We can't go on together with suspicious minds

“Fuck.” I leaned against the outside of Michael’s store and sucked in cold, wet, winter Pittsburgh air for a minute. I'd just been in inside, dropping off a present for the baby from Cynthia, and I heard him--on the phone with that Brett guy in L.A.

“Justin would be a great asset to that team. We’ve been so busy; I became a dad a few days ago…” He was prattling on about Jenny to anyone and everyone he talked to. He was the proudest father I’d ever seen.

I had to interrupt him to give him Cynthia’s gift and then to get out of there.

“Michael. Here. This is for Jenny. It’s from Cynthia.” I practically poked him in the face.

“Hang on, Brett. Hang on.” He covered the phone with his hand. “Brian, Justin didn’t even tell me about his job offer. He’s going? Right?” He whispered this to me.

“Of course, of course.” I brushed him off quickly, waving my hand. “I’ve got to run. I’ll see you later, Mikey,” and I walked out the door where I could breathe.

I’m such an idiot. Justin never said a thing—out loud. He talked about the trip, about the movie, about the ideas he had, about the men he’d met and all the while, I hadn’t really let myself listen. I hadn’t really let myself even think about what he was doing out there while I was killing myself on the Liberty Ride. Now I understood why he hadn’t answered me when I asked him to move back in, why he’s happy but reserved, why the last few times we’ve fucked he’s insatiable as usual but pretty quiet afterwards. Justin’s never quiet. Fuck. I'm so stupid.

I got in the car and started to drive home, taking the long way so that I could think—only I couldn’t. I was angry—at him for not telling me, at me for not asking, for changing my own rules, for making a fool of myself. I looked through the windshield and realized that the streets in front of me were starting to get blurry, but not from the rain. The traffic lights were changing and I needed to obey them—but the signals from the street, the sounds from the radio were not loud enough to compete with the rush in my head. I turned the radio off and stopped at a light. I needed this ride to take a while. A car horn blew and I looked up. I wasn’t at a light. I was at a stop sign—waiting for it to turn green. I crossed the intersection and looked down--my cell was ringing—the tone it makes when I have a message. I flipped it open and saw that I'd missed two calls from Justin. I called him back.

“Hey. Sorry. I didn’t hear it ring.”

“Where are you?” His voice was upbeat.

“At the office. Just leaving.”

“No, you’re not. I just talked to Cynthia. You left the office an hour ago.” He isn’t even angry, just lets me know that he knows the way things are.

“Okay, okay. I went by the store to give Michael something. But I’m on my way.”

“Good because dinner’s almost ready. Lindsay was here with Gus. She found a place to live. She wants to show it to you—to us.”

“I’m almost home.”

“I’ll be waiting. Bye.”

Home. I didn’t think I'd ever want to be driving home after work looking forward to the fact that the guy I fucked last night was making dinner for us in my loft, that he’d just entertained my son and no doubt hung his latest creation on the refrigerator—I don’t want to think about it at all. I don’t want to think about the fact that Justin has better options than being with me. Sometimes there’s more than one way to be a top.

I open the door to my loft and smell chicken of some sort, but I don’t see him. I look at what he’s made for dinner—some casserole thing, but mine's separate because he knows I won’t eat all of that fattening stuff. His attention to detail—it’s what makes him such a good artist.

I put my briefcase down, take off my coat, and he emerges from the bedroom, pulling on a long sleeve gray shirt. It’s mine.

“Hey,” he says, “I was cold. And it smells like you.” He smiles as he pulls his hands inside the sleeves—he knows I hate it when he does that—stretching out my sleeves—but he redeems himself by curling his arms inward and laying against my chest. I run my fingers through his hair and close my eyes for a minute, breathing in his scent.

I lift his chin and kiss him, softly at first, holding his face while I look in his eyes—and for a minute I can forget the past hour and it's just me and him standing in my loft kissing like we’ve done a million times before.

“Oh shit, Brian, the chicken.” He breaks free to stop dinner from burning and saves it, serves it and we eat. We talk about work, about Lindsay and Gus, but not about Hollywood and not about living together. I wait for him to bring it up; he never does.

When dinner is done, I help him wash the dishes and tease him about being a “good wife” who services her husband after dinner and he laughs and says he already made dessert. I watch him eat a piece of this suicidal pecan chocolate pie thing he made and shake my head. He ought to go to Hollywood; he’s pure entertainment.

He’s kind of restless tonight, but he finally settles down in front of the television on the sofa, watching one of those makeover shows—where they come in and take over your house when you’re not home or something. He loves the concept of transformation. I hate these shows, but I'm mesmerized just watching him—just the pure excitement on his face, the way he puts his fingers on his lips when they do the reveal is adorable. Tonight, though, he's distracted by me watching him or maybe it’s a repeat. I can’t tell.

“Brian, quit staring at me.”

“Why?”

“It’s unnerving and it makes me hard.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Yes.” He's flirting.

“All complaints have to be filled out in triplicate and notarized.” I turn off the television.

“Don’t turn that off. It’s almost time for the reveal.”

“You’ve seen it. She hates it. She cries. She even says, ‘what the fuck were you thinking?’ and they bleep it.” I’m nudging him with my feet.

“See, you do like these shows.” He lies back on top of me and makes some idiotic crack about letting some cable-designer come into the loft and re-do it for fun.

“Let’s see, I’ll take ‘things that will never happen for $1000.’” I run my hands under his shirt, his chest's warm.

“Debbie could go on that weight loss one. You know, that one called I Lost It." He’s just being silly now.

“Is that what that’s about? I thought it was a documentary about mental patients. I was actually gonna watch that one.” I kiss his neck. He smells so good.

“Shut up, Brian.” He flips over, finally, and is kissing me now. Slower, then faster. Looking at me in between each one. Running his fingers through my hair.

“Did you shave this morning?” He asks me. I did. Why is he asking?

“You look tired, that’s all.” He’s off of me with those words and pulling me to the bedroom with one arm. Both of us know that we’re not going to Babylon tonight. It’s nine o'clock, and we’re in for the night, a long night.

C'mon angel my hearts on fire

Don't deny your man's desire

You'd be a fool to stop this tide

Spread your wings and let me come inside

We walk to the bedroom. He’s pulling me, but I'm cooperating. I'm tired much earlier these days now. I stop at my nightstand to remove my watch, empty my pockets, my nightly ritual. He sits on the bed with his legs tucked under him, just watching me, with that eager face and those trusting blue eyes that never change. I start to loosen my tie and he tells me to stop, to sit down on the bed, to let him do it. So I do.

I look down at his slight fingers as he slowly unbuttons my sleeves, one and then the other and then moves his attention to my tie. He unravels it slowly, looking into my face the entire time. I want to touch him, to speed this up, but I can tell that's not what he wants, so I don’t. My tie is loosened and his warm hand moves inside my dress shirt and begins unbuttoning it. I keep my head lowered and try to stay quiet and calm as I listen to the sound of his breathing and feel his warm breath on my neck and chest. He's leaning into me and kissing me so gently that I feel wrong to act on the instincts I have right now-to roll him over and fuck him hard.

Eventually, though, I lean forward, pushing into his kiss, thoughts of tasting him crowding out every other thought in my mind.

I think I hear Pat Benatar? Love is a battlefield?

He stops me with a hand to my chest.

“Brian, that’s my cell.”

“Fuck it.”

“That’s Mel or Linds. Stop.” He moves out from under me, ignoring my frustration. I watch him cross the loft to his jacket to silence the annoying ring. He has one for everybody; Justin and his details. I hear him talking to Lindsay.

“No, he’s here. His cell must be off. Hang on.” I'm already in the kitchen with him, taking the phone.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I'm short with her, but concerned.

“Nothing,” she says. “You were supposed to call me to let me know when you guys were going to come see our new place and you didn’t—that’s all. And then I tried to call your cell and your loft and no answer. I just got…“ she pauses…”I guess I just got impatient or something. That’s all.”

“Sorry. Ringer must be off. I forgot to call. Justin told me about your new place. I can probably come tomorrow sometime. You guys are settled in?”

I can hear Gus raising hell in the background and the real reason for the call in Lindsay’s voice. It's been two days since I told her about the cancer. Two days since she yelled, slapped me, and then cried—for me and for her. Two days since we both realized what all of this means if she and Mel are really splitting up. I wanted to tell her at a time that wasn’t like this, when she wasn’t breaking up with her partner, but things don’t always work out like that. I told her that I was going to play a bigger role in Gus’ life and that I was going to change my life insurance policies and my will. It’s been two days since she calls every few hours or so for some reason or another. She's speaking to me again.

“I don’t just want you to come. I want Justin to come to.” Her voice sounds lonely. It makes me uncomfortable.  

“Okay, we’ll both come.” I agree as I lean back against the kitchen counter and reach to open the refrigerator. My eyes stop on the picture that Gus drew today.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Justin and I are getting ready to go out.” I lie, tell her goodbye and pull Gus’ picture off of the refrigerator. My kid cannot draw for shit. Lindsay had graciously written what he was trying to draw next to each scribble on the page. “Mommy, daddy, mommy, car, baby, and Justin.” I fold the picture in half and put it on my desk. I don’t want it on my refrigerator anymore.

I don’t want any of this on my refrigerator anymore. I want my life back. I want my Thursday nights back. I don’t want all of these new roles, all of this bullshit under my name, beside my name, anywhere near my fucking name. I want to walk into Babylon alone, drown in the beat, the smell, and own the back room. I want to know that when I glance at someone, his night has just gone from shit to memorable—that when I choose him, he won’t be sorry. I was. I was always sorry—almost always.

I return to the bedroom with a bottle of water for Justin and a bottle of Scotch for me. I know how to alter my mood. Justin's tucked under the covers, his nose stuck in a book.

“You’re reading?”

“Yeah and I’m freezing. You keep it so fucking cold in here Brian.”

“It matches my personality.” I hand him the bottles and finish undressing. He watches me, drinking the Scotch.

“I love watching you undress and fuss with your clothes Brian. Watching you, standing there, naked and anal, is so fucking cute. It drives me nuts.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You get this serious look on your face,” he’s laughing and imitating me a little, “almost as serious as when you’re working, except you’re naked.” More giggling.

“You ought to show a little more respect, Sunshine. After all, you are in the Holy Land right now. Your long journey through the desert on your camel has finally brought you here.” Justin lets you fuck with all of him. It’s his way of being charming. I hang the rest of my suit in the closet before turning around to look at him. I’m trying not to smile—really, really, trying--but it’s almost pointless.

He leans his open book towards me. “I know. I was just reading about my journey in this sacred text. Apparently it took me some twenty years to get here and not one good woman along the way. Really amazing story.” He plays with me.

“Excuse me, one woman.”

He corrects himself, flipping pages. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It says so right here. In the ancient city of Babylon, our weary traveler befriends a young maiden named Daphne one evening in order to secure safe passage through Lesbitamia for the next two years.”

Now I’m laughing. “Lesbitamia? Well, now that you have arrived safely into the kingdom, what’s first on your list of things to do?”

“I think I will go seek counsel from the three wise men: Armani, Prada, and Gucci. They will advise me about the next leg of my journey.” He's way too into this now. I have to end this or he will play with me all night.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” I slide into bed, under the covers.

“Why not?” He turns on his side so that we're facing each other.

“The king has thrown them in prison for selling their wares in the streets without a permit.”

“He’s a lonely, old, narcissistic tyrant. But I hear he’s reeeall—ly hot,” he's talking to me in his teasing voice, walking two fingers up my chest, and kissing me in between every word. “I will go to him and beg for their release.”

“The king does not allow visitors.” I try to suck on his bottom lip.

“Oh, he’ll see me.”

“What makes you so sure? The king hasn’t entertained a peasant in years.” I kiss him again.

“I have something that he wants, something that he needs,” his hands are behind my head, his fingers in my hair. He's kissing me urgently, his tongue pushing into my mouth. He moves like he has something to prove. Not to me. I return the favor. After awhile we stop kissing to breathe and just look at each other for few seconds. I become aware of my body again.

I badger him about how many blankets we’re under, how he’s not sleeping in the king’s clothes, but then I lift up the covers so I can see him better. His body's so, well, irresistible like this. My gray knit shirt is long on him. It stops right below his hips, clinging to him like I want to right now. Every part of him looking as innocent as he did the first night he was here. Every part of me knowing that he’s not. It is then that I notice that my shirt is all that he has on.

“Wait.” I stop him from undressing. He smiles at me, reaching to put his book on the nightstand behind him.

“Leave it on?”

“Leave it on.” I tell him.

“Still cold?” I ask, offering him some more Scotch.

“Not really,” he answers, drinking a long swallow and looking at me without blinking. He gives it back to me. I drink some more and put it down. I don’t need it anymore. I move in closer to him. I'm starting to sweat under all of these blankets, but I could care less right now. I prop myself on my elbow and look at him for a second. I feel his fingers behind my ear, pulling my face in, our lips pushing together. I close my eyes. I kiss him for days—his intensity matching mine and always upping the stakes. He's no novice; he never was.

I can feel his legs fighting with me, arguing with mine, trying to pull my body on top of his—the urgency in his timeline. I fight back, above him,but not on top. His frustration pushes through.

“Brian, come on,” he urges. He's sweaty too. It makes me smile.

“Be patient,” I whisper in his neck. “You’ll get what you want, Sunshine.” I say it even softer as I reach back to throw one of the blankets off the bed. We're both too hot. He sighs a little.

“I’ve changed my mind. Take this off.” I pull at my shirt to help him. It is damp with sweat and caught underneath me, and we struggle to get it off, laughing in our efforts. Once it's gone, I pull him back close to me, as we were, and tuck us almost totally under the covers. I whisper to him again.

“Come here.”

“I am here.”

“Come here.” He inches his warm body closer to me.  I run the back of my hand down the side of his face, over his ear, down his neck, his arm, his chest.  He shivers a little.  My lips touch his eyes, his cheek, his nose and his chin.   My eyes stay wide open as a quiet smile rests on my face.  I move my warm hand down his chest.  His goose bumps come and go as his hips move toward me.

I place the heel of my hand on his stomach and slowly move down to his legs, letting my fingers walk around his pubic area, my face buried in his neck.  His moaning breaks my concentration, “Brian, please, pleeease.  I can't take this."  He's pushing his hips toward me, his hand pushing my hand toward his cock.  "Please."

But I want this slow. I like this slow.  It's almost always so fast, so rushed.  I reassure him, "You’re okay. I’ve got you.” I take my hand out of his and slide it down to his inner thigh, gently but firmly, listening to his breathing to guide me.  He's alternating between shallow breaths and an occasional moan that goes straight between my legs. I want him to know what this feels like for me.

“Do you like this?”

“Yes.” It's a desperate answer.

“Tell me what you like.”

“I like this. I like you touching me….I like …I can’t…Brian please..."

“Tell me.” He purrs at the sounds of my voice.  He wriggles in my arms, but he can't go anywhere.

“I don’t know what to do with my hand," he spits out, exasperated.  I laugh a little, by accident.  He can always surprise me.

“Don’t laugh at me.” I don’t mean to embarrass him. I take his stray hand and tuck it underneath the pillow, underneath his head for now. I raise up a little, my very stiff cock falling on his stomach. He doesn’t like that or seem to like that or something. He is frustrated. His descending hand comes back to my chest, my stomach. His words come back to my ear.

“I want to touch you. I want to suck you. Mmmmm……now……Brian……now.”

It’s hard to believe that two weeks ago I was worried about being able to do this at all. Tonight I’m feeling like I can’t hold back. I want to tell him, to show that him that just having him underneath me, in my arms, is often more than I can stand. I stop his hand before he wraps it around my cock. He's close enough to know that I'm already wet. I put my mouth over his to try kissing him and telling him at the same time to let me drive. I plant his hand on the back of my head.

“You made dinner. Just…let…me…entertain…you, okay?” I was pushing my lips into his face. Kissing him is almost better than fucking him sometimes.

“Okay, fine. I’ll just lay here and look pretty.” I don’t want him to talk if he’s going to be a smart ass.

“Ssshhh,” I put my finger over his lips to quiet him. "When I hold you like this, Justin, look at you, touch you like this, ...." I pause, "I want you to listen to me.  Are you listening?"  He nods. “In a few minutes, I’m going to be inside you and I want you to be ready for me.  Can you do that?  Can you be ready for me?"  He opens his eyes and looks at me, almost searching my face.  I kiss him before he can answer.

I pop the lube open with my free hand, emptying only a small amount into my palm.  My hand disappears under the blankets.  My lips are next to his ear.“Are you ready?” I ask him. The back of my fingers run down his chest, tracking the outline of his cock, his balls, tickling his inner thigh.

He breathes “I want you” so softly into my ear that I almost don't hear it.

My warm, slippery fingers tease and then ignore the entrance to his hole as lightly as a I can and hear him suck in air, or rather, anticipation.

“Spread your legs, Sunshine.” A loud moan escapes as he starts to spread his legs for me.

“That’s far enough.” I stop him with my leg over his—to keep him from running a touchdown on my play.

I slide my middle finger part way in as I tighten my hold around the upper part of his body. I have all of him now. I feel his muscles tighten around my hand. As I slide farther in, I feel him pushing, still trying to get ever closer to me. He moans and rotates his hips to meet my hand.  I slowly back out and re-enter him with more, moving in and out of him slowly, listening to the sounds our bodies make, pressing where I know he can’t tolerate for long, talking to him about what's happening, “Justin, do you like this? Do you like it when I touch you like this?"

“Yes. Please, Brian. Christ, please.” I almost can’t understand him.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I ask him as I thrust my fingers farther inside his ass. It almost makes me feel cruel to ask, but it's making me really hard.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

His voice wavers back and forth, “Yes, I want you to fuck me.” His eyes are wet and fixed, frozen somewhere between desire and satisfaction.

I want to be inside him so bad. My slippery fingers leave him to fumble with the condom. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion or something.

“Roll over.”

He steals a quick glance at me before he rolls over. I glide on top of him, letting him feel the weight of my body as it covers him, the steel of my erection as it slides between his cheeks and hovers outside his hole. I pull myself up a little and adjust myself for him, find my center of gravity, and push.

Everything. I watch as it falls over the edge. I tighten my grip on his hips, pushing harder, feeling him tightening around me, pulling me in. It makes me groan, makes me make that sound I make lately when I have to climb the stairs because the elevator is down. I pull back, my last controlled thrust, and fill him again. I close my eyes for a minute to feel this warmth, this heat, this rush, this swirl I get sucked into every time I fuck him. Every single time.

I open my eyes and I see him reaching for himself, hear him panting, watch him start fisting himself, feel his stomach muscles start to constrict.

“Don’t.” I swat his hand away. He mews frustration at me. My hand covers his cock and I match the rhythm of our bodies. I feel him start to shoot right before my release arrives. I'm never ever letting go of this….this shiny, loud, cozy, razor-sharp, buttery piece of everything. It's over in less than a minute, I think. I collapse on top of him. Soaking in the sheepish smile he wears after sex. I wish I had a camera…right…this…second. He wiggles out from under me. I ditch the condom and turn to look at him. I think he’s crying.

“That was too much? Too fast? I hurt you?” I search his face, not sure of what I’m seeing.

“No, intense. It’s happened before you know. You just don’t see it. You’re asleep.” He's saying these words softly, but warmly, without looking at me. I don’t push him. A few minutes pass with only our breathing to fill the room. I want to tell him that he's wrong; I'm not asleep. But I don’t.

When he does speak again, he changes the subject., “I can’t believe that Mel and Linds are splitting up. And because she fucked some guy? Jesus, I’m getting the impression that they haven’t even really talked about it.” This is what he wants to talk about.

“Sometimes people grow apart, I guess.”

I don’t want to talk about this. He turns to his side, away from me, looking out the window. I slide in behind him, holding him. Our bodies are still sticky with sweat and cum, and he pulls the blankets back up. I’m roasting again, but I don’t care. I run my fingers over his arm, kiss the back of his neck. He nuzzles back against me, starting to get comfortable for the night. I ask again, my hand on his hip, my words in his neck, “Are you sure you’re all right? I feel like I’ve hurt you.” He lets me know that he’s okay in a way that only he can, a way that doesn’t require any words. He moans a little and continues to push back against me. As long as I live, I’ll never be able to break the spell that's cast over us right before, during, and after sex. As long as I live.

I just want to stay like this. I want to stay stuck to him in this sticky way. I lie there looking at the back of his head, remembering how I used to feel like he was a piece of gum stuck on the bottom of my shoe. I almost start laughing. That’s the thing about Justin, he’s so damn sticky. And I chewa helluva lot gum. That’s the thing about me. Fuck. Nevermind.

My hand roams to his. I cover it with mine. We're not speaking, but we are. He scratches the back of his head three times and I know he’s settling down. And once he finally turns his pillow the
way he wants it, sets the alarm, and turns the clock backwards, he leans back against me and picks up his conversation right where he left off:

“So, it’s really true then? That’s crazy, Brian. What about Gus? You’re telling me that Lindsay's leaving, make that left, the one person she loves more than anyone in the world without even really talking about it?”

“I guess so, Justin. When are you?”

sorry seems to be the hardest word

“One guess. Michael.”

I think I felt it before I heard it. We were, I thought, almost asleep. Several minutes had passed, and I'd almost talked myself into believing that I hadn’t asked the question. Part of me was fantasizing that he hadn’t even heard me say it. Part of me still is.

And then I was in the bathroom, throwing up, a regular occurrence these days, trying to decide: What was colder—the toilet I was leaning on or the way I just said that to him? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. By the time I decided that it was probably me and emerged from the bathroom, it didn’t matter anymore.

He was gone.

It’s been raining off and on all night. When it rains, it pours.

Nothing is moving fast enough. Nothing. Not my hands, not my feet, not the stairs, not the traffic lights. The rain isn’t even falling fast enough. And the guy who’s in front of me, halfway letting me follow him into the building is definitely moving too slow. He needs to mind his own fucking business.

“You live here?”

“Yeah, move.” I shove past him and take the stairs two at a time until I get to the door.

Fatigue.

Deep breath.

Knock.

Nothing.

I knock again. One. Two. Three. “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” I hear voices.

“Is Hunter here? Is he in his room?”

“It’s Brian. His car’s outside.” And then the chain rattling. And then the door opening. I see Ben’s sleepy face. I hear Michael. The Novotny-Bruckner clan goes to bed early.

“He’s here Ben. He’s in his room.”

“Justin, hey…” I put my hand on the door. I can’t do much more. This is Ben. Getting past him is like getting past the Great Wall of China.

“I need to see Michael. Now.” He yields the door and Michael is standing there, shirtless in sweatpants. His face couldn’t look more lost.

“Hey. What’s up? You look like sh--.”

“Why’d you tell him?”

“Tell him what? Tell who what?” He needs to get that fucking innocent look off of his face.

“Don’t stand there and act like you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.”

“Okay, well then I’ll just tell you. I don’t know what the fuck you're talking about." He is so full of shit. Ben looks like he’s watching an exciting game of ping pong, but I know he’ll come to Michael’s rescue any minute. So I guess this is it.

“You had to do it, didn’t you? You had to be the one to tell him what I was doing? You couldn’t let me have one chance, one fucking moment with Brian that was just mine—just ours. You fucking couldn’t do it!” Breathe. My tears competing with my anger. My anger’s winning out. “Fuck you, Michael. Fuck. You. And to think that I thought that we were partners, colleagues, on this mother fucking comic book bullshit—but you know what—that’s not even it is it? It’s just another way for you to be involved with him, isn’t it? Well, you can find someone else to illustrate your unfulfilled, unrequited, pathetic excuse for a fantasy life!”

My screaming finally stops because I can’t cry and fuck with my keys at the same time, my wet hands struggling to remove the key to the loft from my key chain. Michael looks dumbfounded as I throw it at him. It hits his chest and lands on the floor, just a few feet where I am now, sliding down the door frame, my face in my hands.

I’m crying so hard I’m choking.

I wait for Michael to say something or Ben to lecture me, but no one says anything. The next time I speak isn’t as loud, but my body keeps jerking from crying so hard.

“Did it dawn on you Michael that I wanted to tell him myself, needed to tell him myself in my own way? That I needed time to figure out how to tell him that I have to leave? Did it?”

Finally, after what seems like fucking forever, Michael speaks too quietly, picking up the key. “I didn’t tell him, and I don’t need this. I have one.”

“You didn’t tell him?” I have the hiccups. Ben brings me some water. Always the healer.

“He already knew.” I look up from my water when I hear a noise. Hunter is standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Is it safe to come out here now? What the fuck is going on?” Shit, the last thing I need is to deal with him. Ben can tell, I guess. He walks into Hunter’s room with him and closes the door.

“So you didn’t tell Brian about your job offer?” Michael attempts to put the pieces together.

“No. I couldn’t figure out how to tell him. If you didn’t tell him, I don’t know how he found out.”

“He knew when he came by the store today. He told me you were taking the job.” We're both quiet for a minute, both of us looking at each other like we don't even know each other's names.

“How the fuck would he know I was taking a job when he didn’t know I had a job to take?” Ben emerges from Hunter’s room checking to see if everything’s calmed down.

“It’s okay. Everything’s fine.” Hunter runs out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. I think I’ve actually seen him wearing clothes inside this apartment once. I’ve seen him in his underwear at least seven. “When Brian came by the store today, I asked him if you were taking the job, and he said you were. So he knew.”

“Well how the fuck did you know? I didn’t tell you about the job offer.” I’m so fucking confused right now. I have a bitch of a headache.

“Brett told me. He called me today…….and told me. Oh, wait….that was when….”

“When what?”

“He was there when I was talking to Brett. I asked him then if you were taking the job. Oh shit. Shit. Justin, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. But why the fuck didn’t you tell him in the first place?” Michael will blame himself for only so long, I guess. I don’t know what to think. I’m really fucking pissed at him right now.

“I have about one hundred and one reasons, but I guess I just don’t want things to change.” He nods. I think he gets it now, feels like he’s felt this way before. “For once, Michael, he’s starting to open up to me. He’s finally letting me love him back. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for that?” I just finished off his box of Kleenex. Brian lets me love him back in increments, never all at once. He rations it, gives you only what you need to survive. It’s become a comfortable cruelty between us.

“Yeah, I do. You've waited longer than anybody should have to, and longer than anyone else ever would have. Believe me, I know exactly what you mean.” Michael’s walked this path so many more times than I have, but I’m catching up. I know the shortcuts. Ben isn’t in the room right now, but I know that if he was, Michael would've never let those words come out of his mouth. I stand up and hand him his empty Kleenex box. He laughs.

“I’m sorry I came over here and queened out all over your ass.” I am. It wasn’t his fault. He laughs and tells me I’m not getting anywhere near his ass and offers me a brand new box of Kleenex for the road. I decline, but he makes me smile.

“Are you gonna be all right?” Fuck if I know.

“Yeah. I just need to clear my head, to think.” I’m in the hallway, ready to leave. He hugs me. I’m pulling away when I remember. “Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“If he calls…”

“Haven’t seen you. You’re not here.”

“Thanks.”

***************************************************************************************************************

There are few things more exhilarating than driving Brian’s corvette, not that I do it often. I can get into his ass quicker than I can get behind the wheel of this car. I feel powerful. In control.

Something about driving back to the loft knowing that he’s waiting for me and not the other way around, gives me a rush. Drive down Liberty Avenue in this car and a hundred guys will cruise you just for the fucking car, or maybe they think I’m Brian Kinney at first glance. That’s probably it. Then they take a better look and think, “Oh, that’s Brian Kinney’s bottom boy.” It pisses me off that I’m so proud of that.

I park in front of the loft to collect my thoughts.

Three cigarettes later and a lot of pacing back and forth in front of our building, and I’m nowhere. Where do I want to be? I can’t answer any of the questions that are cluttering up my brain. And I know if I walk back in there that we’ll be fucking in no time. We’ll never talk. No more pacing during the fourth cigarette. Maybe I can think better if I stand still.

Doesn’t matter. Time waits for no man.

He’s standing right in front of me. It's now or never.

lonely night

I'm walkin' alone

tell me, what am I gonna do?

It isn’t like I haven’t been alone in my bed before. Or been alone in my bed or my head right after I’ve fucked him. Or waited for him to get back. Or get home.

I light a cigarette. Stay on my back. Stare at the ceiling. Try to keep my mind on something other than what just happened.

“Yes. That’s all you can say.  Just ‘yes.’” He was outlining the rules for the game we were about to play.The game we played last night. Last night wasn’t tonight.

“I’ve never played this game, Justin.  This ‘yes’ game.  How do I know I even want to play it?” I’ve decided that he does this because he knows that I miss the scene. He knows that I want to be at Babylon in the backroom having my dick and my ego stroked at the same time. And he's protecting me from what I really want. He's building a moat around the castle of Brian Kinney. He's guarding the castle with a ferociousness that he cleverly disguises as unwavering devotion. And he knows that I know that he’s doing this, but I'll never tell him that I know. And he knows that too. He's a better top than me sometimes, a better parent. There's more irony in this bed sometimes than there is fucking.

It was Wednesday night. And we were home. In bed. I was looking over campaign ideas and Justin was next to me, his head at the foot of the bed, playing with the drawstring on his pants and talking to Daphne on his cell phone. It was distracting, but watching his expression change every time she told him something he wasn’t expecting made it all worthwhile. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t really getting anything done anyway.

“Where'd you meet him Daph?”

“You already fucked him?”

“Daph!  I can’t believe you did that! You did not. You did not.”

“Wait, how'd you guys?” He leaned on his side for a minute, like he was trying to keep the conversation private.

“Ooooo. That’s the first time you’ve ever done it like that.” My eyebrow goes up. Good thing he’s not looking at me.

“See, I told you that you'd like it. That’s why you should listen to me more often.”

“Are you going to see him again?  When?”

“Okay.” A pause. He unrolled his drawstring and then rolled it back around his finger.

“It’s him?  You’re kidding?  Don’t you dare fuck him two nights in a row, Daphne. He’ll think you’re a slut.” That’s the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?

“Okay, fine.  Call me tomorrow. Bye.”

He rolled back over and looked at me, stretching his arms over his head like a cat. I bit, “Daphne sounds like quite the sex kitten.”

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop, Brian.  That’s rude.”

“It’s rude for you to be in my bed, making me hard by talking to your hot-het-girlfriend about sexual positions, if you want to get technical about it.”

“I want to get technical about it.” He sat up.

I put my work down on the floor beside the bed. I was ready to focus on my new project.  “Well, for starters, you have no business calling Daphne a slut. You’re much more of a slut than she is.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. And I want to know what sexual positions you are recommending to her.” I really did.

“Why?”

“I’m concerned for her safety and, frankly, I don’t know if I trust your recommendations.” I almost pulled this off convincingly.

“You think you’d be a better adviser?”  

"I think I’m more qualified.” I know I am. I think I am.  Of course I am

“Prove it.”  What's with him and this “prove it” thing lately?  I got up to turn off the lights and started to return to the bed. I do my best work in the dark. My dark brown shirt and black pants hung loosely on my body. I hadn’t even changed out of work clothes when I came home. He rose off the bed, meeting me in the darkness. We couldn’t see each other, our eyes still adjusting, when he folded himself into my arms and laid his head against my chest for a few seconds. I let my hand cover his head and stroked his blond hair, my fingers missing its length. I'll be so glad when it all grows back. He'd worn my cologne.

The challenge he'd just issued me felt like it was waning in the blackness of our bedroom. I wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted or if we were both just smitten for a moment. Either way, I wasn’t going to let him get me off track. I tugged his head tighter to my chest so I could whisper in his ear,

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”

“That’s what you think."

“Huh.” He never quits. The fact that he’s standing in my bedroom four years after we met is testimony to that. He can challenge me without being threatening. A skill few people have. He raised his head to kiss me, and when his lips touched mine, they were strong, and wanting, but not desperate. That's precisely what it is about Justin that kept me here last night and not at Babylon.

When some men kiss you, when they want you, they can't hide their desperation. It leaks through every move they make while they suck you, bottom for you, and, sometimes, even when they fuck you. They can't incorporate themselves and their desire. You're always fucking one or the other. It's never that way with Justin. Justin's integrated.  Hobbs hit him in the skull with a fucking baseball bat, and he still came back like this, like the Justin I met that first night. The Justin who stays with you every second for the whole entire ride--even when he doesn’t know where the fuck you’re going.

“Brian.  Earth to Brian.” His fingers ran over my face.  “What are you thinking about?”

“You.” It’s always best to stick with the truth, especially when there’s an evil grin on your face.

“What about me?”  We had relocated to the bed.  I didn’t remember getting there. I was lying on my back and he was taking off my socks. My eyes had adjusted. I could see him well enough in the darkness.

“Guess.”

“Guess what?” He stopped crawling up my body for a minute.

“Guess what I was thinking about you.”

“No fair.”  He pouted a little. Pouting lips in a holding pattern over my zipper. I was about to remind him that he was cleared for take-off. I didn’t get the chance. “I have a better idea.”

Oh great.  “What?”

“We’re going to play a game.”

And that’s how it started, the “Yes” game. He continued.  “I’m going to ask you a question, but the only answer you can give is 'Yes.'  And you have to answer me, or the game stops.  No more fondling, no more sex, no nothing.”

“This is stupid. You made this game up, probably with Daphne.” He was sitting on top of me and had unzipped my pants. His hand was between my pants and my underwear.

“Are you ready to play?”

“This is dumb.” He took his hand out of my pants, got off of me and moved to his own side of the bed.

I protested. “Justin.”

I was inundated with his bratty determination.  Make that accosted. Fine. He won.

“Yes.”

He happily jumped back on top of me, his hand back in my pants. I breathed a sigh of relief, which in retrospect, was probably premature.

“Do you want me to take your pants off?”

Deep breath.  Eyes rolled.  “Yes.”

“Okay.” He was beyond eager. Okay. Beyond adorable.

“Hey, time out.” I made the gesture in the shadows.  “I thought this was only questions and ‘yes?’”

“No, you can only say ‘yes.’  I can do whatever I want. And that was your only time out.” He unbuckled my belt. I’d like to use that belt right now. Slid it out of my pants. I heard it hit the floor. He knew that just totally pissed me off. I don’t throw my clothes on the floor.

“Sorry.”  He apologized.

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes.”

He smacked me on the chest for speaking out of turn, but we were both laughing.

“Don’t do that again, Brian.” I tried to stifle it, but he could feel me chuckling underneath him. “Do you promise not to do that again Brian?”

“Yes.”  I tried desperately to stop laughing, but so did he. I watched him as he regained his composure. His body aligned with mine. I was kind of bummed that he quit taking my pants off until he started kissing me.

“God, you’re hard, Brian,” he breathed into my face as his lips meet mine. He pulled at my bottom lip with his teeth. Drove his tongue softly but firmly into my mouth, encouraged mine to do the same. He ran his hand behind the back of my head to lead me where he wanted me to go. My hand covered his and the other sprinted for his back, for the waistband of his pants. I sparred with his underwear and slid my hand underneath them, resting my hand in the crevice of his perfect bottom. I pressed him to me as hard as I possibly could. It wasn’t enough. I moaned.

“You like my ass, don’t you Brian?” His voice morphed into a seductive whisper. The game had changed. He had changed. He wasn’t goofing around anymore.

“Yes.”  Neither was I.

“You want to suck it?”

“Yes.”

“You want to fuck it?”

“Yes.”  He hovered above my face, watching me deliver every answer.

“Do you know that I love you?”

