

Just can’t get enough.

At 10:00PM, Brian’s phone rang.

“It’s Jeremy, Mr. Kinney. He got here an hour ago, but my phone was out of battery.”

“Thanks.”

A minute ago, Brian had been exhausted, lounging in front of the tube in his sweats. Next he was putting on black jeans and a black sleeveless shirt, adding a little mousse to his hair and calling a cab. As he waited for it to arrive, he brushed and flossed. His hygienist would be so proud.

He was already hard sitting in the taxi. His cock was leaking precome just thinking about kissing Justin, of savoring Justin taking his pleasure in his arms and he wasn’t even there yet. He entered the club. It was packed. He went to the third floor, and looked on the dance floors. There he was, dirty dancing with the muscle guy from last week, still wearing his shirt for once.

The two were getting into it, and it gave Brian an idea. By now, Justin probably thought he wasn’t coming. He went down to the dance floor, found a willing body, and started grinding against it. Another fifteen minutes, and muscle man was whispering in Justin’s ear, and Justin nodded. Brian‘s guy was looking at him like a hungry wolf, so he hooked his finger in the guy’s belt, just as Justin and muscle guy headed for the lounge.

Justin saw him, and stopped in his tracks, smiling at him, muscle man forgotten, but Brian motioned for him to go on, and dragged his trick after them. They ended up in an alcove, leaning against the wall, their bodies touching, as their tricks went to work on their cocks. Soon they were kissing, deep and slow, their hands in each other’s hair, eyes opened, breath mingled, as their dicks were being seen to.

It was incredibly erotic. Brian slipped his hand under Justin’s shirt and played with his nipples, and Justin arched into his touch and moaned, suddenly closer to his release. Brian sucked on Justin’s tongue, which Justin always seemed to like and he moaned again, shooting his come in his trick’s mouth, Brian’s hand on his stomach, feeling the pulsing contractions of his abs.

Brian‘s trick was deep throating him, and swallowed around the head, which was very nice, but it was when Justin gently bit his lower lip and lightly scratched his nipples that Brian came, long and hard down the trick’s throat.

Muscle man tucked Justin back into his pants, even as he and Brian kept kissing. Then, perhaps feeling philanthropic, he did the same for Brian since Brian’s trick was busy wiping his hands on a towel, having evidently jerked off while sucking him. Muscle man, who apparently had not been as self sufficient, grabbed Brian’s trick, pulled down his pants, and started finger fucking him. Brian and Justin left them to their fun, returning to the dance floor, slow dancing to techno music, their foreheads touching, holding each other close. Once in a while they kissed, savoring each other.

“I’ve got to get home,” said Justin finally. “I’m bushed.”

“Let’s go.” Brian was starting to feel his week as well.

Outside, Jeremy whistled for a cab.

“I can take the subway,” said Justin. “You don’t have to take me home.”

“I want to.”

So, just like the previous time, they rode together to Justin’s, Brian holding him, his chin on Justin’s sweet smelling hair.

“Tonight was hot,” said Justin.

Brian leaned down to kiss his luscious lips, their tongues wrapping around each other’s. He pulled back and said: “This is hot. Anything with this would be hot.” And he kissed Justin again.

They were at the brownstone, and Justin left the cab, giving him one of his sunny smiles, to which Brian could never help but respond. The cab drove off, and once again, Brian closed his eyes and thought about the last couple of hours.

He knew he could meet the guy who had sucked him off tonight on the street and not recognize him. He had thought of nothing but Justin the entire time, which is probably why he had come so hard and so long. He could honestly say that it was Justin biting his lip that had triggered his orgasm, and not anything his trick had been doing, just like he was quite sure Justin had come from his sucking gently on his tongue.

He believed in fucking. Yes, it was better if the trick was hot, but what really counted was a willing mouth, or a tight well-lubricated asshole. So what the fuck was this? Why was it so amazing to hold Justin as they danced, to rest his forehead against his, and just look at him? It must be anticipation. Anticipation for the day he actually would be able to fuck Justin. Obviously, that had to be it.

The next day, he worked from home for a couple of hours, then started searching for Christmas presents for everyone, on the web. He did not usually put much into the celebration, but this year, he realized he really missed everyone, so he tried to find a way to express it that was comfortable to him.

He started with a Mont Blanc pen for Mel. She was a bitch, yes, hard-nosed and opinionated, but he had been reminded lately of how she had pulled his nuts out of the fire when an associate at his previous job had sued him for sexual harassment. She was also a great mom and, God forbid she would figure out he thought so, a great role model to his son.

Lindsay was easy. She was, before all, a woman, and expensive French perfume and body lotion would be very much to her taste. He ordered ‘L’air du temps’ by Nina Ricci, which he had smelled on Cynthia and loved.

He got Ben workout gloves, and a thick hooded sweatshirt from Tommy Bahama. The man spent so much time at the gym, it was bound to be a good choice.

He knew Ted and Blake had season tickets at the Pittsburgh opera, and just paid for their upgrade from the silver to the gold cast, and to move them to the best seating section in the house.

He got Debbie a gift certificate to his favorite spa, for a full day of pampering, including all the treatment he thought she might enjoy, with a haircut and color to top it off. Heavens new the woman deserved to treat herself once in a while. He ordered the series “The Civil War” by Ken Burns for Carl, who enjoyed that kind of thing.

He hesitated a while about what gift to get for Hunter. Teenagers were difficult, and Hunter more so than most. He settled for the latest and most expensive Nike’s high tops, and a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble.

He actually shopped for clothes for Emmett. They were the same size, and he could live vicariously through Emmett‘s flamboyant ways, purchasing things he loved but would not be caught dead in. The lilac leather pants would be a total hit, he knew, but he didn’t stop there, getting a silver sleeveless shirt and even a short aviator fur jacket. Emmett would be thrilled. Drew needed nothing, and Brian didn’t know him that well anyway. A pair of Vuarney sunglasses would do well.

That left Mikey. He got him First Class round trip tickets to New York for Ben and him in March, when a huge Comics convention was being held in town, knowing Mikey would not want to come without his husband. He also got him some butter soft leather gloves, lined with cashmere, the kind of luxurious item Mikey would never spring for, and something he would love, coming from Brian.

Buying for four and a half year-old Gus was easy. Whatever he got him would be Gus’s favorite. Gus was such a boy. He got him a remote controlled ‘Vette, just like his, as his main gift, and clothes, books, art supplies and several DVDs. Going slightly over the top, but the munchers would just have to grin and bear it…

Little JR was too young to care about Christmas. He got a five hundred dollar bond to add to her college fund, and a squeaky giraffe.

He had made sure all the gifts were wrapped, and sent to his hotel in Pittsburgh. He called and confirmed his suite reservation, and warned them of the coming flood of packages. Of course, he would be accommodated.

Cynthia expected nothing but a fat year-end bonus, which she would get, and his partners would get their usual bottle of Laphroig single malt.

Feeling quite accomplished, he ordered himself new Gucci ankle boots, and a superb cashmere Dior overcoat. It was going to be cold in Pittsburgh.

If he had been going to get Justin anything, it might have been this nice cashmere hoody, also from Dior. It was casual enough for him, and yet would feel utterly luxurious to wear. It would suit him well, especially the blue one. Surely a pair of gloves like Mikey’s would have made a welcome gift. It would be hard to paint with fingers stiff with cold. Brian did not know much about professional art supplies, but the full array of special Sable-hair brushes he found might have made a good gift too, and were too expensive for any student to buy for himself. Yes, if he had been going to get him anything at all, any of these gifts would have done nicely. Or all of them for that matter. Well, he could always return them later. Things bought over the Internet even came with handy return FedEx labels these days…

In the evening, Brian went to Gillian’s, and played pool. He ignored the sidelong glances he got all evening, and even had to give a pointed “Not interested” or two to the most insistent guys cruising him. When his phone vibrated, around eleven, he was already heading out the door as he answered, “Thanks, Jeremy.”

Essengy was just around the corner, and less than fifteen minutes later he had Justin pressed against him, and was feeding him a tab of E with a kiss. He loved Justin getting loose and horny as he got high as a kite. Obviously, he did not take drugs very often. They danced, frotting against each other, and he was pretty sure Justin would have blown him right in the middle of the dance floor if he had let him. He dragged him to the bar instead, where they both emptied water bottles, and continued dancing, enjoying Justin’s moans and sighs as he humped his leg. Brian was so turned on he was losing his mind.

They ended up in the lounge, giving each other hand jobs while kissing sloppily and licking every piece of skin they could reach without taking their clothes off. Justin’s fingers felt so good on his naked cock, and he seemed to know just when to finish his strokes with the slight twist that Brian favored.

Justin collected Brian’s come in his left hand as his right hand pumped every last drop out of him, and proceeded to eat it up, like some creamy treat. Watching him was so erotic, Brian found himself hardening again while Justin’s pink tongue was seeking every drop from between his fingers.

He wrapped his own hand around Justin‘s cock again, to finish him off. When Justin’s body, pressed tight against his, began its habitual trembling, Brian couldn’t help himself. He dropped to his knees, took Justin’s cock in his mouth, and sucked hard, receiving the full load on his tongue. He swallowed greedily, and stood up to share the taste with Justin in a deep soulful kiss. He fucking loved this, just loved it. His cock was fully hard again.

They kept making out in the back of the cab all the way to Justin’s house, and Brian felt exposed as never before, giving away a lot of unsaid things in his kiss. Justin was utterly opened to him, mewling his pleasure and his need. When they got to his brownstone, he didn’t get out. Instead, he whispered in Brian’s ear, ”Take me home and fuck me,” and Brian had no idea where he found the strength to laugh it off and push Justin out of the cab.

 

He followed him up the stairs, took his keys, opened the door for him, and pushed a giggling Justin inside, saying, “You’re still high, Justin. Go sleep it off.” He made sure the latch caught before heading back to the waiting taxi and made a note to himself never to give Justin a full tab of E again. Uninhibited, he was way too hard to resist.

 

 

 

Showing his art.

Justin tried not to giggle on the way to his room. He didn’t want to disturb his roommates. He made it up the stairs, and crawled into bed fully clothed, having just toed off his trainers. Lying in the dark, he still felt he was flying. Whatever Brian had given him was unbelievable.

He had loved it as long as he was in Brian’s arms. Now it was just weird. His rational mind, way, way in the back of his head, couldn’t believe he had propositioned Brian, at the same time as his horny drugged out self couldn’t believe Brian hadn’t taken him up on it.

He wanted to have sex with Brian more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He knew he was going to bottom for him. He wanted to bottom for him. He had never bottomed for Ethan, or for anyone else. But he wanted Brian’s cock inside him so badly he could taste it. He could imagine looking at Brian’s face, his ankles on Brian’s shoulders, or feeling Brian on his back, covering him.

He couldn’t fathom that Brian had gotten on his knees to catch his spurting come on his tongue. The sudden wet warmth of his mouth had wrenched a moan out of him almost loud enough to be called a scream, one that had sounded a lot like “Brian!”

It felt like he lay there for hours, reliving the past two nights, before he finally was down enough to fall asleep. When he eventually did, it was so deep, he did not dream or stir for nine hours. He woke up at almost one. Andrew’s bed was made, and he was sitting at their desk, working, the radio playing softly in the background.

Justin sat up, and Andrew, hearing some motion from his roommate turned to him. “You OK, Justin? You slept so deeply, I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up! You work too hard, mate.”

“I’m fine. Was tired. Went dancing too late.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “I don’t know where you find the energy. You don’t even look that bad. Are you still wearing your clothes?”

Justin looked down at himself and chuckled. “I guess I am. I need a shower.”

“There might not be much hot water. We all had a go.”

Justin dragged himself to the bathroom, stripped and got under the decidedly cool jets. He got used to the temperature, and took his time, soaping up, washing his hair, shaving, and even brushing his furry teeth under the shower. At the end, it got really cold, and he got out, fully awake but shivering a little.

He toweled himself dry, and collected his wrinkled clothes from the floor. He also stripped his sheets, and got all his laundry out of the closet, putting the bag marked with his name in front of his door for Phuong to collect on her way to her folks. He’d almost slept through the pickup. Her brother came to fetch her at one-thirty on Sundays, and if your bag wasn’t out, you were out of luck.

He remade his bed, wearing nothing but clean underpants, and dressed in whatever was left in his closet. He didn’t have a lot of extra clothes, and his last pair of jeans had known better days. They were torn at the knees and stained with paint on the ass. His sweatshirt was a little small, the original red washed to a paler coral color, and a bleach stain marring the back. Well, at least they were clean.

In the kitchen, he found a stack of pancakes under some plastic wrap, and some scrambled eggs. He warmed the flapjacks in the microwave, slathered them in butter and Aunt Jemima syrup, and ate like a starving man. He was obviously too late for the bacon that had been cooked in the greasy cast iron frying pan on the stove. Oh, well.

He did find a half a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice and drank that, while cleaning the after Sunday brunch mess in the kitchen. Once it was back to its pristine state, with a fresh pot of coffee brewing for his roommates’ Sunday pleasure, he was ready to go.

At 2:45, his two smallest canvasses in a large Macy’s bag (the only paintings that had been remaining in his closet), he went to sit on the stairs outside to wait for his ride. His ass had not had time to chill when Brian’s taxi pulled up. He got in, putting the paintings in next to his legs, and turned to smile at Brian.

He looked… great. He was wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans, his hair finger combed, and small smirk on his lips.

“Hey,” said Justin.

“Hey,” said Brian, his smirk turning into a smile.

“Huh… thanks for huh… You know. Not taking me up on it, last night.” Justin could feel himself blushing.

Brian looked away, and rolled his lips in, and then looked back at him.

“Tell the cabbie which building to go to,” he said, and Justin realized they were at Pratt already. He slid the window in the partition open and told the driver, ”The second one on the right, please.”

They pulled up in front, and after Justin wrestled a little with his Macy’s bag, they got out. Sam was already there, smoking a cigarette on top of the front steps.

“We have to go to the side door,” Justin yelled at him, pointing to the east side of the building. They waited until Sam had joined them, and walked to the weekend entrance. “We have to use this door outside of regular hours,” Justin explained. He entered the door code, followed by his student ID number. “We have to enter out student ID, so they know who’s been in and out.” He guided them through the maze of corridors, classrooms, and offices to the main studio.

He pointed to locked wheeled carts, tucked in under tall lockers. “We all have one of these for our supplies,” he explained, “and the cubbies have our work in progress. We can store four or five in there.” He pointed to a door, at the end of the studio. “We all have a storage locker in there, for our finished work. Why don’t you guys come give me a hand? I got a couple of really big ones.”

They followed him to the storage area. The smell of turpentine was quite powerful. “The ventilation sucks, in here,” he commented, somewhat unnecessarily. He used a key from his key chain to open one of the tall lockers, and started passing paintings to Sam and Brian, who took them to the studio. It took the both of them to carry the last three, a 4X6, one 6X6, and a huge 10X8. Two paintings remained in the locker, but he hated those, and left them there.