“Yes.” He leaned in and kissed me again, and it took everything in my power not to take over right then and there. Everything.

“Your pants are coming off now.”  He moved down my body and began unbuttoning my pants. I kind of liked this game, but my frustration level was rising. He laid my pants neatly behind him on the edge of the bed. It made me smile a little. He turned around and took off his long sleeve blue t-shirt. Threw it on the floor.  That didn’t bother me. I bent my knees and accepted his body as it fell on top of me again. I absorbed his warmth as he kissed me. Closed my eyes and felt his hands in my hair. My hands returned to their former resting places. Firm in their resolve. When his lips wandered over to my earlobe, I growled a little when his teeth came out.

“Would you rather be at Babylon tonight?”

I forgot what we were doing. I thought we were finished. I was wrong.

“Yes.”  I can do this.

“Fucking somebody else?”

“Yes.”  His game.  His rules. He hesitated for a minute. I felt him lift his face off of my neck. He was thinking.  I continued with my attention to his face, his ear, his neck, his shoulder. I can multi-task.

“Are you sorry you brought me home that night?” He wanted to dive head-first into the danger zone. Brave little fucker.

“Yes.”

“Sorry that I let you fuck me?” To kiss me like that and then ask me that question was utterly cruel.

“Yes.”  At least my hand was still in his pants.

“You know that I'm never going to let you fuck me again, right?”

“Yes.”  He began to slide down my torso.

“Do you want me to kiss your chest?”

“Yes.” His lips and hands moved down my chest, and he sucked on my nipples slowly. I kept one hand in his hair.

“Are these goosebumps for me?”

“Yes.” He moaned a little and sucked a little harder, causing me to arch into him. Fucker. I didn’t realize that I was pushing his head lower.

“Are you being impolite and impatient?”

“Yes.” He slapped my hand, and then made fairly quick work of slipping my underwear off my hips and down my long legs. So quick that it surprised me a little. I gasped.

“Did I just hear you moan like a slut?"

Yes.  I'm done for. Toast.

“Brian."

“Yes.”  I felt his breath on my cock, just his presence in the region was sending me through the stratosphere. My hips would not stop following his face. They were embarrassing me. I felt his fingers drawing lines from my navel to my inner thighs and back up again.  

“Do you like this?”

“Yes.” His fingers wandered to the wetness I’d created.  Finally.

“Do you want me to stop?”

No.  No?  “Yes.”

“Too bad.” His warm mouth began to cover my cock. My body ignored my mental pleas for restraint and bucked underneath him.  I made a noise that I am not entirely proud of, "Aaaahhaahh.”

“You know that you are a bigger slut than I am, right?”

“Yes.”  It was true. He sucked me hard, pressing on the base of my shaft, making me make and break promises in my head over and over. And then he stopped. Christ.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even ask you anything Brian.” He couldn’t hide the satisfaction in his voice. His mouth moved down to my balls, and he took the reigning champion in his mouth and toyed with it with his tongue. I held myself still. If I moved, I knew I’d fall off the edge of the world. His lips moved below my balls and I barely heard him.

“Do you want to roll over?”

“Yes.”  It was an unfair question on so many levels. I started to roll over, and he stopped me. He unbuttoned the rest of my shirt and helped me take it off. Laid it neatly with my pants. He took the rest of his clothes off. I had forgotten he was wearing anything. He rolled me over gently. I buried my face in my pillow to keep him from hearing all of the other words I was saying besides “yes.”

I closed my eyes. Felt him straddling me. Felt his entire body on top of mine. My shoulders began to get cooler as his body descended to my waist. I felt his firm hands on my back, and I inhaled as I rode the ride they took to my ass. I held my breath.  

He noticed.

“Can you breathe for me?”

“Yes.”  I exhaled. He knew that this was different for me than it was for him. His left hand reached up into my hair, stroking the back of my head. His right hand remained.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes.”  I did. Not all the time. Not every night. And not from anyone else.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I didn’t have any other choice, did I? His hands roamed back to their original destination, and I inhaled again as I felt his mouth sucking on the beginnings of my crack. His tongue slid lower, and I pushed my face farther into the pillow. Please. Something inside me quivered, shook, and broke.

“You know what you taste like, don’t you?”

“Yes.”  Who the fuck needs anyone else?

I saw something that looked like red, and rain, and anger, and embarrassment, and bravado but I pushed it away as hard as I could. As hard as I could. I thought I smelled liquor on his breath but he was nowhere near my face.

When the only thing I could see behind my eyes was pitch black, I felt him again. Felt him nudging me to lift up. Felt him quietly tucking a pillow underneath my hips. He knows when words are superfluous. And I felt him return to me. Felt my eyes and my hole become warm and open and wet at the same time. And I let them all get soaked.

“You know I'm going to fuck you, don’t you?” I was asking the questions now. I reached down between my legs and pulled the pillow away, crashing his staging area. I turned over and pulled him on top of me for the moment, kissing him urgently.

“The rules are still the same Sunshine. You know I'm going to fuck you, don’t you?"

“Yes.”  He answered me with the truth.

I kissed him again and again until there wasn’t any part of his face that still tasted like me. His facial expression was a combination of surprise, arousal, and “I’m up for anything.” One of the perks of fucking the young.

“How do you want it?” He gave me a quizzical look.  “Sorry.  Do you want to be on top?”

“Yes.”

I handed him the condom while I grabbed the lube. He made quick work of his task. On the job training. But that’s the thing about training. It can never prepare you for real life. Sometimes things happen in life that you just weren’t expecting.

“Do you want to get across my lap?”  The look on his face. The smirk on mine.

“Yes?”

“Good.”  I sat up. He was already on my right side on his knees. I kissed him again and when our lips parted, our eyes didn’t. I looked at him looking at me. He was there. Just like always. My right hand slid down his back a ways and urged him over my lap. He fought me only to the extent that he knew that I wanted him to. The view from this location was breathtaking. I had to force myself to remember the rules of the game.

I ran my hand over his ass and between his legs while looking at his face. His head was turned sideways on the bed, and his face locked on mine. More arousal now, less surprise. My left hand reached underneath him and took his moisture. I ran my hand down the side of his face, letting him hold my fingers in his mouth. My words were gentle.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Time out.  I mean really.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know.  I won’t let you. I trust you.”

“Time in?”

“Time in.”

My hand went back to his ass. My eyes stayed on his face. I pushed his legs back together. He didn’t like that. He made a pouty face.

“Are you pouting at me?”

“Yes."

“Because I won’t let you spread your legs?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why I won’t let you spread your legs?”

“Yes?”

“Because you threw my belt on the floor.” I rubbed my hand on his ass slowly. One side and then the other. He was moaning underneath my touch. This was too easy.

“You know I’m going to spank you, right?”

“Yes.” A very hesitant yes.

“And you know why?”

“Yes.”  Less hesitation.

I rubbed his ass a few more times and raised my hand up. I glanced at his face. He was watching me like a hawk. I brought it down on his bottom pretty hard to show him that I meant business. Always keeping it balanced. His expression changed. The hue on his ass changed. Everything got a little darker.  I liked that.

“You liked that, didn’t you Justin?” I caught that face he makes.

“Yes."

“Good.  So did I.” I stroked his ass again, my hand slipping between his thighs to brush his balls and glide over his cock before I swatted him several more times, not very hard, but hard enough to make him flinch a little bit. Hard enough that my hand print was still there for a few seconds even though my hand wasn't. My face became mischievous. My dick became cement. I made sure that he could see the pleasure on my face.

“Did that hurt?”

“Yes.”  I kept stroking him the entire time. His hand had moved to cover his face.

“Why are you covering your face?”

No response. My fault.

“Are you covering your face because you’re embarrassed?” That was making me harder than anything else right now.

“Yes.”  It was making him hard too. Harder. I could feel it on my legs. He was dripping on me.

“Do you know that you’re making a mess?”

“Yes.”

God. I wish I had more patience. I couldn't do this much longer. I covered the hand on his face with my hand and brought my other hand down on his ass a few more times. Our fingers tightened together.

“Do you know that your bottom is all red now?” I licked my lips and raised my eyebrow at him.

“Yes.”  Desperation. So underrated.

“Do you know that it’s warm?”

“Yes.”  I slid my fingers in my mouth and then down his crack. I had to fuck him soon if I wanted to feel this heat against me. Otherwise, I’d be spanking him again. My wet finger slid past his hole and he couldn’t hide his disappointment. Poor Sunshine.

“Did you want something?”

“Yes.”

“Did you want this?”  I slid my finger into his hole and felt him pull me.  Slut.

“Yes.”  He wanted to say so much more.

“Don’t you think that you’re a bigger slut than I am?"

“Yes.”  The moan that left his lips came from some new place inside him.  It almost destroyed me.

“That’s what I thought.”  I entered him with more and didn’t argue with him when he broke the rules and called out my name.

“Get on me.”  I ordered him.  I found the lube while he straddled me.  My slippery fingers confirmed what I already knew while his lips devoured mine.  He was ready.  So was I.

I watched the look on his face as he started to take my cock.  His eyes fluttered as he got past the head and as his ring of resistance let go.  I felt myself being invited in.  I knew when he was comfortable because his eyes opened and he looked at me and leaned forward.  I began to move with him, at his pace, until he let me know that he was free and clear.  I pulled his face to mine and kissed him before planting my hands on his shoulders.  It was almost a warning kiss.  Our lips parted, and I pushed him, hard.  The sounds he made competed with mine.  The more he opened up, the more I felt like he was resisting me.  And he knew it.  He fucking knew it.  He took my hands, placing one on his hip with his and the other on my chest underneath his and leaned forward enough to take the lead, or I let him have it. The warmth of his ass on my thighs sped up my endgame.  I felt myself tighten and my hand dug into his hip, pressing him harder and harder into me.  I was determined to push him through the floor.  When the crash hit me, I yelled out something incoherent, some shit that can’t even be translated with our alphabet.  So did he.

“Fuck, Justin, fuck.”  My face was buried in his chest.  I was trying to remember how to breathe.  I don’t think I really cared anymore.  He came around eventually and climbed off of me.  It was the saddest moment of my life.  For some reason, I started laughing.

“What’s so funny, Brian?"

“I felt like that orgasm was trying to kill me.  Like it was trying to hunt me down and kill me.  I think it did.”

“So are you saying you enjoyed that game I made up?”  We were both too fucked out to even look at each other.  We were just lying on our backs staring at the ceiling.

“Yes.”

But that was last night.  And this is no game.  And I’m lying here now, smoking this cigarette, looking at this fucking ceiling by myself.

Goddamnit.

Cecilia, you're breaking my heart

You're shaking my confidence daily

Oh, Cecilia, I'm down on my knees

I'm begging you please to come home

The spell's broken. He's gone. And I still want an answer to my question. Only now I’m pretty sure that I just got one. I turn on the water in the shower and stand there while it runs over me. It's a good ten minutes before I realize that I've washed my hair at least twice already. I lean against the tile, close my eyes and tell myself that he went out for take-out. There's no soap in the soap dish. Just condoms. That's fucking perfect. I leave the warmth of the shower to drip over to the medicine cabinet to get another bar. His pain meds are gone. They were here after dinner. Before we fucked. He hasn’t even taken that shit in months. He doesn’t need them. There are only seven pills left in there, which I know because I took one once after a particularly evil night of indulging and he went off on me. He has no more refills. Stay out of his shit. Queened out all over the place. Like it was oxy or something. But that was ages ago. And they’ve expired anyway. I slam it shut and refuse to look at my face in the mirror. Now or ever.

This is my last bar of soap.

The water cannot get hot enough tonight. I stand there and let it transport me somewhere else, anywhere else—a one way ticket to any-the-fuck-where else. But every time I get there, I end up buying a round trip ticket right back to where-the-fuck-I-am. Finally, I shut off the water, wanting to get out, dry off, and think about what to do. Only I can’t. I sink to the bottom of the shower and just stare at the hinge on the shower door. I feel like I felt when he was out with Cody, only much, much worse. Because at least then I knew he wanted to come back. Why did I take a shower? Now, I can’t even smell him anymore. He's been gone for an hour, tops.

I don’t want to walk back into the bedroom, but eventually I’ve done everything in the bathroom that I can do. My hair's dry. Every part of me looks good and smells good and feels smooth and is prepared to go Babylon, except that I'm naked. I have to go in there to get clothes. I open the sliding door and try not to even look at the bed or the wadded up pile of dark blue sheets in the corner. Or the shattered clock on the floor. I glance at my cell phone to see what time it is. He hasn’t called. He’s probably at Daphne’s or worse. I’ll go to Babylon, have a few drinks, enjoy the scenery. I don’t know what the fuck else to do. I shut the door to my loft and take the stairs. I can’t look at anything but my boots on the way down. Flight after flight. I’ll go back up. Leave him a note. Fuck it, that’s what cell phones are for. I push open the door of my building and the first thing I see is him. What the fuck?

He's leaning against my car. Smoking a cigarette. I don’t understand the expression on his face. Has he been standing there this whole time?

“Get in.” Get in? I can’t hide the relief on my face. I want to, but I can’t.

“Where've you been?” I sound like a nagging wife. I sound like Michael.

“Just get in.” I don’t like his tone.

“Shouldn’t you be over at Michael’s, reaming him out?” Why am I picking a fight with him?

“Been there, done that.” Oh, great. I'm going to hear about this. I acquiesce.

We get in my car and I watch him behind the wheel. His jaw's firm. He looks determined, like he looked those nights when he went out with the posse. I really don’t want him driving my car, especially since it's getting ready to start raining.

He throws the first punch.

“You took a shower.” Artists are observant.

“You took a hike.” I'm honest.

“You fucked me like a high school girl on prom night and then provoked me on purpose.” Sometimes observation is overrated.

“Not on purpose.” If he wants to play rough, I can play rough.

“You never do anything that isn’t on purpose, Brian. From the night you met me under that streetlight, everything you’ve done has been on purpose.”

“That isn’t true.” I swallow hard. That really isn’t true. I don’t think I can convince him of that right now, or myself, but that really isn’t true. He’s also stolen part of it …..

We ride in silence for a few minutes. I look out my window as the storefronts go by; my thoughts retreating into places they haven’t been in a long time. Some of them standing in front of St. James Academy the morning after our first night together, some of them with me as I regretfully walked alone into the hotel that night in my tux, some of them leaning against me as I leaned against him as he leaned against my jeep. I make them stop there. I always make them stop there. My mind's a thousand miles away. I don’t think I even realize that he's talking to me.

“Brian.”

“Brian.” I turn my face from the window, but I don’t face him completely. I don’t want him to see my face right now.

“You were right you know. About what you said earlier when we were in bed.”

“I was right about what? That you’re leaving?” I wish I knew where we were going. I wish I didn’t sound like an asshole.

“That, too. But that’s not what I mean. You were right when you said you thought you hurt me. You did.”

“I’m sorry. You should have stopped me.” Yeah, that’s good, it’s his fault.

“Don’t be obtuse, Brian.” I stop pretending that I don’t know what he means.

“Where are we going? Inspiration point?” I ask him this as he merges onto the freeway. He ignores my sarcasm.

“We’re just driving. Okay? I need to process.” He’s at the speed limit.

“And I’m here because…?” I'm having a hard time not driving, literally and figuratively.

“Because sometime in the next few hours some important shit's going to come out of my mouth, and I need you to be around when I say it. Hand me my bag. It’s in the back.”

I hand him his bag. He pulls out a small sketch pad, a pencil, and throws cds on the dashboard. I stuff the bag by my feet. I don’t even think I’ve been a passenger in my own car before. I watch him closely as he puts the sketch pad on his left leg and the pencil in his left hand. He’s not left handed.

I really don’t want to interrupt him at first because I think I recognize the state he’s in. It kind of looks like the same state I’m in when I’m in the back room and some nameless trick is sucking my dick. I can hover outside myself for a few minutes--if I’m lucky--if Michael doesn’t come interrupt me and break my flow. But unlike that, this seems dangerous.

“You’re going to draw, while you’re driving, with your left hand?” The fuck he is. Of all the deaths I’ve planned for myself, not one scenario plays out like this.

“I have to do this right now. It’s not drawing; it’s pre-drawing. And I’m ambi-dexterous. You know that.”

“Please don’t kill us tonight. And what the fuck's pre-drawing?”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?”

“I’ll give you two. First, if we die tonight, my will stands as it is, and you’ll get nothing. Two, I haven’t gotten around to asking Jesus for my eternal salvation. So, if we die tonight, you are I are in separate beds for all of eternity.” All of that's true.

“Yeah, well, the first one’s compelling. The second’s a given. You know what pre-writing is. Same thing. When there are a lot of ideas in my head, I have to do this. So I don’t lose them.” I’m afraid to look at that sketch pad right now. “Put on some music. Put that blue cd in. That one that Daphne made me.”

“What is it?”

“It’s just a mix.” I put it in, letting the music fill the void between us for a minute. I don’t even really pay attention to what it is. At this point, I think I’m just relieved that it’s not Highway to Hell. I light a cigarette and offer it to him. He declines. It’s not like he has a free hand to smoke it with anyway.

We ride in silence for a few more minutes. I continue to watch him. He watches the road. I think I’ve seen him like this before, maybe. He’s frustrated like when he got back from taking care of that Bewitched guy. Darren? But more focused. He looks at the road and then back at his sketch pad. A glance up. A glance down. Back and forth. Back and forth. He flips the page. I feel like I’m watching a movie. A movie I shouldn’t be watching. Like one of those indie films that they hype the shit out of but then they only release in NY and L.A. Fuck L.A. right now. I try paying attention to the music. Try to get comfortable in my seat.

You see 'em comin' at you every night

Strung on pretension they fall for you at first sight

That’s what I need right now. Fucking Billy Squier. Squire? Can’t remember. What is this shit we’re listening to? Now I want to know.

You know their business--you think it's a bore

They make you restless--it's nothin' you ain't seen before

“What the fuck are we listening to?”

You crave attention--you can never say "no"

Throw your affections anyway the wind blows

I grab the cd case off the dashboard and start to read the playlist—out loud. “Your’e So Vain, Heartache Tonight, Don’t Bring Me Down, Hungry Like the Wolf, Bad Reputation by Halfcocked? Is that a joke? Everybody Wants You. What is this crap? Songs in the key of Brian?”

You always make it--you're on top of the scene

You sell the copy like the cover of a magazine

“Maybe the song’s not about you Brian. Maybe it’s about me.”

Everybody knows you

Everybody snows you

Everybody needs you...leads you...bleeds you

That’s what I’m afraid of.

You got your glory--you paid for it all

You take your pension in loneliness and alcohol

Daphne made this my ass.

The more you understand, seems the more like you do

You never get away...everybody wants you

“Surely you’ve got something better than this in your bag of tricks Sunshine.”

He ignores me and speeds up. I start rummaging through the glove compartment, looking for my dictaphone. Okay. Ted’s dictaphone. I have this idea that I could offer it to him. That he could record his ideas on this instead of drawing and driving at the same time. It’s what I do in the car when I have campaign ideas in my head. I finally find it and a blank tape and offer it to him. A peace offering of sorts.

“Here. Why don’t you use this? You can record your ideas on this instead of writing them down. It’s voice activated. It’s safer.” I want you safe. “Here.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Will you at least give it a try?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to say my ideas out loud. My ideas aren’t oral. I don’t know if you can understand that, but they’re just not.”

“Well, what you’re doing isn’t safe. I think you should just try it and see. Just put it on the dash here--.”

“WOULD YOU PUT THAT FUCKING THING AWAY?!.” He finally looks at me. The dictaphone hits the front windshield, and all but shatters. Piece of shit.

I turn the music off and find the nerve to re-start the conversation after two exits.

“I guess we should talk.”

“You think?” Sarcasm.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said or how I said it.” A cloud passes over his face as I admit this to him. Apparently, I do apologies and regrets on special occasions. He looks straight ahead, but his words are anything but.

“Do you know what I felt like when you said that to me? When you asked me that like that? I felt like adog Brian. Like a fucking dog.”

I don’t understand, but I listen. I listen to him and the pounding rain. They're both getting more intense, as if competing for my attention.

“Have you ever given medicine to a dog, Brian? That’s the way you do things sometimes. You just come up to people that you know love you, give them what you think they need and then hold their mouths shut until they swallow it.”

Jesus Christ. I don’t say anything. He’s speeding up again. His hands aren’t drawing anymore. They are hardly driving. Mostly, they're gesturing wildly. I could have left the music on. You could hear him in L.A. right now.

“And you were wrong about what I needed. You know what I needed? I needed to tell you in my own way—in my own time that I was leaving. And you snatched it away from me. You won’t let me show you that I love you. You won’t let me even know that you have fucking cancer—that you are having a fucking testicle removed—and then you some how find out about my job offer and don’t even give me a fucking chance to tell you in my own way. What thefuck is wrong with you?”

I love you? Please stop this car.

“You think that I'm just some yo-yo fuck toy that you can yank around. Pull him close when you need him. Toss him back when you don’t. There are only so many times you can break someone’s heart, Brian. Only so many times. And then all the while, I’m thinking that you must not love me because you act like such a shit, but then I remember everything Brian. And, you know what? That’s the worst fucking thing of all. Because I want you to know that there isnothing worse than being in love with a man who fucks you like you’re the only man on the planet, when you know you’re not; rescues you in a hotel room after you’ve run away on his dime; shows up at your prom and lets everyone know that you are the most beautiful person in your entire school, in the entire world; then lets you set your own rules and then break them; pays for your fucking tuition even after you break up with him; waits for you while you date other people, dance on a bar, and get revenge on your worst enemies; and then lets you use him as the subject for your fucking motion picture that you’re going to have to leave him to make…. There's nothing worse than that Brian. Nothing. Oh god--"

He's right. There's nothing worse than that. His head collapses on top of his arms which are hugging the steering wheel. His sleeves soak up his tears. And this is because of me. Because of what I did or didn’t do or didn’t mean to do.

And I'm helpless again. I don’t know what to do or what to say. I watch the lines in the road go past and try to focus on them. I don’t wait very long because I can’t. We drive under a bridge, and the rain stops for a few seconds, the space we occupy getting eerily quiet. Finally, I just tell him the truth. It’s the only thing I have left.

“Justin, I think we should turn around.” We should turn around.

I put my hand over his hand on the steering wheel, and it's the first time that I feel like I even have the right to touch him since we've embarked on this journey tonight. He doesn’t push me away. I just want to hold him, to make all of this stop, to tell him that I didn’t mean for it to play out like this. I swear to God I didn’t mean for it to play out this way. But I just keep one hand over his on the wheel and another on his shoulder and comfort him the only way I can when he’s furious and sobbing and driving a corvette down a wet highway in the pouring rain at 85 mph in the middle of the night.

He wipes his face on his sleeve and calms down, and I feel like it’s safe to speak again.

“Can we stop somewhere, Justin? I really need to piss.” He laughs and actually smiles.

“There’s a rest stop a couple of miles up. I’ll stop there.”

************************************************************************************************

Finally, the rain's letting up. He gathers his composure, for the most part, and I watch as he pulls off the interstate and into the parking lot. There aren’t many people here tonight, just a few truckers and a random family or two. He kills the engine which makes everything suddenly very still between us, almost spooky. I glance at his face. He's in between places right now, unsure of his destination. His expression looks a lot like the one he wore the first night when I picked him up, only it’s sadder, not as optimistic. I look away. My expression is changing, too.

“Brian?” He isn’t loud anymore. I answer him, but I don’t look at him.

“What?” There's not much to look at out my window, but I’ll manage.

“We have to talk. I mean, I need to talk to you. I have a lot that I need to say. Before I leave and all.” I think he had more he wanted to say right then but couldn’t. And that was okay because I couldn’t either.

“We have time. For all that. We’ll do all that.” I open my car door to signal that I have reached my saturation point. He follows my lead. We start the walk up the sidewalk to the men’s room. He slides his hand in mine. I don’t pull away.

There’s nothing like fluorescent lighting, cleaning solution, and sub-zero temperatures to jar you back into reality. I let the stark environment sober me up a little, let my body feel the relief of an empty bladder. I wash my hands, shake them dry, and wait outside for Justin. There's an old tree that makes a great prop for me to lean against while I smoke and try not to think. I watch the men file in and out of the rest room. Slim pickings tonight. And ugly. He’s taking way too long. I kill my cigarette and go back in.

“Justin?”

“What?”

“Are you almost done?”

“I’ll be out in a minute.” His voice isn’t right.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” I locate the stall next to the one he’s in and climb on the toilet so I can see into his. He’s not all right. “What are you doing?” He’s standing in there, leaning against the wall, his hands pulled into his sleeves, his face buried in his hands.

“Please get out of there, Brian.” I hop down. “Is there anyone else in here?” he asks me in a vulnerable voice he has that always melts me. I look around. Kick the stalls open. There's no one in here but us right now. I prop a maintenance sign outside the main door and kick it closed.

“No, just us. What’s wrong?” He hasn’t sounded like this since right after the bashing. He's kind of scaring me.

“I’m just kind of freaking out.”

“About what?” I lean against the outside of the stall door. This is absolutely the last place I thought I’d be tonight.

“About everything. I walked in here, in this bright light, and everything looks and feels different. I shouldn’t have said all those things to you. I just feel like a stupid faggot right now, okay? Can you just not make this any worse for me?”

Can I ever not make anything worse?

“You’re not a stupid faggot, Justin.” I listen to see if I could tell if my words mean anything. It's hard to tell. “I mean it. You’re not.” I need to get in there. I need to be with him, right now--not do this through the door of a bathroom stall.

“Yes, I am. And I think I said those things just to hurt you.”

“No, you didn’t. And besides, it’s okay. I can take it. You can say anything to me, okay?” I sigh. There are so many intimate things that Justin and I can do face to face, and there are some that we just can’t. The silver door is cold against my face. I resign myself to leaning against it with my eyes closed and just listening to him. It’s as close as I can get to him right now, so it'll just have to do. “You can say anything you want to say to me, anytime, anywhere, no matter what, okay? Let’s just get that straight.”

“Brian?”

“What?”

“I’m terrified to take this job. I’m afraid to go to L.A. I’m really, really scared to be out there by myself.”

Now we're getting to the bottom of this.

“You shouldn’t be afraid to go. You should be afraid to stay. Will you please come out of there now?”

“I can’t. I don’t want to. I’m really pissed at myself right now, and I don’t want you to see me like this.” He isn’t crying anymore. His voice is calmer. He's starting to sound like the Justin I recognize again. The one who is always trying to right every wrong, no matter whose wrong it is.

“I’ve seen you like everything. It’s a matter of national security that you come out of that stall in the next thirty seconds.” First I'm trapped in my own car, then I'm trapped in a men’s room because he's trapped himself in a stall. Fuck entrapment.

“Why?”

“Because I have something important to tell you Justin, and I don’t want to say it to a cold, crooked door on a bathroom stall in a smelly men’s room at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold at 1:27 in the morning.”

A row of fluorescent lights dim over my head. I look up just as I hear the stall door click and feel it move.

He lets me in.

The door opens and he's leaning forward writing something on the bathroom wall. I lean in to look.

“What the fuck are you doing? Leaving your number?”

“No, yours.”

I look again at the wall, at the concentration in his hand. There are no numbers on the wall. Instead, there's a sketch of me—from the chest up. More of a caricature really.

“What the fuck?” This isn’t like anything he’s drawn of me lately. My shirt's open, my chest's open, and a heart is revealed—my heart, like a valentine.

“I’m almost done.”

My eyes roam over to the diamond shape construction sign that's connected to my heart. It reads: Pardon our mess. We’re remodeling.

He's right. That is my number.

I lean back against the side of the stall, and all of a sudden this doesn’t seem like such a bad place to be anymore. He puts his pencil behind his ear, and I think I’m going to cream my jeans just from watching him do that. He positions himself between my long legs and leans against me. I feel like a high school senior waiting for a bell to ring.

How can you feel nostalgic for something you never had? I think he can tell what I’m thinking because he remarks about the look on my face.

“You look like the cat that just ate the canary.” I’m trying not to, but he knows when I roll my lips in that he's doing something I can’t resist.

“You drive me crazy when you tuck your pencil behind your ear.” My eyebrow gets in on the act. I have no self-control.

“You mean like this?” He removes it and does it again, only this time his other hand is inside my jeans. He doesn’t play fair. Somebody somewhere must be playing Jack & Diane. I am such a sucker for John Mellencamp.

“Every time I would see you do that at the diner,” I pause for a second to remember it, to smile at him, “it would, um, delay my exit a little. If you know what I mean.” He does. My lips meet his cheek and the pencil meets the floor. It's served its purpose. I kiss his face, his ear, his lips and keep my hand on the back of his head. When I end the kiss, it's slow and soft and warm and a beginning and an ending all at the same time.

“You said there was something important you wanted to tell me. That’s the only reason I let you in here.”

“You made me forget. You put your hand in my pants.”

“Don’t change the subject.” His hand comes out of my pants, but slides under my shirt, which is almost as wonderful, depending on what mood I’m in. I guess I better do this before the bell rings. I lean my head forward so our foreheads are touching and close my eyes for a second. When I finally speak, my eyes are fixed on his.

“I want you to listen to me for a minute, okay?”

“Okay.” He settles against me.

“You said earlier that you feel like a stupid faggot.”

“Uh, huh.”

“You're not a stupid faggot.” I take a long breath and tighten my hold on him. “You are your own man. You have been your own man since the day I met you. And I don’t care if you sleep in my bed, or if you sleep with my dick up your ass, or yours up someone else’s, you are your own man. You are strong, you are smart, and you are beautiful, whether you are here with me or halfway around the world. And you deserve whatever good things come to you in life. Because no matter what happens, Justin, you make my life better. And I don’t want you to forget that.”

I'm silent for a moment because I want my words to sink in. I've never been more serious. I think it takes a minute for him to realize how serious I really am. I watch the very quiet words come out of his mouth.

“I won’t forget it. But you don’t have to do this, not now and not here.” The look of concern on his face almost wounds me. It's the same look he had when we met for the first time after the bashing. He cared so little for himself and worried more about me.

“I’m not done, Justin.”

“Okay.” It’s just a whisper.

“The other day you said that I couldn’t sell the loft because it was the first place we made love or something.”

“Yeah.”

“And I said that that wasn’t love. That I just gave you a rim job and fucked your brains out.”

“Right.”

“Yeah, well, that was then.” And I close my eyes and bury my nose in his hair and just inhale. He doesn’t say anything. He lets me just be, next to him like this, where I want to be, for as long as I want. Until finally my voice finds my lips, and my lips find his ear,

“And this is now.” And that is enough. And his eyes are bluer than I remember, and his lips want me more than they ever have, and this is probably the last time I will ever kiss anyone in a bathroom stall. I'm making sure that I never forget it.

***********************************************************************************************

We start to walk back to the car, but I pull him over to the tree by his jeans so I can kiss him again. I close my eyes as tight as I can, wrap him inside my jacket, and devour him. People are watching us. They think they know what they are seeing, but they don’t. Sometimes when I kiss him, it’s just never enough. Never, never enough.

“Hmmmm. Mmmmm. Brian. Brian....” He frees himself from my feast.

“What?”

“I want some gum.”

He wants gum. The kissing stops. We walk back to the car as I pat myself down, trying to figure out which pocket I put the gum in. I find it and offer him some, and he pops it in his mouth and picks up his pace. I focus on the scenery he offers me as we walk the long sidewalk back to the car.

“You weren’t planning on coming back to the loft tonight, Sunshine.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Those are your ‘fuck me’ jeans.” Actually, those are his topping jeans. The ones he wears when he's in the mood to be in charge. They are old, too tight, too faded. I love them.

“They are just the first ones I found, Brian. I was in a hurry.” He glances back over his shoulder to smile at me—to let me know that he wasn’t planning on fucking half of the back room tonight. “I’m not the one who goes out and fucks half of Pittsburgh when something's bothering me. That’s you, remember?”

He doesn’t have to rub it in.

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t mock my dysfunctions, considering that you profit from them.” Score one for me.

“Ha. You cause mine.” He isn’t looking at me when he says this, but I see the regret in his body before it even plays on his face. He stops walking and turns around. I can’t even stomach the look in his eyes. It makes me nauseous.

“Brian, I didn’t mean that. I really didn’t.” Of course he didn’t. I’m not an idiot. I didn’t take it that way. I shake my head and gesture for him to keep going toward the car with my hand. He obliges me. When he gets to the car, he unlocks my door for me. No.

“Let me drive.” I reach for his hand, reach for the keys. He doesn’t let go.

“I want to drive, Brian.” He moves in between my body and the car, the door open. He raises his face to mine, his arms around my neck. He blocks me from doing anything but focusing on him. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, you want to drive.” I try to look at him without looking at him. It doesn’t really work.

“I said I didn’t mean that.” He watches my face for some sort of agreement from me, and I know he won’t move until he gets what he wants. I've taught him well.

“Okay.” I lean into his mouth and kiss him to let him know that I mean it. He closes my car door for me. I watch his lithe body walk around the stingray.

He starts the car, and we pull out of the parking lot and start our journey home. I'm lost in my thoughts for awhile, the exhaustion of the night winning out over everything else. I watch him drive. He's so different now than a couple of hours ago. No sketch pad, no anger, no yelling. He's almost serene. He is so fucking beautiful. I put my seat back a little and try to stretch out as much as a I can in this car.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks me with a quiet voice and a warm smile. He runs his hand down the side of my face and tucks my hair behind my ear. I need a haircut.

“I only take Visa, Mastercard, or American Express.”

“Figures. Just my luck. These jeans are so tight, they won’t even hold my wallet.”

“I was thinking about some shit I have to do at work tomorrow.” I don’t know why I lie to him.

“Try again.”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes, I really want to know.” He's definitive but uneager. I turn a little so I can see him better and tell him the truth.

“I was thinking about this thing that you do to me.”

“What thing?” He sort of laughs at me. “Make you hard as a rock when I wear these old levis?”

“No. It’s way worse than that.” I look off for a minute before I continue. He’s looking at me with a curious smile. “You make me miss something I never even had.”

I can't go into any more detail than this. And I’ve thought about it eight ways from Sunday. How being with him makes me nostalgic for football games, marching bands, bleachers, autumn—all that shit I never enjoyed when I had it because I couldn’t—because it was never mine to enjoy. How my presence at his prom that night guaranteed that all of his memories of those things are ruined forever, too. I'll never forgive myself for that. Never. The sadness sits on top of me like a rock. My thoughts are really expensive, but not nearly as expensive as my actions.

He's so nonchalant when he tucks his hand in mine and rubs his thumb absentmindedly over my fingers. He isn’t trying to break my train of thought or get me to emote or anything. He brings my hand to his face and presses his lips to the back of my hand. I move my gaze from the world flying by to him sitting still.

“You’re exhausted Brian. Just go to sleep. We’ll be home soon.” He smiles at me and releases my hand onto his thigh where I leave it for a few seconds. I don’t want to be separate from him right now. He turns up the heat a little and tilts the vent in my direction. I'm going to sell this car and buy a Hummer or something with a lot more fuck room. What’s the point of having a “fuck-me” car if you can’t fuck in it? Beats me.

“I should've fucked you back there, when I had the chance.”

“You can fuck me when we get home.”

That’s the most romantic thing anybody has ever said to me.

I slept all the way back.

The problem is all inside your head she said to me

The answer is easy if you take it logically

I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free

Apparently, there are fifty ways to leave your lover. I cannot think of one. Well, I can think of some, but, trust me, they all suck. Everything in my life feels so fucked up right now. I am so …conflicted. Yeah…conflicted.