It was a little overwhelming to step into the studio, and have all his work on display. Brian was just getting the two small ones from his apartment out of the bag, and putting them on easels.

Some of them he hadn’t looked at for six months, and it was like seeing old friends. He went to a 4X4 that was resting on a desk, and turned it over.

“It was upside down,” he explained, self-consciously. God, he hated being there when people looked at his stuff. “I’m gonna go grab a coke from the machine. You guys want anything?”

“No”

“Nah, thanks.”

He left as fast as he could, and took his own sweet time walking two floors up to the student lounge, getting his drink and reading a couple of the fliers pinned to the announcement board. His drink finished, he stopped to pee, and finally had to make his way back.

He looked in through the window in the door. Sam and Brian were talking, looking at the huge 10X8. Sam pointed to one of the 4X4's and Brian nodded. Then Brian went and stood in front of Justin’s last painting, with its vibrant color, its apricot highlights, and its swirls of pure white. He just stayed there and stared. Sam was talking on his cell phone.

“I’m back,” said Justin, walking in.

Brian turned to him, his expression unreadable. Sam shut his phone, and said to Justin, “My brother-in-law is Jason Kintzer.”

“The Jason Kintzer? The agent?”

“Yes. He’ll be here in half an hour. I told him he would want to represent you.”

“Jason Kintzer? He represents LJ Hiller, and Madeline Bergeron, and like, Steven Hartwick. Their paintings go for tens of thousands. What would he want with me?”

Sam smiled. “It won’t be long until yours are worth tens of thousands too, Justin.”

Justin laughed. “Yes, well I hope so, obviously, but right now, nobody even knows my name…”

“He needs fresh talent. He’s willing to work with new artists if he feels they have true potential. It can’t hurt for him to see your stuff, can it?”

“No, I guess not. I think you’re nuts and that he’ll just laugh, but I appreciate you calling him.” Justin shrugged. Jason Kintzer. Good God. If he represented Justin, it would open so many doors. He didn’t want to think about it. It was never going to happen.

“Justin?”

Brian was standing in front of the 10X8 again.

“Yeah?”

“Sam and I were thinking this would look great in Plexus’s lobby. On the back wall? Where the awards are?”

“Well, the light would be right… But don’t you want to show off the awards?”

“We can put them along the corridor from the elevator. Nobody looks at them where they are now, anyway. This,” he added, gesturing to the painting, “would look much better.”

Justin agreed. The painting was great. It was one of the first ones he’s done when getting to New York, his impression of the city that never sleeps. People, lights, noise, cabs, life just exploding everywhere, and everything moving, moving. Other people would see other things in it, but to him, it was the city.

“Well, I’d love to see it there. But to be honest, I have no idea how much to sell it for. A gallery priced the other paintings I sold. How much do you think it’s worth?”

Brian and Sam both rolled their eyes.

“Justin, you can’t ask the client to fix a price,” Sam said.

“Well, the client would be Plexus, right? You guys are…my friends.” At least you are, Sam, thought Justin. I have no idea what Brian is.

“I think we will save Plexus a lot of money if we agree on a price before Kintzer gets here,” joked Brian. “How about 3000?”

“Dollars?” asked Justin, stupidly.

“No, peanuts. Of course dollars. 3000. What do you say?”

“Yeah, sure! God, 3000! Take it!”

Sam and Brian laughed.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” said Brian.

Justin couldn’t believe it. 3000 dollars! The most he had ever sold a painting for was the one Brian had bought, at 1750. And that had been so expensive already! It hadn’t sold for months!

Sam’s phone rang. He opened it. “Go to the east side. I’ll be right there.” He closed his phone. “Jason’s here. I’ll go open the door for him.”

“And, Justin?” Brian’s voice called him back to earth.

“What?”

Brian walked to Justin’s last painting. Justin joined him. They looked at it together for a moment. Justin loved that one fiercely. He thought it was the best thing he had ever done.

“I want this one,” said Brian.

“I don’t think I can sell it,” said Justin, honestly. “Even for 3000 dollars or whatever. It’s special to me.”

Brian nodded, and before Justin could react, Brian had taken him in his arms, and was kissing him. As usual, Justin’s body responded to Brian before his brain engaged, his mouth opening to the kiss, his body molding itself to the larger man’s. It was so, so good. He was lost in it for a minute. Then his neurons kicked in. He and Brian had never done anything like this outside of Essengy. What the fuck was Brian doing? Justin backed away, breaking the kiss and stepping back.

“What are you doing?” he asked Brian, frowning.

“That’s what your painting feels like to me, Justin. Like when we kiss. Tell me that’s not what it is.”

Justin looked at the painting. It made no sense, yet Brian was right. It was a painting of their kiss. He looked at Brian. “I’m not selling it.”

“It’s already half mine,” said Brian, gently.

“I love it when we kiss,” said Justin, looking away, blushing. Why had he said that? Certainly that was no news to Brian. Twice he had come just from their kiss.

Brian reached for Justin’s cheek, and he ran a finger along Justin's jaw, making him shiver.

“Just don’t sell it to anyone else,” he said. “If someday you do sell it, sell it to me. OK?”

Justin looked at Brian’s face, trying to read his expression, but as usual, it revealed nothing. “Ok,” he agreed.

Sam came in with a handsome man with a very short beard and an embroidered hat, like Muslims wore.

“Jason, this is Justin Taylor, the artist I called you about, and Brian Kinney, one of the partners at Plexus. Justin, Brian, Jason Kintzer”

They all shook hands, and then Kintzer stepped to the paintings and ignored the men. Justin, Brian and Sam started talking about the logistics of getting Justin’s painting to Plexus. They’d have to rent a van.

“Oh,” said Justin, “that may not be necessary. A van is coming tomorrow to pick up some of these for a New Artist Expo I’ve joined. Maybe they could take the big one and drop it at Plexus as well, if I asked. It’s not that out of the way. I meant to tell you, Sam, because they said they’d be here at 1PM, and I was planning on coming here during my lunch hour, but if they’re late, or something, I might not get back on time…”

“Where is the exposition?” asked Brian, but before Justin could explain, Jason Kintzer was back and talking to him.

“I’d love to represent you. My commission is 20%, and I have exclusivity over all your work. You’ll need to come by my office to sign a contract, and bring a legal representative. Say… Wednesday afternoon?”

“Huh… I have to work till five on Wednesdays.”

“Great. Six it is. Looking forward to it.”

“I don’t have a legal representative, either.” Justin felt totally unprepared.

Kintzer laughed. “I can give you a list of names, of attorneys who deal with art and this kind of contract on a regular basis. Why don’t I take you back to my office right now?”

“I have to put the paintings back in storage…”

“Sam and Brian can do that, right, Sam? Let’s go!”

Sam was laughing, and when Justin looked at Brian, he gestured for him to go. Justin took his key off his keychain, and handed it to Sam. “Thanks, guys. See you later!”

Kintzer was already out the door, calling out. ”Justin? Are you coming?” Justin ran to catch up. Kintzer was a true New Yorker. He had parked his Porsche on the sidewalk in front of the side door. He drove like a cabbie, aggressively and as if he owned the road, speaking to Justin the whole time, gesturing with one hand, and looking at him much too often for Justin’s peace of mind.

He wanted to know everything. Where he was from, where he had gone to school, what inspired him, if he had ever sold a painting, all in a thick New York accent, with hardly any time to allow Justin to answer. When they got to his office, in Manhattan, Justin was blown away. Behind the reception was a Pollock, and in Jason’s office itself were an LJ Hiller and a Warhol. It was amazing. Jason turned on his laptop, and printed a list he handed to Justin.

“Try Jessica Hammon first,” he said. “She might be able to take you on. She would love you, and might give you a little more personal attention without charging you for every minute. Plus she has tons of experience, and will look out for your best interest before anything else.”

“Ok, thanks.”

“All right. See you on Wednesday, Justin.”

“Yeah, thanks. And thank you for taking me on.”

As Justin was about to leave, Jason said, “Sam only knows a bit about non commercial art, Justin, so I really came to see your stuff to make him happy. I didn’t hold much hope. But I was wrong. Don’t think I’m taking you on as a favor to him. He is my brother-in-law, but business is business. I’m taking you as a client because in the next ten years, you’re going to make me a lot of money. Your work is very good, Justin, and will only get better, if the progression it shows continues. Your last painting is… breathtaking. I could sell it for ten or twelve thousand, if I recommended it to the right client.”

Justin was amazed. He knew the painting was good, but didn’t think anyone would spend that kind of money on the work of an unknown artist.

“Don’t be so surprised, Justin. My reputation is that I never back a dud. All my clients’ works have increased in value, sometimes by 2000% in a few years. With me as your agent, you enter the big leagues. We're going to do great things together.”

“Huh… What if there is a painting I don’t want to sell? What if I want to keep it, or give it as a gift?”

Jason smiled. “That’s where it’s important for you to have good representation when we sign our contract, Justin. These things are not in my best interest, and I always want what’s in my best interest. Before anything else, I’m a businessman, in the very lucrative but very difficult business of Art. I’ll fight for you, and do everything to make you a success. But it’s because your success means my financial reward. Don’t count on me to babysit you. Get a good attorney, OK?”

He clapped Justin on the back. “A good contract is the basis for a good relationship between us. It would be ugly all around if you grew to resent our association. Be smart about this, and we’ll probably end up being good friends. Now get out of here. I have work to do.”

Justin went down in the elevator, and left the posh building behind. There were people coming and going, obviously working. Apparently Sunday didn’t mean anything to them. He had looked at the directory in the lobby. From what he could gather, the building hosted a modeling agency, and agents for the entertainment industry. There were also numerous attorneys, an accounting firm, and some kind of foundation.

He stepped into the street, and started walking, feeling that his life had just taken a turn. It had happened so fast, he could hardly believe it. Even though it was cold and had started to snow, he chose to walk for a while. He had thought the expo in Pittsburgh was a big break. Now, all of a sudden, he was going to be represented by one of the best agents in the business. It was a little scary. He took out the list of attorneys Jason had given him and his cell phone. He might as well leave a message at someone’s office now, so they could return his call on Monday. It certainly sounded like he was going to need a good attorney.

He left messages at the first two numbers, but was shocked when someone answered the third number. It was Jessica Hammon’s office, the one Jason had recommended.

“Huh… I’m sorry, I expected a machine. I’m looking for an attorney.”

“Yes, that would explain your call,” said a warm voice, one that sounded like it belonged to a habitual smoker. “How did you get this number?”

“Jason Kintzer gave it to me. He… he’s going to represent me? And we have to sign a contract?”

“To whom am I speaking?”

“My name is Justin Taylor. I… paint?”

There was a warm laugh on the line. “Yes. I figured that much. Jason only represents ‘painters’, Justin Taylor. Tell me, how old are you?”

“Huh… I’m twenty-two. I go to Pratt. I am getting a masters in fine arts.”

“Good, good. Since you haven’t asked, I’m Jessica Hammon. I am an attorney. I’d be happy to represent you. You sound like a nice young man.” It sounded more like ’You sound like you need the help,’ and Justin couldn’t agree more.

“When are you meeting Jason for the contract negotiations?”

“Huh… He said we would sign on Wednesday, at 6:00PM.”

“My, my… isn’t he in a big hurry. You must really be something special, Justin Taylor. Well, we need to meet as soon as possible. We have a lot to cover. What are you doing right now?”

“I’m… I’m walking home from his office.”

“Where is home?”

“In Brooklyn, not far from Pratt.”

“Is it only a ten foot square hovel, or do you have space for a table, in that home?”

“It’s a brownstone. I share it with other students, but it’s quite spacious.”

“Well, Justin Taylor, what do you say I meet you there in an hour? Would that do?”

“Huh… I just sold a painting, so I’ll have some money soon, but… I don’t have a lot of cash right now. Are… are you expensive? Does it cost more if you work on Sunday? If you make house calls?”

There came the nice warm laugh again.

“I’m retired, Justin. This is my home phone. Once upon a time, you could not have afforded me, but let’s agree I’ll work the first ten hours for you pro-bono, and then we’ll go from there, OK? You will have to give me a dollar to officially retain my services. I suppose you can afford that?”

Justin laughed with relief. “Yes. I think I can swing a whole dollar. I’m sorry to have disturbed you at home.”

“Not at all, Justin Taylor, not at all. I was bored stiff, so you are doing me a service. I suppose that is exactly why my son gave you my number.”

“You’re Jason Kintzer’s mom?”

“Yes I am… But don’t let that trouble you. You know what they say about attorneys… Heartless bloodsuckers, the whole lot of us. We’ll get you the best contract any artist has ever gotten out of that greedy little bastard.” She laughed again. “So, see you in an hour?”

“Ok!” Justin gave her his address and headed for the nearest subway entrance. He wanted to make sure the dining room was free of clutter, and that there would be fresh coffee on when she got there. Even if she didn’t want coffee, he knew he definitely could use a cup.

***

By the time she left, at around 10:00 PM, Justin was half in love with her. She was probably in her early seventies, but she was gorgeous, in a Charlotte Rampling sort of way. She had the most brilliant green eyes he had ever seen, and her grey hair was cut like a man’s, very short. Her teeth were a little crooked, but very white, which gave a ton of charm to her smile. She had the most beautiful hands, long and narrow, with beautifully manicured nails, painted pale pink. Like her son, she gestured a lot as she talked, but her motions were elegant and graceful. The diamond on her ring finger was the size of a marble, but that was all the jewelry she wore. She had an easy laugh, and a very sharp wit.

She had drunk coffee with him, putting three teaspoon of sugar in her cup, and had partaken of the household habitual Sunday night dinner, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, as if it was what she ate every night. She had arrived wearing the most beautiful fur coat Justin had ever seen, of the most lustrous black fur, sable, according to Lilah. Underneath, she has been wearing jeans and a Yale sweatshirt.

They had discussed in depth what he should get out of his contract, what he wanted, what he could hope for. She had brought up subjects he never in a million years would have thought to address, such as what topics he would accept to discuss in interviews, and what topics were taboo.

They had also spent a lot of time just talking. He had found himself telling her things he would ordinarily only confide in Daphne, and had actually talked to her about Brian. She was an amazing listener and did not volunteer advice. She asked to see the photos of his paintings.

For once, Justin had not felt ill at ease perusing them with her. She’d ask questions about them, and was not afraid to comment about what she liked and didn’t like about them. Afterward, she had put her hand on his cheek, in a very affectionate way, and had said, smiling, “You have amazing talent, Justin. I am honored to represent you.” His throat had closed up, and he had had to look away. No compliment had ever meant so much to him.

He walked her out to the sidewalk, where a car and driver appeared with perfect timing. As she was getting into the car, she turned to him and said, “About that Brian fellow… If I were you, I’d take the one-night stand, even if that’s all you’re going to get. It might smart for a while, but a lot less in the long run than always wondering what it would have been like. Believe this old lady. At my age, you realize you only ever regret the things you didn’t do, never the things you did.” She smiled, got in, and the car drove away.

Justin sat on the stairs, though it was cold and dark and he had to sweep it clean of a thin layer of dry snow. Brian. After the events of today, Justin did not feel like going to the club. He was tired, excited, nervous and happy at the same time. He wished he could be with Brian, that Brian could hold him like he did in the cab sometimes, and just listen to him ramble on about his day until he wound down, and then kiss him and fuck him, and spoon him to sleep.

But Brian didn’t do boyfriends. He believed in fucking. The rational part of Justin, the one that did not pay attention to Daphne’s fantasies, knew this, and knew that what was happening between them was just Brian marking time until he could fuck Justin, until he could have him, and that then it would all be over.

And more often than not, lately, Justin agreed with Jessica. He would take what he could, because otherwise, he would wonder about it for the rest of his life.

He went inside, cleaned the small mess in the kitchen, and went to his bedroom to call Daphne. Andrew was still in the living room reading, so he got to enjoy talking to her while lying in bed, with the light off, reviewing the day. Not surprisingly, she thought that Brian thinking the painting felt like their kiss was the most romantic thing ever, and Justin had to concede that it was ridiculously romantic, even if it was true.

He was glad to go to sleep somewhat early. The next day promised to be a long one.

 

 

 

Loving Justin’s art.

Jason Kintzer. Brian felt strangely proud of Justin that Kintzer had liked his work enough to take him on. It was an amazing opportunity. He and Sam put the paintings back in Justin’s locker, not saying much. Justin’s last painting was the only one left, and Brian was reluctant to put it away.

Sam came and stood next to him, both of them staring at it.

“It looks like spring,” Sam said. “When the peach trees are in bloom, and the petals are blown away in the wind, you know?”

Brian could see it clearly, as Sam described it. It did look like spring.

“At first, it reminded me of water in the evening,” said Brian, “of the eddies of water around rocks.”

“Oh, my god, I can completely see that!” agreed Sam. “Why did you say ‘at first’? What do you see now?”

"I just looked at it for a while, and I started feeling it, instead of seeing it. And it feels like one of the best things in my life, right now.” Brian was surprised he had said that, but Sam was just looking at the painting, and blinking slowly.

“It feels like… falling in love,” he said. “It reminds me of when I fell in love with Katie. Wow. I didn’t think a painting could do that. I wonder if it’s like what you see at first, if it feels different for everyone…”

Sam turned to Brian. “I can’t believe this kid works for us. He is a fucking genius, when it comes to images. His paintings, his designs. It’s like Picasso working for Plexus. Julie, Randy, the others, we all want to keep him. You should offer him a job, Brian.

“He works four hours a day busing tables while he’s in school. We could hire him part time. He likes the job, and it would look better on his resume than working at a diner. I talked to Paul and Alan about it, but they said you’re handling the hiring for the next eighteen months.”

“You are going to get a new intern in January, Sam. Cheap labor. Why should we pay Taylor a real salary when we’ll have another Pratt student practically for free?”

“We’re swamped. We’re all working ten-hour days, sometimes more. There’s plenty of work to go around. You’re going to have to hire another Creative Manager soon anyway, or some people are going to quit. Vangard has been trying to recruit Julie for months, and I get calls from headhunters. I’m not saying we’re going to go, but we need more help, and Justin works well with all of us. He just fits. You don’t even need to pay him more than a starting salary, or give him the title. He’d be thrilled to be ‘Assistant creative manager’, I’m sure, and he works like a dog. If we hire someone else, they’ll be way more expensive than that, and probably only half as good.” Sam shrugged. “Think about it.”

He picked up the painting to put it away, but Brian stopped him. “Leave it. You can go. Give me his key, and I’ll lock up. I just want to look at it for a while longer.”

“Why don’t you buy it?”

“I tried. Taylor says this one’s not for sale.”

Sam nodded. He handed Brian the key and headed out. “Katie’s probably wondering what happened to me,” he joked. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you.”

After Sam left, Brian sat on a stool, in front of the easel. He let his eyes roam over the picture, and let himself feel. “Feels like…falling in love,” Sam had said. Different people obviously felt different things. To him, it felt like holding Justin on the dance floor, the two of them still, in the sea of moving bodies, kissing him until he could feel Justin melt against him.

The light was beginning to fail, and as he looked outside, he saw snowflakes starting to fall against the evening sky. He looked at the painting again, and saw exactly that. Flurries of snowflakes in the evening sky, with the reflection of the setting sun. This painting was fucking magical. He picked it up, took it to Justin’s storage and locked it in.

He was pretty sure he had first dibs on it. Until Justin decided to sell it, that was the next best thing. He called a cab and went home, eating reheated Thai takeout and watching Dirty Dancing while talking to Mikey. His cell phone was on the coffee table, within reach.

Mikey was excited about his coming visit to Pittsburgh, and was babbling away, Brian having only to say a couple of words once in a while to keep him going. They said good night when Ben and Hunter came home, and Brian watched the movie, speaking the entire dialogue right along with the actors. Some of it was so corny it was funny. ”Nobody puts Baby in the corner…” It made him smile every time…

He woke up at three-thirty with a kink in his neck. Jeremy hadn’t called. Justin hadn’t made it to the club. For a second, he wondered if Kintzer was gay, if he and Justin… he really disliked the way his thoughts were going and was glad to remember that Kintzer was married to Carrie, Sam’s cute little sister. They had four kids, or something ridiculous like that. He had met Kintzer that afternoon, and his gaydar had been completely silent.

Maybe Justin had just been tired after all the excitement of the day. Maybe he hadn’t felt like venturing in the snow. Maybe last night had been a bit much and he’d wanted to stay away from Brian. Fuck. He should not have given him E. Justin didn’t even drink. In his office the other day, he had hardly had a taste of his J&B. He always drank water at the club. He probably never did drugs.

But why should Brian give a fuck? This was fucking ridiculous. Whatever… Brian didn’t give a flying shit. As soon as Justin finished his internship, he would fuck the hell out of him. Justin had been willing enough the night before. Then, he would be out of Brian’s system for good. And life would get back to normal.

He went to bed and fell back asleep, and did not dream of Justin. Yes, he woke up in the morning with come all over his belly and chest, but he couldn’t honestly remember anything. It was far more likely that he had dreamt of Patrick Swayze than of Justin fucking Taylor.

***

In the morning, he went to see Alan as soon as he got to the office.

“Alan, you know how much you said you liked the painting in my office? I found another by the same artist, that we can put in the lobby instead of the awards.”

Alan smiled. He loved Brian’s taste, and knew that if Brian liked something, he would too. “The award wall is for shit anyway. No one ever looks at it,” he replied. “What were you thinking of doing with them?”

“I thought we could hang them in the corridor, from the elevator to the lobby, where people would actually notice them.”

“Sounds good. How soon can we get the painting?” Alan asked.

“Well, Plexus needs to cut a check of $3000.00 for the artist, and we can have it delivered early afternoon.”

“3000? That’s a bargain. How big is the piece?”

“Huge, 10X8. It’s going to look fabulous.”

Alan picked up his phone.

“Betsy, can you print a $3000.00 check to a… What’s the name, Brian?”

“Justin Taylor.”

“To a Justin Taylor, and bring it for me to sign, please? No, no, not little Justin. It’s the name of the artist that did Brian’s painting. Yes. Yes, Brian has found another one for our lobby. Yes, if it’s anything like it, it will be great.” He hung up. “She’ll be right in. Everybody loves the one in your office, you know.”

“Little Justin?”

“Oh, he’s this sweet kid that works in the Art Department. Intern from Pratt. He uses my treadmill and my shower at lunch. Betsy’s taken a real shine to him. He took the photo of her kids from her desk and made this really sweet charcoal portrait of them. Really nicely done. She’s having it framed for her husband for Christmas.” He added as an aside, “We really don’t pay these kids enough. He couldn’t even afford a temporary membership at the gym. But, I guess they do get a lot of experience here. Sam really likes this one. Asked me to hire him. I told him you were the one doing the hiring for the next while, and that I am the facilities’ guy this term…”

Betsy came in, interrupting him. Brian wondered for a second if he should enlighten Alan about “Little Justin’s” relationship to the $3000.00 check he was signing, and decided against it. Nothing to gain by it.

Alan handed him the check. “Can’t wait to see this. I’ll call maintenance and have Dwayne move the awards right now, and prepare the back wall.”

“Great. I’ll get the ball rolling.”

Brian took the elevator down to the Art Department, checking himself out in the mirror panel. He looked great. He didn’t want to think about why he cared.

Sam’s domain was a madhouse. Randy, Julie and Sam had fourteen worker bees, plus Justin, to do the grunt work for the art required by the ad execs upstairs. Julie, Randy and Sam were the creative drive, but they really used their people well. Right now, though, there was a lot of tension and shouting going on.

Obviously, they were against the clock on several projects, and feeling the crunch. They really needed a fourth creative manager, even if only part time. Brian thought back to Sam’s request that he offer the job to Justin. But Brian had other more important plans for Justin, after his internship was over. He had waited this long. No way was he going to let anything stand between him and that ass. They should just promote internally.

The ass in question was delightfully displayed right now, as Justin was bent over his desk, inking some project. He turned around when he heard Julie greeting Brian, and the smile he gave him made Brian’s heart skip a beat. Justin’s gaze went from his Gucci shoes up his beautifully cut Prada suit and back to his face, and Brian knew he looked hot. He could see it in his eyes. He came to stand very close to Justin, at least a half a foot in his personal space, and smiled back.

He loved seeing the blush that started at Justin hairline and spread down to the neck of his t-shirt.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said, leaning even closer. He knew he was making a bit of a spectacle, but in the madness going on, it could hardly attract attention.

“Oh, yeah?” said Justin, blinking slowly, responding to the innuendo.

“Really, Taylor. Not that. This…” And he waved the check in front of Justin’s face, stepping back to a respectable distance.

Justin automatically grabbed it. He looked at it, recognized what it was and looked up to smile at Brian again.

“Wow. That’s a lot of money.”

Brian couldn’t help but shake his head, smiling.

"I’m just glad we got to you before Kintzer sunk his claws in. I don’t think we’ll be able to afford you, pretty soon.”

Justin laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said.

“Don’t knock it, Justin,” said Brian, hating for him to belittle his talent. “I’m really proud of you.”

What the fuck? Where the hell had that come from? But Justin’s radiant smile made him glad he’d said it. Why he should care what Brian thought was beyond him, but whatever.

“Did you find yourself an attorney?”

“Yes. I’ve already talked to someone.”

“Good. It’s important you be well represented. What’s his name?”

It wouldn’t cost Brian anything to check the guy out.

“Her name. Jessica Hammon. I really like her,” said Justin looking enthusiastic.

“Great. Do you think you can get the painting here today?”

“Yes. I think so. I don’t think they’ll mind…”

Just then, Randy arrived with a pile of sketches on cardboard.

“Justin, look at these… Oh, hi, Brian. Anything we can do for you?”

“No. I was just leaving. See you this afternoon, Taylor.”

He backed away, watching Justin talk to Randy about whatever he had brought along, as an equal, pointing and making suggestions. He looked perfectly at home. Brian felt a moment of doubt, then his eyes fell to Justin’s ass, as he was once again leaning forward, and he smiled inwardly. Priorities…

***

At two o’clock, he was called to reception. Two big guys, looking extremely put out, were holding the bulky 10X8 painting, wrapped in brown paper, bubble-wrap and twine. Sarah, the receptionist, was all atwitter.

“Put it there, boys,” he said, taking charge. “Thanks for bringing it.” He handed each of them fifty bucks, and they suddenly looked a lot happier.

“We gotta go,” said one. “We’re running late.”

“We’re double parked,” said the other.

“Where’s Taylor?”

“The kid? He said he’d ride the subway. There was no place in the van. Pushy little shit,” answered the second guy, not unkindly, already heading out.

“Yes. He can be quite determined,” agreed Brian, smiling sympathetically.

“Oh, is that what you call it, in the big city?” laughed the guy, as he opened the door. Brian could hear the horns of the cars stuck behind their white van blaring before the door closed back up. He smiled to himself.

He paged Wayne from maintenance, and borrowed a pair of scissors from Sarah to unwrap the painting. Five minutes later, it was out. It looked even better than it had the day before. “Call Alan, Paul, Marcus and I down when it’s up, OK, Sarah?”

She was looking at the painting in awe.

“It’s really big, “ she said, confirming for Brian that she was a complete twat.

He smiled a perfectly forced smile at her, and walked away before he said something that would make her cry again. He didn’t need another lecture from Marcus on Christian charity.

When Cynthia opened his door and gestured to him during his call to Jeffrey Sidoff’s people an hour later, he quickly brought it to an end, and headed down.

He met Paul in the elevator.

“Sarah just called Emily and said I was wanted in the lobby. Do you know anything about this?”

“Yes. We have a new painting. Alan wanted your opinion. It’s kind of going to change the lobby’s look a bit.”

“Oh. OK.”

Alan and Marcus were already there, standing by Sarah’s counter. Alan turned to Brian, a huge grin on his face.

“It’s perfect,” he said.

Marcus did not even bother to look away from the painting. “This is unbelievably good. I like it even better than the one in your office. I can’t believe we only paid 3000 for it.”

Coming from Marcus, who was a bit of a tightwad, that was a real endorsement. They all stared at the painting in silence.

“It really sets the tone for the lobby. And for the firm,” commented Paul, after a while. “It says, ‘We fucking own this city!’ It’s a really good choice. Well done, Alan.” Good. Paul liked it too.

Brian didn’t mind Alan not crediting him for the find. He had slightly overstepped the bounds, acquiring the painting before consulting him, since Alan was in charge of the facilities for the next period.

“What do you think, Sarah?” asked Marcus, always thoughtful of the little people.

“It’s really big,” she answered, seriously.

Brian was glad to see Paul roll his eyes. They all headed back to the elevators.

“I like the new placement for the awards, as well,” commented Paul, who had received the lion's share of them. “At least, now, people can see them.”

There was more positive noise in the elevator, and when they all returned to work, it was obvious they all had gotten a boost from the new art. Brian was pleased. He called Sam from his office.

“Sam, the painting’s up. Everybody approves.”

“Wow. You didn’t waste any time. Justin’s still not back.”

“He took the subway. No room in the van, apparently. He should be here soon, I would think.”

“Hard to believe he makes that ride every day.”

“His place is a little closer than Pratt. One less change.”

“I’ll check the lobby later. I got to go. We’re pretty busy.”

Brian hung up. He needed to get back to work as well. Only sixteen work days until he left for Pittsburgh, and a shitload to do.

 

 

 

 

A visit to Gillian’s.