And I deserve to feel this way because I was so confident, so sure of myself, sitting there all eager and hopeful waiting for Brett to get back to us about our movie—like I didn’t know full well that this might change everything or something. And then going out there to that gratuitous “we’re all gay, but we’re not” party of Brett’s, being seduced by the glamour and the “this is Justin Taylor; he created Rage” bullshit. My overwhelmed smile lighting up the room, dazzling movie stars, gaining me entrance to their asses!

And then coming home, disguising my dilemma with well-practiced smiles, unfinished sentences, a willing body, and country-club charm employed my millions of miserable, rich housewives every day. My mother has taught me so many things she is hardly aware of. But I got what was coming to me, just like always. The powers that be in my life are never hesitant to dole out punishment, are they? Only this time, it was so subtle, unlike so many of the other times.

I got home from my trip, resumed my comfortable role with Brian. (Did I just say comfortable?) He was even letting me take care of him. It felt so good. We were becoming normal. Normal is what I wanted right?

So I went to my “this is your life dvd player” and hit “play” thinking that that’s all it would take to move my life forward. Try again Taylor. This function is not available on this disc. What? I pushed it like 400 times. Son of a bitch was stuck on “pause.” I knew I should have saved my money and bought a better one.

I mean I had just figured that any day now would be the right day to tell him that: “I got this great job offer Brian, and I sort of accepted it without even talking to you about it….” But I was kind of stalling because I’m a chicken shit.

But as usual, Brian took care of everything. He went over to my “this is your life dvd player” and hit “play,” and it worked on the first try. Of course it did.

Everything works on the first try for Brian Kinney.

I know why that is.

I think I have it figured out.

He’s the action figure in this story. Not me. I’m not even the stupid sidekick. Hell, I’m not even the writer. I’m just the illustrator. I get paid to wait for shit to happen and to react to it—and not even verbally. I get paid to draw, which, if you ever sit down and really think about it, is a very slow way to react to something. It doesn’t always lend itself well to real life. You don’t always have time to sketch your feelings, and sometimes you just don’t want to. I wanted to be sure, to be careful, when I talked to Brian about going to L.A. that I didn’t hurt him. I can’t bear to hurt him.

I hadn’t drawn anything since Brett offered me the job. My pencil tapped on a blank page a few times, but nothing ever came out. The longer that went on, the more trouble I knew I was in. The worst part about that whole situation was that I couldn’t talk to Brian about it. Or I guess I thought I couldn’t or something.

Then Brian asked me to move in with him. Everything just started swirling down the drain from there, getting away from me, moving too fast.

I thought I had everything I wanted. This was what I wanted from the moment I could ever remember wanting anything, and I could never remember wanting anything as badly as I wanted Brian. The picture may have blurred once or twice during the last four years, but it always managed to come back into focus. Sometimes that was because of me, sometimes it was because of him, and sometimes it was because of shit that I just don’t fucking want to think about right now.

But last night was my fault. He may brew the potion, but I drink it.

It started to happen again, like it always does. I was, as usual, entranced by the spell he was casting over me. My body becoming almost dream-like as he gradually drew every bit of desire out of me, from the tip of my toes all the way to the parted pink of my lips. And even as I tried to fight the good fight, to agonize about what it meant to sleep in his bed one more night without being honest with him, I couldn’t worry about anything when he was seconds from inside me and promising me things I knew I didn’t deserve anymore.

But I waited too long for the right words to come to me, and I ended up hurting him anyway. I should have stuck with what I knew. I should have just drawn him a picture. Anything would have been better than the theater of the absurd that I forced him to attend last night—in the front row, no less.

The ride home went so much faster than the ride there, as if I had a destination in mind. I had nothing. There was nothing but fear and panic in the gas tank. Literally. We were about forty-five minutes from home when I realized that we really were on “E.” Brian was completely asleep and snoring off and on. I felt so bad for dragging him all over the outskirts of Pittsburgh. I found an exit with a gas station right off the ramp. As I brought the car to a stop under the obnoxious lights, Brian stirred a little.

“Are we home?”

“No, we’re not home yet. Go back to sleep. We’re on ‘E’.” I turned off the engine and realized I really didn’t know where my wallet was. Shit.

“I don’t have any E.” He shifted back on his side, the way he likes to sleep.

“I’m not asking you for ‘E,’ Brian. I’m getting gas; we’re on ‘empty.’” Fuck, I needed money. I am a kept man after all. I stepped out of the car into the cold night air and immediately jumped back in to get my coat. I swear it had dropped at least ten degrees. I walked around to Brian’s side of the car and opened his door.

“Fuck, it’s cold!” He pulled away from me a little. I leaned over him and whispered in his ear.

“I need your wallet.” He mumbled something about “back pocket” and “shut the fucking door.” I reached into his back right pocket and removed his wallet, my hand lingering there longer than it needed to.

“I said shut the fucking door.” I did what I was told.

The stale air inside the Exxon felt welcoming for a second, and I took the opportunity to grab some more cigarettes and junk food. I hadn’t eaten in hours. The girl behind the counter looked too young to be working at a place like this by herself at this time of night. I can’t believe I even thought that; she’s older than me.

I smiled. After all, I was on camera and recording.

“$34.57.” I opened Brian’s wallet and was a little taken aback by how much cash he hand in there, well over three hundred dollars. There are just some ways he and I will always be different. I handed “Megan” a fifty dollar bill, the smallest bill in his wallet. She handed me my change, and I fussed with getting it back into Brian’s jammed billfold. I guess, unlike me, he’s always prepared for everything. I had just felt the blast of cold air hit my face when I heard her calling me.

“Sir? Sir.” I caught the door before it closed. I am not old enough to be a “sir,” am I? “You dropped this.” She handed me a white card and reacted to the perplexed look on my face. “It fell out of your wallet.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I took it from her and stepped outside the door to study the dog-eared offering. It took a minute for everything to register. I had seen these before, a long time ago, my patient information cards from Allegheny General Hospital: my name, my room number, my nurse, my therapists, my attending, and the visiting hours. I remember autographing Daphne’s for posterity when I was released, a private joke and a good luck charm between us, now and forever. I flipped it over and read the names of every doctor who worked with me at every step of my recovery, every therapist of any kind, every charge nurse at every shift, the third shift nurses all underlined or starred, and in the corner, the name Miguel. I remember him. It was a lot of information to keep on a 3 x 5 card, and it was a long time to keep it. I slid it back inside his wallet, hoping I put it back in the right place, hoping that he wouldn’t have to know that I accidentally saw this part of him that he almost always hides from me. I returned to the comfort of the ‘vette and resumed my place behind the wheel.

Behind the wheel. I wanted to be here, and I was terrified to be here. Part of me tried to tell myself that the risk in all of this was going to L.A. by myself, working on Rage, but I knew that it wasn’t. That was the easy part. I focused on getting us home as soon as possible. He needed to get in bed; I didn’t think I’d ever seen him sleep so hard.

I wasn’t prepared for what I’d see when we walked into the loft, least of all for what I would be stepping on. Brian had trashed our bedroom, rock star style. There wasn’t much of anything breakable left unbroken. I kept shaking my head back and forth as I picked up the picture frames and put them back in their original places, sans glass. I picked up the big pieces I could grab quickly, righted the lamps, and located what looked like the base of the clock.

“Jesus.”

He pissed and walked out of the bathroom, heading for the bed, and I re-directed him to the sofa to give me a few minutes to clean up. I re-sheeted the bed and picked up as much as I could. If Brian owns a broom, I didn’t even know where the fuck it was. The rest would just have to wait until morning. It was just too late. I went back out to the sofa to get him. He was starting to get undressed.

“Don’t Brian. Leave everything on.”

“That’s a new one.” His eyes were barely open.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened in there, but there is shit all over the floor. Just come to bed, and I will help you get undressed. You can’t walk in there with bare feet.” I helped him up and walked with him to our bedroom.

“I broke some shit.”

“I can see that.” Glass crunched underneath our feet as I lowered him onto the bed. I removed his boots, his clothes, but didn’t bother with his underwear. “Go back to sleep.”

I kicked as much of the glass as I could over to the corner, needing to vacuum. I wasn’t going to do that in the middle of the night. I removed my shirt and pants and slid into bed beside him, sliding my arm around his waist, adhering myself to his weary, fetal-positioned body.

“Mmmm.” He purred against me, and I felt his hand looking for mine. Our fingers intertwined. I kissed his shoulder blade and nestled my face against his back. “Goodnight Sunshine.” He squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

“Brian?”

“Hmmm?” I knew he wasn’t really listening to me, his breathing was too deep and too slow. I really didn’t want him to be.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight, for not telling me ‘no.’” I felt his left shoulder pushing toward me, felt him easing onto his back. He pulled me underneath his arm, readjusting the blankets.

His drowsy voice reassured me in the chaos of our bedroom.

“Justin, there isn’t a bone in my body that can tell you ‘no.’” He ran his fingers through my hair and told me to stop wearing him out, to go to sleep. I closed my eyes and kept my head on his chest, concentrating on his fingers as they continued their journey in and out of my hair for the next few minutes. He was asleep again, before I was, his hand finally giving up, falling onto my shoulder, and eventually off of me and onto the bed.

I turned over on my side to look out the window, wishing that sleep would envelop me as it did him, but I was not so lucky. I tugged on his arm a little as I tried to get comfortable, and he followed me, holding me like I wanted, his generous hand covering my stomach and folding me into him, his steady breathing in my ear. I buried my hands underneath my pillow and looked for the clock to see what horrible hour of the morning it was before I realized that the clock was gone, no longer part of our world. It didn’t matter anyway. No matter what time it was, it couldn’t be time to leave him.

*********************************************************************************************

I only got two hours of sleep. I am exhausted, but it’s seems to be the wrong kind of exhaustion. Whatever kind it is, it’s working for him. He’s still snoring. I am sitting on the sofa with my feet tucked under the cushions, doodling on my sketch pad, the same place I have been since a little after 7:00 am, when I gave up on trying to sleep. I can see Brian well enough from here. I have to keep an eye on him.

I have to think. I have to go. There is no way Brian will let me stay. He’ll throw me out. I should want to go. Who wouldn’t want to go? I should be excited. I am excited. This is every person’s dream. It would be selfish for me to want to stay here, to pass this up. If I go there and actually make something of myself, I mean, just think, I’ll be rich, maybe famous, fuck famous. Who cares about famous? Rich would be good. And then my parents, my father even, would be proud of me. Brian would be proud of me. I would be proud of me. Fuck it, that’s stupid. I’ll learn so much. And it’s my work, my story, my life, what I want.

Fuck, I don’t know what I want. I know I made a commitment to Brett. And to Brian. Fuck commitments.

There are very few blank pages left in any of the three sketch pads that are with me on the sofa. I have spent the last few hours making up for lost time. I wish Brian had a quieter pencil sharpener. I am down to my last pencil. I hear this very bizarre buzzing sound that I don’t realize is my cell phone on “vibrate” until it starts moving across the coffee table and almost hits the floor. I catch it just in time. Fuck.

The display shows an 818 area code. 818?

Shit, that’s California.

“Hello?” It’s Brett. It’s like 7:30 am there or something.

“Didn’t want to call you too early.” He laughs. I seriously need to think about this guy’s “late to bed, early to rise” shit, if I’m going to go work for him.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I’ve got some good news about Rage.”

I get off the sofa, and walk farther away from the bedroom, so I won’t wake Brian. “What good news?”

I’m never going to ask anyone that question again. I listen as he tells me about the scheduling conflicts with the studio, the locations, the actors he’s signing, and how all of this is pushing our timeline forward. Fast forward.

“Monday. You are fucking kidding me, right?” You probably shouldn’t talk this way to your future boss, but I could care less right now. Brett is prattling on in my ear, but someone else is pounding on the door to the loft, which is going to wake Brian up, so now I have to go answer the goddamn fucking door. “Brett. Hang on a second.”

I slide open the door and am mostly relieved to see that it is just Michael. And he is alone. Thank god. I motion for him to come in and return to my other problem. He shuts the door for me. I don’t think Brett ever even stopped talking that whole time.

“Brett. Brett. Listen to me. Today is Friday. Monday is—Monday is no fucking way. You told me at least a month.” Michael’s face is changing with every word. Sometimes he is like a Mr. Potato Head, but in a good way. I try not to sound so much like a total bitch.

“It’s just that I need a little time.” I need more than a little time. My pleading is alarming Michael, his expression is settling on “concerned.” Regardless of the tantrum I threw for him, and Ben, and Hunter last night, he is still my colleague and my friend. I listen to Brett’s explanation.

“I know it’s a lot to take in Justin, but it’s now or never. We move or we lose. So we’re moving.”

Michael refuses to blink while all of this is transpiring, like he’s afraid if he closes his eyes for a second he is going to miss something. I sigh and capitulate.

“It’s just that I wasn’t expecting this. Brian just found out last night that I even had the job.” Michael’s hand rests on my shoulder. My forehead is in my hand. Brett tries to cheer me up.

“Well, then it’s probably a good thing that you guys have that ‘open-marriage’ thing or whatever, right? Together because you want to be, not because you have to be?” He means well, but he has no idea what the fuck he is talking about.

“Yeah. Sure.” What the fuck else am I going to say?

“I’ll email you with your e-ticket info for Monday. Call me if you have questions or whatever.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“Oh, and Justin?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Michael I said congratulations on the birth of his daughter, and tell Brian I said congrats on the birth of his boyfriend’s career.” Again, the man knows not of what he speaks. So, Brett, just shut the fuck up.

“I will Brett. Thanks. Later.” If Brian wasn’t still asleep, I would have flipped the switch and ground up my cell phone in the garbage disposal. Michael and I just look at each other. He could hear every word Brett was saying. The man cannot modulate his voice. He’s so L.A. I put my hand over Michael’s on my shoulder and I study his face before I speak. My mind wanders to something I heard over and over on the ride home last night.

Just slip out the back, Jack.

I force my brain to get back on track.

“I’m going out for awhile.” I start to head for the door.

“Oh, no, you’re not.” He pushes me back toward the kitchen. “I came over here this morning to be sure that you were okay, after last night and all. But there is no fucking way that you are walking out of here and leaving me with that.” He points to Brian’s haphazard sleeping form on our bed, a form that is starting to stir. “I also came to give you this.”

He hands me back my key to the loft. I'd forgotten about that.

Drop off the key, Lee.

“Yeah, sorry about that, throwing it at you and all.”

And get yourself free.

“I’ve never had someone throw just one key at me before. I’ve had people toss a whole set to me, but not quite like that. It’s a good thing you didn’t hit me in the face or something. Ben probably would have kicked your ass.”

Yeah, I know. That thought had crossed my mind. He isn’t done.

“Although Hunter wanted me to tell you that when you get to L.A, audition for some soap opera roles. He thinks you’d make a great daytime soap star after your performance last night.”

“Heh, heh.” I smirk.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I’m not doing the third wheel with you two anymore. I’m a married man, with my own business, a teenager, and a new baby. I don’t have time to be your marriage counselor. From now on, you two talk to each other about your shit.” He points to me and then points to sleeping beauty.

Okay, I get it Michael. Your life is wonderful. I know you’re right.

But let’s face it, there's way more to it than that.

When have Brian and I ever dealt with each other without Michael around for the ride? Suddenly, I feel like the floor has dropped out from under my feet. I thought that this was what I wanted, just me and Brian. The look on my face says something different.

“This is fucked up Michael. I love him, but I don’t know how to handle him by myself sometimes. I don’t even know if I want to.” What the fuck is that about? If I cry anymore, I am going to have to sign up for tear replacement therapy.

“Look. None of this will change overnight.” When did Michael become so fucking reasonable?

“Except that now I have to practically leaveovernight. And he’s going to fucking freak Michael. He doesn’t even know.”

“Then you will tell him. He will act like a total asshole. You will let him calm down. And then you will tell him again.”

“You are better at this than me.” I suck at this.

“Only out of necessity. With a little practice and a little time, you will be too. Give him a chance Justin. I’m going to go.” He looks at his watch.

“Wait, Michael. There’s one more thing I’ve got to ask you before I leave on Monday. Fucking Monday.”

“What?” He pauses and waits for my question.

“While I’m gone, you’ve got to look after him for me. Make sure he’s not working too hard, or getting sick, or whatever because he hides everything, and I might not be able to tell. Okay?” It was so reminiscent of the talk Michael had with me about taking care of Debbie when he thought he was leaving Pittsburgh to live with David. Deja-vu all over again.

“Of course, Justin. You don’t even have to ask. You know that. Don’t look now, but your prince is awakening. That’s my cue.” He hugs me and darts out the door. I follow him.

We stand in front of the elevator. I don’t know what to say. All of a sudden, I just really don’t want him to leave. He can tell. He grabs my wrist.

“Let’s synchronize our watches, okay?”

“What? Why?” I don’t understand. He unhooks my watch and hands it to me.

“10:41 am. Set yours. In seventy-two hours, I’ll be ready to take over, okay? Don’t worry. Now go.” He pushes me a little. “And don’t forget, this is your big break, our big break. Go out there and make us a household name, okay?”

“You know you're turning out just like your mother, right?”

“You are probably the thirteenth person to tell me that today, and I haven’t even had lunch yet.”

“I meant it as a compliment.” I did.

“Just promise me that if I start wearing buttons that say stupid shit or putting crap in my hair that you’ll put in a mental hospital okay?”

How will I know? I’ll be gone.

“Deal.” I swallow hard and smile. Our heads turn simultaneously as we hear a sharp, lost cry from the loft.

“JUSTIN!” Oh shit. He’s awake. Michael has no desire to wait for the elevator now. He heads for the stairs.

“I’ll leave you with Rage. I’ve got enough characters to deal with at my store.”

“Bye, Michael.” I watch as his dark hair descends quickly down the stairs and turnaround to face my day.

************************************************************************************************

“JUSTIN!” He's yelling for me again, but now I'm at the stairs of our bedroom and that just really isn’t necessary.

“I’m right here, Brian.”

“What the fuck time is it?” He has the worst case of bed head I’ve ever seen him have. He really needs a haircut.

“It’s 10:43 am. Don’t get out of bed.” I throw my hand up for emphasis. I look just like one of The Supremes. He's trying to get out of bed. He doesn’t remember, I guess.

“Why the fuck did you let me sleep so late? I’ve got a meeting at noon.” He's untangling his body from the sheets. His voice is beyond irritated.

“I called your office. Told them you weren’t feeling well. But listen to me: you need to stay put for a minute. I’ve got to vacuum. There's glass on the floor from where you smashed everything. I didn’t want to do it until you woke up.”

He looks over the side of the bed at the shards of glass and internal springs and parts of the clock everywhere, like his memory of smashing it and everything else are just coming back. I listen as he berates me for calling his office, for thinking I know his schedule or that his office does, for making decisions for him. I'm so happy when I finally plug in the vacuum cleaner and drown him out. It makes a horrible sound as it sucks everything up, but it's better that listening to him bitch. Sometime during my domestic moment, he finally shuts the fuck up.

“Okay, you can get up now.”

He throws the sheet off of himself and sprints for the bathroom to piss. I roll my eyes. Such drama. I hear him resume his rant.

“I’ve got to go in for that noon meeting. It’s a new client.”

“Just let Ted handle it okay?”

“I don’t let Ted handle brand new clients Justin.” He flushes the toilet, washes his hands, and starts brushing his teeth. “Look at me. I look like shit.”

“Exactly. You’re exhausted.”

“Call Ted. Tell him I’m coming in.”

I hear him start the shower, and I give up. I'm not fighting with him anymore. I find my cell phone, switch my phone off of silent mode, and call the office. Ted is on the phone so I talk to Cynthia.

“Hey, it’s Justin. Brian wanted me to call and let Ted know that he'll be there for the noon meeting with that new client.”

“Hang on. Let me tell him.”

I wait and listen to the hold music. I’ve told Brian before that he needs to change it. It fucking sucks. She's back in a flash.

“Justin, that meeting's cancelled according to Ted.”

“Really? Do you know why? He’s going to ask me, so you might as well tell me now. Otherwise I’ll be calling back.”

“One second.”

More shitty music…..

“Client cancelled and rescheduled for Monday at 10:00 am. That happens a lot with Friday meetings. Not many people want to start something new on a Friday, you know? Friday is a good day to end something.”

Sometimes Cynthia is the smartest person I've ever known.

“Okay. I’ll let him know. I’m assuming that no one needs him there today then, right?”

“Not really. Ted’s a check signer, so he signed payroll. We’re fine. We’ll call him if we need him.”

“Thanks, Cynthia. Have a good weekend.”

“You too, Justin. Take care.”

I end the call and head for the bathroom to tell him that everything's copasetic. We can start our weekend, our last weekend for awhile, right now.

************************************************************************************************

He's almost done with his shower. I know his routine. I stand outside the shower door.

“I called the office. Your meeting is cancelled.”

“Why?” He's pissed now.

“Cancelled by the client Brian. They rescheduled for Monday morning at 10:00 am. You didn’t lose the client.” I know that this is what he's worried about.

“Well, I still have to go in. I have things I have to take care of. It’s my company Justin. I can’t just not show up.”

Right. I'm immediately sorry when the next words come out of my mouth, but I'm not quick enough to stop them.

“Can’t we just spend today together?”

He shuts off the water and answers me.

“Tonight. Not today. Can you hand me a towel?”

I hand him a towel off of the shelf and exit the bathroom. I'm about three seconds from killing him; I need to do something else.

I've never loved someone and hated someone so much at the same time as I routinely do with Brian. Sometimes I feel like I should have gone to school and majored in “How to deal with impossible people—that you accidentally fell in love with” or some shit like that. He's lucky that I got rid of that gun that Cody let me play with for awhile because right now I'd go cock it at the side of his head. But then I regroup and take Michael’s advice and come up with a new strategy. Yeah.

Make a new plan, Stan.

Suitcases. Fuck, I don’t have any luggage here. Think again.

Hmmm……. Legal pad. Check the desk. Second drawer. Bingo. Find a pen. Back to the bedroom. Sit on the bed. Occasionally say shit out loud.

Make a list. “Things to pack for L.A.”

Clothes, underwear, sketch pads, art supplies, toiletries, meds, shoes, coat, day planner, condoms, lube, socks, tap pencil while I think….

Cell phone, charger, both types, checkbook, credit card, camera, photo album, computer, sheets, towels, pillow, blanket, suit, tie, dress shirts, think, think, think….

I need to call my mom and ask her where my luggage is. I hope it's at her place and not at my dad’s. I don’t want to have to deal with him. Maybe she'd go get it for me and not make me have face to him. God, I'm such a pussy.

Brian's trying to decide what suit to wear. Nothing's making him happy today. I guess we have that in common.

Think.

Tap.

Think, tap.

Dancing queen…. Dancing queen?. Oh wait, that’s my cell. That’s Emmett, which reminds me: I need to pack my ipod, my headphones, all the shit that goes with it, my cds….

I walk over the to the bar to answer my cell.

“Hey Em.”

“Sweetie? I just heard from Michael that congratulations are in order and that you're leaving us on Monday. Is that right?”

I'm back in the bedroom now, back on the bed, doodling on my list.

“Yes. You heard right. I’m flying out on Monday morning.” I don’t really care if Brian hears it like this. He can go to hell right now.

“Well, I hope for your sake that the flight is standing room only.” Emmett talks to me in his sing-songy voice.

“What?”

“Honey, your ass is going to be sore as hell come Monday morning.”

God I hope he’s right. I give Emmett the laugh he deserves for that comment. Maybe Emmett's smarter than Cynthia.

“I hope so Em. It’s not looking too promising at the moment.” I cut my eyes in Brian’s direction, but he's hiding his reaction from me. For an out and proud gay man, he sure spends a helluva lot of time in his closet. Nothing is lost on Emmett, though, as usual.

“Um, honey, I guess that’s why they call it the blues.” Leave it to Emmett to hit it on the head. “So, you have any big plans for the weekend or are you just gonna look at the ceiling?”

“I wish I knew.” I’m being cunty, but it’s Emmett, so that’s okay. “Actually I’m making a list right now of everything I’ve got to pack, got to buy; there’s just not enough time. By the way, how did you know all of this so fast?”

“Honey, we were on a 3-way before Michael’s feet were down that stairwell. Stay with me here.”

“I figured as much.” I can hear Em in the background giving the play by play of my conversation to Ted. He must be at Kinnetik.

“Brian’s being a cunty bitch to Justin. Justin’s making a list—he’s got to shop, pack, that boy is going to be bus-y this weekend, if you know what I mean. Teddy, don’t..”

Apparently, I'm speaking to Ted now.

“Hey.”

“Hey Ted.”

“Do me a huge favor and fax or email me that list. Auntie Em has absolutely nothing to do today but sit in my office and chat my face off, and I need to close the month. She can go shopping for you. Oh, and congratulations and good luck—which you won’t need. You're obviously the chosen one.”

“Thanks Ted.”

“Hey, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” This is the longest conversation Ted and I have ever had with each other.

“Be careful out there Justin. L.A is a whole different world. You won’t have your fire breathing dragon to protect you.” I hear Emmett grab the phone and fuss at Ted.

“Don’t scare him Teddy. He’ll be fine. He’s got youth and bliss on his side. He’s not you.”

And then the part I’m supposed to hear:

“Honey, don’t mind him. He’s on the rag. I'd love to go shopping for you. It’s my second favorite past time. Please, please let me.” I know he’s jumping up and down.

“Sure.” I’m relieved, actually. “What did Ted just say?” I heard him mumble something.

“Oh, he said that I would pass up a Drew Boyd fuck-session to spend Brian’s Kinney’s money.”

“He’s right Emmett.” We're all three laughing really hard now. Brian's pissed because he doesn’t know what’s so funny.

“Watch it, sweetie. I know what you won’t pass up. You may be Brian Kinney’s fuck, but you’re still my bitch. Now, rattle off that list to me.”

There isn’t a fag in this town that won’t put me in my place, is there? I read my list off to Emmett and laugh when Brian yells at me to “add soap.” I do.

“I’ll see you a little later honey, packages and all.” And he’s gone. And I’m back to me, Brian, and my list. And it’s all quiet again.

I’m not even going to bother looking at Brian’s face for the inevitable disappointment. I don’t have time to be disappointed. I cue my phone to my mother’s cell number and hit send.

My mother knows about my job--what she just doesn’t know that I'm leaving on Monday instead of in a month. I break it to her the best way I can. Maybe Brian can listen to my conversation with her and realize that it isn’t just his roller-coaster of emotions that I have to juggle. Not everything in my fucking life revolves around him. My mom's a little flabbergasted at first, but she adjusts. She is excited for me. I get to the real reason I'm calling.

“Mom, where's my luggage? I’ve got to pack.”

“It’s in your father’s attic.” Shit. That’s what I was afraid of.

She has to go because a client is calling in, so we agree to talk later. I I look back down at my list and add “luggage.” Fuck. Just what I needed. Brian interrupts my train of thought.

He's standing beside the bed as close as he can get to me in his gray suit pants, the dark gray ones, which are unzipped, unbuttoned, and unbelted. My eyes move up his body: his legs, his crotch, his stomach, his chest, his face. I wouldn’t say he has an entirely pleasant look on his face.

“What?” He does smell good though. I’ll give him that.

“So what ring do you have for me?” It takes me a minute to realize what he’s even talking about.

“None of your fucking business.” I look back at my list. Start drawing columns and shit. I'm seriously not in the mood to play “Guess My Avoidance Behavior” right now.

“Fine.” He gives up and goes to the kitchen. I hear him open the refrigerator. I start making a list of the errands I have to run before I leave.

My cell rings again. It’s him. Mother fucker. I answer it.

“Very funny.”

“Well, you won’t talk to me.”

“I wonder why that is Brian.”

He won’t stay on topic. What a big surprise. “I like that ring you have for me.” He has never heard my special Brian Kinney ring tone before-until now.

“I’m getting ready to change it.” I am, that decision was made a few days ago.

“Why?”

“Because I think my mother is seeing somebody.” I lean over and look at him. He's standing in the kitchen with his back to our bedroom, focused intently on our conversation. I shake my head, grin, and give up. I guess there are some things that Brian and I can’t do face to face.

“I don’t follow.”

“I had dinner at my mom’s the other night. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when we were done and cleaning up and everything, she played that very same song and danced like an idiot while we were clearing the table.”

“Your mom is an Elvis freak? So what?”

“My mom is an Elvis freak when she’s horny, Brian.”

“Get out. Go Mother Taylor.”

“Shut up.”

“But I don’t see why I have to suffer just because your mom has found her mojo. That song is me. I am a little less conversation and a little more action.”

“Not today you’re not. Today you're a pain in the ass.” Sometimes it’s my job to point out the obvious.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” I think Brian's trying to make up for a lifetime of “no apologies” in twenty-four hours or something.

“Yeah, well sorry is bullshit and a waste of time. Time, incidentally, that I don’t have. So unless you have something to say that's going to move the plot along, I’m hanging up.”

I corner him, and he makes his move. “You didn’t tell me that you were leaving on Monday.”

“I just found out about fifteen minutes before you woke up Brian. I thought I was leaving in a month. But, in retrospect, it’s probably better this way because there's no way in hell that I could put up with you acting like this for four weeks.”

I lie back on the bed, pushing my list to the side. I can hear him breathing into the phone. I listen to his footsteps as they get closer to me. I should hang up, but I don’t. He doesn’t either.

“Well, I want to keep my ring.”

“No.” I already know what I'm changing it to, and I'm not going to tell him, even if he is lying beside me on the bed now.

“Can I have another Elvis song then? Burning Lovemaybe?”

“No.” He cannot have Burning Love. We're both lying on the bed staring at the ceiling talking to each other on our cell phones. This has got to be one of the stupidest things we've ever done.

“Heartbreak Hotel?”

“No.” Like I want to hear that every time he calls me. “I am about to change it to Walking on Broken Glass if you don’t shut the fuck up about it.”

“You know what Elvis song reminds me of you?”

This I can’t wait to hear. “I have no idea.” He turns his head on his pillow and raises his eyebrow at me. I get instant butterflies in my stomach every time he does that thing with his eyebrow, and he fucking knows it too. He’s doing it on purpose.

“Devil in Disguise.”

“Wow, that’s quite a compliment.” It is. It really is.

“You should be nice to me now and compliment me back.” Leave it to Brian to be subtle, especially when his eyes are locked on yours.

“What do you want me to say?” I might as well ask because he’ll just tell me, and then I can just say it, and we can hang up.

“Something really nice, like, ‘Brian, you are my Elvis.’”

“Um, that would be a really nice compliment, but I don’t know if I really feel that way about you right now.” God, that was so mean, but he totally deserves it. I’m such a bitch. “I don’t really think of you as my Elvis, more like my Fonzie. You know?”

He digests this information, doesn’t seem to like it that much.

“Is that right Sunshine?” I nod, scrunch my nose a little. I'm in way over my head. “Well, then, I suggest you take cover.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m getting ready to jump your shark.”

Finally. End of conversation. Cue the action.

It’s been a while since we wrestled like this. Oh fuck. He’s going to kick my ass. God knows where my cell phone just went. His knees fly between my legs and glue me spread eagle on the bed. He’s on top of me on all fours in a flash. Like I mind.

Advantage: Brian.

He starts tickling me. Jerk.

“Stop it, Brian. Stop it.” I try in vain to get out from under him. Hopeless. “I mean it. Fucking stop it.” He seems to be finally satisfied with my complete and total helplessness and quits assaulting me. I don’t trust him though; I know he’ll start back up the minute I let my guard down.

“You think I’m your Fonzie?” He rolls his lips inward and smirks at me and my stomach flips again. My body is tense with mistrust. I refuse to blink. I am smiling though, underneath him, like a complete idiot. I can’t stop. Maybe he's done tickling me.

“Well, you know how on Happy Days it was always kind of distracting how Fonzie could be the idol of all those kids when he was clearly so much older than they were?” I figure I’ll just go for broke.

“Taylor, you are on very thin ice right now.” I'm kind of mad that my dick is getting hard when I am trying to hold my own here. My dick is such a traitor.

“Yeah, well, I had a crush on him anyway.” It’s true. I did. I’m not proud of it, but I did. We can all thank TVLand for that. Brian grins at me, like I just made him the happiest Fonzie in the world. I feel so swoony inside. My body finally relaxes.

“Well, I do love motorcycles and lovesick teenagers who hang all over me.”

True. “And you have great friends who act like idiots sometimes.”

He's stopped listening to me, and I've stopped listening to myself. I don’t know if it was the motorcycles or the lovesick teenagers or what, but he's all over me. Happy days are here again.

“I haven’t fucked you on white sheets since I tracked your ass down in New York.” His words are breathy in my ear, and I welcome the warmth of his body on mine as he relinquishes his predatory 'king of the jungle' stance. I'm so ready for this.

“You were out of dark sheets. These were all you had left.” My words come out in between his attacks on my face.

“You put me to bed last night didn’t you? You tucked me in.”

I keep my lips close to his. He's so warm. “You were out cold. You slept on the couch while I put sheets on the bed. Do you remember that?” He can’t answer me for a while because my tongue is in his way.

“I remember that I was trying to take my boots off, and you wouldn’t let me.”

“Because there was glass all over the floor.”

“I guess I was Rage last night, you know, after you left and all….”

It takes a minute of kissing, sucking, nibbling, and pausing for him to realize that he just made me think of the movie, and L.A, and leaving again. And then I realize that he’s sorry he made me realize that, and then I feel everything I don’t want to feel right now. Now is a good time to forget.

I can tell by the look on his face that he wants to forget it too, that he’s trying to concentrate, to focus on just what we’re doing right here, right now. I should help him. I should try harder.

I try looking at him while he’s kissing me, but I can’t. And to be fair, he can’t really look at me either.

And that is when I realize that there is nothing more fragile than being loved by Brian Kinney, and that sometimes I just want him to break me.

His eyes open briefly right then and, I swear he feels my quandary without me even saying anything. The expression on his face has changed. I’m not the man who is going to leave him; I’m just the man he is getting ready to devour. He's made the transition. I wish I could make it too.

I feel him rise up off of me and hasten his pants off like they are on fire. I think his underwear just vanished. He discards my clothes like junk mail, in a way that makes me feel guilty for even owning any.

He presses me close to him and steals kisses from me before I can even offer them. Sometimes they are fast, feisty, drive-by kisses, and sometimes they are slow Gone with the Wind kisses that break my heart into a million pieces. I can’t leave this man. I just can’t.

I let myself melt into him. His hand travels down my back, on top of the crisp, white sheets. I moan a little into his neck, and he rewards me by letting his fingers glide down the crevice of my ass like he’s touching a very expensive crystal goblet. He molds the material to my body, making it tighter and tighter and tighter against my back, my ass, my thighs, his hand cupping my bottom. I can feel the warmth of his hand through the cotton, the possessive squeeze. Oh god, I’m going to miss that so much.

“You have no idea what you do to me Justin.”

His hand is moving again, tugging at folds he’s made, working it’s way underneath the covers.

He begins the process of gently preparing me, so much slower than I want, so much slower than I deserve. I feel him massaging my hole so softly that I don’t know if I want to scream or cry or just give him all of my money. He leaves it all alone, and I'm about to say something I’ll regret, but I can’t because that very same finger is in my mouth. Asshole. I suck on it harder than I’ve ever sucked on anything, and it's gone before I can finish, replaced by his lips, his tongue, and his words,

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”

I crush my face into the pillowcase and inhale. God, I love these sheets, this bed, this room. I love his hand running down my back again. I love the promise of knowing what’s coming next. I feel his left arm slide underneath my chest and pull me close to him. Fuck. This is what I want. My right hand reaches for my cock.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

My hand leaves the scene of the crime, but not before he tucks the empty condom wrapper in it.