Justin had had to literally beg the guys from Pittsburgh to take his painting to Plexus. They had been pissed already by the extra stop they had to make at Pratt, which took them way into the city, was going to significantly delay their return, and had been dropped on them at the last moment.

They had not known Justin was the artist whose work they were picking up, thinking he was just some kid, hired to open the door and point them in the right direction, and he decided it would be wise not to enlighten them. He was glad he hadn’t, able to make the request of yet an extra stop on account of someone else, and putting on an act of being anxious of the consequences if he did not convince them to drop the big 10X8 off.

Finally, they took pity on him, but were not about to go out of their way to make room for him to ride along. He just hoped Brian would be there at the other end, and would maybe give them a tip.

He dragged himself to the subway for the long ride back, but on the way, stopped by his bank to deposit his check. $3000.00. He couldn’t believe it. It was fabulous, just in time for him to do some Christmas shopping. He treated himself to a foot long hotdog before heading back down into the bowels of the city.

The snow on the sidewalk was mostly melted into a disgusting brown mess, but the sky was sparkling blue, the sun on the snow covered roofs brilliant. The light in the studio had been beautiful, and he had just ached to forget about work and spend the rest of the day painting, but he knew how tight the Art Department was for manpower right now, and really had to get back.

He got to Plexus at 3:30, and stopped in his tracks as he entered the lobby. His painting was already hung, and looked as if it had been there forever. It was amazing. He felt his face split into a huge grin. This was the first thing people coming to Plexus would see from now on and it really was perfect for the space, perfect for the image he had of the company.

“It’s big, isn’t it,” said Sarah, the receptionist, seeing him stare.

“You don’t like it?” asked Justin, a little hurt.

“It’s all right, I guess. All the partners were just here, and they couldn’t stop raving about it, so it must be good, you know? I just don’t really get it. I like Thomas Kinkade,” she added, as if that was enough of an explanation, and Justin mostly thought that it was.

“It’s the city,” he explained, needing for her to understand.

She frowned at the painting. “It doesn’t look like a city.”

“No,” agreed Justin. “No, it’s supposed to feel like the city.”

Sarah stared at the new painting some more, and suddenly her face seemed to light up in understanding. “Oh! I get it now! It does feel like the city! All busy, busy, busy! Yeah! That’s why it’s so big!”

“Right,” said Justin, grinning. “Exactly.”

The phone rang.

“Plexus Advertising Agency, this is Sarah, how can I direct your call?” but the whole time, her eyes were on the painting, and she was smiling.

Justin made his way to the elevator, and headed back to work.

It was eight o’clock by the time he finished for the day. Julie and her team were still working, and Sam was on the phone. Justin felt wrung out, and his hand, hell, his entire arm, was cramping. He had spend the last hour and a half working left handed, and was getting faster at it, but it was ridiculous.

He couldn’t believe the others put up with the hours and the stress they were all under. He wondered if it was the same everywhere, if designers habitually put in sixty-hour weeks. He hoped their pay reflected their efforts and passion.

Justin really wanted to go up to see if Brian was still here, but felt pretty awkward about doing so. The elevator doors closed, and he stood there, undecided, wondering whether to push L or 3. The decision was made for him when the elevator started going up, responding to a call. It opened on 3, and Brian got in, wearing a camel coat and a black scarf over his suit, acting for all the world as if Justin was not even there. He pressed L and just stood quietly, black-gloved hands behind his back.

Between 2 and 1, he calmly pulled the emergency stop, turned to Justin with a predatory grin, grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pulled him close. Brian’s gloved hand in his hair, the other one on his ass, Justin found his mouth being attacked in a hungry kiss. He responded enthusiastically, as his cock went from soft to hard in about fifteen seconds. After about five minutes of manhandling, Brian stepped back, leaving Justin breathless, and pushed back the emergency stop, resuming the ride.

Wiping the corner of his mouth with a gloved finger, he asked nonchalantly, “So, Taylor, were you on your way to see me about something?”

“No, actually, I was just coming up to see Alan.”

It was worth it, just to have Brian turn around in surprise, and to laugh at him.

Brian smiled. “Nice one. I’ll have to get you back for that.”

“Promises, promises,” said Justin, feeling bold. They reached their floor, and walked the corridor to the lobby. Both stopped to stare at the painting, then turned to each other and grinned. Brian opened the door to Justin, who stepped out into the positively frigid night.

“Ready for the long subway ride home?” asked Brian annoyingly. He stepped to the curb and signaled a passing cab, which pulled up instantly. He turned away from Justin, who adjusted his scarf against the biting wind. Justin did have 3000 dollars in the bank. Maybe he would get his own cab. He was about to head out when Brian leaned out of the taxi. “Justin, you coming?”

Not having any idea what it meant, Justin got in the cab with Brian. Was Brian giving him a ride back to the brownstone? Was he taking him somewhere? Was he taking him to his place?

The cab pulled away, and the cabbie inquired: “Where to, gentlemen?”

Brian turned to Justin, and raised his eyebrows. “You heard the man, Justin. Where to?” Brian knew his address by now, so the question was a different one entirely.

Justin smiled at Brian and told the cabbie, “I’m going with him.”

“Good boy,” said Brian, and gave the cabbie an address.

They rode in silence, Brian’s gloved hand playing distractedly with the tip of Justin’s scarf, Justin trying to keep track of where they were going but soon lost in an unfamiliar part of the city. The cab pulled up on the side of a tall red brick building.

“Keep the meter running,” said Brian, and then to Justin, “I’m going home to change. Do you want to come up, or wait here?”

Seeing where Brian lived was incredibly tempting, but could also lead to amazingly stupid things, cab waiting or not, so he smiled and demurred.

Brian gave him the annoying knowing smile he hadn’t seen in a while, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

He was true to his word, back in about ten minutes, having shed his business skin, and dressed in jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. He gave the cabbie another address, and they were off.

They stopped in front of what looked like a residential building, with a liveried doorman who opened the cab door.

“Mr. Kinney,” he said.

Brian paid for the cab, and guided Justin through the front door, held open by the same doorman, with a hand on Justin’s lower back.

The inside of the building was plush and quiet, and blessedly warm. Some kind of a butler came, and Brian took off his jacket, gloves and scarf and handed them over. Justin followed suit, also ridding himself of his bulky messenger bag.

They stepped through double doors into a halfful dining room, where they followed a Maitre d’ to a small table for two.

“I assume you’re hungry?” asked Brian as they were seated.

“Starving,” admitted Justin. He had eaten that foot long hotdog at 2:00, and the contents of his lunch bag around five, but still. The menu read like that of some fancy steakhouse, except that there were no prices.

He looked at Brian. “Where are we?”

“Gillian’s. It’s a private club,” Brian explained. “Do you play pool? They have tables, upstairs.”

“I’ve played before,” answered Justin, remembering Woody’s at Thanksgiving, “but I’m not very good.”

“We can go up and try it after dinner, if you’d like.”

This was so weird. Was this like a date? Dinner, and a game of pool? That seemed so unlike Brian.

When the Maitre d’ returned, Justin ordered a filet mignon with all the trimmings. He hadn’t eaten filet mignon since his dad had thrown him out, and he loved it. He felt really bad when Brian only ordered a green salad, with no dressing, and a beer. It must have shown because Brian explained, ”I don’t eat fat or carbs after seven. Don’t worry about it.”

The food arrived quickly, and it was fabulous. Justin couldn’t help a moan of appreciation when he took his first bite of the meat, perfectly seasoned and melting on his tongue. Brian laughed. “Do you need some time alone with your steak, Justin?”

Justin grinned. “This is so good. I haven’t eaten steak in… forever. We’re kind of on a budget at the house…”

“Please go on,” said Brian. “I’ll just enjoy it vicariously.”

Justin tried to keep his appreciation quiet after that, but the filet was gone in five minutes, it was so good. Everything else was delicious as well, and was also put away in record time.

“Anything else?” asked the Maitre d’ appearing out of nowhere.

“No, thanks.” However tempting, Justin wasn’t about to have Brian watch him while he ate a solitary dessert.

They got up, and took an elevator to a floor upstairs, where there were several pool tables, a few of them occupied. It was obviously a bar also, and there were even some darts being played. Brian got another beer from a passing waiter, and Justin joined him. He didn’t drink much, but should be able to handle a single beer, especially with half a cow in his stomach.

It didn’t take him long to realize that this was more than your usual gentlemen’s club, since there were a couple of men openly kissing at the bar. Actually, at one of the booths, one guy was on his knees, giving another one head. Now, that seemed a lot more like Brian’s kind of place.

They started a game of pool, and he was as bad as advertized, only managing to sink two balls before Brian finished.

Brian set up again, and after breaking, helped Justin set up his shots and analyze the game, even correcting his stance and his cue hold. A couple of times, in the process of helping Justin line up his cue, he pressed his body against his, and Justin could feel his erection against his ass.

He had been hard off and on since the kissing in the elevator, and was grateful he was wearing underwear, as he knew his jeans would have shown a wet spot otherwise. He, however, managed to concentrate on the game.

Outside of having occasional problems with his hand, Justin had excellent hand-eye coordination. Under Brian’s tutelage, he was improving very rapidly.

A couple of guys approached them during their third game, where Justin was doing much better. The taller of the two leaned on the side of the table.

“How about a friendly game?” he offered. “Winners fuck the losers.”

Brian didn’t even look up from his shot. “Not interested,” and sunk his ball after calling the pocket.

The guy pouted. “How about losers blow the winners?”

“Not that either,” said Brian, once again sinking a perfect shot. He looked up at the guy with a forced smile. “Bye, bye.” Then got back to the game.

The guy shrugged, and he and his companion walked away. Brian finished the game, and came to stand very close to Justin.

“I hope you don’t mind that I turned them down. We could have taken them.”

Justin rose on his toes, and answered against Brian’s mouth. “I don’t mind.”

Brian licked Justin lower lip, captured it in his mouth before dipping in quickly for an open mouth kiss, then whispered in his ear, “Let me show you the rest of the club.”

They went up one floor, and Brian walked him through a locker room, pointing to a workout and a steam room, and then entered another large area, bathed in low light. Once Justin’s eyes adjusted, he saw that there were beds and couches everywhere, and people fucking to Enigma, a French group whose music he loved. It was more than a back room, or a lounge. The men on the beds were fully naked, taking their time. There were a few threesomes going, and there were naked men just watching other couples or walking around and joining in. He felt himself blushing as the sights and sounds had a definite effect on his already erect cock.

“What do you think,” asked Brian. “Wanna get naked?”

Justin looked at him, uncertain of what to say, but Brian looked totally serious.

“This is a little too public, for me,” he answered finally, extremely uncomfortable at the idea. Was Brian seriously talking about breaking the rules? About them actually fucking on one of these beds? He was definitely not ready for that, and was amazed Brian would even ask.

“Thought so,” said Brian rolling in his lips. Then he leaned to Justin, a smile playing in his eyes and said, in a falsetto voice, “I was just coming up to see Alan…” and Justin realized Brian had just gotten him back.

He grinned and said, “Jerk,” but without much venom, he was so relieved.

They left, and went back to the elevator, where Brian held him against his body, still chuckling, occasionally kissing his hair, going up one more floor. Through two sets of thick double doors they entered a packed dance club, smaller than Essengy, but in all other ways similar to any other gay dance club, with go-go boys, platforms, and balconies.

After the subdued sounds in the rest of the place, the music sounded extra loud to Justin. The beat caught him immediately, and he smiled at Brian, who guided him to the middle of the crowded floor, and started dancing with him.

“I need some water,” said Justin, after a minute. The truth was, he wanted to kiss Brian, and was conscious of the meal he had eaten and the beer he had drunk. His mouth did not feel very fresh. They made their way to the bar, and both of them emptied small water bottles.

Justin was grateful to see a glass bowl full of gum, and grabbed a piece. It had a very strong minty flavor. He was surprised to see Brian chuckle as he popped two pieces in his own mouth. As far as Justin was concerned, it was just what he needed. He certainly was not worried about his breath anymore.

It was strange gum. It seemed to get smaller, and just melt away. He and Brian started dancing again. The gum was completely gone now, and when Brian leaned towards him, Justin happily welcomed his kiss. God, he loved kissing Brian, loved Brian’s hands on his body. He started to pull off his t-shirt, wanting to feel Brian’s hands on his skin. Brian helped him, and threw the shirt to the bartender.

Brian lifted him off the floor, and brought him back down held tightly against him, licking his nipple, his neck, his jaw, before taking his mouth again. Justin suddenly realized he was high. Not as high as when he had taken that pill off of Brian’s tongue, but definitely not sober.

The world was spinning, but in a very good way, and Brian was holding him tight, and kissing him and he felt really, really good. He wanted Brian, wanted Brian to fuck him, and he moaned as he rubbed himself against him.

Brian took his hand, and pulled him to the back room. This was just a regular back room, not the orgy room they had seen earlier, though there were couches here and there.

Brian sat him on one of them, and Justin leaned his spinning head against the back as Brian kissed his exposed neck, his collarbone, and sucked on his nipples. It felt like heaven. Then Brian was unbuttoning his jeans, freeing his cock, and Justin sighed in relief. His underwear was wet with precome, and Brian pulled them and his pants down, in a practiced move, to the middle of his calves.

Before Justin had time to think about what was going on, Brian was taking his cock into his warm wonderful mouth all the way to the base. What followed was the most amazing blowjob Justin had ever had. Brian kept him on the edge, letting him calm down, and then bringing him seconds from exploding, and doing it again.

It felt… unbelievable, and Justin never wanted it to end. His hands were in Brian’s hair, not guiding or pushing, just feeling the up and down motion, cradling his head in gratitude. There was just the two of them, with no place else to be, nothing else to do than this, this never ending bliss, Justin's only reality.

Finally, Brian sucked, hard, literally pulling his orgasm out of Justin. He knew he was screaming, and he didn’t care, as wave after wave of delight rushed out of his cock with jet after jet of come. He had never come so hard, or so long, in his life. Brian drank every last drop, and licked him fully clean, as he caught his breath.

He realized that whatever drug had been in the gum was short acting. He was completely sober again, and so desperately in love with the man who had just pleasured him he could cry. He pulled Brian up to him and kissed him, putting everything he couldn’t say into his kiss, and Brian caressed his face gently as he kissed him back. It was too much, too much.

He brought his hand down to Brian’s fly, intending to reciprocate, but Brian chuckled in his ear. “Too late, Justin. You already got me, just from the noises you were making.” And indeed, Justin could feel the dampness on Brian's crotch, and his softened cock. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed, but from the way Brian was kissing him again, tenderly, softly, it was obvious he didn’t mind.