I'm wrong; I'm not prepared for anything.

I'm not prepared to pine for that wide, familiar burn that rips through my body when Brian fucks me like this. I feel like he's chasing me off of the end of our bed, and I don’t want to get away, but I'm still running. Why am I still running?

He's bigger and stronger and faster than me, and I'm no match for him. My hands cling to the mattress at the head of the bed, my fingers digging into anything that will give way.

His hands grab my hips and pull me back in one swift move, and I feel his hot steam in my ear.

“You’re not going anywhere. Do you hear me, tight boy?”

God, I hope he’s right.

I push up on all fours in an effort to participate in some half-hearted way, and he laughs at me a little and smacks my ass.

“Don’t bother now, Sunshine. We’re almost done.”

I let my head fall onto my arms, and hold on for the home stretch. I should have never cut my hair. It would have really come in handy right now.

I offer him some sort of consolation prize and clench my ass muscles as an afterthought.

“Oh, now that was a really nice gesture. Oh, fucking Christ,” he falls on top of me, pushing every last inch of himself right through me. I lace my fingers through his and squeeze as he rides out every twitch, tingle, and syllable that is me. That's us. That's almost Monday. That's the next few minutes of breaths to catch, thoughts to organize, and mostly just sounds of silence.

“Justin?”

“Hmmm?” His hair is in my mouth.

“Can I be your Elvis now?”

I think about it for a minute, mostly just to make him suffer. Fair is fair.

“Okay, but only on one condition Brian.” After all, I actually have a negotiable position now; well, not right now. Right now, I’m still flat as a pancake.

“What condition?” He’s still Brian, always Brian, reticent to give up anything, even for a permanent piece of tight, extremely sore, blond boy ass.

“You can be my Elvis as long as you quit playing the part of Rage in real life. Okay?”

I start to wonder if he is going to agree to this because he doesn’t answer me right away. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Maybe what happened at the rest stop stays at the rest stop.

“Okay. Deal. I’ll take Elvis over Rage any day.”

“Then it’s settled. You can be my Elvis. We could shake on it, but I kind of can’t move here.” I guess we just fucked on it.

He lifts up a little so that I can breathe easier and nuzzles me before collapsing again.

“Justin?”

“What?”

“Thank you very much.” He thinks he’s really funny.

“Anything for the King, Brian.” He pulls out of me slowly and my reaction is audible. He tore through me, and he knows it, but there's no way in hell that I'm going to complain.

Too much paperwork.

BRIAN'S POV

Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?

I open my eyes and squint at the sun barging in my bedroom. Everything is way too bright in here with these white sheets and this blond pot of gold nestled beside me. Whoa.

Why Gus fights me when it’s time to take a nap I’ll never understand. Naps are way better than drugs, especially when you’ve got real sunshine in your bed.

Fuck, I need to wake up. I’ve got a lot of shit to do in the next few hours, but letting go of his warm, sleeping body doesn’t seem to be one of them. I guess I’m staying put for a little while. I continue to hold him snugly against me, the way we’ve been for a little over an hour.

He doesn’t really move much when my hand releases his and starts to stroke his pubic hair. It takes him a minute to acknowledge me. It's one of the best minutes of my life.

He rubs his hand over his nose half a dozen times and scratches the back of his head. “Brian, that tickles.”

“You’re no fun.” His hand pauses mine, so I stop and focus on something else. “You’re hard.”

“You’re smart.”

“Shhhh.” I burden his body with mine and push my intentions into his ear. “I want this, okay?”

He gives me that sleepy smile, and I lean over to kiss him—mostly out of obligation it seems. It seems wrong to fuck him while he’s asleep without at least frenching the shit out of him first. He isn’t very interested in my suave moves, deciding instead to punctuate my effort with a half-assed moan that is clearly just for my ego. He rolls back over and cuddles up with his pillow.

My lips slide off of his onto his cheek and onto his neck while I reach over him for a condom. My dick settles in the niche of his ass where it will always belong.

His hand darts out from under the pillow and flicks the condom from my fingers.

“You don’t need that.”

He’s a fast little fucker. I barely saw his eyes open. I snatch it before it flies off the bed. I’m fast too. His hotness is only ever surpassed by his twatness.

My arms slide under his chest, wrapping around his shoulders. The lower half of my body is getting ready to betray the upper half. I feel the disappointment in his body underneath me, although he’s trying not to show it. Sometimes he misunderstands me, just like everyone else.

I forget sometimes that he’s so young, that there are some things I guess I just shouldn’t expect him to know or understand yet. And there are others that I’m just not ready to tell him.

I won’t tell him that he will never, ever get a spare set of keys to any car I ever own ever again.

I won’t tell him that I fuck him raw in my mind at least five or six times a day, every single day—or that that number was a lot higher when he preferred classical music.

I won’t tell him that there isn’t a part of me that ever wants to put one of these fucking stupid things on, even as I lie here and do it anyway--like I want to dull any part of me that experiences any part of him. I ought to tell him that I’m insulted.

But then there are some things I will tell him. There are some things he needs to hear from me and only me, especially when my cock is centimeters from his slippery hole. I inhale and close my eyes before I whisper anything to him.

“You know, you shouldn’t be such a twat when I’m showing you how much I love you.”

My words sink in just as I do, granting him the resistance that I gladly suffer through, that has become my guilty pleasure. And I am there for him when he reaches back over his shoulder, touches my face, strokes my hair, and tries to hold onto me. God, I want him to hold onto me. At least for now. At least until Monday.

Shit. The expression on his face right now is worth more than this fuck to me. I smother him with my mouth and french the awkward fuck out of him, ignoring him when he gasps for air. The kissing stops, his breathing resumes, and my thrusting quickens. A cloud darkens our bedroom.

I'm not so gentle anymore, pushing him where I want him, my hand roughly gathering the skin on his ass.

“Fucking squeeze me like you did this morning.” I'm gruff in his ear, my unshaven face scraping his neck. I get what I want. I'm getting it now. Oh fucking Christ, oh fucking Christ. He reaches for me again, but I stay too far—

“Aaaaah. Fuck. Me. Oh god Justin. Oh god.” He doesn’t have to say a word to get what he wants. I come closer. “Hold onto me.”

And I thought cancer would kill me.

************************************************************************************************

Cynthia looks more than surprised to see me when I walk into the office. Her chair zips backwards, and she bolts in front of her desk, in front of me.

“Hey Brian. Are you all right?” She is giving me a really weird look, and she's touching me. I step back a little. I guess she thinks I’m sick?

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I sound defensive. I look around. There are more people working here on a Friday afternoon when the boss isn’t around than I thought I’d actually see. Good for them. Then I notice that they are all sort of giving me weird looks too. Does everybody know my fucking business in this office? Now I’m just fucking irritated. Bad for them. Whatever. Fuck them.

“Is Ted in?”

“Yeah. He’s in his office.”

“Thanks. I’m not here.”

I stand in the doorway of Ted’s office for a minute and just watch him work. The man is worth more than I pay him, and I pay him quite well. The tape from his adding machine is almost long enough to meet me at the door. He hasn’t even looked up.

“Knock. Knock. Knock.” He jumps.

“Jesus, Brian. You scared the shit out of me.” I stroll into his office and plop down in a chair in front of his desk.

“You know, Theodore, I wasn’t kidding when I sent you that email about casual Friday.” He is starting to dress better than me. He gives me a quizzical look.

“I had a hard time deciding what to wear today—on this special occasion.”

“What special occasion?” Oh fuck, I forgot somebody’s birthday or some shit.

“Apparently today is ‘I just fucked Justin five minutes ago Friday.’” Now I have the really weird look on my face. “Did you bother to look in the mirror before you left the house? You're sporting that ‘freshly fucked’ look.” I am? “Here.” He hands me the mirror he keeps in his top left drawer. The same drawer he kept his dictaphone in. “Fix your hair.”

He mumbles something about, “Shaving would have helped.”

I look at my face in his mirror. No wonder everyone was looking at me. My hair looks like it’s still fucking Justin. I'm jealous of my hair.

“Excuse me for a minute.”

I unlock the door to my office and retreat into my private bathroom. I have everything I need in here to come out looking impeccable, except time. I wet my hair and comb it a little, making myself presentable and locate some cologne. That'll do for now. It'll have to. I return to Theodore’s office to see if I meet with his approval.

“Better?”

“Much. So what are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you, and I’m hungry as hell. You got anything to eat?”

“Fridge.” I walk over and open his mini-fridge.

“There’s nothing but bottled water and vanilla pudding in here.”

“Sorry boss. Today’s payday. I’ll buy groceries this weekend. Time’s are tough.” I take his last two puddings and a bottle of water. I’m fucking starving.

“Spoon? Please?” He hands me one, pretending it’s his last. I keep Ted comfortable, and we both know it.

“What do you want to talk to me about? I hope it’s not month end because I don’t want to talk about that.”

“There’s a problem? Something I need to know about?”

“Nothing you need to know about today. We’ve got GL issues, but I’m fixing them. It’s just time consuming.”

“That’s what I pay you for, right?”

“Right. So, what’s going on?”

“I need you to do something for me. Well, you and Emmett actually. It’s kind of a personal favor that I kind of need Emmett for more than you, but I’m not letting him do it by himself. Oh, and I need it done by tomorrow at two o’clock.”

“Okay. This sounds expensive and intriguing. I’m completely hooked. I’m assuming this has something to do with Justin?”

“Yeah.” I’m doing a pretty good job of not getting emotional about this. “It’s going to take some time, but it should be kind of fun. Emmett doesn’t have an event this weekend, does he?”

“No, it got cancelled.”

“Okay. I’d do it myself—I mean I’d really like to, but I need to spend my time with him. You understand?”

“Sure. Are you gonna tell me what it is you need me to do or do I get to guess?”

“Yeah, here. I’ve written most of it down.” I hand him the notes I’ve made—who he needs to call, which credit card of mine to use, etc. “Just a couple more things. I need Emmett to call me once he’s done running errands for Justin today. I don’t want to call him and catch him while he’s at the loft. If you guys need me tonight after five or tomorrow, just call my cell. If I don’t answer right away, I’ll call you back. I’m going to be busy tonight and tomorrow. I’d rather you call me Ted because I can pass it off as work related.”

He reads over my notes, making sure he understands everything I’m requesting. “Okay. This is really, really—“

“Don’t.” I stop him. This is already hard enough for me.

“Can I just ask you a question?”

“Sure. It’s a free country.”

“Are you all right with all of this? With him leaving like this?”

“Next question.”

“Um, okay. Is he all right with leaving like this, with leaving you?”

“Strike two.”

“Okay. Will you be here on Monday for our meeting with that new client?”

“Absolutely. 10:00 am. I’ll be here.” I push my chair back and stand up, throwing my trash away. “Don’t forget to tell Emmett to call me, okay?”

“I won’t forget. Have a good weekend, Brian. I’m sure you’ll make it a memorable weekend for both of you.” He stands up as I leave.

“Thanks for taking care of this for me. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“See you on Monday.”

I wave good-bye to Cynthia as she's on the phone and feel slightly relieved since at least one of my tasks is done for today. A few more to go. This is one of those days where it would have behooved me to just hire a personal staff—an army of people to handle things for me so I can go back home and just keep fucking Justin.

For a minute I sit in my car and think about how cool it would be to have my own squad of up-and-comers like on The Apprentice. A bunch of over-eager, good-looking, well-dressed twenty-somethings tripping over themselves to make me happy, handling all of the trivial details I have to handle everyday at Kinnetik….

Covering for me so I can at least go to LA with him for a few weeks and help him get settled. Yeah, right.

Marching into my conference room every week, so I can fire one of them, send them packing because I don’t need them anymore. Because my life has gotten simple again. Work, Trick, Sleep, Repeat.

I fucking hate reality television.

I fucking hate reality.

**********************************************************************************************************

I quit feeling sorry for myself and call Lindsay at the gallery and break Justin’s news to her. She's too busy today to stop what she is doing and show me her new apartment. I figured that would be the case. We try to figure out a way to work our schedules out. She has a plan. I can always count on Lindsay.

“Okay. Let’s do this. I will pick up Gus at school and Justin at the loft after work and drop them at the diner. They can have dinner together. You can join them when you finish up. That would work better for me anyway, Brian, because I’ve got to come back here tonight for a small function we are having. Will that work?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Then you and Justin can bring Gus home, and you two can see the new apartment quickly and get back to your alone time. I mean Justin’s got to see Gus before he leaves.”

“I know. I thought about that. He’ll want to see him. What time will you pick him up?”

“Probably around 5:30 pm.”

“I’ll call and tell him to be ready. Thanks for doing this Linds. I need the time.”

“I understand. I just can’t believe he’s leaving so soon, but we’ll talk about it later. Go do what you have to do.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ll see you tonight.”

Our call ends, and I'm thankful that I have at least one blonde in my life who knows when to make things easy for me.

Actually, that’s not fair. I have two.

**************************************************************************************************************************

My ‘vette pulls into Jennifer’s driveway, but there are already two cars here, so I back out and park on the street. She’s expecting me, but I’m a little early.

I assume it’s a client. I’m glad I don’t work out of my loft. I’ve learned my lesson about mixing business with pleasure. I’m fifteen minutes early and about to knock on the door when it opens, and I'm standing there wishing I wasn’t—especially because of the way I look, especially because of who I am, or at least I think that’s why. It’s probably better just not to think right now. Just stop thinking. Just stop. Oh, and stop looking. Yeah, stop that too.

Jennifer Taylor is freshly fucked. We have something in common. Oh my god, Justin and his mother have something in common like right now. And it’s kind of partly cloudy out today and a little windy and the guy that just is, um, not her client is backing into me, and I just stepped right into her flowers. Look at the flowers. Fix the flowers.

Dude, get the fuck off of me.

And I thought I looked bad. I help him get steady on his feet and pretty much ignore the introductions.

“Um, Tripper, this is Brian Kinney, my son’s…….boyfriend.” Tripper? Isn’t that a dog’s name? There’s a name you can yell out in a moment of passion. I give him an obligatory wave while I try to repair the damage I did to the front stoop. He kisses her good-bye again. What a horn-dog. She looks embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry Brian. You’re a little early.” I look up from my flower-pot fixing.

“Cutting it close, aren’t we?” I can’t resist.

“He wouldn’t leave. Come on in. I need to freshen up.” She clasps her white robe in front of her chest when she realizes I can see right down it. Frankly, I’m more interested in Trip. Although I really try not to fuck guys whose names are verbs or adjectives. They are usually complete and total losers. Well actually, that’s why I just don’t get their names to begin with.

“He seemed a little pushy.” I feel protective of her all of sudden. Seems kind of silly.

“More like over-eager, I’d call it. Just let me run upstairs and change, so we can go. If you want to make a sandwich or something, help yourself.” I'm hungry, but I’ve kind of lost my appetite right now. The appointment that we have, that we’ve had for a few months now didn’t feel so urgent a week ago. I asked to go as a favor. When I talked to Jennifer this morning, when Justin finally walked to the elevator with Michael, I told her I was definitely going—that I'd be there no matter what.

And I pissed Justin off too. I’ll make it up to him.

I wander over to Jennifer’s stereo and mindlessly thumb through her CD collection. I’m nosy. I can’t help it. I press “play” on her CD player, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when Elvis starts playing. Really loudly. Loud enough that you can hear it upstairs where I guess they were, uh, tripping. Think about something else.

I fuck with her stereo and turn it down, sitting on her couch with a sleeve of CDs. I don’t feel like watching television, nor do I feel like finding a box of Trojans stuck in the couch that say ribbed for her pleasure. Jesus, enough is enough. I need to set her straight about a few things. What else is your son’s boyfriend for?

Finally, I hear her coming down the stairs.

“Can I borrow these?” I flash a couple of CDs at her while I stuff the crappy condoms back where I found them.

“Sure. I don’t know why you’d want to. Be my guest. We better go. Did you eat something?”

“No. Not really hungry. I’ll drive, if you want.” She agrees, saying that she doesn’t get to ride in a stingray with a hot guy like me every day. She’s trying to make me feel better. It’s going to take a lot more than that, but it’s sweet of her to try. I open her door for her, hoping that there isn’t anything horribly embarrassing in the ‘vette that I’ve forgotten about. At least Justin and I don’t fuck in here. I never thought I’d actually be happy about that.

“God, Brian, how many cigarettes do the two of you smoke in a day?” She asks me this as she fastens her seat belt. The aroma of our bad habit has always been comforting to me. I forget that it isn’t to others.

“If you think about it per hour, you’ll probably feel better about it. Number’s a lot lower.” I make a mental note not to speed, squeal my tires, or light up on the way to the hospital.

BRIAN'S POV

Doctor, doctor, give me the news

I've got a bad case of lovin' you

The label on this turkey sandwich says “lean” or “low fat” or some shit like that, but that is total bullshit. This is complete, processed crap. And this salad is nothing but a light green, cold, cry for help, but I’m fucking famished. I guess I’m eating it anyway. It seems counterintuitive to serve food that will obviously kill you in a hospital cafeteria.

At least I’ve got good company.

“Here. You can have these chips. I don’t want them.” Jennifer can tell I’m still hungry and dissatisfied with my lunch. I take them. She looks at her watch. “It’s going to be at least fifteen more minutes before he gets back down here.” She sighs. I nod.

“I’m going to step outside for a second and smoke if you don’t mind. I won’t be long.”

“Go right ahead. I’ll be right here.”

***************************************************************************************************************

I navigate the hallways of Allegheny General and find my way back outside to the de-facto smoking area and light up. This is the other thing that always confuses me about hospitals: the smoking area is always populated by doctors, nurses, and critically ill patients. Completely baffling.

The last hour or so inside the hospital has been an eye-opening experience. I probably need time to digest it. I can’t decide who I’m more frustrated with right now—myself or Justin. I need to call him anyway, and worry about that later, I guess. I call his cell phone, hoping he can find it somewhere in the twisted sheets I left him in.

“Hello?” My sleepy blond piece of everything.

“Hey sleepy head, Lindsay and Gus are going to pick you up in about three and half hours to have dinner at the diner. You need to be sure you’re up and dressed.”

“Okay. What time is it?”

“2:00. I’ve got a couple of last minute work things to do, but I’ll meet you guys there. But listen, don’t forget. Set that alarm on your cell phone so you’ll get up. I’ll spank the shit out of you if my son walks in and sees my blond piece of fuck naked in my bed, got it?”

“Mmmm, hmmm.” He’s totally zonked.

Was that a yes? I wait for an answer. “Justin?” More waiting. “Justin! Wake up! I’m serious.”

“I’m here. Don’t be mean to me when I’m jerking off Brian.”

“You little fucker.” I hang up on him. This kid learns too fast. I should stop paying for his education. He clearly doesn’t need one. I call him back.

“You’re too late now. I’m all done.”

“You like it when I’m mean to you, remember?”

“Do you ever let me forget it? I’m going back to sleep. Stop calling me.” He kisses the phone before he hangs up.

His ass is so mine.

***************************************************************************************************************

Jennifer hands me the list of neurologists in L.A. when I return to our table.

“You just missed him.”

“I thought we were going to get more than three names.”

“He said these are the only ones that he knows well and are accepting new patients.”

“Oh.” I didn’t think about that. “So I guess I’m going to talk to him about this?” I tuck the list in my wallet.

“I think it’s probably better that way, considering he’s been lying to me for over a year," Jennifer says.

And me too, I guess. Or rather, a sin of omission.

“How did you find out?” I ask.

“Dr. Madsen, Scott, and I have the same divorce lawyer, and we go to the same country club. We ran into each other one day. It was a few days after one of Justin’s appointments that Justin told me about, so I just casually thanked him for taking such good care of him, and he told me he hadn’t seen Justin in over a year.”

“And you asked Justin about it?”

“Yeah, in a very innocuous way. He just stuck to his story. His next appointment came up—the reminders still come to my address—I asked him about it; he gave me the usual song and dance. I called Scott; Scott told me he didn’t show up.”

“He doesn’t even talk to me about these appointments. I mean I don’t think he does.” I need to pay better attention.

“Well, I was also concerned about saying anything because of doctor-patient confidentiality. So, I wasn’t sure what to do. The thing that is bothering me is that if he doesn’t feel he needs to go anymore, then just tell me or tell us. Why the secrecy? He used to go with me all the time. The appointments were routine. It’s no big deal.”

“What do they do?”

“A basic neurological exam. Check reflexes, hand-eye coordination, etc.”

“Does he have trouble with that?” Why don’t I know these things?

“Not usually. I mean we’re talking about a while ago now. Sometimes his right hand doesn’t cooperate the way he wants it to or as quickly as he wants it to, but nothing that catastrophic. Nothing he can’t—well couldn’t overcome. Just whatever you do Brian, don’t make him think that we were just going behind his back. I don’t want him to think that.”

“We are.” Aren’t we?

“Just make him understand the reason. That if he’s going to go all the way across the country, he needs to do this. Tell him to do it for his mother’s sake. I won’t even have you out there looking out for him.”

Yeah, I’ll try to make Justin do something. That’s always been highly effective. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll find out what’s going on. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, we can plan Sunday night on the ride back. I’ve got to remember to invite Daphne. Hey, do you think I should invite Tripper?”

“That’s your call. I’m not touching that.” That’s one subject I won’t be talking to Justin about.

*********************************************************************************************************************

JUSTIN'S POV

“I called the office. Your meeting is canceled." KNOCK

You know, you shouldn’t be such a twat, when I’m KNOCK showing you how much I love you." KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

"You’re not going anywhere. Do you hear me, tight boy?" KNOCK, KNOCK

"Because no matter what happens..." KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.”

“FUCK. FUCK. Shit!!! I’m awake. I’m awake. I’m awake.” And I’m naked. And I overslept. Oh shit. Where are my fucking sweat pants? Shit. Here they are. “I’m coming.”

I have never been so happy after opening a door in my life.

“Oh thank god it’s just you Em. I thought I overslept. What time is it?”

“It’s 3:30, honey.” He pushes through the door with all of his packages. “What the fuck happened in here? This place looks like shit and smells like fuck!”

“Long story not worth telling.” I trudge back to the bedroom and climb back into bed. He follows me.

“I take it you had a long night?”

“You could say that.” I bury myself under the sheets. Emmett’s eyes scan our bedroom, which still looks worse than the rest of the loft.

“Well, okay then. I knew you two had a wild sex life, but this is a little wilder than I even imagined.”

“Brian and I had a fight. Everything’s okay now.”

“Okay, that makes more sense. Makes me feel a little better.” He rubs my shoulder. “I got everything you needed and I bought you a pres-ent!” He runs back out to the kitchen and starts digging through the bags. I wish I had his energy right now.

“What did you get me?”

He yells at me from the kitchen. “Close your eyes.”

“Okay.” I hear him walking toward the bed.

“Are they closed?”

“Yes.” I feel him sit on the bed and sit something beside him. I’m afraid to open my eyes.

“Okay. Now before you open your eyes, let me just tell you that this is a special gift from me to you. I have used this myself, well not this one exactly, but it works wonders, and I think you’ll really love it. Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Now I’m really scared. I open my eyes.

“Emmett!”

“What? Don’t you like it?”

“It’s a 64 oz. tub of ‘Butt Butter’!”

“Honey, this is what all spoiled bottoms everywhere use—you know, to recover. Or to stay in tip-top condition--if you know what I mean. Michael uses it.”

I hide my head under my pillow. Since when am I a spoiled bottom? Since when do I want to know about Michael’s personal sexual habits? Gross.

I mumble to Emmett from my hiding place. “You embarrass me.” He pokes me.

“You’re so cute. I’m surprised Brian hasn’t bought you some already. I’m sure he knows about this stuff.” He picks up the jar and starts reading me the ingredients. I kick him.

“Get out!!” I’m so mortified. He leaves the tub on the bed and goes out to the kitchen to unpack everything.

“Sweetie, I’m going to put all your stuff in a little pile over here. Are you just gonna sleep all day or what?”

“I have to get up in forty-five minutes because Gus and Lindsay are coming to take me to the diner for dinner.”

“They’re coming here to this mess? Oh no. You go back to sleep. I’m gonna clean this up a little. You can’t have a small child walk into Brian Kinney’s natural habitat. He’ll be traumatized.”

“Wake me up in forty-five minutes, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

I wait until Em is totally involved in what he’s doing before I open the vat of Butt Butter. It smells really good. I put some on my ass. I hope this stuff works.

*******************************************************************************************************************

Gus is as bossy as his father. He might even be worse, if that’s possible. If he is, that’s probably Melanie’s influence. This can’t be all Brian’s fault.

It might also have something to do with his new black leather jacket. He looks so much like Brian today. It’s really cute. God, I’m going to miss just hanging out with him.

The diner is busy, and Gus is too—but not busy doing what he should be doing—eating his dinner.

“Be still, Mr. Justin.” He stares at me from across the booth, pad of paper and crayon in hand. This is my fault; I taught him to do this the other day at Kinnetik when he was tearing through Brian’s office, and he needed him to sit still. I’m clever like that.

“Gus, how about if you finish drawing me after dinner? Your food is getting cold.”

“I’m almost done.” I think he’s working on my hair because he just picked up a yellow crayon.

“Okay. One more minute and then you have to put it down, no matter what.”

The minute ends and he shows me his picture. It’s priceless. I ask him if I can have it, and he says he needs to “work on it some more.” I tell him not to forget to sign his name, that an artist always signs his art.

“Okay, finish your sandwich and your french fries.” I’m almost done with mine.

“Mr. Justin, where is Daddy?”

“Why are you calling me Mr. Justin now?” This is a new thing for him, usually it’s just ‘Justin.’

“At school I have Mr. Jason, Miss Martha, and Miss Sarah.” Oh, okay, I get it. I’ll just add that to my list of nicknames.

“Your dad is at work. He should be here any minute though.” I hope he gets here soon. I thought I was going to get to spend more time with him today. Not that it mattered much, I was so fucking tired—still, it would have been nice to have him next to me.

“What is my daddy’s job?” How do I explain this? He squirts ketchup all over his french fries—way too much.

“’Whoa Gus. Take it easy. That’s enough ketchup. Your dad works in advertising.” I take the ketchup bottle from him and put it back on the table.

“What’s ‘vertising?” I knew that wouldn’t make sense.

I think about how to explain this to him. I could show him a magazine, but good luck finding an appropriate one around here. I opt for something more universal. “Okay, you know how you see commercials on television when you watch Spongebob and Sesame Street?”

“Yep. I love Spongebob.”

“Well, your dad helps make those commericials.”

“For toys?”

“Sometimes.” Debbie comes up and asks us if we want D-E-S-S-E-R-T, and I tell her that we are waiting for Brian. She gets Gus some more milk.

“Mr. Justin, what’s a blow job?” It’s a good thing Debbie had returned with the milk when he asked me that, or I would have fallen out of the booth.

“This one’s all yours Sunshine.” She saunters off. Thanks a fucking lot, Debbie.

“Why are you asking me that?” I gulp down a lot of water and wave to Debbie to bring me some more.

“That’s Daddy’s job. Daddy has a blow job.” He looks completely sure of himself and hell bent on convincing me. A lot more water would be really nice right now.

“Who told you that?”

“Mommy.”

“Mommy Lindsay or Mommy Mel?”

“Mommy Mel.” Oh shit. Okay. I’m talking to a four-year-old, and they don’t always get everything right, right?

“What did she say?”

“Mommy said Daddy is busy. He has a busy job. Mommy Mel said blow jobs.”

“Where were you?”

“In bed under the covers.” Which is exactly where I wish I was right now, where I should have stayed. I should let Brian handle this, but that would probably involve injury or death. Maybe I can fix this.

“I think what you heard was a fight. Your daddy’s job is at Kinnetik—here, give me that pad of paper.” He hands me the pad of paper, and I pick up a crayon off the table. I draw a quick sketch of Kinnetik and a quick picture of his bedroom.

“Okay, Gus. Look at this. Actually, your dad has two jobs. One is making commercials at Kinnetik. Right here.” I show him on the page where I drew Kinnetik, and I draw a funny figure of Brian standing inside his office with a television. Gus laughs. He liked that a lot. He loves running around Brian’s huge office. “And his second job is over here, taking care of you.” I fill in Gus’ room. “This is your dad, sitting on your bed, reading you a story at bedtime. What story is it?”

“It’s Green Eggs and Ham.”

“That’s a great story. I love that book. So, those are your dad’s two jobs. Commericals and you. Those two jobs keep him pretty busy. Here, you can keep this picture.” I hand him back the pad of paper.

“Put your name on it Mr. Justin.” Oops, I forgot.

I sign it “Mr. Justin.” It’s the only work of art I’ve ever signed that way. It feels like the most important thing I’ve ever drawn.

I explain to Gus that I’m going away for awhile to work in the movies, and that I’m really going to miss him. I think he thinks I’m going to live in a movie theater. I’m not sure.

“You can call me on the phone though, and you can still draw me pictures. Your mommy or daddy can mail them to me if you want.”

“Okay. I’ll draw you a picture of a movie.”

“That would be great.”

“And then I’ll put in it an emelope.”

“And I’ll send you a picture back—of anything you want.”

He starts asking me if I will be in the movies every night, when Debbie’s voice rocks the entire diner.

“HOLY FREAKING SHIT!!!!!!” The sound of crashing cups and plates and possibly a fainting drag queen brings Gus to his feet on his side of the booth.

The guy behind sitting behind us yells, “What thefuck was that?” I shoot him a dirty look.

“Yeah, Mr. Justin, what the fuck was that?” Gus echoes. My job is never done.

“Come with me Gus.” I take his little hand and walk to the entrance of the kitchen. It’s what I figured. There’s a mouse. Debbie is on a chair still screaming orders to everyone, which is pointless because everyone who is working right now is just as freaked as she is. She sees me in the doorway.

“Thank god Sunshine. Please get it. It’s right over here. I know it is.” I am the official rodent catcher at the Liberty Diner, whether it’s my shift or not. Who’s gonna do this when I’m gone?

“Will somebody get me a box, a plate, and some peanut butter, please?” I ask. Gus clings to my pants. Kiki returns with my stuff and I set up my makeshift trap beside the refrigerator. “He’ll come out in a second.”

“Yeah, he’ll come out in a second everybody.” Gus is now my partner in crime. I feel so useful tonight.

As soon as I see him venture out, I motion for Gus to be still. He goes for my trap, and I capture him in the box.

“Come on Gus. We’re gonna go take him outside and let him go.” He follows me out back to the dumpster area.

“Can I let him out?”

“Sure.” I place the box on the ground, and he opens the flap. The mouse scurries away into the darkness.

“Bye, bye mouse.”

“Good job, Gus.” We wave good-bye to the mouse and turn around to go back inside.

“Hello kitty cat.”

“What?”

“Look Mr. Justin, kitty cats.” Our fast mouse perked up three small kittens curled up on a piece of cardboard by the dumpster—one dark gray one and two that look more orange and white. Tabbies, I think.

“Wow. They are really tiny and cute, aren’t they?” I look around a little to see if I can see any others or their mother or anything. No such luck.

“I want to pet one Mr. Justin.” So do I. They’re adorable, but they’ve noticed us and are starting to get restless and will probably run any second now.

“Let me see if I can get them in the box. Here, hold the box still.” The two orange and white tabbies are easy to grab, but the darker one tries to make a run for it. I go after it and manage to get it, such bright green eyes. I hold it so Gus can pet it.

“Be very, very gentle.” He is. His smile could light up this back lot.

“Can I have it?” I knew that was coming.

“I don’t know Gus. That’s up to your mommy. Let me call her and see what she says.” I explain the situation to Lindsay and see what her thoughts are. She is surprisingly cool with the whole thing, saying that it might help Gus feel comfortable in the new place. I figure we’ll just take the others to a shelter. Brian is so going to kill me.

“Gus, your mom said that you can bring one of them home, but you have to help take care of it. You have to feed it, give it water, play with it—“

“Make it go night night.”

“Right. And you and your mommy have to take it to the doctor tomorrow to be sure it’s not sick, and so it can get it’s shots. If the doctor says the kitten’s okay, then you can keep it.”

“Shots?”

“Yep. Just like when you go to the doctor. Which one do you want?” He chooses the dark gray one, which upon closer inspection I think is a girl. Wise choice, boys can be a nightmare. “Do you want to give her a name?”

“Twinkerbelle!”

“That’s a very good name because her eyes are sotwinkle-ly.” He giggles.

“Let’s call your dad and tell him to hurry up and get over here.”

“Yeah, Dad, hurry up!”

I’m pretty sure Gus has totally forgotten about the blow job thing now.

***************************************************************************************************************

BRIAN'S POV

The last of my many errands today lands me right where this saga started a little less than twenty-four hours ago. I stop at the store to pay Michael a visit.

Hunter appears to be in charge. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

“Hey dude! Buy something from me so I can practice with this register.”

“No can do, shop keep. I’m in a bit of a hurry. I trust Michael didn’t leave you alone with all the money?”

“Nah, he’s in the back.”

I walk in and spy Michael unpacking a new shipment—visions of sugarplums no doubt doing a jig in his head.

“Hey Mikey.”

“Hey! What are you doing here—looking all scruffy, no less? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” I sit down on a stool in his backroom, relieved to just be here, just me and him.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Brian Kinney.”

“Oh yeah-what? Justin coming over and bitching you out last night?”

“No-that was a huge misunderstanding. We’re fine. I’m talking about Mel and Linds splitting up—letting me find out like that.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that. You and I have a responsibility as fathers to Jenny and Gus—that’s all I’m going to say about that. But that’s not why you’re here—what’s up?”

“Jennifer’s going to have everyone over to her house Sunday night for dinner and you and your clan are invited—your mom and Carl, Mel and Jenny too. Around six. Invite Rodney too, if you want.”

“Oh wow, okay. That’ll be fun…and sad. I’ll tell my mom to call Jennifer about the food and all.”

“Yeah, I don’t know shit about the food. I’m in charge of the fucking.”

“Naturally.”

“Can I ask you something about Justin?”

“Yeah, but for the record, I told him this morning that I’m not going to be the silent partner in your relationship anymore.” He has stopped going through his shipment.

Silent Partner? “That’s not what I want to ask you about. Does he complain about anything when you guys are working together on the comic?”

“Besides you?”

“Yeah, besides me. Anything physical, about his hand. That he’s having trouble with anything.”

“Not really. Sometimes it takes him longer than usual to finish things, but he’s an artist, and that’s the way artists are. I’m not usually with him when he draws, you know. You spend more time with him than I do. Why?”

“No reason. I was just wondering. Look, I’ll see you Sunday night.” I hug him as I get up to leave.

“We’ll all be there.”

I nod to Hunter on the way out the door.

“See ya dude!” Send his ass to California.

*******************************************************************************************************************

I am almost at the diner before I realize that Emmett never called me. I don’t even have his number on me. I call Ted; he picks up immediately.

“Greetings mysterious one.”

“You didn’t tell him to call me.”

“Yes, I did. He just walked in the door, and he’s reading your list as we speak.” I can hear Emmett reading it aloud.

“Well?”

“Hang on a second. He just did a cartwheel and came in his pants. ‘Bout what I expected. Em, the Great One would like a word with you.” He hands Em the phone.