They made it back to the lobby where their outer garments, as well as Justin’s folded t-shirt and his bag, were returned, and when they walked out, a cab was already waiting. It was snowing thick flakes, and it was sticking. In the taxi, Justin leaned on Brian who held him in his arms as usual. Justin turned his head to bury his nose in Brian’s neck, breathing in his scent, between his collar and his ear. Brian combed his blond hair back with his fingers and kissed his forehead, holding him tight all the way to the brownstone. Justin was already out of the cab when he leaned back in and kissed Brian’s lips. Brian smiled at him.

The cab pulled away, and Justin watched its red lights until they got lost in the flow of traffic, and climbed the stairs of home, feeling a sense of disbelief at the entire evening. He took a hot shower, brushed his teeth and put on some clean underwear and a t-shirt before sliding into bed. He had meant to think about the evening and try to make sense of it, but he was asleep in seconds.

 

 

 

 

All work and no play.

Brian rested his head on the back of the seat as the cab made its way back to Manhattan. He had been looking forward to fucking Justin before. Now he truly couldn’t wait. His cock got hard again just thinking about the noises Justin had been making while he sucked him off.

He knew how to give unforgettable blowjobs, but this one had been inspired. Justin’s dick was gorgeous, straight and pale with a lovely very large pink head, nestled in soft dark blond curls. It tasted amazingly good. His balls were larger than his own, the sack waxed clean. His scent, after a full day, was strong and mouth wateringly delicious. Brian would have loved to spend even more time breathing in his crotch. He had wanted to rim him so badly he could taste it.

And Justin was so wonderfully responsive. He had sighed, and moaned, and fucking purred, his cock jumping in Brian’s mouth in response to a lick, swelling when he took it down his throat, and leaking abundant precome with every suck. Just as when they kissed, Justin had totally surrendered to his care, his knees falling open as far as they could go, the reflexive tilt of his hips bringing his balls and even his hole within easy reach. Brian had let that last alone, though. He would keep that particular delight for later.

It had been literally years since he had been the giver and not the receiver of a backroom blow. Still, he would have remembered if it had ever been this enjoyable. He had surprised himself feeling his balls tighten at Justin’s final moan, and his own orgasm erupt at his cry of ecstasy and at the pulsing flood of come in his mouth.

He knew it would have taken him no time to rise to the occasion and come again in Justin’s mouth if he had let him reciprocate, as Justin obviously intended, but he also wanted to save that for later. He was not usually into delayed gratification, but since it was forced upon him, he was going to make the most of it. For a second, he visualized Justin’s luscious lips around his cock. The stuff that dreams are made of…

This game couldn’t go on much longer though. He decided to take a break from Justin for the next few days. The situation was getting out of hand. He had kissed him at work. Safely in the elevator, but still. He had taken him out to dinner for fuck sake. He’d had to feed him, obviously, since he had kept him from home, but it still was fucking weird.

When he got home, it was barely one-thirty in the morning. He was asleep by two.

 

***

The next few days were busy at work. He did find time to run a check on Jessica Hammon. Her reputation was excellent. Justin was in good hands.

Tuesday night, he was too tired to go out. He called a service, and they sent him a nice looking hustler, who looked a bit like a young Drew Boyd. He fucked the hell out of him, glad he didn’t have to worry about pleasing anyone but himself. The hustler came anyway, messing up his clean sheets. Dammit.

He had to take an unplanned overnight business trip with Julie on Wednesday to deal with a crisis at Brown's. He hated their new representative, Maureen McClintock. She was a twat. Thankfully she solved that problem by being fired in the middle of the meeting.

Brian had momentarily worried when her emergency replacement had been called in mid-meeting by Leo Brown himself, after Maureen walked out in a huff. He looked like a good ol’ boy, an ex-football player slightly gone to seed, and obviously from the Deep South. Brian and Drew Boyd, who had also been summoned like some servant by the aforementioned bitch, for no apparent reason other than the fact that she could, had exchanged a look of concern over the table. The guy looked like someone who liked his faggots tarred and feathered.

Luckily, nothing could have been further from the truth. Behind his red neck exterior, Bob Hicks was sharp as a tack, and made a couple of suggestions that showed a keen understanding of Brown’s demographics, including the power of the openly gay sexuality of their underwear model on the straight female population.

Bob admitted over dinner with the three out of town guests that he had wanted the position, but that he hadn’t had a chance, with his lowly BS from Alabama University, against the Yale MBA of the woman he now replaced.

“You scare the shit out of Leo,” he said to Brian. “Too smart by half. He felt you needed someone just as smart to contend with. He also thought you’d be bothered by my exterior. He thinks all rednecks are closet homophobes, which is bullshit. I say life’s too short. Fuck as much as you want, as often as you can, wherever it brings you the most satisfaction. I’m straight, and a Baptist, but I think if God didn’t intend men who feel like it to fuck each other, why the hell would he give us a prostate?”

At that point, Drew actually laughed so hard he sprayed half his drink on the table. Julie looked completely clueless. Brian promised himself to embarrass the hell out of her with a very detailed explanation on the flight back, and to also share that little nugget of Christian wisdom with Debbie Novotny, where it would do the most good.

 

***

Back at the office by 10:00AM on Thursday, straight from the airport, he had a full day of work ahead, with a couple of meetings Cynthia had had to reschedule the day before. Even she looked a bit frazzled.

They didn’t leave the office until well after nine, running over the next day’s schedule in the elevator. As soon as he got home, he turned off his phone and went to bed, really beat. He was up again at four, suddenly concerned about a presentation he was giving in the afternoon, to first time potential clients, for which he felt woefully unprepared. At six, feeling only slightly better about it, he showered and put on his favorite Armani suit, almost regretting he had no such thing as a lucky tie.

He got to the office at seven, meeting Cynthia in the elevator. They exchanged conspirators’ smiles. She was the best. He mentally readjusted her already very generous year-end bonus upward. He couldn’t do it without her.

At ten, she brought him a quadruple espresso with enough sugar to give an entire preschool class a sugar high. At noon, she brought him a Granny Smith and a bottle of Evian. After the meeting he had (unnecessarily) been worried about, she handed him a wrap and another espresso. At seven, in lieu of dinner, they dug into her reserves of high protein power bars. At eight-thirty, he put on his new Dior coat and left his office, got her coat out of her closet, and helped her in it. When she protested, he opened her top drawer, and pushed her unfinished project in, hiding the mess.

“Come on. Let’s go home.” He rode the elevator down with her to the garage, and walked her to her car, as he usually did anytime they left late. Though she had never said anything, he knew she appreciated it. He went back up to the lobby and stood, staring at Justin’s painting for a moment, before stepping into the snow outside and hailing a cab.

He went home, showered, and worked another three hours, hoping to free himself the next evening. He fell into bed, and slept soundly until the phone rang. It was Cynthia.

“Brian, it’s seven-twenty. You're meeting Sidoff at 8:00. Can you make it?”

Fuck. He hadn’t set his alarm.

“Call me a cab. I’ll be there.”

He wet his hair and scrubbed his face at the sink, dressed and ran downstairs. He shaved with the cordless razor he took on plane trips in the cab and chewed a stick of gum. He was inside his office with three minutes to spare. Cynthia came in with mousse on her hands, and fixed his hair while he got his papers out, and then handed him his morning jolt of caffeine.

In a rare demonstrative move, he gave her a peck on the cheek as she was leaving to let the clients in. She smiled and rolled her eyes. He was brilliant, and impressed the hell out of them. Maybe it was the extra sleep. They signed on for the initial campaign, with the little Jeffrey Sidoff in the headmaster’s office with his parents, and for the following one with the dueling women.

He took a half an hour at lunchtime to go to the gym on the 34th floor and shower quickly. After a minute of hesitation, smiling a little, he retrieved some casual clothes from his locker and folded them into his gym bag. His afternoon was full, and he already knew he would be returning the next day to finish preparing a couple of projects. At 5:00PM, he went and sat on the corner of Cynthia’s desk, his coat on and his gym bag in his hand.

“I’m calling it a night,“ he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Will you need me?” asked Cynthia.

“No, just some stuff I have to work on with Sam.”

“Good. I hate working weekends.”

“I know. Why don’t you finish up and go home?”

Brian took the elevator down, and entered the Art Department. It was full of activity, every person there still working. He looked toward Justin’s station. He was shaking his right hand, as if he had a cramp, and apparently coloring with his left. Brian came to stand next to him.

“I didn’t know you were left handed.”

Justin looked up at him, with a guilty expression. “Hey. I’m not. I just got a cramp.” His hair was a mess, as if he had ran his hands through it a lot, and he looked like he needed a break. Brian wanted to kiss the stress right out of him.

“Why don’t you call it a night?”

“I have at least three more hours of work, that’s why.”

“Everyone here is coming back tomorrow,” Brian pointed out. “Would you rather work three more hours tonight and go home to bed, or spend the evening with me, and come back tomorrow for three hours?”

“Brian, coming back makes no sense for me. I have an hour commute in both directions, longer on the weekend.” He sounded so tired.

“Not from my place you don’t.” Had he just said that out loud?

Justin put down his brush, and rubbed his hands on his face. “I am not spending the night at your place, Brian.” Thank God one of them had a brain.

“No. You’re absolutely right.” A vivid picture of Justin lying naked on his bed flashed in his mind. He ignored it, though his cock did not. “Bad idea. So… how about I pick you up at your place tomorrow morning on my way in?”

Justin looked at him for a second and then smiled. “OK.”

Brian loved that smile. “Good. I need to talk to Sam for a sec. Wait for me in front?”

Justin nodded, and started cleaning up. Brian knocked on Sam’s opened door and stepped in.

“So…what do the boards for Secton look like?” he asked.

“Like shit,” answered Sam resignedly, passing them to him.

Brian agreed. The model looked stiff, the watch too small for his wrist, the lettering too small, and… well. They looked like shit.

Justin knocked on Sam’s door. “I’m bushed, Sam. I’ll come back and finish tomorrow, since everyone else will be here anyway.”

“Justin, you’re an intern. We don’t pay you enough to work weekends. You really don’t have to.”

“I do. I’m not finished, and I just don’t want to stay till nine again tonight.”

“Someone else can finish.”

“Bullshit. Everybody’s swamped. See you tomorrow.” He turned and left.

“We should give him a bonus,” said Sam. “He stayed late every night this week.”

“Talk to Marcus,” said Brian. “But you know how he is… Why don’t you go home to Katie. You’ll be here all day tomorrow anyway and you know it.”

“I’m not going home when everyone else is still here,” Sam answered.

“So send them home too. You can all start fresh in the morning. You’re all coming in anyway.”

Sam looked at him for a second, and smiled. He walked into the main room and clapped his hands, getting everyone’s attention. “All of you who are coming back tomorrow put everything down. You’re going home, Mr. Kinney’s orders.”

There was a lull, and suddenly everyone started to pack it in for the night, people smiling and joking.

Sam stepped back into his office. “There. You are now the most popular guy in the room. I’m going to call Katie and tell her I’ll be home for dinner.” He picked up the phone as Brian headed to the elevators, wanting to beat the crowds. When he got outside, a cab was pulling up in front of Justin. They both got in, and left.

 

 

 

 

Justin takes Andrew out.

Justin had not heard from Brian all week which pissed him off a little. Some part of him wondered, once again, if it meant that after that amazing blowjob, it was all over. But he mostly thought not. He was pretty sure that Brian had every intention of fucking him and that if it was going to be all over, it would be after that, and only then.

He had really wanted to talk to him Wednesday night, after signing his contract. It had taken three and a half hours of hard negotiating between mother and son. He felt that Jessica had really done well by him. At the end, Jason had gotten a bottle of champagne out of his office fridge, and all three of them had enjoyed a celebratory drink.

As Jessica and Justin left, since she had offered him a ride home in her limo, Jason had kissed her cheek and said admiringly, “You still got it, Eema.”

She had kissed him back. “Thank you, sweetie.”

During the ride, Justin had asked her why Jason called her ‘Eema’ and she had explained that it was Hebrew for ‘Mom’, and that it was what a lot of Jewish children called their mothers. When Justin admitted he had thought Jason was a Muslim because of his hat, he thought she was never going to stop laughing.

When he got home, all his roommates were in. They had a banner up: Congratulations Justin! and had made a special dessert, brownies with cheesecake swirls, for the occasion. Getting an agent like Jason Kintzer was the kind of break they all dreamed of and Justin was sweet enough and talented enough that they were completely happy for him. They had even already cleaned the kitchen as a special treat. They dissected his contract, trying to learn from it for when their turn came to sign with an agent.

Justin rather thought Rory would be next. He was amazingly gifted and his favored form of artistic expression, hyper-realism, was really hot at the moment. He figured Petunia would never go that route though. Bohemian was his middle name. He would never bother with the business of art, just keep doing it for himself and dumpster dive for food forever.

It was not often that they all were together, and it was nice to catch up with everyone. Then he called Daphne, and they talked about what it all meant, what a determining moment this really was. Justin had always dreamed of being an artist, but had always tempered his fantasy with realism.

He had interned at Plexus to learn more about design, because he liked it, was good at it and thought his ‘real’ job probably lay in that direction. Now it seemed that one day, he would truly make a living as an artist. It was exhilarating and scarier than shit. What if he was to be a flash in the pan? What if he had to commercialize his art to make it in the long run? What if he ran out of inspiration?

As always, Daphne was a rock. She had always known, with unshakable faith, that he would become a great artist, even when his hand was so fucked he couldn’t hold a pencil. He could feel her love and her pride all the way from Pittsburgh. By the time he hung up, he was too tired and wrung out to move from his bed. He just took off his jeans and went to sleep.

On Thursday night, even though he had worked late yet again, he had gone to Essengy for the first time that week. Brian hadn’t shown, though he knew Jeremy called him every time he went. He had danced all night, and stayed there till two, much later than was reasonable, turning down a couple of blowjobs, telling himself it wasn’t because he was hoping Brian would come.

And now, out of the blue, Brian had showed up in the Art Department and taken over his evening, sweeping away his weak attempt at resisting. He stood in the cold, wondering why he wasn’t more resentful of the fact that Brian always seemed to have the upper hand. Then he remembered last Monday’s fabulous blowjob and grinned to himself. Yes, that was probably why…

He waved down a cab, thinking Brian should be on his way by now, enough time having passed that people would not realize they were leaving together, and Brian came out just as the cab pulled up. They got in.

“So, Justin, is there food at your house on Friday nights?” asked Brian, as soon as the cab pulled away from the curb.

“Yes. There is dinner ready at my house every night,” Justin answered, mildly curious.

“Enough to feed an extra mouth?”

Justin looked at him, surprised, understanding that Brian was asking for an invitation.

“Sure. There’s always plenty.” He smiled at Brian. “It’s not filet mignon, but it’s usually pretty good.”

Brian leaned forward, and gave the cabbie the brownstone’s address. They were there in less than twenty-five minutes, Justin having used the time to explain the logistics of the house to Brian. It felt weird bringing him home, but he was also looking forward to seeing everyone’s reaction, including Brian’s.

Most of his housemates were out, but Lilah and Andrew were both in, setting plates for themselves in the dining room.