“Hello, hello.”

“Don’t do cartwheels in my place of business. You’ll break something.”

“Judging by what I just read, the only thing getting broken this weekend is your itty bitty heart.”

Fine, bitch. “Do you have any questions about what’s on the list? I have to get to the diner.”

“Okay, let me see, let me see.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Maybe Emmett wasn’t the right person for this. “Okay, number one looks fine. You sure you want me to pick that out?”

“Yeah, just make it simple and tasteful, I guess.”

“Okay, number two is the reason I did the cartwheel in the first place.” He laughs and I can hear Theodore.

”Tell him you didn’t really do a cartwheel. You can’t even do a cartwheel," Ted laments in the background.

”The fuck I can’t. I was one of five junior varsity alternate, runner-up, off-season football cheerleaders in Hazelhurst.”

"You were not."

“Can you bitches argue about this later, please?!” Jesus, I have got to get to the diner.

“Okay, calm down, Prince Charming. Number two and number three: This Paul guy will help us with this?”

“Yes. I talked to him.”

“About the one for tomorrow night?”

“Yes. The rest I’m not worried about.”

“Okay, but please let me help with the rest too. I can do it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, thank you. I promise I won’t do anymore cartwheels in your office if you let me help with number three.”

“I’m not saying “yes” yet, Emmett.”

“I know, I know. Number four is no problem. You were pretty detailed. And of course, Number five is the real reason we’re doing this anyway!”

“Yeah, I figured that would sweeten the deal.”

“I can’t wait! This is going to be fun!”

“I know. I really wanted to do it, but I just don’t have time.”

“Well, you need to be with him. We’re so proud of him. Our little Justin going to Hollywood! Who would’ve ever thought that Brian Kinney would pick up a twinkie, fuck him, fall in love with him, and then get to watch him become a bigger success than he could ever hope to be? Sometimes things just work out right, you know?”

“Do you really expect me to respond to that?”

“Oh honey, this piece of paper in my hand is all the response I need. Now go find your sweet little blond boy and fuck the shit out of him. Teddy and I will see you tomorrow at 2:00 pm sharp.”

Why do I feel like I just got my ass rammed by Liberty Avenue’s biggest bottom?

**********************************************************************************************************************

“How much longer ‘til you get here?” Justin is badgering me on the phone. I am anxious to see Gus. It’s been over a week.

“I’m here.” I pull up outside of the diner.

“Oh good. Go inside. Find Debbie and do what she says. Oh, and Gus wants to talk to you.”

He does?

“Daddy?”

“Hey Sonny Boy.” I can hear Justin telling Gus to tell me that he loves me.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too.” Justin gets back on the phone.

“We’ll see you in a minute.”

That’s twice today that he’s hung up on me. He is so gonna get it.

I walk into the diner and am immediately greeted by Debbie who is serving up equal portions of turkey meatloaf and innuendo, too bad I don’t feel like either. She is wearing a t-shirt that I’ve never seen before:

Grandmas do it with Affection

My chest collides with her gaudy hand. I think I count six bracelets today. “Hold it right there tall, dark, and horny. I gotta give you something.” She places her tray on the booth where I know Justin and Gus have been sitting because, well, I know my boys.

I sit down and finish Gus’ french fries which are unmistakable. They are the ones drowning in ketchup. I drink the rest of Justin’s water. Justin and Gus have so much in common: they both eat french fries like they are going out of style, they both love a good story, and they both took really long naps today. Debbie gives up.

“Oh, fuck it. Your kid is out back. He drew you a picture, and I lost it. The note said, ‘Don’t tell him no’ or something.”

“Um, thanks Debbie. Can I get a turkey sandwich?” Doesn’t anyone care about my needs? I head out back. There better not be another dead body out here.

“Daddy!!!” Gus runs up to me and jumps in my arms, our heads almost collide together. His hands frame my face. “You’re scratchy Daddy.” He rubs my stubble. Matching black leather jackets. We look like twins. How very Kinney-ian.

I spy Justin bent down over a cardboard box. Why do I feel like this can’t be good? I focus back on Gus who is squeezing my face and demanding my attention.

“Daddy? Daddy! I found a baby cat, a baby kitten, and Mommy said I can keep it!”

Oh shit. I carry him toward Justin and the box, his excited body jumping in my arms. Justin stands up and gives me a “don’t kill me” smile and then kisses me, and I almost forget that I'm still holding Gus.

“No! I kiss Mr. Justin!” He leans over and kisses Justin on the cheek. I’ve never seen him do that before, react to me kissing Justin or Justin kissing me, or maybe I’ve just never paid attention.

“Gus has become a little bossy, Mr. Brian.” Justin gives me his flirty smile at me as I put Gus down.

“Come here Gus, you need to zip up your jacket. It’s cold out here.” Justin tells me he’s sorry. Gus drags me to the box and opens the lid.

“Look at the kitties, Daddy! This one is mine.” He starts to pick it up, and Justin shows him the correct way to do it. He cuddles the kitten in his arms and sways back and forth.

“Look Mr. Brian, he’s a natural.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I’ve put up with it all night. You get used to it after a while.”

I point out to Justin that there are three kittens in that box and that there is no way in hell that Lindsay agreed to that, and he tells me that our next stop is PetSmart to get the bare necessities.

“They have an adoption center there. They'll take the other two. I called and checked. I’m not going to leave them out here to freeze.”

“Of course you’re not. Well, let’s get a move on. Gus, put the cat back in the box.”

“Her name is Twinkerbelle.”

“Okay, put Twink back in the box. We have to go get her some food.” And a box to shit in. I hope Lindsay thought this through. “Justin, I hope you realize that when Lindsay goes out of town or something, that I am not watching that cat at my loft. Having a kid there is one thing, but not a cat.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” He whispers the last word to me for Gus’ benefit.

I pay for my turkey sandwich, and we are off. PetSmart stinks worse than Babylon at 5:00 am, and I had no idea that people are actually allowed to bring their dogs in there, and that sometimes these dogs actually piss right in the middle of the aisle and that no one comes by to clean it up right away. That’s really nice. Gus tries to stand up in the cart three times and on the last time I catch him before he hits his head on a shelf.

“Gus, you can either sit in the cart and hold Twink, or you can walk and I will hold Twink. Which do you want?”

“Hold Twink.”

“Okay, then it’s back in the cart.” I sit him in the back this time, which seems to make him happier because he can look at everything Justin is putting in the cart.

I watch Justin as he leads us all over the store, reading ingredients, deciding what he wants, being Mr. Methodical. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Every time he puts something in the cart, he tells Gus what it is and what it’s for.

“Okay Gus, Twink needs two bowls. One for food and one for water. What colors do you want?”

“Ummm. Blue Mr. Justin. Blue and red.”

“Okay, here you go. Blue and red."

My son worships at the altar of Mr. Justin. I start to worry that he loves him more than I do.

Gus and I have a long, drawn out discussion over the difference between dog toys and cat toys. I can’t make him understand that some giant, red, rubber ball he wants was a dog toy, not a cat toy. I finally just tell him no. He screams. Goddamn end caps.

“What’s wrong, Brian?” Justin turns around and comes back to the cart to see what all of the hoopla is about.

“I’m trying to explain to him that these are dog toys, not cat toys, and he doesn’t want to believe me. So now he’s mad.” His little face is contorting for the benefit of everyone that walks by. They’re all thinking: “cute kitten, cute kids, evil Daddy.”

“Gus.” Justin leans over the cart, holding the offending red ball in his hand. “This toy is bigger than Twink. A kitten likes toys that are smaller. Let’s go pick out a smaller toy. We can probably find a red one. Okay?”

He stops crying. Of course.

“Here Daddy.” He hands me the kitten—at least I’m good for something. I can hold pussy and push a cart. What-the-fuck-ever. I watch the two of them walk down the aisle toward the cat toys. For some reason, it makes me feel less insignificant to tell Justin:

“He can pick three Justin. Just three.”

Gus picks out his three toys, which Justin completely scams me on because they are three bags of toys, so now this kitten has like forty-seven toys. I do my part too, though, and throw in some catnip because drugs don’t count as toys.

Gus usually sleeps in the car, but not tonight. Justin points that out to me almost immediately, after he teases me about listening to Elvis in the car.

“Brian, look in your mirror. Look at Gus.”

I glance back at him, and he is dancing, hard core, in his little leather jacket, completely oblivious to the two of us. He really did have a good time tonight.

“He dances better than you Brian. He must get that from Lindsay.” I flip him off.

“He’s just happy. Hey, what’re you doing back there Sonny Boy?”

He looks up at me and gives me an honest, ‘four-year-old, I’ve been in Preschool too long answer’: “I’m breaking it down, Daddy.”

Justin's dancing in the front seat now. Dancing and laughing. “I was afraid he was going to say “shake it like a Polaroid picture.”

“He better not say that.” The songs ends, and Gus is kicking the back of Justin’s seat.

“Play it again, Daddy. Again!”

“No, that’s enough. We’re almost home.” Lindsay’s new place is right around the corner.

“Oh, play it again for him Brian. It’ll only be the twenty-fifth time you’ve listened to it today.”

I mouth “Fuck you” to him and start the track over.

A little less conversation, a little more action please

It’s my car. I’m the King. I can do what I want.

********************************************************************************************************************

Heaven help me, I didn’t see the devil in your eyes.

“If I had known that being in a pet store would make you act like such a horny little puppy, Sunshine, I’d have done it a long time ago.”

“Don’t be such a twat when I’m showing you how much I love you.”

My words always come back to fuck me in the ass.

“Where were you all day anyway?” he asks me, in between the kisses and the groping that have landed us on the bed, albeit fully clothed.

“I had to take care of a few last minute things with Ted. End of month stuff. Shit like that.”

His hands stop roaming under my shirt for a minute, and he looks at me.

“You’re lying.”

“I am?”

“Yep. You are. Your body gets tense when you’re lying. I can feel it. That’s the thing about you. Your body speaks way louder than your words.”

“And you’re a good listener.” I feel his warm hands slide under my back and cradle my shoulders. I love it when he lies on top of me like this.

“It’s a job requirement with you, and an occupational hazard.”

“That’s me—the double-edged sword.”

He rakes his fingers through my hair as I close my eyes. I feel him straddle me and start unbuttoning my shirt. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“No, I mean really good. I want you to relax. Just let me spoil you.” He unbuttons the rest of my shirt and frees me of it, and I do the same for him, yanking his long sleeve gray t-shirt over his head. I try to pull him down to me to kiss him, but he won’t let me. I prop my arms behind my head.

I bend my knees, scratching one foot on another, as he climbs out of bed and removes the rest of his clothes. I watch him in silence, realizing that I know every move he’s going to make before he makes it. He comes back to me, blond and bare, and lies on top of me again. I give in to how tired I am and how nice it feels just to have him warm and sweet and all over me like this.

I tell him that I am already spoiled rotten. He tells me he’ll be the judge of that.

He smiles at me and I smile back as his fingers undo my jeans. I close my eyes as I feel him tuck his fingers into my underwear and pull my jeans far, far away.

His body lies on mine again, and he kisses me like I'm standing alone under a streetlight, and he’s picking me tonight. His hands slide under my pillow and curl inside of mine.

I wrap my legs over his as his lips tickle my face and squeeze him tightly. His mouth moves behind my ear and down my neck and my hands leave his to hold him and to keep this going.

“I fucking love that.”

“I know.”

I roll over when he asks me to and his arms stretch mine out to either side of me. He tells me to close my eyes and to go to sleep if I want to. I don’t think I want to.

He's gone for a second, but I don’t move or say anything. No need. I feel warm pressure on my hips when he returns to me and straddles me again. I hear him rubbing his hands together.

I smell California.

“What’s that?”

“Just be quiet.”

He rubs the smell of coconuts and summer down my arms, one at a time, all the way down to my fingertips, the pressure increasing with each pass.

Fuck, this feels good.

The knots in my shoulders dissolve underneath his hands, and he's careful with my recently mended one, sparing me unnecessary agony. Something he's doing lengthens my neck.

I groan when he re-applies and starts on my back. I turn my head the other way, toward the window. I feel him shift farther down my body, sitting on my legs. I close my eyes again and think about waves crashing-one after the other. The heat kicks on. It sounds like the ocean.

He presses the heels of his hands into my back and forces every bit of distress in my body up and out through his fingertips like I don’t even own it anymore. I let out a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding.

His hands are slippery again when they massage my waist, and I realize that my cock has been soaking the sheets this entire time. I never knew I held so much tension in my ass. Not anymore. He meanders back up my body, sliding his arms along mine, whispering in my ear.

“How do you feel?”

“A-mazing.” He nuzzles his face against mine. He loves it when I don’t shave.

“Now do you want to tell me where you were all day?” Just a quiet, quiet question.

“Um, I already told you.” Just a quiet, quiet answer.

“Right.” His seductive whisper wafts through my ear, giving me chills. “Then I guess we’re not done, are we?” A roaring wave chases me and pummels me into the sand. I never had a chance.

He kisses me on the cheek and lets his lips trail down the rest of my body. I look up and I can see the beach, but this is not where I was, not where I started from. I don’t know which way gets me back to my blanket. The sun beats down on me.

His lips surf down the crevice of my ass, and I don’t hear waves crashing or children playing or lifeguards blowing their whistles anymore. I don’t hear anything.

“Mmmmmm.”

I feel everything.

The splash of his tongue as it coats me makes me gasp. I shift underneath him.

“Justin.” I dig my fingers in the hot sand.

The tide is changing.

I am on my knees, my arms underneath me again. He moans as he licks and kisses my hole. I pray. That he doesn’t touch my cock. That I don’t come on the spot. That he hasn’t forgotten that. Surely he hasn’t forgotten that.

His tongue invades me. I am pulled out to sea. I can’t for the life of me remember how to swim.

“Oh god. Oh fuck.” His hand snakes between my legs, his palm covering the head of my glazed dick. I push it away. “No.” He flattens his hand on my stomach, spreading my dampness along the way. He covers my hole with his warm tongue and cups my balls. I feel him rise up. I call his name again--by accident.

I stare at my hands.

Lube shouldn’t be so cold on such a hot day. The initial pinch pulls me under. I hold my breath for as long as I can.

It’ll heat up.

He's gentle with me for now, as only he is allowed to be. He's the only lifeguard on duty at my beach. My head emerges from the water for a second.

He slides another slippery finger inside me, and when I tell him that it really hurts, he teaches me to tread water.

He continues to lube me, to push me, and to watch me negotiate this. He tells me I'm ready.

He tells me to remember to breathe, that he’ll go slow.

I tell him it won’t matter.

Something dark swims underneath me.

Here it comes.

I curse like a mother fucker on the first push, biting my lip, and try to focus on him, on doing this for him. He tells me that I'm still holding my breath.

I can’t stay afloat any longer.

He tells me how good this feels for him, how beautiful I am, how being inside of me makes him crazy.

I tell him that the sound of his voice drives me nuts, that I want him—that I want him to fuck me.

God, I want him to fuck me.

I have no idea why he ever bottoms at all.

He moves inside me. I catch my breath. His hands are somewhe--

“Ah. Oh fuck Justin. What the fuck.”

He tells me that he loves to be inside my extremely……..tight……….ass.

I tell him that’s what I meant by moving in.

He laughs and tells me not to be a smart ass. I tell him to fuck me harder.

Now.

I dive back under the water, as deep as I can go.

He slams me against the ocean floor, ignoring my thrashing underneath him. I feel everything tighten, rise, and rush to get to the surface. Fuck. I’m going to drown.

I try to move or shift or something so he can’t do this, so he can’t fuck that same spot over and over, but he’s onto me. He reclaims me hard and fast and surrounds my cock with his warm, wet hand.

“Ah fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

He tells me that he loves me, that he won’t be gone for long…

that California isn’t that far away.

I tell him that he’s full of shit.

He pulls all the way out and crashes back into me, ending everything for both of us.

I come all over myself, washed up on some deserted island all alone.

Goddamn sunshine. I'm burnt to a crisp.

I’m never going to lie to him again.

BRIAN'S POV

We're caught in a trap
I can't walk out
Because I love you too much baby

1:41 a.m. Saturday morning

My last cigarette.  Justin’s last cigarette, I think.  I don’t know; I can’t find mine.

The window's ice cold, but it feels good against my skin.  I like this view from the living room, hot smoke filling my lungs, cool glass against my shoulder, a car driving past once in a while.  Not much going on out there tonight, way too much going on inside my head. 

My cold shoulder.  The only part of my body I can even feel right now—that and my hand every time it brings this cigarette back to my face—otherwise nothing-naked and numb. 

It’s always the same, but always different.  This thing that makes sleep a joke, that makes the morning start at two a.m., that makes two a.m a good time to pedal miles away from here on a stationary bike.  This thing that makes me know that I love him, and that I hate him for loving me.  I fucking hate it.

It’s nothing to love someone. 

And it’s always the same, but always different.  And I fucking hate it because I can’t control it.  I tell myself every night that I can change it, but I can’t, at least not the way I want.  I’m so fucking tired of this.  Tired of waking up exhausted because I’m busier in my sleep than I am during the day.  Tired of waking up in the morning thinking "Thank God. Now I can get some fucking sleep.”

These fucking dreams need to stop.

“In the first phase of the campaign, Mr. Kinney, we’re going to use some of these images you see here to familiarize the customer with your product, to give them a sense of what it’s about.  I think you can see from what we're showing you what direction we’re headed in.”

I can see it all right.  This part of the dream is always the same.  I can’t even look at what they are showing me.  I don’t have to.  I know what it is.  I don’t even fucking want to think about  it.

 I look at my watch.  Justin is late.  He’s never late.  Why the fuck is he late today?  This is important.  He should be here.  Why the fuck isn’t he here? 

Apparently, we are business partners. 

“So, Mr. Kinney, as I was saying, after this, we’ll move into the second phase of the campaign.  In this phase, we plan on taking a few more risks---“

“Sorry, I’m late.”

He takes a seat beside me.  I don’t even realize he’s walked in the door.  He sees everything when he walks into the room; he sees everything that I can see—even my thoughts, and it doesn’t even phase him.  He doesn’t even flinch.  I start to wonder if he really sees what I see—something that is obviously such a fascade, but if he does, he doesn’t care. 

“Mr. Taylor.”  Mr. ShutTheFuckUp stops his presentation. Time stops. Everything stops.  For some reason everyone leaves the room; they politely excuse themselves.  I get excited for a minute because I think I’m back in my office, that I’m going to get to fuck him.  I hate this part of the dream.  It always goes too slow.  It’s like fucking torture. 

So I look at him sitting next to me.  He looks beautiful in his gray suit; it’s always something different.  He smiles at me.  He kisses me, running his hand down the back of my head.

“Sorry, I’m late.”  Again.

“Where were you?”

I hate the way I sound when I ask him this.  I try to change it every night, but it always comes out sounding the same.  This is where it gets really fucked up.  This is where it’s always the same but different, the same, but different.  Sometimes he’s just come from the prom in his tuxedo, sometimes art class, sometimes the diner, sometimes he’s dripping wet from my shower with only a towel around him, sometimes straight from Babylon high on some shit and covered in glitter, and once he was dripping with blood.  Tonight, it was different again.

“I was in L.A.  Remember?  Making the movie?”

“Oh yeah.  I forgot.”

“You always forget.”  His hand rubs my thigh.  I keep thinking that those people are going to walk back in any minute and that if they do, I’m going to hurt them because I need time to remember where he was.  I can’t think very fast, and that’s not my fault. 

This part of the dream moves in slow motion.  My mind feels like it’s swimming in jell-o.

“I don’t know why I can’t remember where you are.”  He’s looks at me and smiles.  I’m looking at my lap.

“Because you don’t want to.”  He just sits beside me and reassures me.  He holds my hand. 

“I don’t?”  The blue of his eyes goes on forever when I look at him.  He shakes his head at me like I’m a small child who just doesn’t understand things.

“No, you don’t.  You don’t want to remember.  You tried, though.  That’s the important thing.”

I tell him that I’m going to try again tomorrow.  I’m going to keep trying until I can remember.

Somehow the people know that it’s okay to come back in.  The presentation starts up again.  I don’t want to be there.  I want to leave, but I look over at him, and he’s calm and peaceful and happy and relaxed, so I try to be.  I try to be the beautiful, confident, self-possessed man that he is, that some part of me is telling me that I taught him to be.  But I can’t.  Or I won’t.  Or something.

So Mr. ShutTheFuckUp starts up again.  “In Phase Three of our campaign Mr. Kinney—Mr. Taylor—this will be the phase where we’ll really drive your message home, where we’ll make our----excuse me—your product will make it’s strongest impress---“

“Your ideas are for shit.”  I get up and start putting my shit in my briefcase. 

Mr. ShutTheFuckUp keeps right on talking.  My behavior bothers Justin.

“Brian, sit down.  You’re being rude.”

“Justin, are you coming?”  He ignores me.  I walk to the door with my briefcase.  “Justin, I asked you a question.”

Always the gentleman, he asks Mr. ShutTheFuckUp to excuse him for a second.  He joins me in the hallway.

“Brian, what the fuck is wrong with you?”  He’s really pissed.  I’ve embarrassed him.  “Why are you walking out in the middle of this?  This could be a good thing here.  And why are you talking to me like that?”

He doesn’t get mad at me like this that often, but I’ve pissed him off.  And now I’m mad too.  “Because, Justin, that guy’s a fucking idiot.  He doesn’t know what we want.  He hasn’t listened to one fucking thing I’ve said, or given me one thing I asked for, and this is a total waste of my fucking time.  That’s why.”

“You just don’t want to listen to him because he’s my father.  Because you think you know what’s best for me.”

I glance back in the room, and Mr. ShutTheFuckUp has his back to me, but I believe Justin.  I believe him when he says that it’s his father.  I tell myself that I won’t go back in that room again for the rest of dream.  I feel like there are other fathers in there.  I close the door.  I always forget to lock it.  I should have locked it.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.  And it’s all just fucking screwed up in your head Brian.  That’s your whole fucking problem.”

“How could I possibly know what’s best for you when I don’t even know where the fuck you are?  Have you even thought about that?”

That’s the only part of the dream where I feel confident.  It makes no sense. And then I just keep yelling at him.

“I can’t remember from one minute to the next where you are or when you’ll be back, or where or when I get to fuck you, or when I’m just paying for shit and not fucking you, OR…”

“Or what, Brian?  Or what?”  He’s still yelling at me.

And then we’re not in Mr. ShutTheFuckUp’s office or building anymore.  I don’t know where we are.  Some place dark.  Some place inside.  I can’t tell.  I’m still yelling at him.

“Or why it feels just as good  to me to take care of you, to put you through school, to worry about whether or not you get home safe at night as it does for me to have you in my bed waiting to be fucked every single night! THAT is my fucking problem Justin!”

He just looks at me, and I can’t stop.  Nothing will stop.

“SO, ARE YOU COMING OR NOT?  I’m not going to ask you again.” 

“Okay.  Just let me get my stuff.”

“Fine.” And I’m relieved that we’re done arguing, that we can get the fuck out of here, and I’m not even bothered by the fact that we’re back in front of Mr. ShutTheFuckUp’s office again.   I lean back against the wall to wait for him.

A cold blast of air hits me when he opens the door, and right when he does, he turns around and smiles at me and says, “I’ll just be a minute.  I’ll meet you at the elevator.  Just let me tell them good-bye.” 

Mr. ShutTheFuckUp’s office is full of people that weren’t there before and full of stuff.  It’s all Justin’s stuff.  I can’t see it, but I know that it is. 

I walk down the hall and press the ‘down’ button.  The moment the elevator door opens, I hear Stockwell’s voice.

“If you say it, mean it.  Right boys?” And the unmistakable crack of a bat.

I drop my briefcase.  I try to run.  I try to say his name.  I can’t move.  My legs are cement.  They won’t budge.  The hallway stretches out farther and farther in front of me.  I open my mouth again and again, but nothing comes out.  Absolutely nothing.

Gus is standing in the elevator smoking a cigarette.

“Come on Daddy.  Let’s go.  He’s gone.” 

For some reason, I can pick up my brief case now, and I can get on the elevator.  Gus isn’t smoking anymore. 

“Daddy, hold me up so I can push the button.”  I lift him up and show him which one to push, and we descend.

This is where I always wake up.

It’s nothing to love someone.  It’s letting them love you back that’s unwarranted. 

*******************************************************************************
2:23 a.m.

Justin’s up.  I can hear him in the bathroom.  It’s probably just as well.  I’m fucking freezing.

“Brian?”  He sees me.  I don’t feel like saying anything.  I’m sure he’ll drag half the bed with him when he walks over here.  “Did you smoke my last cigarette?”  He folds me in his arms, me and the blanket, as I laugh a little and nod. 

“Yeah.”

“Fucker.”

I turn around so I can pull him in front of me, so we can both look out the window, so I can bury my nose in his hair.  I just stop thinking.  We stand there for several minutes, both of us, not saying anything.  Eventually, he turns around and looks at my face.  I’d rather he didn’t.

“What are you looking at?” 

He lays his head against my chest, and I re-adjust the blanket.  His body warms mine.  He gives me more space than I deserve sometimes—most of the time.  I lift his chin off of my chest and bring my face to his.  I almost don’t want to kiss him because once I do, the rest of me will thaw, but I do it anyway.  I don’t even know what I want from this kiss--everything—I guess.  I want the innocent part of him that kisses me like he really doesn’t know what’s coming next, that relies on me, the tease in him that wants to entice me and please me, and the aroused, surrendering part of him that fits my body like a glove.  I want everything at once. The light coming in from the window makes streaks in his hair, making it seem lighter than it is.  Our mouths part long enough for me to answer him, for his arms to find their way around my neck.

“Street lights.”

I’m not sure how long we stood at the window, it couldn’t have been very long, or whose idea it was to finally go back to bed, but he fell asleep facing me.  I think I fell asleep watching him. 

It’s nothing to love someone. 
*******************************************************************************
Cause your kisses lift me higher
Like a sweet song of a choir
And you light my morning sky
With burning love

8:17 am

Morning has broken.  Justin is deep in thought.  I am deep in Justin-almost.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Captain Astro.”  He never ceases to amaze me.

“Captain Astro?  Why would you be thinking about Captain Astro when I’m almost in your ass?” 

“Yeah, do you mind?” 

This is one of those mornings that I almost couldn’t resist the cardinal sin.  It took everything in my power to briefly unravel myself from him, to make myself adhere to my own rules.  I should have fucked him when we got back into bed last night, at least then he would slept more soundly.  I toss the condom on the bed; I hadn’t even opened it yet. 

“I should've fucked you last night when we came back to bed.  You drove me nuts all night pushing your ass against me and hogging all the covers.”  He can do that ass-pushing thing now if he wants, though.  I’m all for that now.

“You're one to talk Mr. Kinney.  Sleeping with you is a nightmare, no pun intended, between all of your thrashing and kicking and talking in your sleep.”

“I don’t talk in my sleep.” 

“Like hell you don’t.   You said my name four or five times last night after we came back to bed.”

“I must have been dreaming about fucking you.”  Which is what I want to be doing right now.  I’d appreciate some cooperation.  He keeps his gaze on the window.

“I don’t think so.  That’s not the way you were saying it.  You were giving me the creeps.”  He doesn’t want my hand on his dick right now.  Fine.  We’ll just spoon.  “I tried to wake you up.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I’m not surprised.  You opened your eyes, sucked in this huge breath, and grabbed my arm.  You scared the shit out of me Brian.”  Fuck.  I did?

“Did I hurt you?”  I try to look at his arm, but he’s laying on it.  “Let me see.”

“No, you didn’t hurt me.  You just scared me.  You were looking at me, but you really weren’t.” 

“Let me see your arm Justin.” I roll over onto my back, and he rolls onto my chest.  I look at his left arm. “I don’t see anything.  Does it hurt?”

“No, not really.”

“What did I do after I grabbed you?”  I’ve never had the benefit or curse of someone sleeping with me.  I guess I don’t know my own sleep habits.

“I told you to let go of me--that you were hurting me--but you didn’t hear me, at least I don’t think you did.  It was weird.  You just let go and kind of threw me back on the bed.”

I rub his arm.  I can’t believe I did that.  Shit.  “I’m sorry.  I guess I was just having a really bad dream.”

“You have them a lot Brian.”  He wraps his fingers over mine. “Do you remember it?”

“No.  I never remember them.  Never have.”  Neither of us say anything for a minute or so.  Let’s just drop this.

“You’re lying.  That’s why you were standing at the window last night, wasn’t it?  Because something woke you up?” 

“Don’t worry about it, okay?”  I pull him tight against me.  I don’t want to talk about this.

“How can I worry about it when I don’t know what it is?”  I can feel him starting to get upset in my arms.  This is not the kind of morning I want to have. 

“Justin.”

“Brian, if there’s something bothering you, you can tell me, no matter what it is—even if it’s me.”  He lets go of my hand and tucks his hand under his chin. 

“It’s not you.”

“So you do remember them?” 

“I remember enough to know that it’s not you.  I promise.”  I stare at the ceiling my hand passing over his head.  He feels less upset, less tense now, I think.

“At least you’re telling me the truth now.  I can feel it.”  He lets out this sigh, and I feel him relax a little.  For once I’m relieved that he can read me.  I’m lost in my own thoughts before I even realize that his head is no longer on my chest; it’s in a much more useful location.

For some reason I don’t even feel right having him suck me after all that.  I feel like I should stop him.  “Justin, it’s okay.”  I stop him for a second, and he just looks at me like I’m crazy. 

“Whatever’s bothering you, just forget about it for now.”  And I do.  I lie back on our bed, my hand lodged in the crook of his shoulder and forget about last night’s nightmare, hurting him, everything.  I can’t think about anything when he sucks me off, especially first thing in the morning.  I flood his mouth in no time, something completely idiotic coming out of my mouth, and he's back in my arms, lying with me while I regroup.

“So, anyway, back to what I was saying about Captain Astro?” 

“Jesus, can’t you wait at least sixty seconds after you swallow before you start talking?”

“Just listen.”  He kisses me. “I was thinking that all of this is Captain Astro’s fault.” 

“How do you figure that?”  He lies back down on my chest again, oblivious to how destroyed I truly am after he blows me. 

“Because if Captain Astro hadn’t fucking died in the first place, Michael would have never wanted to make this stupid comic book, and I wouldn’t be leaving.  I think he should just kill Rage off in the next issue.” 

No wonder I have bad dreams.  “Well, I hate to tell you this but ‘major character death’ is considered very poor taste in the fandom.” He moves up and off of me a little, onto his side, propping his head on his elbow.

“How would you know?  You’re not part of the ‘fandom’” He makes little quotation marks in the air.  I fucking hate it when people do that.  Although when he does it, it’s kind of cute.

“Well, for one thing I ‘grew up with Michael Novotny’”, I add my ‘air quotes’, “and I am ‘Rage’, thank you very much.”  And I don’t appreciate being killed off without any warning.  So there.

“Okay, well, it’s just that I just don’t want to have to make Rage two, three, four, five and six.  I don’t want to be gone all the time.”  His voice gets quiet as he lies back on his pillow again.  I slide over to him, propping my head on my elbow this time, putting my arm around him. 

“I think you’re jumping the gun a little.  You haven’t even sold one ticket to Rage I yet.”  His imagination works overtime. 

“Yeah, but you know people are going to love it.  Watching Rage rescue JT, and watching JT suck Rage off.  It’ll be so hot.  I can’t wait.”  His face lights up again.  There’s my Sunshine.

“Me either.  If I actually see that onscreen, I really will celebrate.  I might suck somebody off.”  He turns back toward me, all smiles.

“It better be me.”  I go crazy when he runs his fingers up and down my chest like this, tracing little circles around my nipples.  I don’t know how he expects me to carry on a conversation like this, but I’ll give it the ol’ college try. 

“Oh, it’ll be you.  And it will probably be in a movie theatre while you’ve got a mouthful of popcorn.”

“And you can time it so that I come right during a loud action scene, so when I yell out, nobody will know it’s because you’re sucking me off.”

Justin Taylor—The President of Imagination Nation.  “Yeah, and you can yell out “RAGE” instead of “BRIAN,” so everybody will think that you’re really watching the movie…”  I pull him closer to me.

“That’ll be perfect.  Oh my god, I can’t wait for that.  We have to do that.  Promise me we’ll really do that.”

He's more excited right now than Gus was about that cat last night.  “We’ll do it.”  I climb on top of him, pushing him on his back and study his face, play with his hair and think about how much I love Saturday mornings in bed, how this will be our last one for a while.

His eyes are still far away.  “This is off the subject, but”

“Your middle name is ‘off the subject.’”  I kiss him slowly; he doesn’t even stop talking.  Maybe I need to work on my technique…

“Mmmmm.  Cut it out.  This is off the subject, but you know when you fell asleep last night while I was reading to Gus?”  Cut it out.  He means the teasing, not the kissing.  He loves the kissing. 

“Yes.”

“He looked at me and said, ‘Uh oh, Mr. Justin, look at Daddy.’  I just can’t get over how fast he’s growing up.  It’s amazing.”

“It’s terrifying.  What’s amazing is that all three of us managed to squeeze into his twin bed.”

“All four of us.  You forgot Twink.”

“I don’t count pussy.”

“You know what? I’m not even sure she’s a girl.  It’s really hard to tell when they’re that young.”  He’s so animated.  He might as well be a cartoon character.

“Well, if it turns out to be a boy, he can still call it ‘Twink.’  Boys can be twinks.”

“Very funny.”  He sticks his tongue out at me.  I eat it.

“You were a twink.”

“That you picked up and brought home….an annoying stray that just wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you feed them.  They just keep…coming… back.”  I don’t think I’ve ever kissed him as much during one sentence as I did during that one.

“And weasel their way into your heart.”  He gives as good as he gets.

“Only the intelligent, well-bred, extremely-fuckable, candy-ass ones.”

“You forgot unbelievably beautiful.” Such a modest twink.

“That’s a given.  I wouldn’t pick one up in the first place if that weren’t true.”  He grins at me and stops running his fingers through my hair for a second.

“You’re so sweet and romantic in your own twisted, fucked-up way.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“More like an observation.”

“Well then, I’ll take it under advisement—as soon as I’m done taking you under advisement.”  My lips spend an inordinate amount of time behind his ear and down his neck.

“You’re not taking me anywhere.”

“That’s what you think.  You better quit being such a smart ass.  You know what’s gonna happen if you don’t cut it out.”  He whispers in my ear.  “That’s right.  You better settle down.”  He moans in my arms.  This time when I kiss him, he stays with me for the duration.  It’s about damn time—my ego was starting to bruise.  God, I need more mornings like this.

“So anyway, about Gus…”  I should have bought him a muzzle at the pet store.  “Wasn’t he so cute last night dancing in the car?  We should take him to Babylon with us the next time we go.”

 When will that be?

“I’m sure the munchers would really go for that.”  I give up for awhile because he just needs to get this out of his system.  He just needs to think out loud.  His eyes are so blue this morning.

“Couldn’t you just see it?  We could put Gus up on the bar or on one of those risers, and he could dance with Emmett.”  He thinks this is a great idea.  I bust out laughing.

“Yeah, and then four hours later when it’s time to go, and we can’t find him anywhere….”

“He’ll be in the backroom.”  The realization that comes over his face when he says this is priceless.  The world doesn’t need another Brian Kinney.