“Justin!” said Lilah. “You still live here?”

“Oh, ha, ha. Hey, if you set two more plates, we’ll eat with you. Lilah, Andrew, this is Brian Kinney. He is one of the partners at Plexus.”

If they wondered what he was doing there, they hid it pretty well.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Brian, I hope you like homemade Veggie pizza. That’s what’s on the menu tonight,” Lilah warned.

“Sounds great. Justin, is there somewhere I can change?”

“Sure. Let me take you to my room.”

He walked Brian upstairs, glad he had assembled his laundry bag that morning, and sort of made his bed. He knew he could count on Andrew to have his half of the room in pristine order.

“Here,” he said. “The messy bed is mine.” He tried to see his room through Brian’s eyes. It was small, and cramped. Oh, well. He took off his jacket, shoved his scarf in a sleeve and threw it on the bed.

“The bathroom is at the end of the hall, if you need it. I’m going to go give them a hand downstairs.”

Brian grabbed his arm as he was leaving and pulled him close. He brushed his mouth on Justin’s and looked at him with a smile, fingers combing his hair back. He brought their mouths together again, kissing him lightly, with just a hint of tongue. “I’ll be right down,” he said.

Justin had a grin on his face all the way down the stairs. In the kitchen, he started cleaning up. Homemade pizza was messy to make. The sink was full of dishes, and the counters full of flour and chopping boards.

By the time the oven chimed and Andrew came in to retrieve the warmed up pizza, he had made huge progress. He realized Brian was already downstairs, sitting at the table and talking to Lilah. He followed Andrew though the swinging door with the shaker of hot pepper flakes and a salad from the fridge.

Brian looked completely at ease, like he belonged. The four of them ate, chatting. Andrew and Lilah were full of gossip from Pratt, but Brian did not seem to mind in the least. He laughed at the jokes, asked questions, listened to their petty student’s complaints with equanimity. Under the table, his leg was pressed against Justin’s, from thigh to foot, a warm solid presence.

“I’ve signed us up for studio time tomorrow afternoon and all day Sunday,” said Lilah.

“Great. Thanks. I hope the weather’s clear. I love the light reflecting from the snow.” Justin couldn’t wait to paint again.

“Me too. I started something Wednesday that I actually like. You can tell me what you think.”

“Shit, Lilah, I’m sorry. I forgot to buy you some cadmium…”

“I got some. You can pay me back. It wasn’t even a full tube anyway.”

She told Brian, ”Justin’s last painting is just brilliant. You should see it, it’s really neat.”

Brian did not comment, not even looking at Justin.

He helped clear the table like everyone else while Justin continued cleaning up the kitchen. As Justin worked, he could hear the sound of conversation through the swinging door, though he could not quite make out the words. He wondered what his housemates and Brian could be talking about. Half an hour later, the kitchen completely put to right, he rejoined them. Andrew was still there, which was a surprise. He was usually so introverted, but he was chatting away about design. In January, he was going to join a rival ad agency for his internship, Vangard, one of the biggest in the city.

“Gardner is a good guy,“ said Brian. “I understand they pay their interns better than we do.”

“Yes. They kept telling us that,” said Andrew laughing. “There are three of us, just in the Art Department. I hope I learn as much as Justin said he did at Plexus.”

“I’m sure you will. Justin? Do you want to go to Essengy tonight?” asked Brian, apparently not bothered with Justin’s roommates knowing one of the principals at Plexus went clubbing with an intern.

“Oh, Justin, can I come, can I come? We haven’t gone dancing together in ages!” Lilah begged before he could even answer.

Justin looked at her and laughed. “I’m not taking you anywhere dressed like that!” She was wearing sweats with holes at the knees, and a really old “Vache-qui-rit” t-shirt.

“I’ll go change.” She was almost out of the room when Andrew asked, “Can I come too?”

It was so unusual for Andrew to want to go out that Lilah stopped in her tracts to stare at him.

“Huh… It’s a gay dance club, Andrew,” said Justin.

“I know. But Lilah is going, and she’s a girl, and Brian is going, and he’s not gay, so why not?”

Justin looked at Brian to see his reaction. He was rolling in his lips. “Andrew,” Brian corrected gently, ”I am gay.”

“You are? But you’re Justin’s boss!”

That was such a non sequitur that after a couple of seconds they all started laughing. Andrew blushed a deep shade of red.

“Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”

“Well,” said Brian looking dead serious, “I did want to be a hairdresser, but all the spots were taken.” Once again, they laughed, Andrew obviously relieved his faux-pas was brushed off.

“Tell you what, Andrew. You put your contacts in and get out of these nerd clothes, and you’re welcome to come. Just don’t be surprised if you get hit on a lot,” offered Justin.

“I doubt it. Even girls don’t hit on me.”

Justin smiled evilly. “I’ve seen you with your shirt off, nerd boy. Believe me. You’ll have to beat them off with a stick. Come on.”

He took Andrew upstairs, got him to put on the worn pair of 501’s Andrew only wore on laundry day, and one of his own t-shirts, that was too short and too tight on his friend, and therefore perfect for Essengy.

When he came out of the room, Lilah was waiting for him with some gel, and spiked his crew cut. She squeezed his bicep playfully. “Where have you been all my life, gorgeous?”

Andrew was no Adonis, but he certainly was no troll either. He was gaunt, but a lot of guys went for that look. Justin had no doubt that he would attract some attention tonight.

“Looking good, Andrew,” said Brian, making him blush.

Brian did not protest when it was obvious that Lilah and Andrew expected all of them to ride the subway together. Justin was amazed at his forbearance at the long uncomfortable trip. It might have helped that, because the train was pretty crowded, Justin and he ended up pressed against each other, hidden from the others by the crowd.

Justin took advantage of the situation, and palmed Brian’s cock through his jeans. Brian was going commando and soon his impressive erection had Justin salivating. Brian’s eyes were warm and did not leave Justin's face.

Emboldened by the safety of the crowded train, Justin rose on his toes and whispered in Brian’s ear. “My internship is over in six days.”

Brian’s answering gaze almost singed his hair. Justin grinned, and rubbed Brian’s cock some more.

 

 

It was Brian’s turn to lean and whisper in his ear, “Don’t tease me, Taylor. Be very sure you mean what you say…”

To which Justin answered, “Just don’t plan on working late next Thursday night.”

Brian’s slow smile went straight to Justin’s groin, and he had to bite his lip not to whimper.

 

 

They made it to their stop, the frigid cold of the street after they exited the overheated subway taking care of Justin’s erection.

Andrew was blown away when they just ignored the huge line and walked right in, greeted by, "Good evening, Mr. Kinney," and, "Hey, there, Justin,” from Jeremy. He looked a little shell shocked at the overwhelming thumpa-thumpa inside, as well as by the many half naked men grinding on each other.

“Let’s get a drink,” suggested Brian, slapping him encouragingly on the shoulder. “On me.”

 

 

Lilah drained her Long Island iced tea as if she had just crossed the desert. Brian had his usual J&B, and Justin his usual bottle of water. After seeing Brian discreetly sprinkle some white powder in Andrew’s beer, Justin tried to stop him drinking it but was too late, Andrew draining half the bottle in one gulp.

“What did you give him?” Justin asked Brian, horrified.

“Nothing bad. He’s just going to have a real good time… Come dance.”

Before Brian could drag him away, Justin only felt right warning Andrew.

“Mate, there is a room here where guys fuck each other. Whatever you do, don’t let anyone take you anywhere, OK?”

Andrew looked aghast. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Stick with Lilah…”

Brian pulled him away, and they started dancing, smiling at each other, Brian’s arms on Justin’s shoulders, their foreheads touching, Justin’s fingers playing with the short hairs on the back of Brian’s neck. It was really nice. Justin had really missed this. They let go of each other when Lilah and Andrew joined them after a while, but then Lilah took up with two other fag hags, dragging Andrew along and Brian and Justin resumed their silent communication, moving closer and closer to each other, brushing each other’s lips teasingly, bumping noses, until Brian lost the game and pressed hungry lips to Justin’s.

Justin loved that feeling of falling, of losing himself every time they kissed, and gave in, opening himself to Brian’s caressing tongue. As always, Brian seemed to know exactly what would bring him the most pleasure. His hands were all over his torso, sliding under his shirt, grasping the back of his neck just right, running through his hair.

Brian’s skin was incredibly soft, his lean and hard muscles playing underneath it with every one of his motions, as Justin ran his hands down his back, on his chest and along his ribs, his eyes closed.

 

 

Brian licked Justin's jaw and the shell of his ear, and whispered hotly, “I want to rim you until you beg, I want to suck you until you come, I want to fuck you until you scream my name.”

Justin felt his balls tighten to his body, and bit his tongue hard, to distract himself. Two could play that game. He sucked the lobe of Brian’s ear and answered, ”I want to feel the head of your cock hit the back of my throat, I want to feel your wet tongue inside my ass, I want to feel you deep inside of me, I want to feel your cock pulse as you come in my heat…”

Brian propelled them in the right direction and only a minute later pulled Justin down on top of him on one of the couches in the VIP lounge. Justin took command of the kiss, and holding Brian’s hands above his head, he started frotting against him, at first long and languorous motions, and then faster and faster as their mouths devoured each other. Brian freed his hands and held Justin's head as they kissed. Justin felt frantic in his quest for release, his whole being screaming for more skin, more touch, more contact, more, more…

“Easy, easy,” said Brian, pressing on his lower back, slowing him down, slipping his hands under his shirt and caressing him in soothing circles.

Justin’s body calmed, a blissful warmth spreading all over. Brian put his hands on Justin’s ass and he started moving his hips in counterpoint to Justin’s thrusts, kissing his neck and shoulder. Justin let himself go, enjoying Brian’s control, his arousal building again, but sweeter and deeper than before. He was unable to stop the words pouring out of him, “Brian, fuck, want you, Brian, inside…” That image alone was enough to carry him over the edge, and his body trembled as he tried to resist the pleasure rushing him toward completion like a vortex.

“Justin, Justin, let go, come with me…” Brian’s voice was thick with arousal and the sexiest thing Justin had ever heard. He let the pleasure carry him onward, his whole body humming with it and it rushed out of his cock in long heavenly spurts. Justin felt, through the denim, the answering pulsing of Brian prick as he found his release, biting Justin’s shoulder but still letting out a deep guttural moan, a sound Justin knew he would never forget as long as he lived.

Justin rested his head on Brian’s chest, hearing his racing heart slow down, Brian’s arms around him, idly caressing his back and the top of his ass through his clothes. He seemed in no hurry to move, kissing the top of Justin’s head once in a while. After a few minutes, Justin’s body jerked as he started to fall asleep.

“Come on,” said Brian. “Let’s get you home.”

They got up, Justin feeling a bit wobbly, and Brian handed him a towel. Justin unzipped himself, pulled the full condom off of his softened cock, catching any mess with the towel. He grinned as he saw Brian tie off his own condom. He guessed neither of them enjoyed the feeling of having to wear come-soaked pants home.

Justin caught sight of Lilah and made his way to her to tell her Brian and he were leaving. She nodded and gestured to a couple making out a few feet away. It was Andrew and one of the fag hags, grinding against each other, kissing enthusiastically under the disgusted glares of the guys around them. Justin burst out laughing, and rejoined Brian who had gotten their coas and was waiting for him by the door.

He told him what he’d seen, and Brian chuckled. “You can’t take your friends anywhere, Taylor. This happens again, and you’ll lose your membership.”

Justin knew better, and thought that this would never have happened without Brian’s chemical help.

 

 

He was so exhausted he actually fell asleep in Brian’s arms on the way back, and mumbled his good night as he exited the cab.

“Be down here at 7:30,” said Brian.

That woke him up. “7:30? You’re joking!”

Brian looked dead serious when he asked: “6:30?”

“No, no, 7:30 will do.”

“Good.” And the cab pulled away.

Justin was glad, when he got to his room, to realize it was only midnight. He woke up once, at almost 4:00, when Andrew rolled in, falling into bed fully dressed and realized how lucky he was lately that Brian drove him back in a cab, in the evenings, instead of having to put up with the long subway ride.

As he thought about it, he remembered stopping in front of Brian’s building the other day. Shit. Brian lived downtown. Somewhere south. Tribecca maybe? Taking Justin home from the club was forcing Brian to go completely out of his way, probably adding forty to fifty minutes to his ride home. As a matter of fact, that was true about picking him up to take him to work in the morning.

It must cost a fortune, even if one did not take the waste of time into account. All this so Justin could spend the ride in his arms, instead of on the subway. Justin suddenly felt guilty about it. Obviously, he hadn’t put a gun to Brian’s head, but he certainly had started to take at least the rides home from Chelsea completely for granted.

He decided not to accept the rides home anymore. He would return to taking a book with him and just ride the subway back. He had done it several times a week for months. It hadn’t been that terrible, though the walks on the snow-covered sidewalks were going to seem harsh after the door-to-door service.

He also thought back to what he had basically said to Brian tonight on the subway; that he would have sex with him Thursday night. Jessica’s remark had been true, and he thought he had actually made the decision a while ago. Would Brian really not have anything to do with him again afterward?

They would not be working together anymore. Brian had many other dance clubs he could go to. Truly, after Thursday, it would be possible for them to never even run into each other again. Justin rationalized that even now, with nothing more than kissing, a blowjob and some frotting between them, being written off by Brian was going to hurt like hell. So he might as well go all the way. He wanted to. Dreamed about it.

And there was a part of him, a part that sounded a lot like Daphne, which told him that it wouldn’t be the end, that he meant more to Brian than a trick. He tried to ignore it, reason with it, knowing that if it was wrong it would hurt even more, but it just wouldn’t shut up. He turned over in bed again.

Come what may, he would have that one time. What the hell. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? And truthfully, walking away from Brian now without ever having sex with him would kill him for sure.

 

 

 

 

Two facets of Brian.

After dropping a sleepy Justin at his house, Brian enjoyed his ride home, reliving some of the best moments of the evening: Justin whispering to him about the end of his internship while palming his cock, their little duel of dirty talk on the dance floor and the frotting in the lounge. He loved the way Justin’s body fit against his, loved the scent of his skin, loved the way he moved and the way words of desire just tumbled out of his mouth as the pleasure built.

“Brian, fuck, want you, Brian, inside…”

As their crotches rubbed against one another, he had pictured Justin’s gorgeous cock in his mind and how the large head had felt between his tongue and palate when jet after jet of come had filled his mouth.

Everything, everything about Justin and him together was pure heat. The thought that in less than a week he would get to slide his cock into that perfect ass was enough to make his already stiffening cock hard and throbbing.

He paid for the ride, got in his building and took his jacket and scarf off in the elevator. As soon as he closed the door to the loft, he dropped them and his gym bag to the floor, released his cock from his pants and, after slicking his hand with spit, started to jerk himself off.