“Maybe I’ll talk to Debbie and see if he can spend some time with Horvath and just put the kibosh on this dancing fettish he has.”  These thoughts of Gus ending up like me are making me sicker than watching dykes play tonsil hockey.

He scrunches up his nose.  “Yeah, I see what you mean.  What got me off on that subject anyway?  What was I talking about?”  His eyes look off to the right, and I give him a few second because he’ll remember, he almost always does.  “Oh yeah, Gus, reading to Gus, and you fell asleep while I was reading.”

“I fell asleep because of the way you read Dr. Seuss.  You get this sing-songy rhythmic thing going with your voice that just lulls me into dreamland.”  I imitate him.

“That’s not the only rhythmic thing I had going last night.”  God I’m hard.

“Now see, you thought you were off the subject.  Turns out you were dead on.”  Sometimes if you leave Justin to his own devices, he’ll end up exactly where you want him. 

“I really enjoyed it.  Did you?”  His sultry voice and the way he moves underneath me when he says that gives me chills.  He can go from being so sweet to so seductive in no time flat.  It makes my head spin.

“Um, yeah.  You could say that.” 

“Good, because so did I.  It was hot.”  He slides beneath me so he can kiss my chest, suck on my nipples.  “I don’t know what came over me.  I didn’t have any intention of seducing you last night.  It just sort of happened.” 

“I think it was that lotion you were massaging me with.  That stuff smelled incredible.  It made my skin so smooth.”  Which he can clearly tell since his hands all over it right now.  Fuck, I love watching him doing this.  He starts laughing.

“You can thank Emmett for that.  It was this cream he gave me yesterday—called ‘Butt Butter.’”  I rise up off of him, yank him back up by his hair, look at him like he’s crazy.  “Brian.”

“What?”

“Calm down.  It’s just called that.  It’s just lotion.  It’s not really for your butt.  I read the container.  They just sell it in one of those faggy boutiques that Emmett goes to.”  I don’t believe him.  “I’m being serious.  It’s a huge container, and it smells really good, so I just thought I’d use it.  I’m going to leave it here anyway.  I’m not going to go through airport security with a tub of Butt Butter in my suitcase.”

“You can leave it at your Mom’s.”

“Fuck no, I’m not leaving it my Mom’s, you asshole.  Get over it.”  He hooks his arms around my neck, pulls up, and kisses me hard, pushing his tongue into my mouth.  I swear he’s going to make me see stars.  I guess I’m over it. I take advantage of him hanging off me and slide my left hand inside his pillowcase.  I’m taking charge of this now.  “What are you doing?” 

“Looking for your offering to the ‘Topping Fairy’.”  Bingo.  “Don’t think I don’t know about your little nightly ritual.”

“It’s not a ritual, and I don’t do it every night.”  He puts his head back down as I slide my hand out.  I flash the condom in his face.

“You put a brand new condom inside your pillow case every night before you go to sleep—your offering to the ‘Topping Fairy.’”  I tease him while I open the wrapper.  “I guess it worked last night, huh?  Your wish came true.”

“It’s not my offering to the ‘Topping Fairy’ you jerk; it’s just because I don’t like to reach all the way over to your stupid ‘party favor condom basket’ every time we fuck.” 

“Condoms make perfect party favors.”  Don’t they?

“If you’re going to give out party favors, you should be a little more creative.”

“Like what?”  I open the wrapper.  I guess I’m putting this thing on myself.  

“Like you could take that Butt Butter and put it into containers and give it to your tricks when they leave, you know.  Sort of like:  ‘We hope you’ve enjoyed your one and only visit to The House that Fuck Built.  Here’s a lovely parting gift.’”

“That’s cute. Very creative.  I might just do that.  You’ve never complained about my condom basket before.” 

“That’s because it’s not polite to insult the furnishings when you’re just a guest in someone’s home.  Do you want me to roll over?”

 “No, you’re fine. Point taken.  Can you bend your knees, please?” 

“Sorry.”  He yawns and stretches his arms over his head, his body arching into mine.  He lets out this irresistible sleepy moan.  “Mmmmmm.“

That was fucking spectacular.  He hands me the lube.  I know he doesn’t keep that under his pillow. 

There isn’t a bad position to fuck Justin in.  There are only degrees of ecstasy—depending on my mood, but watching him like this is almost poetic.  And I don’t think he has any idea.  This view of his body strewn on our bed is a work of art—especially on these white sheets.  That alone's driving me fucking nuts.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like this morning?”  I’m in a generous mood all of a sudden.

“Um, let me think.”  I suck on his neck while he ponders my question.  He better hurry up, or I’ll decide for him.  I may be generous, but I’m not very patient.  “Come here.”  He whispers in my ear.  Little devil.

“Oh no—not this morning.  We’ll never get out of bed.  Later, though, I promise.”   We’ve got a schedule to keep today.

“Okay.  Well, then I’ll just have whatever’s on special.”  Leave it to Justin to think of breakfast during foreplay.

“I knew you were hungry.”

“For you.” 

“For pancakes.”  I smile at him as he strokes himself.  God, that's so hot.  “I can get you some maple syrup if you want.”

“Stop talking about pancakes when your fingers are in my ass.  I’ll come too quick.”  He’s not kidding.  He will.

“I could talk about sausage.”  That’s making me harder.  Maybe I’m hungry.

“Only if you want to hear my stomach growl through this entire fuck.  I think I’m ready.”

“See all that talk about sausage paid off.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”  This is what I’m really going to miss.  Saturday morning specials.

He looks at me as I hover over him.  “Close your eyes Justin.”  I wrap my arms around him and nudge my way into the sweetest, most claustrophobic place I have ever been.   There's nothing more overwhelming than the first few seconds inside of him.  My push to get inside defeating his to get me out.  Fuck, I could hang off the edge of this cliff all day.  I can’t describe this.

“Justin.”  

Oh fuck, it's so hot in here, so narrow.  My private, little tunnel for one.  God, I almost forget he’s underneath me.  I haven’t even moved yet.  I’m not even all the way in.

I am now.

“Oh.  Oh.  Fuck, that feels good Brian.”  My rhythm starts, slow.  I just watch him and go with it.  Nobody looks more beautiful at a moment like this than Justin Taylor.  I’m honored just to be here, really.  I keep him calm, so we can enjoy this, at least for a while.  Fuck him slowly, kiss him slowly, get him to look at me, instead of all over the place, to focus on this fuck.  Get his eyes back on mine.  “So what do you want to do today?”

That figures.  He wasn’t done talking.  Wishful thinking.

“Oh, I don’t know.  Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight?”

“I’m being serious. Brian.”

“So am I.  Wrap your legs around me.”  His hips tilt upward for me so I can slide in deeper. 

“Do you want me to put my legs up?”

“Up to you.  If you want.  I’m fine like this.” 

“Maybe in a minute.”  He arches into my arms again as I hit something wonderful inside him.  It makes me smile. “Ah, do that again, that was amazing.  Fuck, Brian.  I don’t know how you do that.”  His fingers dig into my skin.

“It’s pretty simple.  Put Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor in a bed and stir.  The directions are on the….back….of….the…box.”

“And people say you can’t cook.”  Our kissing should render him speechless for awhile.  I can’t ever fuck him without kissing him.  The closer I get to Grand Central Orgasm the stronger that desire becomes.  I swear if he doesn’t shut up, though, I’m going to spank the shit out of him.

“Okay, little less conversation, for a minute, if you don’t mind.” My lips meet his every time my dick sinks back into his ass. 

“Can I just say one more thing?”  This is it.

“Fine.  One more thing.”  I stop for just a second and give him my attention.

“I love it when you fuck me like this.”  I guess that was worth stopping for. 

“Get your legs up.”  His legs are on my shoulders in a heart beat, and I fuck him hard now.  I can get to all of him like this.  His eyes pop open so wide when I hit his prostate again and again—once, twice, I’ve lost track.

I feel him shift in my arms, feel his warm breath in my ear, that fucking hot thing he does with his voice.  “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”  He clings to me, our foreheads pressed together.

“You know what.  Tell me, Brian, please.” 

“Oh, so now you want me to talk?”

“Brian, please.”  He tightens his grip around my neck and starts licking my ear.  He’ll bite me.

“What?  That I’m going to fuck your sweet little ass?” 

“Yes.”  He brings his lips to mine and slides his tongue in my mouth.  “Keep going.” 

“That you’re my little bottom boy?”  He purrs, practically growls, in my arms. 

“Yes.”  His moaning sends me into orbit.  “More.”  He bit me.  Fuck, I love that.

“That all little bottom boys get their asses fucked like this?  Is that what you want to hear?”  God, I love it when he makes that “fuck me” face. 

“Yes.  God.  Yes.  Fuck.  Yes.”

“And you know it, don’t you?  That you’re my little bottom boy, and you'l always get your tight little ass fucked like this —no matter where you are?  Right?….Right?”

“Right.  Fuck.  Oh my god. Fuck.” 

Jesus Christ, I haven’t fucked him this hard...since……….the last time I fucked him this hard.  His ass is so tight, and warm, and slippery, holy fuck, this is nirvana. 

“And you know that this is nothing compared to how I’m going to fuck you this afternoon……….and tonight?”  His hand slaps the mattress.  “Get your hands back on me.”

“Brian.  Fuck.  Stop.  Oh my god.”  His face looks like the first time.  I could come from that alone.

“No.” 

He’s about to come, but he doesn’t want to, or maybe he does.  He has no control.  I do.  I love this part.

“Please, oh fuck, please, Brian.”  His head thrashes on his pillow.  He’s almost there.

“No.”

I don’t even need to think about my release.  As soon as he goes, I’ll be right behind him.  No one could watch him come like this and not spontaneously erupt.  It’s fucking beautiful.

His fingers dig into my biceps, and then my hair, behind my ears, and down my back.  He’s everywhere.  He manages to grab his cock again and jerk it a few more times.  I’d do it for him, but I’m holding him, my arms wrapped around his head and shoulders, his head tucked tightly against my chest—our unspoken agreement.  His eyes are closed again.  It won’t be long now.  I can feel him tightening around me.  Christ, that’s like heaven.

“Aaaaaaah.  Brian.  Now.  Now.  Oh please.  Oh my god.  I love you.”  And Justin springs eternal.  I am maybe ten seconds behind him.  I feel myself rush into him, rush to catch up, my experience paling in comparison to his.  His body begins to collapse in my arms.  Fucking Justin is like skydiving.  It’s not the plane ride.  It’s the jump and the fall.

His body peels off of mine after a minute or so, and we sink into the sheets.

“You okay?” I ask him as I realize that we are back at the beginning again, me lying on top of him, kissing him, playing with his hair.
 
“Yeah.  Just hold me for a minute, okay?”

“As long as you want.”

BRIAN'S POV

Well, please don't ask me what'sa on my mind
I'm a little mixed up, but I'm feelin' fine
When I'm near that girl that I love best
My heart beats so it scares me to death

10:42 a.m. Saturday morning

Daphne has arrived, in more ways than one, and right on schedule.  I’m waiting for her outside my building.

“You look hot, Brian.  Those are my favorite jeans on you.”  Daphne—sweet and enchanting as usual.  She leans in to me, on her toes, and kisses me on the cheek.

“Thanks.”  Why did she have to compliment me first?  Now, I’m totally off my game.  Shake it off, Kinney.  “Slight change of plans.”  I put my arm around her and lead her towards my car.

“Why?  I thought I was supposed to come over here at 10:45 sharp and surprise Justin and take him to lunch—or brunch, I guess.”

“You are, but he’s not ready.  Get in.”  I open her door for her.  “I’m going out for cigarettes.  We’re all out.” 

“So he’s still in the dark?”

“Yeah.”  She opens her purse and pulls out her cigarettes, offering me one.  I accept.  I light hers and mine while we stop at a traffic light.  “So, did you fuck that guy two nights in a row?”  I smirk at her.

“What guy?”

“That guy you were talking to Justin about on the phone the other night.  The one he was telling you not to fuck-“

“Oh, him, Andy, god, no.  He’s history.”  I knew there was a reason I liked this girl so much.  Justin has the best hag.

“Why’d you dump him so fast?”

“He had a lot to learn.  Let’s just leave it at that.”  She cracks her window, blowing her smoke out.

“Like what?”

“Like none of your business.”

“Oh, come on.  “You can’t just tell me ‘he had a lot to learn’ and leave it at that.”

“You are worse than Justin.”  She rolls her eyes.  I’m probably better than Justin at some things too.  I’ve always been so curious about that, about how Justin was with Daphne. I don’t know why I’m wondering about that this morning.  “All I’m going to tell you is that he should’ve keep his mouth shut.  They way he carried on, you’d think he knew a lot more about…well, you know what I mean.”

“About pussy.”

“Right.  I can’t stand guys like that.  Seriously, he should’ve kept his mouth shut—for both reasons--because, quite frankly, you probably know more about it than he does.”

“I’ll have you know that Justin and I picked up some pussy last night.”  I’m going to get so much mileage out of this kitten.

“Did you eat it?”

 “Um, no.”

“Well, then, the three of you have something in common.” Justin’s taste in women impresses me more and more every day.  She kills her cigarette as we pull into the store parking lot.  I need to stop hitting on this girl for sport; she’s totally out of my league.

“I’ll be right back.”

Daphne is on the phone with one of her girlfriends when I get back to the car.

“What am I doing right now?  Riding around town trying to score cigarettes with the hottest uber-gay guy you’ll ever meet.  No, you don’t know him.  No, not Justin—Justin’s evil-half.  I’ll call you later.  That guy you set me up with tonight better not be a troll.  Later.  And if he’s even remotely a troll, he better pay for dinner.”  For some reason, I want to give her fifty bucks, just so she’ll call and tell me all about it.  “Okay, so tell me what’s the big secret?  What do you have up your sleeve?”  She turns in her seat to face me, all excited.

“This.”  I open the glove compartment and hand her the brochure with everything in it, the reservation, the details for today and tonight.  She looks a little stunned.

“Wow.  This is really nice.  I can’t believe you’re doing this for him.”  She looks at me.  I look at her.  She knows I can’t get emotional right now.  She doesn’t want to either.  “You know that there’s a huge bible convention or something going on there this weekend, right?”

I didn’t know that.  “No.”

“Yeah, one of my girlfriend’s fathers owns a Christian bookstore.  This place is going to be packed.”

“So?”  Bible-beaters aren’t my style, but I’ve been known to unbuckle a bible-belt or two.

 “So, it’s going to be almost impossible for you to drop him off in the front, with all of the buses and everything.”

“I wasn’t planning on dropping him off in the front.”  Why would I?

“Well he isn’t going to be able to go with you into the parking deck.”  She looks at me like I’m crazy and then it sinks in.  “He hasn’t told you, has he?”

“Told me what?” 

“Oh shit.”  She sighs and lays her head against the back of her seat.  “That he won’t, can’t, go near a parking garage.  I shouldn’t have told you this.  You didn’t know, did you?”

My hand is on her wrist.  I want her to look at me.  “Whatever you’re talking about, he hasn’t told me.”

“Probably because he’s embarrassed about it, and afraid—that it will happen again.”

“That what will happen again?”  I pull the brochure out of her hand and throw it on the dashboard.

“He has pretty severe panic attacks Brian.”  She looks at me for my reaction.  “He’s very ashamed of them.”

“Since when?  He was walking around with a fucking gun Daphne.”

“I know.”

“I mean, he has nightmares, and I think he still has flashbacks sometimes, but when did this start?” 

“I don’t know how many he’s had, but the first one I know of was the first time he went to a follow-up appointment at the hospital by himself, you know, without his mom.  And you know the way that hospital is set up.  You have to walk through the parking garage and over that covered walkway to go in, no matter what.”

“I know how that hospital is set up.  It’s fucking stupid.”  I know that place like the back of my hand.

 “Well, he took the bus there that day.”

“And what happened?”

“All I know is what he told me.  He freaked out in the parking garage after he got off the bus.  He couldn’t even get to the walkway.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move;  felt like he was going to die.  He said all of the smells and noises echoing made him feel like everything was crashing down on him—something about being in that claustrophobic space, you know.  He felt like he couldn’t get out, like he was lost in a maze.   It was so bad that another person who was trying to find a parking spot saw him, thought he was having a heart attack or something, found an attendant, and they called the paramedics.  He won’t go near one now.   It makes him feel out of control, or something, I guess.”

Fuck.  “He told you about this, but he didn’t tell me.  Why?  Why didn’t he tell me or ask me to go with him?” 

“You guys weren’t together then.  He was with Ethan.”  Her voice fades away as she tells me this, and we are both quiet for a few seconds.

I'm fucking going to kill him.  “So he didn’t tell me, or his Mom?”

“Apparently not.”  She looks agitated, like she’s done something wrong, but it’s not her fault.  Justin's the most stubborn person I know, except for me. “He’s embarrassed, I guess.  And don’t take this the wrong way, Brian, but he knows that you see things in a very black and white way sometimes, and he just can’t.  It’s not something that he can just snap his fingers and fix, so he hides it.  And since he refuses to go back to the hospital, he hasn’t gotten any treatment for them either.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense.  I know he’s been in a parking garage since the bashing.  You guys go to the mall.”

“I drop him off out front and meet him inside.  His mother does, too; she doesn’t ask questions.  He’s very, very creative about figuring out ways to avoid them.  And honestly, Brian, now that I think about it, I think he just doesn’t bring it up with you because he knows that the whole subject is painful for you too.  He doesn’t want to make you remember it any more than he does.  He doesn’t want to hurt you, so he just keeps it bottled up, until-.”

“Until something sets him off.”  Like Thursday night.  “And then the damn breaks.”  This is why he’s so nervous about going to L.A. by himself.  I wish I could stop all of the thoughts that are flooding into my head right now.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  You told me about that posse crap.”

“I wasn’t sure that he hadn’t told you for one, and, two, he hasn’t said a word about them in months.  I think he basically ignores the problem until he can’t.  I know that he was with some friends at PIFA one day who wanted to go have lunch, and they all started walking out to their cars, and he begged off.  He can’t deal.  I just didn’t know that you didn’t know.  I mean, I figured with all this, this new job and all, that he would have told you by now.”

“I don’t know whether to go ring his neck or yell at him or…” or just go back to the loft, cancel everything, and just do whatever it takes to convince him that he’s okay, that everything is going to be fine.  We can spend the rest of the weekend walking up and down every parking garage in the fucking city if we have to.  We're back at my building.  I stop the car.  She’s watching me.

“Brian, I can’t tell what you’re thinking.  I can’t tell if you’re really pissed or really worried.”

“A little pissed and a lot worried, but I’m glad you told me because I would’ve had a fucking disaster on my hands.”

“Well, you can’t be that pissed, Brian.  You wouldn’t even tell him you were having a testicle removed.  You two deserve each other, if you ask me.”  I want to give her a dirty look, but I can’t.  She’s right.  Sometimes Justin and I are more alike than I ever realize.  “You aren’t going to cancel your plans are you?”

“No.  I was planning on telling him where we were going, but I’m not going to now.  I’ll just pick him up from the diner, and he’ll just have to be none the wiser for a little while longer.”  I was getting excited about telling him too.  “I don’t want him to know that I know all this.  Not now.”  I’ve learned more about Justin in the last forty-eight hours than I have in four years.  Not to mention that I’ve got the wrong list my wallet.  I don’t need a list of neurologists; I need a list of psychiatrists.  That ought to be a fun conversation.

“Yeah, that might put a damper on things.”

“I guess I’ll just call the hotel before I get to the diner and tell them I need curbside valet service.  I wasn’t planning on spoiling him that rotten.”

“Aw, he’s worth it.”  She’s smiling again.  She’s right. He is.

“We better go back in.  He’s going to call me any minute.  It doesn’t take him long to look pretty.”

“I know. I hate blonds.  He looks prettier than me half the time.”  She makes me laugh.  “I won’t miss walking down the street and having everyone gawk at him instead of me.”  Her face gets a little more serious as she looks out the window. 

I will.
*********************************************

Come on baby I'm tired of talking
Grab your coat and let's start walking

11:04 am

Justin isn’t ready for shit, unless the ‘shit’ is Captain Crunch and cartoons.

“Why aren’t you dressed?”  Daphne's right behind me.  He hasn’t noticed.  Why would he?  Josie and the Pussycats is much more intriguing.  I always know when he’s bummed out because he watches Boomerang--some network where really old cartoons go to die.  One Saturday morning, he made me sit through three hours of that crap and listen to him pontificate about the rampant latent homosexuality in early American animation.  I got so sick of it, I picked him up, carried him back to bed and fucked him one time for every episode of Yogi Bear he made me watch.  He told me that just proved his point.

“I told you, I want to take a shower with you.  I could give a fuck about cigarettes.”  He looks up.  “Daph.  What’re you doing here?”

“I ran into her when I was coming back in.  She came to take you to lunch.”

“I’m not really hungry now.”  Daphne plops down on the sofa beside him.  “Why didn’t you call?”

“I wanted to surprise you.  Plus, it was kind of a last minute thing.  I had a date last night that I thought was going to run late, but it didn’t, so here I am.  Go get dressed!  I’m hungry!”

“Look, Daph, it’s not that I don’t want to hang out with you because I do; I just really wanted to spend this day with Brian.  We can have lunch tomorrow, if you want.”  He looks over at me like ‘back me up on this, okay?’

Now I know exactly how Debbie feels when she slaps Michael upside the head.  “Justin, turn off the fucking cartoons and go take a shower.”  He looks at me and rolls his eyes.  I walk into the bathroom and start the shower.  That will get him going.  He joins me under the water in less than a minute.  I know him so well.  “What the fuck is your problem?”  I pour shampoo into my hands and start washing his hair.  He’s facing me, his hands on my hips.

“I want to spend the day with you, okay?  I didn’t even want to get out of bed.”

“You have to eat.”

“So order out.  She can eat with us.”  I tip his head back and rinse his hair.  I use the conditioner he likes.  Mine.  It smells so good.

“She wants to be with you.  It’s not going to hurt you to spend an hour having lunch with her.”  Rinse again.  Lathering hands with soap.

“Brett sent my e-ticket.”  So that’s the problem.  “My flight leaves at 8:47 am on Monday.”  He can’t see my face.  I’m washing his back.

“Well, that works out well because I have a presentation at 10:00.”

“We’ll have to go early for security and all that stuff.  Plus, it’s Monday morning and that’s a busy day for business travel.”  He’s watching the water go down the drain.

“We will.”

“I called my mom.  I told her that I wanted you to take me, that I just wanted it to be me and you.”  I think I’m done washing him, that I’ve done everything.  Fuck, I can’t remember.  He turns around in my arms.

“She’s okay with that?”  He takes the soap out of my hands, lathers up, runs his soapy hands over my body.

“Not really, but she’ll get over it.  That’s why I called her now—to give her time to get over it.  She sounded weird on the phone anyway, like she wasn’t alone.  My mom has about five different voices.  There was someone there with her this morning when I talked to her.”

“Maybe it was Molly.”

“No, not that kind of weird.  She was using her:  ‘Oh, that’s nice honey, but I really can’t talk right now, can I call you back later? Love you, too.’ voice.”  I laugh at his impression of his mother.  “Turn around.”

He washes my back.  I ask for shampoo.  “So are you getting excited?”  I could never pull off this question if I was looking at him.

“Sure.”  Somehow I think the same of his answer.  “So what are you going to do while we’re having lunch?”

“I’m going to turn this place upside down until I find my little black book.  Once you leave, I’m going to have a helluva time re-establishing my status, that I’m back on the market.  You’ve fucking ruined that for me.  I’ll never get a blow job in this town again.”

“They’ll blow you once they realize I’m really gone, that I’m not going to walk around the corner and tell them to fuck off or that you’re not going to abandon them with their pants down in the backroom because they’re playing my favorite song.”

Yeah, that was funny as shit.  “You dared me to do that.  That doesn’t count.”  I turn around to face him, laughing at the memory of that guy so fucking pissed at me, of Justin waving good-bye to him as he stormed out of Babylon, at the fact that he didn’t come back for at least at month.  I pull him to me.  “That guy was an annoying gnat that wouldn’t leave you alone.  It had to be done.  You know what they say:  ‘sometimes a gay man’s gotta do…”

“’what a gay man’s gotta do.’  I know, and I just wanna fuck, okay?  All day.  That’s all I want to do.”  His hand is on my cock.  My arms hang loosely over his shoulders, the soap suds trailing down his back and onto the tile as we kiss for a minute or so.  I’d love nothing more than to stay like this, but we’ve kept Daphne waiting long enough, and we’ve got bigger and better things to do, that will eventually lead to the fucking.  All roads lead to the fucking. 

“Listen to me.  Are you listening?”  Our foreheads lean together, my wet hair plastered between us.  “I gave up Rage to be Elvis right?”

“Right.”  The rolling eyes of a skeptic. 

“And Elvis is the King right?”

“Right.  Is this a ‘degrees of separation’ thing?’
 
“Shut up and listen.  And if I’m the King, you have to do what I say, right?”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me.”  I smack him on the butt.

“Fine.  Right.  Whatever.”

“You’re going to go have lunch with her for an hour.  Then when you’re done, she’ll bring you back here, and I’ll fuck your brains out all day long.  I’ll fuck you so hard you will need that entire tub of butt stuff just to get ready for tonight.  He slips his tongue in my mouth.  Devious.  “And if you’re really good, I’ll give you a coupon from the Topping Fairy that you can redeem before you....go.”

He moans in my arms and for good reason.  I wasn’t even paying attention.  I was jerking him off through that whole conversation.  He just came in my hand. 

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“It’s just for an hour Justin.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

 I know. 
*************************************************

He’s all smiles getting dressed.  I want to think it’s because I jerked him off or because he’s excited about the afternoon fuck-fest he thinks he’s getting, but I know it’s because it’s time for lunch.  His blond head pokes through his black turtleneck sweater.  He knows he looks so fucking hot in that sweater.

“Do you want me to bring you something back?”  Always wearing sneakers.  I’ll never break him of that habit.  I hand him his wallet.  He stuffs it in his jeans.

“Yeah, a sandwich or whatever.  You know what I like.”  He buttons my shirt as I zip my jeans, looking up as I lean down to kiss him good-bye.

“Yeah, I do.”  He flattens his hand against my chest and pushes me a little as he walks away.  “Come on Daph.  I’m ready to go.”

*************************************************

It doesn’t take me long to pack what we need and check in with Laverne and Shirley and make sure they’re on schedule.  I call Ted’s phone, but Emmett answers.  I guess he knows it’s me.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Let me speak to Theodore.”

“Hold, please.”

“Teddy, Brian would like a word with you.”  I hear a lot of rustling.

“Ted Schmidt.”

“No shit.  How’s it going?”

“As well as can be expected.  Emmett’s a little, well, opinionated, but he’s getting over it.”

“Keep it simple.  Tell him to let Paul do his job.”

“That’s what I’m doing.  We’ll see you at the Fairmont.”

“Don’t forget to come by here and pick up my suit.  It’s in a bag in the closet.”

“We won’t.  Don’t worry.  We’ll see you soon.”
*************************************************************
Justin is surprised when I walk into the diner, grab my lunch, and say, “Come on.”  He tells Daphne he’ll see her tomorrow and follows me out to the car with a quizzical look on his face.  It doesn’t take him long to realize that we’re not driving towards the loft.

“Where are we going?  You promised me that we could stay in the loft all afternoon and fuck.”

I scarf my sandwich and enjoy his mild aggravation at me.  “Did you have a good time with Daphne?”

“Don’t change the subject.  Answer me.  Where are we going?”

“Do you want to spend a lot of time fucking this weekend?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then fucking quit asking me that.  If you ask me again, I’m going to blindfold you and put you in the trunk.”  He cuts his eyes at me, which he knows I see, and then revs up one of those trademark little grins that make his eyes twinkle and make me sorry I wore these jeans instead of the looser ones.  I want to stop the car and fuck him right now.

We turn onto the street that the Fairmont Hotel is on, and Daphne wasn’t kidding.  The traffic is bumper to bumper with bible-beaters and their buses.  We aren’t going anywhere fast, but Justin keeps himself busy, as usual.

“Oh my god.  Look at all these cars.  What the fuck is going on at the Fairmont?” 

“I have no idea.”  I watch him turn around in his seat.  Nice view. 

“Every church bus from the state of Pennsylvania is in their parking lot Brian.”

“Maybe Jesus is here doing a book signing.  I hear his original signature goes for a lot on e-bay.” I see the valet a few hundred feet ahead of us.  He sees my car.  He’s patiently waiting while we inch forward in this traffic, enjoying the smoke break.  I’ve had enough business meetings and conferences at the Fairmont to know the staff fairly well.  They’re top notch; they take care of their customers.  Justin is still turned around in his seat counting buses.

“There are at least nineteen different churches here, and I’m sure I missed some.  Holy Jesus.”

“He’s the reason they’re here.”  And we’re about to be.

“Thank god I don’t have to be anywhere near this place.  Bunch of hypocritical lunatics.  I’ll bet Reverend Tom and your mom will be here.”

I really needed to hear that.  “Don’t thank him too soon.”  I pull over to the side of the road where John is standing, no cigarette now, looking like a crisp, clean Fairmont Hotel professional.  Daphne was right.  There’s no way in hell I would’ve ever gotten into the entrance.  I put my hazard lights on and get out.  “Justin, this is our stop.  Get out of the car.”

I dart around to the trunk to get our stuff and then around to get Justin out.  He still looks dazed and confused.  “Justin, come on.  We’ve got to get out of the way.”  I hand John my spare key.  “You can leave it at the desk.  I’ll get it later.”

“I’ll leave the garage location with it, Mr. Kinney.  Enjoy your stay.”  And he’s gone.  I put my arm around Justin’s shoulder and lead him into the lobby, his head turning all over the place, taking in the bible-beaters, the convention hoop-la, and then the lobby of the Fairmont.  I don’t think he’s ever been here before.  It’s a little bit breathtaking your first time.  I feel like I’ve got Gus at Disneyworld.

“Holy shit!  This place is incredible.  What are we doing here?”

The lobby is packed, and it’s almost impossible to stop walking, so we don’t.  “We’re celebrating.”  I bend my head down to his, his tucked underneath my arm.  He looks up at me like he doesn’t understand, but I don’t have time to explain it to him right now because I’m too busy steering him through this crowd of cross-wearing, bad-dressing propaganda pushers.   

We’re at the counter when I feel him leaning against me as I check in, the newness of this place wearing off a little, I guess.  “Here, take this.”  I hand him the room keys and some paperwork.  I’m carrying everything else. 

“If you need anything Mr. Kinney, just let us know.  Your suite is ready.”  I give Justin one of my, “So, whadda’ya think” smiles,” and he wraps his arms around my neck and kisses me like he hasn’t seen me in a year.  I don’t think the Christian cronies appreciated that very much.  The clerk behind the desk found it rather amusing. 

“Brian, which elevator do we take?”  He’s walking ahead of me.  There are four to choose from, and I have no idea off the top of my head.  He figures it out.  “You have to take this one to the fourteenth and then you have to get off and take this one to the twenty-eighth.  We’re almost on the top floor!”

“Yeah, well the top floor is the honeymoon suite.  I’m not staying in a honeymoon suite.  Too much pink.”  He laughs.

“Come on.”  The first elevator is packed.  Justin tells me that he figures many more people stay on the first fourteen floors because they're cheaper, so this elevator will always be more crowded, statistically.  Sometimes I think he thinks I’m an idiot and can’t figure these things out on my own.  “Oh my god, this isn’t the place that you almost fucked that client is it?”

“Not above the fourteenth floor.”  I wink at him.  He rolls his eyes and looks a little amazed and proud. The things that make him happy sometimes….

The second elevator clears out by floor nineteen.  It’s just me and him.  “It’s nice that there isn’t a doorman in this elevator.”

“I requested that.  Cost me a little extra.”  He presses his body against mine as I lean against the back of the elevator.  We’ve just passed floor twenty-one. 

“I don’t know why you did this for me, but I don’t really care right now.  I’m just very, extremely, fucking horny.”  I close my eyes for a second and inhale the scent of the shampoo I used on him this morning.  Floor twenty-three.

“Um, so am I, and if you don’t get your sweet little lips off of my neck and your hot little hand off my dick, you’re going to have to clean this elevator because I’m going to come all over it.”  Twenty-four.

“I don’t care.”  That’s because you won’t be the one paying to get jizz out of the brand new carpet.  His palm makes repeated runs over my denim dick.  I lick my lips.

 “I’m not kidding.  You know I go bananas when you do that.”  Twenty-five. 

“Tell me what you’re going to do me.  I want to know.”  Keep one hand on the luggage and the other above his waist.

“What would Jesus do?”  Twenty-six.  Dear Lord, deliver us from evil, thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.  God was comforted by a rod?  The man is no help.

“What would Justin do?” 

“What wouldn’t Justin do?”  Twenty-seven.

“Nothing.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”  He unzips my jeans, slipping his hand inside.  Sweet Jesus. 

“I can think of one thing you won’t do.”  I look down at him as he starts lowering himself to his knees.

“What?”  He looks up at me. 

“Get the fuck off the elevator.  We’re here.”

Twenty-eight. 

Salvation.

*********************************

1:07 pm

He opens the door to the suite, and I hear “wow” come out of his mouth as I close the door.  The place is really too gaudy for me, far too Victorian and feminine, but it’s luxurious and private and ours and that makes it pretty much perfect right now.  He’s looking out the window, commenting about all of the traffic, more about the convention, and I just wait for him to turn around, to realize that I’m just standing here, holding the luggage, waiting to go into the bedroom. 

He turns around.

“Are you waiting for me?”  He looks almost shy, maybe, not quite.

“Yes.”  He walks over to me, and I point him in the direction of the bedroom, following his footsteps.  I place our bag down on the luggage rack while he looks around.

“We’ve never had a bed like this before.”  He runs his hand up one of the four posters. 

“I know.”  I stand beside him.

“I like this.”  I turn him around.

“I thought you would.”  I close my eyes for a brief second as his fingers fold together behind my neck.  “Don’t you want to look at the bathroom?”  I press him against the poster.

“Not right now.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

“I can’t think of a damn thing.”

“Me either.”  We kiss for what seems like a really long time; we kiss until he pulls away.

“I’m going to go look at the bathroom now.  I have to pee.”  I release him from my arms.

“Okay.”  I unzip our bag, having only brought one for the two of us, and unpack the things I brought.  I hang a couple of things in the closet, stock the nightstand with condoms and lube, and put our personal things on the dresser.  He emerges from the bathroom.

“You brought my sketchpad?”

“Yeah.  Two of them.  The big one and the small one.  I didn’t know which one you’d want.  And your pencils.”  I pull them out of the bag and lay them on the dresser.  “The bathroom’s huge isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing.  This whole place is amazing.  So what’re we celebrating?”  He takes his sketch pads and flops down on the bed, flipping through them to see if they have any blank pages.  I already made sure they did.

“Your achievement.”  I take the pads off of his lap and flop down on top of him.  “I already made sure they had blank pages in them.  You don’t have to check.” 

“Well, I need a pencil sharpener.”

“There’s one on the desk.”

“And an eraser.  I need my big eraser.”

“It’s in the bag, in the front pocket.”

“Well, I need a blow job.”

“Let me go look.  I’m not sure if I remembered to bring that.”  I get off the bed and walk over to our luggage and look inside.  “Nope, sorry.  I forgot.  Maybe you can buy one in the gift shop.”  My shirt is off before I’m back to the bed.  I jump back on the bed and lie beside him.