Justin’s smile… his soft yielding mouth…the taste of his cock… the scent of his crotch…the trembling of his body before orgasm… and he was coming, his back against the door, spraying jets of come all over the hardwood floor. He wanted Justin so fucking much it felt like a hollow in his gut. He cleaned up his mess and decided that work would be the best way to clear his head of Justin Taylor.

He sat at his desk and opened his laptop. He needed to find a new approach for the Secton campaign. The boards were for shit, but that wasn’t the problem. The whole thing was completely uninspired. It had been seen, used and reused a million times over. It was what was expected.

He was pissed about the male model. He was an expensive little prick that Secton Inc. insisted they had to use because their CEO, Maurice Secton, liked his looks. The model was a prima donna, and his wrists were too thick. They made the watch look like a cheap toy.

He couldn’t even suck dick properly. The blowjob he had given Brian the day of the shoot had been so sub par as to be almost more trouble than it was worth. He gagged and slobbered, and then acted as if he had rocked Brian’s world. Jackass. Brian gave better head when he was fourteen.

They would have to use someone else’s arm. Brian picked up the watch he’d brought home and tried it on. He was not exactly fine-boned, yet it already looked 100% better on him than on what’s his face.

Secton’s CEO was the worst kind of heterosexual. The kind that had so little imagination it did not even occur to him that not everyone was straight. After an invitation to dinner post shoot that Brian could not refuse, he’d actually introduced Brian to his divorced daughter Celia, who had spend the evening flirting with him, apparently thinking herself irresistible. Though she probably gave better head than their model, Brian was not about to find out.

The entire afternoon and evening of the shoot had been a complete disaster. It was almost three months ago, and they were already working on a deadline extension, because no matter what they did, nothing could make the damn pictures look appealing.

Brian had to find a new angle.

Then it came to him. They would use the prick’s head, and reshoot the scene. Instead of Mr. Preppy sitting with his legs crossed sipping brandy, some blond woman sitting on the arm of his chair, looking at him adoringly, the new Secton man would do exactly what Brian was doing right now.

Work on his laptop, in the middle of the night. And he would be on his cell phone too, probably doing business with Asia. And he would be in bed, obviously naked though covered with a sheet. And the blonde woman would be asleep in bed next to him, her hair spilling on the pillow.

Because, Secton was going to be the watch for the man who fucked half the night, and worked the other half, and probably would fuck again in the morning when he was finished with business and his blonde woke up.

Brian smiled, stretched and went to bed. They would have to call the modeling agency in the morning. And have Devon come in to shoot the photos. They could use a hotel room and the only requirement for the male model was that he be thin boned, and have a nice torso. The girl didn’t matter at all. They did not even need to see her face, just her hair, and her shape under the sheets. They could do this in a couple of hours, and then leave the photo manipulation to Sam.

Now he wished Cynthia was coming in. She could have set all this up in her sleep. Maybe he could call her in the morning and pick her brain. Or better yet, guilt her into coming in after all. Brian fell asleep with a smile on his face.

***

At 7:30, when he stopped in front of Justin’s brownstone, he had already accomplished his first goal. He had sweet-talked Cynthia into coming in, and all he had to give up was that stupid Secton watch. She was going to give it to her dad for Christmas. Apparently, he had always dreamed of owning a fancy timepiece.

Brian welcomed Justin with a Starbucks latte and a muffin, figuring no one in his house would have been up to make his breakfast so early on a weekend. From Justin’s grateful smile, he could tell he’d been right. He drank his triple espresso, trying not to let the bit of foam at the corner of Justin’s mouth and the way he licked the drizzled icing off his muffin drive him to ravish him right there and then. There was no reason to advertise how everything about Justin was a turn on, these days.

The taxi dropped them off in front, and they made their way to the elevator. Once again, Brian reflected on how amazing Justin’s painting looked in the lobby. Sadly, there were other people in the elevator, coming up from the parking garage, when they stepped on. No chance to lick off that foam.

Justin knew better than to acknowledge him as he left the elevator with most of the other people on the Art Department’s floor. Brian rode up to the 3rd floor, and put a single-tall, nonfat, decaf, sugar-free vanilla latte on Cynthia’s desk, just to let her know he cared. She still gave him the look that kills as she continued speaking on the phone. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and flat heeled boots, an attire that clearly stated that Brian was not important enough for her to bother dressing up, since no clients were expected.

He wore his usual Armani suit. He could not stand dressing down at work. He sat behind his desk, and called Sam on the phone to explain his new plan for Secton. Sam was silent. That meant he thought it was a bad idea.

“What’s your objection, Sam? Will you have problems switching heads digitally to make it look right?”

“No. Piece of cake.”

“So what is it?”

“Maurice is not going to like it. The sex angle. He’s a prude. And it won’t be dignified enough for his taste.”

“You worry about the art, and let me worry about Maurice, OK?”

“Sure Brian. No problem.”

The meeting with Secton was scheduled for Monday morning. Brian did a search for Celia Secton’s phone number, since she had been so kind as to slip it to him that evening, three months ago. He dialed.

“Hello?” What kind of moron answered the phone with ‘hello’?

“Celia?”

“Yes…”

“Celia, this is Brian Kinney. I’m sorry to call you so early, but I wanted to make sure to catch you in.”

“Oh. Hi, Brian. How are you?” Bingo. She didn’t even need to be reminded who Brian Kinney was.

“Fine, thanks. Listen, I’m not sure your Father told you, but he is meeting with me Monday morning about the ad. I was… Well, I thought… I thought maybe you’d like to join us?”

“Huh… I don’t usually…”

“Yes, of course… Sorry. I know you’re not involved with the company. I’d just thought… Never mind. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“What did you think, Brian?”

“Well, I was hoping… maybe I could take you to lunch afterward?”

“With Daddy?” Dear God. The woman was thirty years old going on seven.

“Well, no, actually. I was thinking… just you and I.”

“Yes… I would like that. I would like that very much.”

“Oh, good. Great. That’s fantastic. I’ll see you Monday then. The meeting is at ten.”

“All right, Brian. I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic.”

“Bye.”

He would take her to Spaggo. She would actually enjoy that. And tell her how much he had enjoyed meeting her three months ago and how refreshing it was to meet a woman who could so readily accept to be friends with a homosexual male. Good friends are so hard to find…

At 9:00, Brian and Cynthia took her car to the hotel where the shoot was taking place. Devon was already there with Erica, his favorite make-up and hair girl, finishing his set up. The models, charming, unpretentious and grateful for the gig, showed up on time.

The girl had a gorgeous head of hair, and though far less rail thin than the more prized models were, she also had a very cute face. The guy had a nice cut torso, and delicate bone structure, not quite manly enough for the big times, but perfect for this job.

The pictures were taken with a minimum of bullshit, everybody being cooperative and pleasant. By eleven, Brian and Cynthia were heading back to the office. She dropped Brian off, accepted the watch in its brown leather box with a smile and drove off. Brian walked the memory card to Sam who started the manipulation right away.

Justin’s workstation was empty.

“I thought Taylor was coming in this morning.” Brian said.

“Come and gone,” answered Sam. “Got here at 8:00 if you can believe that. He left not ten minutes ago. I still can’t believe he came on a Saturday. Good kid.”

Brian knew Justin had some studio time that afternoon and that he was probably heading home to eat lunch before going, having put in his three hours at Plexus. So why was he so disappointed to have missed him?

By the time Brian left at 4:00, the boards looked fabulous. The manip was flawless, and dickhead’s face now was attached to a body on which the watch, beautifully displayed on the arm holding the cell phone, looked fantastic. The cute girl model looked adorable in sleep.

They had ended up turning her toward her hard working lover, her face resting on her palm, like a child, and her hair gloriously displayed. It was sweet and sexy all at once, because he was not looking at his computer screen, but at her, with the smallest hint of a smile.

Brian went to Gillian’s and worked out, then got a massage. He played pool until eight, and headed home. At nine, the male model from that morning’s shoot showed up, right on time again, and Brian repeatedly showed him his appreciation for a job well done.

When his phone vibrated, at ten, his cock was deep inside the model’s ass and whatever twinge of regret he may have felt at the thought of Justin alone at Essengy was relatively short lived.

Of course, Sunday night, when he waited for the damn thing to ring while talking to Mikey on the hard line till one in the morning, it didn’t…

***

Celia Secton loved the campaign for the watch. She gushed about how romantic it looked, and how beautiful, and how just wonderfully it displayed the watch before Brian had even opened his mouth.

Once Maurice Secton was thus softened to the idea, Brian pitched it perfectly, emphasizing the association it made between the timepiece and professional success, how it fit perfectly with the image men in their demographic liked to project: Driven, on the go, ahead of the pack, able to handle it all.

“And see, Daddy, how lovingly he looks at her? She’s the reason he works so hard!”

Maurice was thrilled. Brian was as well. The campaign was going to be markedly different than the usual watch ads, and it really was beautiful. Celia was very excited to go to Spaggo, and when Brian explained to her how hard it was for homosexual men to find nonjudgmental people like herself with whom they could feel comfortable not hiding their sexuality, she was very touched, and actually reached for his hand on the table.

She could see how impossible it would for a gay male to have male friends, who would misunderstand overtures of friendship for come-ons, and she knew how petty some women could be. Obviously she had known all along that he was gay! A woman can always tell. She was sorry her father was so narrow minded and of course Brian's secret was safe with her.

She left, after giving him a hug and a peck on the cheek, feeling very good about herself. And Brian even made his two o’clock on time.

A little after five, he headed to the art department. He had not yet had a chance to tell Sam how well the Secton presentation had gone. He ordinarily would have called him but why not go down and tell him in person? He might have checked his reflection in the elevator’s mirror panel (he looked hot) but that was only because… whatever.

Though everyone else was still hard at work, Justin’s station was empty again.

“Where is Taylor?” asked Brian, surprised.

“I talked to Marcus this morning about giving him a bonus, and he wouldn’t hear of it. It’s bullshit. The kid has worked his tail off and has pulled way more than his weight. So from now on, I’m sending him home at 5:00 on the dot. He’s only got four more days to go anyway.”

Sam took advantage of Brian’s presence downstairs to have him take a look at a few projects in the making, so that Brian did not get back upstairs until 6:15. He took a couple of files with him, called a cab and headed home.

He dressed to go out, ate some Thai takeout and started working, waiting for the phone to ring. He was a little surprised when it did at 8:30. That was awfully early. Stupid. It was his hard line, not his cell. It was Lindsay. Apparently Gus had been asking everyday if she was sure that Daddy was coming for Christmas, and she was both tired of reassuring him and afraid Brian would pull another disappearing act and that Gus would blame her, again, “just like he did at Thanksgiving…”

Brian spent half an hour reassuring her he was coming, and then talked to his son. It had been a long time, and the little boy had a lot to say, most of which was about things and people Brian knew nothing about. He made the right enthusiastic noises as he listened with only half an ear and worked at the same time.

It was past Gus’s bedtime, and Gus wanted Daddy to tell him his bedtime story. Of course Brian was a little rusty and had to get a quick refresher on “Jack and the Beanstalk” from Mel, which was accompanied by a few snide side remarks he could have done without, as Lindsay brushed the boy’s teeth.

The Ogre had just smelled the blood of an Englishman when Brian’s cell vibrated. He checked the number but did not answer. It was Jeremy. He tried to shorten the story a little, but it was Gus’s favorite, and he was not about to let that happen. “You forgot about the magic harp, Daddy!” so it was another twenty minutes before he could actually say goodnight.

Then Lindsay came back on, to tell him how much it meant to the boy, while Mel put him to bed. Just when he thought he was home free, Mel was back on, trying to set up a time for them to come visit Brian in the Spring, as a surprise for Gus and Lindz for Christmas. He was not going to pass a chance to have his boy in New York, but just coordinating all three of the adult’s schedules without one of them being party to it took another fifteen minutes. They ended up with a tentative plan and he was finally able to get off.

He checked the time. Jeremy had called 45 minutes ago. Ordinarily, he would already have been at the club for twenty-five minutes. He called a taxi, brushed and flossed and went downstairs. Of course the cab was late, the driver some recent immigrant who could not have found his own ass with a map and got lost before Brian realized they were heading north instead of south. He had the hardest time keeping his cool, because he knew perfectly well screaming at the cabbie would only make things worse. By the time he entered Essengy, Justin had been there for an hour and a half.

The place was packed. He went to the third floor bar, had a double shot of Beam and started scanning the dance floors for a blond head. Justin was nowhere to be found. Brian made his way to the john and then, with a twinge of annoyance, walked through the VIP lounge. He didn’t know whether to be glad or frustrated that Justin wasn’t there either.

He was leaving the lounge when he finally found Justin, at the second floor bar, drinking a bottle of water and chatting with the bartender, Mark. He saw Justin’s face fall a little when he realized Brian was coming out of the VIP room and his welcoming smile did not have its usual brightness. Brian’s first reflex was to reassure him that he had just been looking for him in the lounge, but then why should he? He certainly didn’t owe anyone any explanation.

He joined Justin at the bar and had another J&B, listening to his and Mark’s conversation about art education in kindergarten, of all things. Then Justin turned to him.

“I was going to head out pretty soon. You want to dance?”

What Brian wanted was to drag him to the VIP room for a blowjob and then back to the loft for a long night of fucking, but he followed Justin to the dance floor anyway. Justin was still wearing his shirt, it was even tucked in, and he was keeping his distance. Brain stepped up to him and brought their bodies together. Though Justin rested his head on his chest, he still felt stiff and not in a good way. Brian had gotten used to him melting into his embrace and it did not feel quite right.

As he rested his chin on Justin’s head and took a breath, his own body reacted to Justin’s scent, his prick suddenly hard. Feeling it, Justin looked up at him with a smile. “Such impressive power of recuperation,” he said, and Brian wondered why he did not just tell him the truth. But it would set a bad precedent. And Justin could think whatever the hell he wanted. Whatever Brian did or did not do with his dick was none of his business.

He leaned down and kissed him, licking Justin’s lower lip and biting it lightly. Justin’s mouth opened for him and he tasted great, their tongues caressing each other, exploring. It was very nice, but it didn’t feel quite right, like Justin was thinking about it instead of just letting the kiss take him away to the pure sensuous place where Brian liked to send him.

He knew Justin was mad, or hurt, or both. But he just could not bring himself to fix it, to admit he cared more about how Justin felt than about the principle of the thing. Because he didn’t. He didn’t fucking care. His heart started beating faster than it had any call to, and he felt… he didn’t like how he felt. At all.

Brian stopped dancing, and ran the fingers of both hands through Justin’s hair, combing it back. “Fuck, Justin, kiss me. Just kiss me, OK?”

At least, Justin didn’t try to act as if he didn’t know what Brian was talking about. He got on his toes, and staring into Brian’s eyes, brought their mouths together.