“As fancy as this place is, you’d think they’d be included.”  His button-fly levis only make his life more difficult.

“Why don’t you call the front desk and see if they’ll send one up?  I’ll wait.”  I hand him the phone.  Oh look, his underwear matches his sweater. 

I hope that phone doesn’t automatically dial the front desk when you pick it up.  “Hello?  Yes, this is Mr. Taylor in suite….  What’s our room number?”

“Um, 2821.”  I throw his socks and shoes and across the room.

“Yes, Mr. Taylor in suite 2821.  Could you please send up one of your complimentary fellatio-boys?  Yes.  Right away.”  He looks at me with his self-satisfied grin.  “We require his services immediately.  Thank you.”

“Why don’t you stop pretending to be rich and famous and help me get this sweater off?  I love this sweater, but it’s a bitch to get off.  He’s finally naked and finally against me, and I can finally just concentrate on fucking him.  I have a firm hold on his ass.  “You sounded just like Emmett.  You need to stop hanging out with nelly bottoms.”

“You like my nelly bottom.”

“I’m about to show you just how much.”  I pull him over to the edge of the bed as I get up.  He stands up with me, undoing my jeans.  “I want to take advantage of this nice, high bed.  Turn around.”  He smiles at me as he turns around and lies on the bed, parallel with the headboard, his bottom right where I want it.  His feet barely touch the floor.  I don’t even bother taking my jeans all the way off.   The only nice thing about having to sheath myself is getting to look at his perfect little ass.  “This is what I promised you earlier.”

He bites his lip and bends his knees into the side of the bed as I push inside him, my hand sliding down his back.  His hands ball into fists as he realizes that the lube was for me, not him.  “I love fucking you like this Justin.  Hard.  Fast.  And to the point."  I pull his hips to mine, forcing him to take the rest of me.  He can handle it.  He wants it.  My hands knead his ass as I fuck him, moving him into me, instead of me into him, as long as I can stand it.

He exhales.  I feel it and hear it.  “Uh, uh, Brian.”  His fingers start to straighten.  “Go, please, go.”

"Are you ready for me to fuck you?"

"Yes.  God, yes.  Fucking go."

And I’m gone.  Walking right into the light as it welcomes me, squeezes me, moans for me, and begs for me to fuck it.  And I do.  I fuck the holy shit out of it.  I don’t even stray from the light until I feel him trying to catch his own offering in his hands, trying not to stain the bedspread.  I try to help him as I lie on a heap on top of him, but I don’t think I’m very successful.

“Fuck it Justin.  The bedspread’s white.  No one will ever notice.”

“Yeah, I know.  I gave up.”  He flips over underneath me, and we kiss for several minutes.  “I liked that.  It was yummy.”  Yummy?  Where does he come up with this shit?


“You know what else is yummy?”  I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand.  1:52 pm.  Unfortunately, we’ve got to get dressed.

“You.”  He’s still horny.  He’s like the fucking energizer bunny.

“Besides me.” 

“No.”  I have to keep pulling away from his lips; they’re chasing me.

“This.”  I reach over to grab the leather-bound listing of all of the restaurants in the hotel.

“What’s that.”  He’s not even remotely interested. 

“This is a list of the ten different restaurants they have in this hotel.  One of which we will be eating at tonight.  So why don’t you look through here and see which one you want?”

“Later.  Not now.”

“We have to do it now.  I have to make the reservation.”  He ignores me and continues his assault on my body, but by some incredible miracle, which I can only attribute to the overbearing presence of God in this hotel today, we are saved by the bell, or the buzz rather.

“Brian, either your jeans have a small motor in them or your cell is going off.”  I hadn’t even noticed.  I slide my hand in the front pocket of my jeans and pull it out.  He was right.  I look at the caller ID.

Shit.  This can’t be good.

BRIAN'S POV

Do that to me one more time
Once is never enough with a man like you

There are so many things wrong with this picture.

It’s just not right to be washing spunk off of your (much younger and very hot) boyfriend’s stomach…

while he sits (naked) on the bathroom counter of a luxurious hotel…

filled with bible buyers…

talking your four-year-old son down from a “Why can’t I take the kitten to the grocery store? I took her to a pet store. What’s the difference?” ledge…

while you try to act like you don’t know that there’s going to be a knock on the door in, oh say, six minutes.

He flips my phone shut and puts it on the counter.

“I explained it to him. He calmed down, and Lindsay’s happy. It’s very nice of you to clean me up, but I can do it myself, you know.” Right, like this would get done if I wasn’t doing it. We’d be fucking again. Please stop licking my ear.

“It’s the least I could do since my son has no use for me anymore. He wants ‘Mr. Justin.’” I toss the washcloth in the sink and plant my now cold hands on his thighs. “Apparently, all I’m good for is fucking you and cleaning you up.”

“Oh, you’re such a big baby. It’s unbelievably cute when you get jealous over me and Gus.”

“You’re unbelievably cute sitting on this bathroom counter when I can see your pretty ass in the mirror.” I yank him closer to me, wrapping his legs around me. His skin is warm, this counter is cool, and, oh fuck, I shouldn’t be thinking about this right now.

“Ow, that hurt.”

“Yeah, right. You loved it.” He reaches behind him and pulls one of my hands off his back, glides it down his chest, right over his rock hard little nipples, and plants it on his cock, which is painfully hard. That’s what hurts. He licks his lips and looks at me from underneath those long eyelashes. He has no shame. His hand covers mine, gripping my fingers and moving it the way he wants it, my thumb swiping the beads of fluid beginning to spill out.

“Is somebody knocking on our door?” Forehead to forehead. Hand in hand. A true team effort.

“Quite possibly. You should put some clothes on.” He starts pushing me faster, his grip on my hand getting tighter, everything getting much more slippery. I let him lead for a little while longer, closing my eyes and listening to all the little sounds he makes when he jerks off. I wonder if he says my name this many times when he’s all alone. Fuck, that's so hot.

“I thought you put that sign up—that we’re not to be disturbed.” He’s leaning against me now, tucking his head in the crook of my shoulder, his legs holding me against the cabinets below us. The drawer pulls dig into my thighs, even through my jeans. He’s getting close.

“I guess someone can’t read.” My free hand spreads out on his chest. “Let go. Lean back. Now.” His arm falls from me as I push him back against the mirror and lean down to suck his orgasm right out of him. He props himself on his hands, arching his back to stay off the cold mirror, one foot struggling to find the edge of the counter, the other dangling as my palm pins his thigh next to the sink. My hand's firm on the small of his back as he fills my mouth with the sweetest stuff that has ever gone down my throat.

“Oh my god, my god. I didn’t know you were going to do that.” They ought to serve him in one of these restaurants; he tastes that good.

“I didn’t want to have to clean you up again.” I suck every last drop out of him before I pull him away from the mirror to kiss me; I love his disoriented little face.

“Fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair as I help him off the counter. “Who the fuck's banging on our door?”

“If you don’t get dressed, you’ll never know. Now go.” I swat him on the ass and push him into the bedroom. “Hurry up.”

Fellatio-boy, my ass. That ought a hold him for a while. I close the bedroom door behind me as I head into the outer room.

********************************************

'Cause we are living in a material world
And I am a material girl

“Praise holy Jesus hallelujah! Somebody finally opened the fucking door!” Emmett’s shirt looks like Debbie’s curtains. I hope my money didn’t pay for that.

“See, I told you they were fucking. You owe me twenty dollars.” Theodore looks mildly pleased with himself.

“We weren’t fucking. I was enhancing his masturbatory experience.” I hate fags with limited sexual repertoires.

“God, I want that.” Theodore’s face gets all dreamy for a second. “But not with you. I didn’t mean with you.” Ah, the end of a fantasy. Sad, really, and well, just sad.

“It wouldn’t matter if you did. I wasn’t offering.”

Emmett pushes past me into the room. “Okay ladies, Paul’s on the clock here. Let’s get moving. Chop, chop! Where’s Barbie?”

“I think you mean Skipper.” Ted Schmidt’s sarcastic sideshow.

“Oh no, honey, I’ve seen this boy naked. He’s no Skipper.” Emmett shields his mouth with his hand and whispers. “Trust me.”

“Why the fuck do you two whisper when I’m standing right here?” Paul stays above the fray as I help him set everything up. “And when the fuck did you see Justin naked?”

“He’s seen me a million times, in the backroom at Babylon, just like everyone else.” Justin's standing in the doorway of the bedroom looking confused, dumbfounded, and maybe slightly pissed. “What’s going on?”

I guess I don’t answer him quickly enough for Emmett. “We’ve brought you a little surprise sweetie!” He starts out full of piss and vinegar, gesturing all over the place, and then just sort of falls flat.

“Surprise.” Thank you, Ted. Justin gives them a weak smile and looks at Paul.

“Who are you?”

“Paul. I’m a friend of Brian’s.”

“I’m Justin.” He gives him that little wave he gives to people when he really doesn’t want to wave to them at all.

“It’s nice to meet you, Justin.”

“You, too. Brian, can I talk to you for a minute?” He walks back into the bedroom. I follow him and close the door. “What’s all that?” He leans against the bedroom door, his hand tucked behind him, clutching the doorknob.

“Just a little something I whipped up.” I stand right in front of him, my hands in my pockets.

“With Em, Ted, and that other guy?”

“Yes. They did most of the work actually.”

“Is that what you were doing yesterday?”

“Mostly.”

“What is it?” He’s trying to keep his jaw firm. He’s trying to pretend he’s mad at me. I can respect that.

“A transformation. You’re going to California to work in the movies. I think you should look the part. I think you should look like who you really are.”

“Who I really am?”

“Right.” I reach behind him and dislodge his hand from the doorknob and put his arms around my neck.

“Like what? A guy who’s dropped out of school umpteen times, illustrates comic books with gay story lines, so he can feel like he’s always fucking his boyfriend even when he’s not, and, by some stroke of dumb luck, gets a picture deal? I should look like that?”

I kiss him so he’ll shut up. “No. Who you really are. Like I told you the other night when we were on our excellent adventure---a strong, smart, beautiful man who just happens to be the Assistant Art Director of a major motion picture.” He looks at me like I’m the strangest person he’s ever met.

“I’ll never understand you.”

“It’s a waste of time. Trust me.” I unhook his hands from around my neck. “Now let’s go out there. Paul’s waiting for you.”

“Who’s he anyway? An ex-trick?”

“No.” I don’t fuck everybody I know. Jesus. “One of my tailors.”

“Oh my god, he’s like royalty.”

“See, you do understand me.”

***********************************************

you better work ( cover girl )
work it girl ( give a twirl )
do your thing on the runway

I never really realized how much I like to watch—happens in the backroom all the time—half the thrill's getting your dick sucked, the other half is watching everyone else get it, too. It’s happening now.

I’m lying on the unused sofa in our suite watching Emmett fuss over Justin, watching Ted reorganize everything that’s already been laid out, and watching Paul get everything ready so he can start this transformation I’m bank rolling. God, this is worth every penny. If they stay this focused on what they’re doing, I’m jerking off.

Scratch that. Emmett's looking at me. He fucking knows me too well. He glances in my direction and then turns his attention back to Justin. His words, however, are for my benefit.

“Okay, Justin, honey, what we’ve done here, and, by we, I mean Brian, and the three of us, of course, is try to put together a new wardrobe for you. Something a little more grown up, 'ready for the real world,' 'look out world, here I come,' 'Justin Taylor, this is your life'………..”

“I think he gets it ‘Queer Day.’ Let’s move things along.” Emmett flips me off.

“It’s ‘Clear Day,’ but I’m not going to be mean to you because you’ve never gone through the pain of a broken heart before, so I’m just going to chalk that comment up to your aggravated emotional state.”

“Both of you, cut it out.” Justin gives both of us a warning look. “This is about me. Remember?”

“You’re right. I apologize Justin.” Emmett's such a fucking goody-goody. “Let’s look over these lines that Paul brought.” They walk over to the racks Paul set up. “Okay, now Brian really wanted you to go with the Armani line, naturally; he wants you to look like him. But, the three of us talked about it, and we brought some cut sheets and a lot of samples from the Calvin Klein and Dolce & Gabanna lines because, let’s face it, you’re not over thirty.”

I don’t feel like jerking off now. “Let me see.” I poke myself into their huddle.

Theodore inserts his logic into the mix. “Em’s right, Brian. No offense, but he’s young, and he’ll be in L.A. Styles there are more casual, more laid back.”

“How would you know?” I shoot him a look.

“I watch E!”

Whatever.

“You don’t buy trendy suits. Trends go out of style. You buy classics.” Trust me. I know.

“Brian, I like this, a lot.” Justin's enamored. He’s been ignoring us and flipping through the Dolce & Gabanna line this whole time. “These suits are fucking hot. And look at these!” He points me to these very sleek denim jeans that are hotter than hell, the model wearing this corduroy sport coat with a dress shirt that’s open, no tie, and this fucking fabulous belt.

“Look at that belt.” We say it unison. His face lights up like a Christmas tree when he realizes that I like it, too.

“You’d look unbelievable in something like that. Paul, did you bring samples from this line?” Now, I’m interested. I can jerk off later.

“Absolutely. It’s popular among our younger customers.” Yeah, the ones with money. Paul looked like he wanted to choke before he admitted to me that I wasn’t one of his “younger customers” anymore. I guess it’s time to pass the gauntlet. “And we took the liberty of picking the one for tonight out of that line as well. I hope you’re okay with that.” He pulls the dark navy suit out of the bag it’s hanging in. It’s not what I asked for, but they’re right, it does suit him better.

Justin takes it from Paul, his mouth hanging open. “This is for me, for tonight?” There’s a white D&G shirt behind it, a belt, everything.

“Yeah, Brian gave me your measurements, and we altered one for you for tonight. Why don’t you go try it on, so I can be sure it fits?” Justin takes everything into the bedroom. I stay with Paul, flipping through cut sheets, looking through neck ties, listening to Ted as he points out what he likes from both of the younger lines. His taste has improved dramatically.

“Brian, I think it’s really nice of you to do this for him. Flip back one page. Yeah, that page. That’s the one I like. Those pants with that jacket look really nice. Don’t you think?”

“He deserves it. I like this jacket too, although that fabric might be too heavy out there.”

“Look at sixteen. This ensemble is really hot. You could wear this to work and then straight to a club. He’ll be beating them off in something like---"

Emmett interrupts us to announce Justin’s arrival back into the room as the D&G boy. I watch Justin as he walks over to the mirror, turns around a couple of times, lifts the jacket to check out his ass, and smiles with immense satisfaction. He turns to me. He wants to know.

“Brian, whadda’ya think?”

I’m literally at a loss for words.

Whoa.

“Brian?” There he goes lifting up that jacket again. “Answer me. You don’t like it?’

“I think you should pick something that doesn’t accentuate your ass so well.” He smirks at me. “But I’m just being selfish.”

“Fuck that. I love my ass.” Join the club.

I don’t remember much after that...

I know that there were numerous things tried on and marked, arguments about how pants should fit, when and how you should tuck your shirt in, how unbuttoned is too unbuttoned...

I remember Emmett giving Justin a bunch of D&G underwear, and Ted giving him an Armani wallet. “Something to hold all the money you’ll be making.” It was monogrammed...

I remember helping them pack everything up and get it in the elevator, and Justin being gracious...

I remember Emmett saying that he had six pairs of pants on hold with Paul because he couldn’t decide which ones he wanted, that Ted’s new threads were already bought and paid for, my gift to them for doing this for me...

I remember Justin closing the door to the suite and looking at me in that lusty way he looks at me...

*****************************************

Man it's a hot one
Like seven inches from the midday sun
I hear you whisper & the words melt everyone
But you stay so cool---

a little later …

“Seven o’clock. The name’s Kinney. K-I-N-N-E-Y. Yes, for two. Justin, seven okay?”

“Sure.”

“Seven. Thank you.” He hangs the phone up for me. “You could have done that for me, you know.”

“It was so much more fun watching you do it.”

“Please untie me. I want to hold you.”

“That’s the best reason you’ve had so far.” He ponders my request. “But, no.”

“This is ruining these neckties.”

“We’ve got more than twenty in here. Ties can be replaced. Stop arguing with me.” He opens the nightstand drawer and puts condoms and lube on the bed.

And then he’s back on top of me again, running his lips all the way from my wrists, bound to the bed frame, down to my shoulders as I lie on my back, moaning like a French whore underneath him. The fact that I can’t touch him makes everything he’s doing feel a million times more intense. I really want to touch him and he knows it. He’s exploiting it. Little evil bastard.

“Brian, do you want to touch me?” Yes. Fuck yes. I’ve practically been begging.

“Yes.” I give him my best, “I’ll do anything you want. Really, I will.” look. “Please.”

“Find another way.” Ugggggggh.

“While I’m thinking about that, could you at least blow me?” He laughs as he leans down to kiss me.

“No.” He meanders down my torso, sucking on my chest. He’ll suck on that. I throw my head back, looking at the ceiling for inspiration. He knows I’m getting nowhere. And then he’s looking in my eyes again, shaking his head. “Somebody needs to mark this date and time down in history. The first time Brian Kinney hasn’t had a brilliant idea right off the top of his head. I’m going to help you, just because I feel sorry for you.”

Pity. I’ll take it. Damnit.

“Okay, Brian, why did I tie you up in the first place?” Oh boy, twenty questions. I thought he meant he was going to untie me. Wrong.

“Because by day, you’re a magnificent cartoonist, and by night, you’re a little kink mister?” He pinches the shit out my left nipple. Fuck. “Okay, okay. Because I made you mad.” And because you’re a little kink mister.

“Be specific.”

“Because you looked so fucking hot in your new D&G suit and crisp white shirt that was unbuttoned a little too much that I became over-stimulated and tore it off you. Is that specific enough?”

“And then what.”

“I let it hit the floor.”

“That’s bullshit. You threw it on the floor.” It’s true. I did. Justin and his little “details.”

“It was a crime of passion. There were mitigating circumstances.” His tongue is mitigating its way into my mouth right now. God, I want to suck his face off.

“What mitigating circumstances?” I could concentrate a helluva lot better if he would quit asking me these questions and nibbling on my ear at the same time.

“You looked like supercalifragilisticexpialidociously fucking hot in it, and I’ve never seen you,” Oh my god, “Can you please stop sucking right there when I’m trying to talk?”

“No. You’re being punished.”

“And I’ve never seen you look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a sharp-dressed man. It made me temporarily insane.” Yeah, I’ll plea that. Fuck, I need a lawyer.

“It’s a double standard. You practically ground me if I let any of your ‘gay apparel’ come in contact with the floor.”

“It’s a first offense. I have no prior record. You should forgive me. Let me hold you and make it up to you.” I'm so fucking pathetic right now. Since when did my dick become my court-appointed attorney? I would never beg like this.

“Well, since you did pay for the suit, I could take that into consideration.” Please...

“I’ll make love to you.” I cannot believe my dick just said that.

“Now you’re just acting desperate.” I am desperate. “Okay, I’ve got it. I’m going to help you allocute.”

What? “Come again?”

“I want you to allocute for your crime, but I’m gonna help you. Then, we can talk about untying you.” How can you say no to somebody when he keeps kissing your balls?

“Can you please stop using big words? They make me excessively horny. They make me want to fuck you on stage at a spelling bee while they give you your trophy.” While you wear your new D&G suit.

“I have a trophy from a spelling bee.” That figures. “Okay, are you ready?”

No. “No.” I lean up to kiss him. “Can’t we fuck first and allocute later, like over dinner?”

“Nope. Now.” He props his elbows on either side of my head. “Okay, repeat after me.” Oh god. I really should be represented by counsel. Good counsel. Not my fucking dick.

“Okay. I, Brian Kinney.”

“Okay. I, Brian Kinney.” He flicks my head. Fine. “I, Brian Kinney.” He better let me in his ass after this.

“do solemnly swear…”

“do solemnly swear…” while I roll my eyes. I feel like I’m in a fort with Mikey again, or boy scouts. Uniforms….

“that I will never…”

“that I will never…”

“bitch at, chastise, or otherwise scold Justin Taylor…”

“bitch at, chastise, or otherwise scold Justin Taylor…” He’s enjoying this way too much.

“for throwing my gay apparel on the floor…”

“for throwing my gay apparel on the floor…” Fa la la la la la la la la.

“when he’s in the throws of unmitigated passion…”

“What did I say about vocabulary words?” He knows I’m hard as granite; he’s stroking me.

“Say it Brian.”

“when he’s in the throws of unmitigated passion…”

“that I, Brian Kinney, have caused in the first place.”

“that I, Brian Kinney, have caused in the first place. Now please untie me. Pleeease.”

“Only if you promise to finish because I’m not done.” Oh my god, he’s not done. Fine.

“Okay.”

“Promise.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Don’t say that.” He drives me bonkers.

“Cross my heart and hope to fuck.”

“Much better.”

“Now, untie me.” Ah, finally, freedom. Damn, my arms hurt. “Okay, now I’ve got you. What the fuck else do you want?” I give and give and give and all he does is take, take, take.

“Let’s get under the covers.”

“If we had a flashlight, it would be like a real fort.” He flicks me again. Now he’s on top of me of again, the blood is rushing back to my arms, and he’s in them, so, all in all, I’m much happier. “Carry on.”

“Okay, where was I? that I, Brian Kinney, have caused in the first place Oh yeah. ‘And that I, Brian Kinney….”

Just a minute, I’m kissing you……………….. “And that I, Brian Kinney…” His ass is freezing. I’ll warm it up. Get it ready.

“as an expression of my deep, passionate, and never-ending…”

“as an expression of my deep, passionate, and never-ending…” It warmed up quick.

“love for Justin Taylor…”

“love for Justin Taylor…” I wonder if he can go to California, and I can just keep his ass here?

“will hereby not consider…”

“will hereby not consider…” When did he put a condom on?

“the mind-blowing fuck that I am about to receive from Justin Taylor as a redemption of the coupon I gave him in the shower this morning.” He could not have said that any faster or be smiling any brighter. He kisses me before I can say anything. Never represent yourself when you’re up against the kink mister.

“I admire your subtlety. It’s very sexy. You’ve got some smooth moves.” And manners. His hands are warm, the lube is getting there.

“See what happens when you dress me up?” If this is what happens, I’d have done it a lot sooner. This is actually kind of nice.

“Kiss me while you’re doing that. Haven’t I taught you anything?” His tongue begins to explore my mouth as he begins to explore me, as I realize that I’m in his arms now. My body ignores the conflict stirring in my mind, and yet he doesn’t. He fucks one and makes love to the other.

“You’ve taught me everything.” He means it, but I don’t know when that happened. I don’t when he went from a boy in sneakers with ‘no place special’ to go the night my son was born--to a hot, successful man who has a million places to be, but wants to be with me. I don’t know when I taught him to touch me like this. I don’t know when he learned how to listen to me when I was sure I had nothing to say.

“Take your time and show me.” I don’t know that we’ve ever been face to face when this has happened, or maybe I’m just seeing it for the first time. Maybe my eyes are just fooling me. It’s really dark in here.

“Brian, it’s okay. Let go. Relax.” His eyes look so dark, so sure. “I want you to hold me. Put your arms around my neck.”

“Just go slow.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, I want it to last.”

He kisses me, as he makes me take him, his hand trailing down my face, as he forces his way inside. The real resistance, both of us know, has nothing to do with anything physical. The real pleasure, however, gladly stolen from it.

“Don’t worry Brian. I’ll make it last.”

*******************************************

JUSTIN’S POV

Love in an elevator
Livin' it up when I'm goin' down

6:49 pm

Brian looks amazing in his Armani suit. I think I look better. I beat him to the down button.

“Don’t think you’re gonna blow me in this elevator, Sunshine.”

Somehow I feel above that now.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Let’s go.”

“You’re just hungry.” No kidding.

I’ve never stepped off an elevator looking as good as Brian, not to mention smelling as good. He knows exactly where we’re going. I’ve got it written down in my pocket.

“I think it’s that one, Brian.”

“I know which one it is. I’ve eaten there before.”

“When?”

“Work related.” He puts his arm around my shoulders as we walk inside. It’s pretty busy. There are a few straight couples ahead of us. We wait about five minutes. I’m looking around at everything and caught off guard when Brian takes my hand. It’s our turn. “Kinney. Two. Seven o’clock.”

Kinney. For two. That just gave me chills.

“Right this way, sirs.” Brian motions for me to walk in front of him. I do.

Our table is fairly private, I guess. There are maybe five other tables around us that are all filled, but we’re kind of in the back. This place has nice ambiance. There’s a candle on the table, a white tablecloth, and I can see out into the hotel’s huge lobby. We’re seated in the inner ring of the restaurant. Beats looking out over the parking deck.

“So, are you having a good time so far?”

“Huh?”

“I said, 'Are you having a good time so far?'” So far?

“Yeah, I’m having a great time.” I undo my napkin and put it in my lap. “It’s so nice not having to cook for once. Not to mention having a night away from the kids.” I’m straightening the sugar and artificial sweetener packets. I hate it when they’re all mixed up and not facing the same direction.

“Those brats get on my fucking nerves, and I'm so fucking sick of your 'chicken surprise casserole.' If you weren’t such a dynamo in bed, I’d have divorced your ass by now.”

“You signed a pre-nup. You’ll get nothing. You stay for the rim jobs.”

“True. The gardener’s getting really good at those. Have you been spending extra time with him behind my back?”

“A rim job behind your back? Is that a joke?” He broke first. I win. “Seriously, there aren’t going to be anymore surprises, are there?”

“Just one.” He’s leaning in towards me with a very serious look on his face. Oh my god.

“What?”

“I bought you a plane.” Asshole.

“Very funny.” He’s laughing at me.

“I’m not kidding. I did. It’s really nice. It came with these really hot flight attendants in these really nice D&G uniforms, and when they push the little cart around, you can get anything you want.” Someone just brought us water.

“Thank you….So they’re basically fellatio boys. You just stole my idea and put them on a plane.” Busted.

“Well, it’s your plane.”

“When do I get it?”

“Not for a while. It’s on layaway.”

“Having financial problems?”

“Just recently. This guy I’m seeing is a demanding little princess. But what can I say? I’m just a sucker for his hot little ass and his huge coc—“

“Hi, my name’s Audrey. I’ll be your server this evening. Have you had a chance to look over the menu?” Not the one on the table. He’s looked at everything else.

“Hi.” I'm so embarrassed. “We need a few more minutes. Thank you.” I give Brian the evil eye. “Brian, you saw her coming! Fucking don’t do that again.” I kick him under the table—hard.

“Fuck. That hurt!” Good.

“This is why we don’t go out. It’s not because you don’t ‘do dates.’ It’s because you can’t behave yourself. You act like a ten-year-old.”

“It’s my reverse aging process.”

“Read your fucking menu.” He tucks his face behind his menu like my harsh whisper scares him.

When Audrey returns, Brian's on his best behavior. He lets me order first, picks out this really nice red wine—I don’t know shit about wine—and barely hits on the wine steward when he brings it to us to see if it meets with our (yeah right, Brian’s) approval. I don’t think that guy had any idea that when Brian told him, “It’s perfect.” –that he was talking about his ass, not the wine. He better not follow that guy into the bathroom.

“Not everybody likes to be hit on Brian.”

“Sure they do, if you do it right. It’s just flattery. Everyone likes to be flattered.” That’s Brian’s secret weapon—Flattery. Fuck, it works on me, like a charm. “It’ll work on you a little later when I charm you right out of that suit.” See, I was right. Oh, yummy, this is a huge basket of bread. I’m going to need more butter.

“That’s the only reason you bought me this suit, so you could take it off of me.” He can flatter; I can flirt. That’s my secret weapon.

“And put it on you. I had a really good time putting it on you, too.” Our faces are almost touching over our salads. One glass of wine down—a piece.

“That’s your kink. Washing me, dressing me.” He just kissed me. Whoa. “And kissing me when I’ve got a mouthful of salad.”

“You’ve always got a mouthful of something. Sitting across from you when you’re all dressed-up, fantasizing about what I’m going to do to you later when I get you back upstairs.”

“Not to mention your whole necktie thing. That’s your biggest kink.” I’m giving him my evil grin because even though this shirt looks much better without one, I let him put one on me anyway, just so he could get it out of his system. It’s hanging right inside the suite on our doorknob right now. He wouldn’t let me take it off until we were literally walking out the door.

“Don’t tell anybody. That’s our little secret.” You’d think somebody just gave him another corvette, and he’s just sitting there chomping on lettuce and daydreaming about neckties.

“That’s not the table leg Brian.”

“No shit, Sunshine. Finish your salad.”

“Can I get you gentlemen anything else right now?” I never see her coming. “Another bottle of wine perhaps?”

“That would be great. Thank you.” That’s Brian’s decision. I’m not paying for this.

Our dinner arrives, and I'm mostly just grateful to have food in my stomach to absorb the wine. Plus, I’m just really hungry. Fucking all day takes a lot of energy, even when you’re young. God, Brian must be exhausted.

“It doesn’t matter where I take you, you always order a rib-eye and a baked potato.”

“So?” He sounds like my father.

“You would think with all of your upper-class, country club upbringing, you’d prefer something more exotic once in a while.”

“You sound like my father.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Like he thought I should prefer Dartmouth over art school. Like I belonged there.”

“I’m talking about dinner, not about your education. Don’t be dramatic. Have some more wine. Is your steak cooked to your specifications?” He fills my glass.

“Yes. It’s delicious. I mean, well, he was that way about everything. Food, too. It’s just a touchy subject with me.” This is really good wine.

“I really like this wine.”

“Good. It’s expensive as shit. So, I’m listening.”

“Well, like, on our birthdays, my parents would always tell me and Molly that we could go out to eat—anywhere we wanted—you know, as a family.”

“Right.”

“Well, I always wanted to go to McDonald’s.”

“Because you were a kid, and you wanted a Happy Meal. You were probably a happy little kid who just wanted a happy little meal.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not. I hated McDonald’s. I was terrified of the Hamburgular; it was a whole different thing. Go on.”

“That’s weird. I almost forgot about him. Okay, so anyway, every year, my parents would ask me where I wanted to go—"

“And you’d say McDonald’s.”

“Right. And then we’d pile into the car, and my fucking father would drive us somewhere else. He wouldn’t even say, ‘Justin, we’re going to go to The Blah Blah Steakhouse’ instead of McDonald’s.’ I’d just be in the car, thinking I was going to McDonald’s, and then, all of a sudden, we’d be in the parking lot of another restaurant, and he’d be yelling at me to get out of the car.”

“That’s fucked up.” He refills my glass and nods to Audrey to bring me some more water. “And more butter too, if you don’t mind, for him. Thank you.” Like she cares who’s going to eat the butter.

“No shit. So, after a few years of this, I wised up. Once I pitched a holy fucking fit on the way home, and my mother made my dad go through the drive-thru and get me whatever I wanted—"

“What did you want?”

“A Big Mac, French fries, and a large Coke. I was up all night—peeing and bouncing off the walls.”

“That’s how I spend my birthdays.”

“Not for the same reasons.”

“True.”

“And then I just started refusing to go, and I would stay home on my birthdays and draw, while my family went out to eat.”

“That’s fucking sad, Justin.”

“I know. It really is.” It feels sadder than it usually does. Maybe I’m a little drunk. “Sometimes my mom would go out after they got back, and my dad was committed to his beer and sports, and get me whatever I wanted and bring it back. It just didn’t feel the same, though, you know. She finally quit; I think she could tell I didn’t really want it anymore.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t celebrate your birthday. I didn’t know.”

Shit. “That’s not why I told you that Brian.”

“I know. Your father’s a fucking shit head douche bag.” He might be a little drunk too.

“So was yours.”

“True, but in a different way. Are you going to eat your asparagus?”

“Yes, but you can have some if you want.” He fucking loves asparagus.

“Your father wasn’t cruel to your mother—at least not in front of you.” He just took half of my asparagus. I said some.

“No, he wasn’t. Not that I saw. But she wasn’t always happy. I knew that.” I hope he’s enjoying them. We pause as Audrey returns with water, butter, and another basket of bread. Brian will talk about cock in front of anyone, but not about his father. “What did he do to your mother?” He never talks to me about this stuff. I watch him drain a full glass of wine, refill his glass, and top mine off.

“The details aren’t important anymore. I think the worst thing was being the only boy in a house where the rest of your family's being terrorized and not being able to do anything about it.” If you didn’t know Brian, you’d think that there was no emotion on his face right now, but I see it. I can feel it. He looks away.

“He was terrorizing all of you.” He doesn’t respond to that. “But your sister always seemed like she had a good relationship with him, sort of.”

“That’s not uncommon.”

“And when he died—" He looks at me again.

“Somebody had to take his place. There’s a villain in every family Justin, just like a comic book. And if there isn’t one, people create one. Never underestimate the lengths that someone will go to mold you into who they need you to be—even people who think they love you, even your family.”

“You’re nothing like your father.” I put my fork down. Even if they think you are or think that they want you to be.

“You didn’t know him. I’m more like him than you’ll ever know.”

“I’ll never believe that, not in a million years.” He’s looking at me differently now.

“I hope I never fuck up and show you. Here, finish this.” He empties our second bottle of wine into my glass.

“You can have the rest of my asparagus. I’m going to have dessert.”

“Okay.” He eats them off of my plate. “That’s not the table leg, Justin.”

“I know.”

For a second, I thought the candle on our table was going to go out. Audrey comes back a few minutes later to offer us dessert. Brian tells her to “bring him one of everything chocolate.”

“I’ll be back with the dessert menu in a second sir.” She smiles at me, not Brian, and walks away.

“I think Ashley likes you.”

“Her name is Audrey, you moron. She’s wearing a name tag.”

“I think Audrey has a crush on you. Do you care if I step outside and smoke?” I’d go with him, but I think he wants to be by himself for a few minutes.

“I don’t mind. It’ll give me some private time with Ashley.”

He squeezes my shoulder after he stands up, and I watch him walk through the lobby and out the side door. Audrey returns with my dessert menu and clears everything else off of the table. I can see Brian outside, and I watch him for a few seconds, remembering when I would’ve stared at him the entire time he was out there, so afraid that I was going to miss something—like everything I ever got from him was either something I stole or something he didn’t want me to have. I don’t feel like that anymore.

I open the dessert menu and try to figure out what I want, glancing up at the door again after I decide. He’s gone. The candle on our table finally goes out. I don’t have anything on me to re-light it. I'm out of water, so I chew the ice.

I jump in my chair when I feel his ice cold fingers on my neck, his cold lips on my ear. “Did you have a good time with Ashley?”

“You scared the shit out of me.” He laughs at me, and then immediately composes himself as he sits down.

“Don’t look now, but here comes your girlfriend.”

“Did you decide what you’d like?” Brian's making faces at me and mouthing: She likes you.

“I think I want this chocolate peanut butter cheesecake. Is it good?” That's definitely not the table leg.

“Oh, it’s very good sir. I think you’ll really like it.” She turns to Brian. “Would you like anything for dessert sir?” I grab his foot under the table and threaten to poke him with my fork.

“Oh, I’m having him.” He takes the dessert menu from me, ever so politely, and hands it to her. “To go.”

JUSTIN’S POV

When I get you all alone
I’m gonna take off all your clothes
Ain’t nobody gonna interrupt my game

I don’t think I’ve done this since I was eight or nine—walk along the edge of a fountain. It’s a lot more fun when you’re drunk. I mean tipsy. I’m not really drunk. I’m tipsy. And this fountain in the middle of the lobby is gargantuan. And loud. Loud and gargantuan. Gargantuan. G-A-R-G-A-N-T-U-A-N. Gargantuan.