One of Brian’s hands found its way to his neck, and the other to his lower back as he dove into Justin’s mouth, kissing him with everything he had. And there it was, that sensation of Justin melting into him, opening himself to the kiss, that feeling he loved and craved. He was so glad, he ignored their aligned erections and everything else, just enjoying the gift of Justin’s abandon in his arms.

He lost the notion of time for a while, and when Justin started trembling in his arms, he could have sworn that the whole room was spinning. But Justin surprised him and stepped back so suddenly he was not able to keep him against his body to the completion he knew the trembling preceded by only moments.

“Justin!”

Justin took a deep breath, and regained control.

“I’ve got to go Brian,” he said. “It’s getting late.“

Fuck! Fuck Lindsay, and Fuck Mel, and that fucking taxi driver!

“I’ll take you home.”

“No, it’s OK, I brought a book. I’ll take the subway.” And Justin headed for the coat check, getting a thick sweater, his jacket, two wool scarves, wool gloves, and a funny wool hat with ear protectors like the ones you could get from Peru, way more clothing than he usually brought. Apparently he had planned on taking the subway back all along. Maybe he had frozen his ass off going home, on Saturday, when Brian hadn’t shown up, busy boning the model. Fuck.

Brian got his things as well, and Jeremy whistled for a taxi as soon as they stepped out.

“See you tomorrow,” said Justin, starting to walk away.

Brian grabbed his arm. “Justin, come on. Get in.”

Justin shook his head. “Brian, you live in Manhattan. Taking me home makes no sense whatsoever.” He stopped, and looked Brian in the eye. “It has nothing to do with tonight. I swear. It’s just a waste of your time and money, and that bothers me.”

“OK. Fine. Take the subway next time.” Fuck. He wasn’t going to beg, but he wanted to hold Justin in his arms. “Tonight, I really want to take you home.”

Justin looked at him for a second, and started peeling off layers, starting with his funny hat, his scarves, his gloves, and finally his jacket.

“All right,” he said.

Brian couldn’t believe how stupidly happy that made him. He got in the cab, and Justin followed, moving towards him and dumping all the extra clothing next to the door. He leaned against Brian, and Brian put his arms around him and his cheek against his hair. It felt really good, even better than normal because Justin was only wearing a sweater, and not his stiff jacket. He pulled off one of his leather gloves, and slid his hand under the sweater, on top of Justin’s t-shirt, and just left it there.

Justin sighed and cuddled closer, and Brian knew he had a stupid smile on his face but could not help it. They stayed like that, not talking, all the way to Brooklyn. At his door, Justin leaned back in.

“Thanks for the ride home.” And he gave Brian his first real smile of the night, before climbing the stairs.

Brian gave the cabbie his address in Tribecca, and picked up the scarf Justin had dropped on the floor. Justin was still unlocking his door when the cab pulled away. The scarf smelled of cold, wool, and Justin, and Brian held it to his nose a couple of times on the way home.

 

 

 

How it is

After the cab dropped him off, Justin went to the kitchen instead of straight up the stairs. Thanks to the ride, it wasn’t that late and he wanted to think before going to sleep. He started cleaning up, as quietly as possible. The mess wasn’t bad, because he had cleaned up the pots and pans before leaving for the club and it was only the few plates and glasses that had been used by his roommates who had had a late dinner, plus the dish they had baked the Lasagna in.

It was amazing how things had changed since Friday night. These few days had been one giant reality check, which really was a very good thing.

Justin had painted again on Saturday afternoon. He had started an oil portrait, something he had never done before except as part of a class but that’s what he had needed to paint and that’s what he did. It had been hard on his hand, the preparatory sketch alone taking enough time and effort to send it into spasm.

So he had painted the background, in broad swatches of colors, he and Lilah laughing when he borrowed her cadmium yet again. It was weird. He’d never used that color before and now couldn’t seem to get enough. He had been excited at the end of the day, with the progress he had made, and also really pleased for Lilah who seemed to like what she was painting for a change.

Max had been back in town for a few days, and he was not on call that night, so she was happy as a lark at the prospect of their first evening together in a long while. They really got on well.

Justin had been looking forward to seeing Brian, wanting to share with him how excited he was about his new painting and for some reason he had not even thought that Brian might not show up at Essengy after he got there. It wasn’t until eleven-thirty, when he had been there, waiting for an hour and a half, that the thought actually occurred to him. He held up hope for another half an hour, and then disappointed (and a little hurt), reminded himself that Brian was not interested in him so much as in his ass.

He had never even asked about Justin's contract negotiations. Why should he care about Justin being excited about his new painting? He wasn't his boyfriend. And now that Justin had confirmed for him that Thursday night was a sure thing, why should he bother coming to Essengy?

Justin decided to remind himself that he didn’t need Brian to have a good time. He went and found a guy on the dance floor who had been cruising him all night and had already made a thinly veiled offer to him. The guy, Todd, was very pleased Justin seemed to have finally caught on and they danced for a while grinding against each other, having a good time. Todd was a great dancer, very sexy, and he knew it.

They went to the lounge, pushing and shoving each other on the way, laughing. They started making out, and jerked each other off. It was good, clean fun. They went back and danced some more, making out off and on. When Justin left, Todd gave him his number and Justin put it in his pocket on the way out. He read a book on oil portraits on the way home, and went to bed, telling himself that there was more to life than Brian Kinney.

He went back to the studio Sunday, and painted all day, alternating the fine detail of the portrait with a bold abstract 4X6 he’d just started. He had planned that one on his computer and it was turning out even better than he’d hoped.

That night, before going to the club, he did the clean up from the enormous brunch they always had on Sundays. He also washed the floor, and cleaned out the fridge, throwing away many very suspicious science experiments.

He called Todd, who was really glad to hear from him. He couldn’t go to Essengy that night but they ended up talking for quite a while.

He was a physical therapist and worked with recent quadriplegics. He had been born and raised in the Bronx, and his parents and siblings still lived there. He was at his older sister’s right now, babysitting her two kids while she and her husband were out celebrating their anniversary. He couldn’t really afford to go to Essengy too often. He was saving for a down payment on an apartment, and Essengy was expensive.

Justin had forgotten that. He never paid, obviously, and neither did Lilah or Daphne when they came along, and Brian was a VIP member. He didn’t mention his own lifetime membership to Todd but just agreed.

Before hanging up, Todd asked for his number and Justin was glad to give it. He had explained he was leaving town for the holidays and they agreed to get together after he got back. Justin felt good about it. It was nice to meet someone who wanted more from him than his ass, who enjoyed talking to him on the phone. Getting together with Todd was something to look forward to, in case… Not in case. Something to look forward to, period.

He left for the club and when he got there asked Jeremy to please not call Brian. Jeremy just shrugged. “No problem, Justin.”

It was good to be there just to dance. After an hour, he’d taken his shirt off, just loving the beat and the rhythm, enjoying the feeling of freedom he got dancing alone, his eyes closed. Once in a while, he’d share a dance or two with someone, or go to get water, but mostly he lost himself in the music. Around one-thirty, as he was ready to call it a night, an older guy offered him a blowjob.

It felt wickedly good and the trick finished it by asking Justin to fuck his mouth, which Justin did enthusiastically, holding the guy’s head. Justin shot so far down his throat, he was pretty sure the guy never even tasted it. The trick walked away with a “see you” as Justin was putting himself to right. A maximum of pleasure with a minimum of bullshit. Sometimes, that’s all you could ask for.

***

At work, on Monday, things were a little more under control than the previous week, no doubt due to everyone having given up their Saturday to make headway. At ten to five, Sam came and told Justin to go home. Since he was almost done anyway, Justin did not argue. He was actually out at five, for once.

He went home, ate dinner, cleaned up, put away his laundry, called Daphne, who was preparing for exams, and ordered supplies (including two tubes of cadmium), over the Internet. It was still only eight o’clock. He decided to go to the club early. It did occur to him that Brian had also worked all Saturday. Maybe he had gotten home early as well. Maybe he would come to the club. Maybe.

He was disappointed when Jeremy told him the call went to voicemail. Perhaps Brian was still at work. He might have had a dinner with a client. Maybe he was at Gillian’s, in that orgy room, fucking who knows who and his phone was in his locker. Fuck. Why did he let himself think about shit like this if it was going to bother him?

Brian Kinney fucked. A lot. He knew this. That wasn’t going to change for anybody. He only saw Brian as often as he did (and it wasn’t even that often), because they worked together and he was “on hold”. He should know by now that what was going on between them was nothing but some kind of prolonged foreplay. Telling himself it was something else (damn Daphne), was just asking for disappointment.

He needed to make peace with it. He wanted Brian, was infatuated with him. He would get his one evening (of that, he had no doubt after that conversation in the subway), and then it would be over. Thank god he was leaving for Pittsburgh the next day. That would help.

He danced for a while, but his heart really wasn’t in it. After an hour and a half, he wrote Brian off. Just like last Saturday, he just wasn’t coming. Justin would get some water and go home, go to bed early.

He noticed that Mark, the second floor bartender, was collecting the beer screw-top capsules in a box instead of throwing them away and asked about it.

“I have this idea for an art project for my kids. I’m going to make holes in the caps, and string them up and have the kids draw Christmas trees. I’ll laminate the trees, and make holes at the bottom and then attach the strings to make Christmas chimes. They’ll love it.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of work.”

“Not so much. I only have eight kids, private school, you know. They love to draw.”

“I think it’s great you make the effort. I remember how much I loved drawing in preschool. Our teacher really encouraged it. I think it really influenced me. Do you paint with them, too?”

Justin took a drink from his bottle, just in time to see Brian step out of the fucking VIP room and was surprised by the sharpness of the pain in his gut. He smiled in welcome, not sure he was quite pulling it off.

“Yeah,” answered Mark , oblivious to Justin’s predicament. “They love finger painting. It’s messy, but it’s fun.”

They talked for a few more minutes about other art projects Mark had done with his class. Justin thought he was probably a great teacher. Mark got busy, and Justin asked Brian, who had joined him at the bar, if he wanted to dance a bit before he had to leave. Justin had meant to go, right after drinking his water, and he really didn’t feel all that much like dancing with Brian right now, but neither did he want to act all pissy.

Hadn’t he just been telling himself that Brian Kinney was who he was and not to be stupid about him? They started dancing. As he thought more about it, Justin realized that he didn’t mind so much that Brian fucked as much as he pleased. After all, he himself certainly did. But that Brian actually came and did it here, a Essengy, when he could go to so many other places, knowing Justin was there, was just thoughtless at best and willfully antagonistic at worst. Essengy was where they put the rules on hold and could be together. Was Brian just making a point? Making sure Justin knew where he stood? Well, fuck him.

Just then, Brian stepped closer, and pressed their bodies together. Justin cursed the tightness in his throat. It felt so damn good, so right. Why didn’t Brian feel it too? Then he realized Brian was getting hard, quick.

He did feel it.

No he didn’t.

A hard-on proved nothing. After all, fifteen minutes ago, Brian had ‘felt it’ with someone else, getting sucked, or even fucking someone else in the lounge. His body was just a well-oiled fucking machine. Justin decided to play it cool and make a joke of it. Better laugh than cry about it.

“Such impressive power of recuperation,” he said smiling the best smile he could.

Brian’s answer was to lean down and kiss him. Had he kissed the trick in the back room? Did kissing anyone feel the same to him? Was it only special to Justin? The kiss was nice, tasting of J&B, and Brian’s tongue was as sweet as ever, but the thrill was gone. Justin realized it was just like kissing anyone else. Maybe he had just needed a reality check to see it.

Then all of a sudden, Brian stopped kissing him, stopped dancing and looked at him, combing Justin’s hair back with his fingers, cradling his head, and fuck, he looked… strange. A little wild, almost… afraid?

“Fuck, Justin, kiss me. Just kiss me, OK?”

There was raw need in his voice, in his eyes. Justin’s heart did a little flip. Brian had felt a difference. The difference between a really good kiss, and their kiss. And Justin remembered his painting, how Brian had said it was a painting of their kiss. Not just of any kiss, but theirs.

Justin rose on his toes and pressed their lips together. He felt Brian’s hand on the back of his neck, the other on his back, and Brian started kissing him again, hard and deep and it meant something. It did. Justin just let himself feel, letting go of everything else. It was oh, so good.

And if this kiss was a lie, then nothing in the world was real. His whole body was pulsing with it, the pleasure of it, the amazing feeling of being cherished, wanted, the heady power of surrender. Brian was holding him close and it was just the two of them and their kiss, out of place, out of time. He felt his balls tighten and his body tremble but he didn’t want to come like that. Not again. No matter what he knew he felt in Brian’s kiss, Brian had fucked someone else tonight. Brought someone else to orgasm. It was OK. But he would not have Justin’s.

Justin had to save something of himself, protect himself somehow. Coming now, in Brian’s arms, would be too much. He couldn’t do it.

He stepped away and savagely bit the inside of his cheek. Ouch. That really hurt! But it worked. He could feel his orgasm, which had been so close, recede, his cock deflate a little.

“Justin!”

It sounded like it made no sense at all to Brian. But it made sense to Justin, and right now, that mattered more. Justin took a deep breath and said he needed to get home.

He knew he was going to have to fight Brian over refusing a ride home but he stood firm. When Brian stopped him as he was starting for the subway, he explained and even made sure Brian knew it had nothing to do with what had happened in the lounge.

But then he saw something again in Brian’s eyes, something that said that for Brian it had everything to do with what had happened in the lounge. He needed Justin to let him do this for him and though it made no sense to Justin, remembering how his refusing to come had made no sense to Brian, he gave in.

He loved the feeling of Brian’s arms around him and when Brian took off his glove, apparently just to feel the heat of Justin’s body, he couldn’t help but snuggle closer. Fuck. His body just loved Brian’s body, just sang when they were like this, touching.

When he left the cab he remembered, this time, to thank Brian for the ride, not to take it for granted. Looking at Brian, he realized he must have given him whatever he needed, because he looked… content. And Justin couldn’t help but smile, his first real smile of the night.

He was done in the kitchen. Whatever had happened at the club made no more sense upon review than it had at the time.

Why would Brian come to ‘their’ club when Justin was there and take someone else to the back room? If he had tried to make a point, why then act so strangely when his point was well taken?

Justin didn’t even need to call Daphne to know what she would say: that Brian was falling for him, that he was scared of the power that gave Justin over him, that he had made a point of showing Justin he could fuck whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted, as a defense mechanism, and that when he had realized he might have alienated Justin for good, he had panicked.

It would make sense and totally feed into Justin’s deepest desire. And it would be total bullshit. Only Brian Kinney knew what the fuck he was doing. Come Thursday, he would fuck Justin cross-eyed and come Friday, go on with his life, Justin only another notch on his bedpost.

And Justin, knowing this, would still go to him on Thursday, because a little Brian Kinney was better than no Brian Kinney at all . Then he would go to Pittsburgh, lick his wounds, and in time, maybe, like in a hundred years or so, get over it.