“Don’t fall.” He sneaks up behind me. It’s about time he got over here. Took him forever to pay the check.

“You scared me. You just made me throw my last quarter in there.”

“And a condom.”

“Whoops.” Shit.

“What did you wish for?” You don’t wish on a condom. Idiot.

“I’m not going to tell you.” When I stand on the edge like this, I’m almost as tall as Brian. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a bunch of change and throws all of it into the fountain all at once.

“Okay, I’ll go first. I’ll tell you what my wish was.”

“That was a pretty expensive wish.” That was at least three dollars in change, maybe more.

“I wished for peace.” Bullshit.

“World peace?”

“A piece of ass. And it was very expensive…..it was yours.” Flattery. I have the stupidest grin on my face. It’s making him sooooo happy. “So now, it’s your turn. Tell me what you wished for.”

“I told you ‘no.’”

“Okay. Then I’m going to guess.” His left foot joins my feet on the edge of the fountain as he pulls me tightly against him. He’s hard, and he wants me to know it. I push back a little. I can’t help myself. I have no self-control when he does that. His fingers are on the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I’ve got to think…….what would you wish for?”

I lay my head back against his shoulder, my hands shoved in my pockets. Droplets of water sprinkle all over my face. Feels tingly.

“Hurry up.”

“Why?”

“Because everybody in this lobby is staring at us. You’re embarrassing me.”

“Fuck them.” He clutches me tighter, pushes against me. I don’t even think he thinks about it. He just does it. “Okay, I’ve got it. You wished that I would stop embarrassing you in front of all these god-fearing Christian folk.”

Like it would matter. Like he’d stop. Plus, I can’t lie.

“No.”

“Shit. Okay, okay, let me think.” He taps his foot on the side of the fountain next to my feet. There are water droplets all over our shoes, my brand new shoes. I love my shoes. “Can I have a hint?”

“It’ll cost you.”

“I have spent a fucking fortune on you in the last few hours. I’ve earned a free hint.” True.

“Okay, you’re right. One hint.” His face is right next to mine on my shoulder.

“Go on.”

“It’s something I want from you.” Now I’m hard.

He’s licking his lips. I can hear it in my ear. That’s all I can hear now, rushing water and him, breathing in my ear. “Hmmmmmm. Hmmmmm. Hmmmmmm.” I wish he would quit that. “Let me see.” He’s drumming his fingers on my stomach. “Is it something I have to buy?”

“I told you--one hint.”

“We’re going to be standing here for a loooooooooooong time.”

“No, it’s not something you buy.” I'm so easy when I’m tipsy.

“Okay. I’m going to figure this out.” He just unbuttoned my shirt and slid his hand inside it. Thank god my jacket’s buttoned.

“You won’t guess it.” He’ll run out of patience first. He has no patience when he’s horny.

“Okay, how ‘bout this? How about we compromise?” He turns me around so that I’m facing him, his arms around me, outside my jacket. We’re almost eye to eye. I fling my arms around his neck.

“How about if I take you upstairs…and get you out of your very… beautiful… clothes… that you look so very… beautiful… in…and I let you tell me… every little thing that you want… while you sit on my very hard la-p?”

Who could turn down an offer like that?

I moan into his kiss, although I doubt he can hear me over the water. I can’t feel my knees when he talks to me like this. If I fall into this fountain, he’s going with me.

He lifts my chin. “I can’t kiss you when you put your head down.”

“You’re embarrassing me again.” I can feel it which means everybody can see it.

“I know. You’re blushing.” His tongue is in my ear. “I must have gotten something right.”

“You weren’t even close.” My head is on his shoulder. This way I don’t have to look at him.

“You don’t want to go upstairs and sit on my lap?” That’s a hard question to answer. It’s a trick question, a typical Kinney move, accompanied by excessive groping.

“Yes…”

“But…” He will stand here all night and fondle me until I answer him.

“That’s not all I want.”

He lifts me off the fountain and onto the floor, resuming his position of power. He knows what I mean, and I know he knows. His voice gets a little more seductive as he stands here with his arms around me, his forehead on mine. I have to look at him now. His eyes are like magnets.

“I know what you want.” I’m glad he’s holding me up. Nothing else is. “You told me this morning right before the pancakes and the sausage.” He can tell that he got it right, that I’m happy. “See I listen. I didn’t forget.”

“I know. You just prefer me in a debilitating state of arousal.” He grins at me, eyebrow and all.

“I’d prefer you in the state of Pennsylvania.”

Me too. “Can we not talk about that right now?” He feels the change in my body. “Can we just go upstairs?” I feel it in his.

His voice softens. “Yeah.”

We leave the roaring water behind.
****************************************

************
Is love so fragile and the heart so hollow
shatter with words impossible to follow

“I’ll go upstairs and get them for you if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. Just give me yours.” I don’t mind Brian’s cigarettes once in a while. “I need your lighter, too.”

“Do you want me to come with you? I’ll come with you.”

“No. I’m fine. I’m just going out that door.” It’s just the parking lot. Jesus.

“Then I’m going up front to get my car key. I’ll meet you out there in a second.”

“Fine.” Stop hovering.

I need to smoke before we go upstairs. It’s pretty fucking cold out here. Sobers you up. I’m surprised I’m the only one out here; there are a shit load of people in this hotel tonight. It’s not even that late. After a few puffs, I don’t even need this cigarette as badly as I thought I did. I’ll just go find him.

Or not.

I can’t get back in. Door’s locked. Both of them.

Shit.

And there’s no one in this hallway. Great. Now I have to walk all the way around this entire place to the front door.

The front lobby is busy, but no sign of Brian. He’s not at the fountain. He’ll find me. I’ll just go back the way we were going. This place is one big circle. There are at least five weddings receptions going on here tonight, some business function, and I think a bachelorette party. Some door just swung open, and I swear I saw strippers in there. I wonder if the bible people saw that.

It’s really odd to see how different people’s receptions are. Some are so elegant and others are so tacky—to each their own, I guess. I stop outside the most elegant one to wait for Brian. He should be able to see me here. It’s really nice—formal, black tie, pretty good band. Some little girl just slid across the floor in her black shoes and fell on her ass. She’s screaming. Kind of late for a kid that young to be at reception like this. There’s this really beautiful portrait of the bride just inside the doorway. I can almost read the artist’s name from where I am. I don’t want to make it obvious that I’m lurking outside their party. Some woman is setting up all kinds of stuff on this table by the door. Party favors. I didn’t know they gave out party favors at a wedding. Ha. I can just imagine what kind of favors we’d give out if we got married. “Milk chocolate dicks on a stick. They come in your mouth—not in your han—"

“Don’t disappear on me like that.” I knew he’d find me.

“I got locked out.”

“No shit. So did I. I went out there to meet you and couldn’t get back in. That bitch at the front desk--”

“What’d you go and do that for? They just work here.” He knows I can’t stand it when he goes off on people in the service industry. I mean, hello, I am one. Was one.

“Because they should put a fucking sign up if those doors are going to automatically lock at a certain time.” He was really worried about me. He just took it out on her.

“Well, you shouldn’t yell at someone who has no control over that. That’s shitty, Brian.” We were separated for like what? Seven? Eight minutes?

“Why are you standing here anyway? Let’s go.” He pulls my arm. I pull back.

“I’m just watching this wedding reception. It’s really classy. Plus, there’s this really beautiful portrait right there, and I’m trying to see who painted it. I just don’t want to appear obvious.” He’s standing behind me with his hand on my shoulder now, calming down.

“I’ll go look.”

“No. I’m just waiting a second ‘til that woman finishes putting out all of those party favors. She’s almost done with those little chocolate things.”

“What the fuck are they?”

“How should I know? Don’t talk so loud.” His arms are wrapped around my shoulders now, but not like at the fountain, just in a nice way. Thank god.

“Their names are Casey and Kelly? Which one’s which?”

“Kelly’s the bride, I think. Was that what we looked like when we danced?” My hands are hanging off of his arms. I like it when he holds me like this.

“Casey’s a dog’s name. Like what? What do you mean?”

“Like that. The way those people are dancing—all formal and everything.” Sometimes he’s dense.

“No, we didn’t look like robots with bad hair and no fashion sense.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“I’m being serious. We didn’t look like that. Plus, we had the whole floor to ourselves.”

“What did we look like?”

I guess he’s thinking about it.

“We looked like two people fucking with their clothes on.”

“Brian.”

“We did. We moved like we were……making love…..except for the part where I spun you around and around. You were quite the tiny dancer.”

I tilt my head back, looking up at him. “Yeah, we don’t do that spinning thing when we fuck anymore.”

“Yeah, not since you hit the wall that time. That kind of took the fun out of it.” He laughs, resting his chin back on the top of my head.

“Why did we have the floor to ourselves? No one else wanted to dance with us?” I know why, logically, I guess. There are parts of the story that I feel like I know, but sometimes I just like his version better.

“No, because they were spellbound. They couldn’t take their eyes off of us. They couldn’t have moved if they wanted to.” He kisses the top of my head. “She’s done. Go look.” He lets go of me.

I only have to take about two steps inside to peek at the painting.

It only took one to have the door slammed shut in my face by Party Bitch.

“Excuse me. This is a private affair for invited guests.”

I don’t think anyone has ever looked at us with more disgust—at least, not anyone that I can remember.

“Fucking bitch!” As loud as he said that, she probably heard it.

“Forget it, Brian. Let’s go upstairs.”
**************************
the Cuervo Gold
the fine Colombian
Make tonight a wonderful thing

His arm is tight around me as we walk away. I lean against him as we leave to go upstairs, all that wine making me a little tired. He stops in front of a space adjacent to one of many receptions going on here tonight and opens the door for me. “Go on in.”

“Why?”

“Just go in.”

“Are there people in here? Is someone going to jump out at me and yell ‘SURPRISE!’” Seriously, I’ve had enough surprises.

“No. It’s empty. Go.” He pushes me inside. It’s a huge room, like a ballroom, I guess, with a lot of tables and chairs pushed up against the walls. There’s a piano toward the front, and a little stage in the back. He finds the dimmer switch and brings up the lights just a little so it’s not pitch black.

“Why are we in here?” Everything echoes in here.

“Why are you whispering? Listen.” You can hear the band. He walks over to the far side of the room closest to the wall. The band is playing right on the other side. “Come here.” I walk over to where he’s standing. He takes me in his arms. “I’ve been trying to get you in here for a good thirty minutes.”

“You have?”

“Yeah.” He smiles this very small smile at me. “But you wanted to wish for things, get locked out, look at a painting, drive me up a wall…your usual routine.” He kisses me, softly, sweetly.

“You wanted to fuck in here?” I have this image in my head of him running around scoping out places for us to fuck besides our room. He kind of laughs at me and shakes his head.

“No.” His hand is on the back of my head. I lay my head against his chest.

I don’t recognize this song, and I’m about to ask him what it is when I realize that it doesn’t even matter. We have the floor to ourselves.

Somehow I know we always will.

“I don’t think my feet work like this anymore.”

“Don’t think about your feet, Justin.” I close my eyes, his jacket, his heartbeat against my face. Beats and measures. Stops and starts.

Sway.

“Brian?” I don’t think I’m moving much at all. I can’t tell.

“Hmm?” His lips are in my hair.

“It’s not working. If I stop thinking about my feet, I start thinking about everything else.”

“Then just think about mine.” The floor seems to shift underneath our feet, doing the work for us, so that we can stand still. He feels familiar, like what you’ve always wanted, and strong. Smells like the promise of something you knew you had to have.

“Brian, is this what it was like?” He takes his time with my question, the song playing out, his arms beginning to loosen. I feel his warm breath in my face.

He answers me before he kisses me. “Yeah. This is exactly what it was like.”

“Then this is how I’ll always remember it.”
**************************
don’t stand so close to me

“It was Hey Nineteen."

“What was hey nineteen?” There are about fourteen hundred people in this elevator.

“The song we were dancing to. It was Hey Nineteen by Steely Dan. I just figured it out. That would’ve bugged the shit out of me all night.” He should have listened to me and waited for the next one, but instead he bolted for this one, along with everyone else in the entire hotel.

“I didn’t know what it was. Didn’t really matter.” I want to tell him that I didn’t even need any music--at all--but later, not in front of this crowd—grandmothers, a crying baby, a few preachers, and a drunk girl with the hiccups. Most of them empty out by the fourteenth floor anyway, where we make our switch into the “rich people’s elevator.” That’s what I call it now—to myself. Sometimes it’s kind of crazy when you switch because of the timing. If all of the lower elevators arrive at the same time, you end up with this maze of people trying to figure out which way to go—kind of like a subway system—only heated. Everyone ends up in the right place; it’s like a mad game of musical chairs for about fifteen seconds.

That’s exactly what it is right now. I’m still holding his hand as we weave our way to the one we want. His choice again. Our hands disconnect as I step forward to press ‘28’ and look behind me out of courtesy to see if anyone else needs another floor.

Fuck that.

Party Bitch.

Smooth move Brian. Next time, I pick the elevator. But I’m dressed like a gentleman, so I’ll act like one. Plus, she’s outnumbered. It’s only us and her. Too bad Party Bitch.

“What floor?” I give her my strained smile. Brian has just clued in.

“26.” She clutches her purse. Like I want your purse bitch. I press her button and go back and stand beside Brian on the other side of the elevator. She’s facing the front. We’re clear on the other side. Brian’s leaning against the back wall facing forward; I’m leaning against the side wall facing her, but I’m not staring at her. I’m looking at Brian.

He’s staring at her, with his polite contempt, then looking at me. We’ve got a long way to go with Party Bitch, only just reaching sixteen now.

I watch him, watch her, not watching us. Her eyes are super-glued to the numbers lighting up one by one. I’m so busy watching her that I jump just a little when Brian leans over and kisses me. He doesn’t do it in his usual way. It’s surprisingly chaste--kind of like the way I kiss my mother. I think he was going for a sound effect. She puts her purse on her shoulder and smoothes her dress with her hands a couple of times. Eighteen.

Brian leans back against the wall, a very thoughtful look on his face, and then asks me in all seriousness, “You douched, right?”

She’s getting off at twenty now.

Change of plans, I guess. I can’t say anything because I’ll either kill him or bust out laughing. So, instead, I just look straight ahead and hold up two fingers. He nods.

“Well, it’s a good thing because the last guy they sent me didn’t, and I refused to pay him.” She’ll probably report us to hotel management. She doesn’t even wait for the doors to open all the way; she just worms her way out. “Have a nice evening.”

I'm always proud of him for the strangest reasons. “You’re unbelievable, Brian.”

“It’s true. I am. Oh.” He reaches into his pocket as the elevator starts moving again. “Here’s the name of that artist.” He hands me a slip of paper.

“When did you get this?”

“When you thought I was taking a leak.” He grins at me. “That bitch hates my fucking guts.” He laughs. “Here, I stole one of these too.” He hands me a chocolate wedding-thing on a stick. “They suck. I already ate mine.” I unwrap my stolen Party Bitch wedding favor.

“Oh my god, they do suck. This is the worst chocolate I’ve ever tasted.” I make a horrible face. We’re definitely not having this crap at our never-wedding. Emmett’s stuff is a million times better than this.

“Don’t make that ugly face. It clashes with your ensemble. I’m still picturing you as my fairy princess.” He taps on his watch. “And it’s not midnight. I get you at least until midnight.”

“Oh, I’d say, you’re paid up for a good twenty-four hours, at least, if not more.”

Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.

He fucked me in the elevator.

BRIAN'S POV

Tonight you're mine completely

“I need you to hop down from there for a minute.” His eyes are bloodshot. He loves this bathroom counter.

“Why?” He’s flicking his ashes in the sink. This is a non-smoking suite. “I’m not putting this cigarette out.”

“I didn’t ask you to. Hop down for a minute.” He's figured out how to dim the lights in here. I didn’t even know you could do that.

“Why?”

“Because I need to check your panties.” He slaps my hand when I reach for his pants, but at least he’s laughing now. And smiling. Finally, a smile.

“What the fuck? Cut that out.” Don’t wipe your nose on the sleeve of that jacket. That’s an eight hundred dollar Kleenex.

“I’m pretty sure the condom’s in the elevator…….or your ass. I’m hoping for the latter.” He’s not going to budge. He’s been sitting on this counter, leaning against the mirror, one knee up, one knee down, smoking and crying for ten minutes. God, he’s pretty. Ah, laughing and crying at the same time now. Even prettier.

“I told you I didn’t want any more surprises.” I’m taking off his shoes. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off your shoes. If I swear on every single bible in this hotel right now that I completely forgot about it, will you believe me? Because I swear to you, I forgot.” And his socks, might as well. “This is why I don’t do romance. I’m not very good at it.” Zero for two now if you want to get technical about it. “I’m much better at seduction.”

The cigarette’s in the sink now. He’s looking at me with red-blue eyes. “Well, we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Guess we know what mine is.” He looks up at me as I stand between his legs, my arms around him again, finally.

“Too much red wine?” He laughs at me as he drains the vodka tonic I made for him, sitting the glass back down on the counter beside him.

“Yeah.” It comes out softly, quietly. “Thanks for putting it away, Brian. I love it, just not tonight.” He slides his right hand around my neck, still cold from being around the glass, and pulls me down a little. His kiss tastes like everything.

There’s only one closet in this suite that I could get his brand new luggage to fit in. I guess the staff put it in here while we were having dinner. I completely forgot about it. It was being monogrammed. It’s just like mine, only a few years newer. There’s no way in hell he was going to his father’s house to get his luggage. If I‘d kept it dark in here, hadn’t wanted to see his face while I was kissing it, he might never have seen it. If the windows in this suite opened, I’d throw it out in the fucking street right now.

The kiss has ended.

“This vodka tonic you made me is for shit.” He’s right. I smile at him.

“Yeah, I watered it down. You’ve had enough to drink.” He drains it and sits it down, the ice remains. “I’d prefer to have you awake during the seduction.” He watches my face as I start taking off his jacket. “You have no idea how fucking hot you looked tonight, how beautiful you looked. And it wasn’t the clothes, it was you.” He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me. That’s okay. I’ve got all night to convince him.

“I’m a mess. I haven’t cried that hard since Vic died………..or since I found out you had--” He shakes his head, regretting his words. “Shit.” I watch him turn, surveying his blotched face in the mirror.

“I think you look very pretty when you cry.” He busts out laughing at me.

“Would you shut up?”

“No. I will not shut up. Stop looking at yourself in the mirror. Turn around.” I pull him off the counter and distract him with random conversation. “Time to get undressed, Cinderella.” I undo his belt, unbutton, and unzip his pants.

“Before my beautiful clothes turn into peasant-ware?”

“Something like that. This is my kingdom after all. No pants in my kingdom.” He steps out of his pants and his underwear.

“You’re wearing pants.”

“That’s what I want you to think. Emperor’s New Clothes and all.” He moves to unbutton his shirt. I shake my head. “That stays on. Waist down only. Formal edict from the royal palace.” He laughs a little, smiles a lot. “Have a seat.” I motion for him to get back on the counter. He jumps back up.

“It’s cold.” I know. I lift his shirt as he wraps his legs around me, peeking at what I’ve been dying to see. His gorgeous ass splayed on this counter, mostly hidden by this crisp white shirt. Fuck, I’m hard. I run my hand down the small of his back and over as much of his ass as I can get to.

“That's so goddamn beautiful.” He turns to look over his shoulder and watches me watching him in the mirror, gives me that devilish grin. God. I break the stare and bring my face back to his, my arms around him again. “So aside from the last twenty minutes, did you have a good time today?” I can feel him relax in my arms.

“Yeah, it was so much fun. Thank you…for all of this. I’ve never felt so spoiled or so special. This was probably the best day, best night of my life.” His face lights up with a bright smile. He doesn’t remember the last time he said that, that I didn’t protect him then. I close my eyes for a minute and rest my face in his hair. “But, Brian, you don’t have to spend between five and ten thousand dollars just to get me to go out with you.”

Very funny. “I know that.” He’s looking at me now, a flirty smile on his face. Some grin on mine that he recognizes.

“No, you don’t.” Okay, no, I don’t. I’m distracting myself, running my fingers up and down the necktie hanging loosely around his neck, inside his collar. He pulls it from my fingers.

“This is actually one of yours.” At least tonight I kept him safe.

“You can have it. It looks better on you.” Feels better on you. Practically kept him hidden away.

“I’ll wear it when we have phone sex. Would you like that?” That just became an amendment to the constitution.

“I’ll get you three or four extra ones.” Tomorrow. He laughs, picking up his drink and sucking ice into his mouth. He’s been chewing a lot of ice lately.

“You don haffa keep buying me things.” He swallows. “But you can if you want.” I knew that was coming. His smug little smile. Saw that coming, too.

“I’m just making sure that my revolving line of credit at the 'Bank of Your Sweet Little Ass' stays open.” Permanently. He puts down his drink, studying me.

“Really? Open and exclusive?” I should think before I speak. I’m no good at this. Not prepared. My face looks way too serious when I answer him.

“Preferably.” I can see the wheels turning in his head, see the ones in mine grinding to a halt. I contemplate going into the outer room and making two very strong vodka tonics, but I don’t. I don’t walk away.

“It’s okay with me. If that’s what you want.” That was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. “But I want you to tell me what you want.” Spoke to soon. “And why.” Shit. He can tell by looking at me that I would rather wear khakis from The Gap than have this conversation, but he doesn’t care.

“What was the question again?” Seriously, I can’t remember. Have the court reporter read from the transcript. He looks like he feels sorry for me. Like I fucking want that.

His hand's under my chin. “Brian, quit looking in the mirror and look at me. It’s no big deal.” No big deal. He’s had years to figure this out. It just hit me this afternoon. “Listen to me. There’s nothing we haven’t done together. Nothing you’re gonna say to me is going to freak me out. So whatever it is, just say it.”

Fuck. My thoughts roll around in my head. He waits patiently, toying with his shirt. I can hear the elevator in the hallway, just like at the loft. “Something you said today upset me.” I feel like I should get a prize or something. It was really hard for me to say that. He looks confused.

“I never saw you look upset today. What did I say?” His face is concerned, wondering. “Was it that thing about my father? That you sound like my father? Because I didn’t mean—"

“No.” I shake my head. “No. It was when you walked into the room when the guys got here and made that comment that everyone has seen you undressed in the backroom a million times.” He’s doing that thing he does with his mouth when he’s concentrating, drawing.

“Well, it’s true.” I know. He waits. He’s really good at waiting. “Go on.” He won’t let me off the hook here. Fuck it. No apologies, no regrets, right? What asshole came up with that bullshit?

“The look on your face when you said that made me feel like shit.” I look down, forgetting for a moment that he doesn’t have any pants on, which is kind of ironic to me because that is sort of the point of what I’m trying to say. I end up staring at the small triangle of countertop I can see between his legs.

“Brian? I made you feel like shit?” I’m not making any sense. I’m upsetting him. His whole day will go straight to hell.

I look back at him again, his blue eyes waiting for me. He has mastered the art of patient persistence. “It made me feel like you didn’t expect anything from me anymore, or that you never have, anything other than disappointment.” His eyes narrow, his hands resting on my upper arms. “That fucking in the backroom or anywhere else is just the order of the day because that’s all I want, all I have to give you.” He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. “It felt--you looked like you didn’t know—don’t know—that I love you. That you don’t think I’m capable of it.” In ways that you can’t. “Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m fooling myself." He looks surprised, taken aback at first and then he looks down for a while. I can’t see his face. His hands never let go of me. When he looks back up, he looks like himself again, sort of.

“Brian, I know that you love me.” I want to believe him. “I’m not always sure that you know it. Maybe that’s what all this was, what today was about? Proving it to me? To your-" I prefer to think of it as high dollar foreplay.

“Justin, I don’t want anyone else seeing you….or touching you…. like that anymore.” His eyes are wide open. I try to look away from them, but the mirror seems to have vanished. There’s no where else to look. “You’re mine.” Fuck. This is coming out of nowhere or going nowhere or going to hell or something. It’s wrong, fucking selfish, to say this now, when he’s leaving. He needs to make his own way in the world, doesn’t need me holding him back. He’s laughing at me softly now, wiping away unclaimed tears that are falling between us.

“Brian, do you know how I know that you love me?” I shake my head. I have no fucking clue. “Because I’ve never seen you look so miserable.” He makes me smile even though I don’t want to. Little shit.

“You’re familiar with that condition, huh?”

“Intimately. Started about four years ago. Hasn’t let up since. I was young, naive. Went home with this guy, let him fuck me. It was my first time too.”

“Your first time? Really? How was it?”

“God, it was amazing. Absolutely amazing.” He’s unraveling my tie now, his legs pulling me against him. “When I close my eyes and think about it, I can still feel him inside me.” He leaves my tie hanging inside my collar, starts unbuttoning my shirt. “I never thought my first time would be like that. I never thought anything with anyone would ever feel like that.” I stop his unbuttoning fingers, pull his face to mine.

His lips feel cold when I kiss them. I take my time. My tongue tracing his lips slowly, one and then other, before venturing inside, everything about him seeming delicate all of sudden. Breakable. His mouth gradually warms to mine as I move inside it, my tongue feeling everything like it’s new again. I tease his tongue with mine, inviting him into my mouth very slowly, and when he finally arrives, he brings a sound with him that makes me grab him tightly for fear that he might fall. I don’t want to lose him. Not now. Not in the middle of this. The ferocity intensifies, his legs pulling me in, his hips pushing against me. His warm hand presses against my stomach and smooths its way up my chest. I stop kissing him for a minute and swallow, a warm wetness between my legs.

“Do that again.” God, I love that. That right there. The way he runs his hand up my chest and looks at me, like I’m everything to him. Every time he touches me like that I want to fuck the absolute shit out of him.

“Brian, let me down.” He ruts against me, his hands cradling the back of my head as we kiss, his feet trying to reach the floor. He can’t. He’s on this counter until I decide otherwise. I still him, my hands on his hips.

“This thing you caught from this guy, it’s contagious?”

“Extremely.” He tugs at my belt. I push his hand away. I need this information. “But you can have it for years before you see any symptoms.”

“I see.” I release his hips, and he immediately takes off my shirt. When he’s done, I catch his hands before he does anything else and put them around my neck. “But yours came on right away?”

“I was high risk I guess--- being so young, and beautiful, and everything.” And virginal.

“And modest.” And brave.

“That too.”

“Was there anything over this four year span of time that alleviated any of your discomfort?”

“There was one thing.” He presses himself against me. “Are you listening? Because I’m only gonna say this once.”

“I’m listening.” He licks my ear.

“This man that I love, when I’m with him, it’s like time just stands still. I forget everything I’ve ever known. I just melt in his arms. And then as soon as he touches me or kisses me, he pulls every bit of desire up and out of me like it was never even mine to begin with.” This is some guy. “But, the thing is, if he doesn’t take me to bed and fuck me senseless this very second, he will sleep on the couch tonight and his account at 'The Bank of My Sweet Little Ass' will be closed….forever.”

Women.

10:06 pm
**************
10:07 pm

You give your love so sweetly

The fuck it will. I own that bank.

He bounces a little when I throw him on the bed. Bounces and laughes. He gets back up on his knees to relieve me of my pants. All of a sudden, they’ve become this terrible burden. His nimble fingers skim down my chest and begin to unbelt, unbutton, and unzip. I hear the swish of my belt tearing through the belt loops, feel the pinch and burn on my skin, a feeling we normally and mutually reserve for him. My pants are about to explode. He says something really sexy and endearing into my ear, but I have no clue what it is. It’s a good thing he has his own money now because he just bought a shit load of vowels.

“I don’t know what the fuck you just said to me, but you’re making me crazy.”

He pulls my lips off of his neck for a second, his warm palms surrounding my face. “Come here.” He kisses me with a force that is almost over-powering and turns my head to the side so he can whisper it into my ear again. I hear him this time. I never get tired of hearing that, never get tired of him whispering erotic requests in my ear. I find it almost unbearably sweet, especially when he reads my mind.

“Is this what happens when I take you out?” He laughs and raises his eyebrows at me. I’m a fucking idiot. A total fucking idiot. There are so many places on his body that my mouth wants to be that I can’t make a choice right now. I put off that decision for a moment and push him back on the bed--hard. Lying between his legs is so addictive, cozy, and presumptuous all at the same time. I fucking love that. “Tell me what you want, Mr. Sunshine.”

“I just told you. I’m not telling you again.” He’s giggling, flirting with me. He’s actually told me three times today, but who’s counting?

“Okay, that’s fine with me, if you don’t want it.” He pokes my ass with his foot.

“Uh.”

“I don’t speak that language.” I tease him as I roll off of him and sit up against the wall. I pat my leg a couple of times. “Get over here.”

“No.” I roll my eyes.

“Yes.” He’s against my leg, running his hand up my inner thigh. I stroke the back of his head. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

I stop his hand, leaning down to where his face is, my fingers still running through his hair. “The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be. Get up and get across my lap, Justin, or I’ll spank you right where you are.” He doesn’t want that. The third time’s always the charm. I pull the covers off of him as he crawls into my lap, so warm and sweet. I kiss him as he knwwla there straddling me in his new white shirt that’s just a little too long on him and my necktie, nothing else. I rub his ass, palm his cock. He’s wet. He always is before we do this. “That’s enough. I want you to lie down.” I stop the kissing. It’s a distraction.

I love to watch him lie across my lap, positioning himself for me. He knows what I like, what I expect, but it’s mutual. Everything we do is mutual. Our safe word is hidden somewhere collecting dust in a vault in the Swiss Alps. Justin needs a safe word like I need Viagra. His knees are always on my right side, his face always facing me, his legs always together. And tonight, due to our little fashion show, we have the added bonus of this beautiful white shirt. I pull it down as far as it will go, covering up as much as I can. All things are revealed in time. My hand moves down the side of his face. He watches me.

“You’re beautiful, Justin.” He sucks my fingers into his mouth. He knows I like that. I know he’s ready. “Do you like your new clothes?” I run my other hand over his back, down his shirt-covered ass, the back of his legs.

“I love them.”

He could care less about them right now. His body tenses. He holds himself still, watching me closely as I admire his body, praise his obedience, touch his muscular legs, strong thighs, round bottom. I look at his eyes, fixed on mine, as my hand curves over his ass and down the back of his legs. He licks his lips, tries not to move. My fingers trace small circles outside his asshole. I reach for his hand, our fingers intertwining.

“Are you thinking about when I fuck you like this?” I move my hand down to his upper thigh, my grip firm.

“Yes.”

“Or when I put you across my lap?”

“Yes.”

“Well?” He lets go of my hand and looks away. That’s what I thought. “I know the answer. Don’t look away from me.” He looks back at me, irked. “Don’t be mad at me, Sunshine. Although, you look very hot when you pout.” His spanking started sometime in the middle of that exchange. He’s mad at himself for missing the cue, happy that at least that part’s over with. This is the part he’ll admit to loving. The heat, the sound, the anticipation, or better yet, the lack thereof. “This shirt looks perfect on you.” I play with his hair, caress his face as I spank him over his shirt. He fidgets, the sensation too dull for him. He pushes my hand away. “Still not happy?”

“No.” Impatience.

“Then show me what you want.” He reaches back and pulls his shirt up, exposing his perfect canvas. I lean over, kissing it. “Your ass is a work of art, Sunshine.” He grins widely at the compliment, wincing and whining soon afterward at the sting my hand leaves behind.

“That hurts, Brian.” I’ll bet it does. It surprised him. I slip my hand underneath his legs and still his cock while I admire my work. He fusses at me and ruts in my hand. Things heat up now, my hand leaving his bottom with the red, burning hue it deserves, a reward of sorts for his audible petulance. I talk him through it; it’s part of the packaged deal. My other hand on his back, strong, soothing.

“I’ve got a pretty good reason to have you across my lap tonight, don’t you think?” He squirms, seems to disagree. Interesting. “Why do you think you’re getting this spanking?”

“Because I wanted it.” He thinks he’s so clever. I’ll play this game. My heated fingers trail down his crack. He pushes back, letting his bottom beg for them. Not yet. Not for a while, his hand sliding over my thigh.

“Why did you want it?” My belt is laying on the bed. I reach over, pick it up, and wind it in my hand. His eyes widen. I raise my eyebrows . “Spread your legs.”

“Brian, no.” I lay it beside his face on the bed. He’s not afraid of that belt. He broke it in. His fingers wrap around it, something to hold on to, something of mine. I slap his thighs, right below his backside. He’s sensitive there. He cries out for me, spreading his legs. I remind him to keep his bottom up. He bites the leather as my hand pinks his inner thighs. This is the part he pretends he doesn’t love—the embarrassment, the humiliation, the submission—his private preference. He’s dripping on my legs, moaning, covering his face with his hand.

“Why did you want it, Justin?” He writhes on my lap as I hold him still, his bare bottom recovering from a long run. I soothe him with my lips, my tongue, my hands, letting the right side of my face feel how hot his cheeks are right now, closing my eyes and soaking in the sensation, our intimate routine of surprise, pain, and comfort. God, I love this. Fucking him tonight is going to be indescribable. I watch my left hand glide back down his back into his hair again. He’s looking at me through his fingers. He’s so fucking adorable when he gets like this.

“I should’ve told you about the job, Brian.”

Whoa. A confession. I stop, pulling his hand off of his face, not the answer I was expecting. I cover him with his shirt again and scold him, “If you ever keep something like that from me again, your lap privileges will be permanently revoked. Am I making myself clear?” He smiles, blushes, and nods. He thinks I’m kidding.

“Yes, Mr. Kinney.” He gets up and straddles my lap, reaching over to the nightstand to get everything we need. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay, Justin.” He’s fumbling with the condom. I take it from him and throw it on bed. “I’m trying to kiss you.” My hands rub across his ass as he straddles me, the heat radiating off of him. They don’t call him ‘Mr. Sunshine’ for nothing.

10:53 pm
**************
10:57pm

Tonight the light of love is in your eyes

“I want you inside me, Brian.” He’s pulled away from our kiss. “Like this morning.” He can have anything he wants.

“Get on your back.” He pulls me on top of him as I unbutton his shirt. I’ve never seen so many buttons on one shirt. “Do you feel better now that I took care of that for you?” He doesn’t get as embarrassed if I whisper it to him or keep my face close to his like it is now. I love to make him talk about it because this is his other favorite part—the tornado of desire it stirs up inside me for just him, only him, and what only he can do to me. His shirt finally off, my hands smooth along his backside as my body blankets him. He answers me.

“Yes.” His voice is sultry. His hand joins one of mine on his hot, pink ass. “Feel that?” I nod, matching his devilish grin with one of my many. “I like that.”

“I know. You did a good job. I’m very proud of you.” He kisses me, his answer. I slide my hand down his belly to his cock. He’s soaked. “You were dripping on me.” I stroke him, my palm slipping over the head of his cock over and over. He moans. “You still are.”

“I know.” His breath catches in his throat as I wrap his entire cock in my hand. “Brian, god.”

“Justin, look at me.” He stops writhing underneath me for a minute. I grab one of his hands out of my hair and guide it down to my cock. He strokes me. I’m so hard, I fucking ache. “You feel that? That is going to fuck the shit out of you.”

“Please.” He pants. I pull his hand away, put it over his head.

“But first, I’m going to lick your little hole ‘til you beg me to stop.” His eyes are dark, dilated, and desperate, and he moans my name as I begin my descent down his body--my target sighted, knowing there will be many detours along the way. I toy with his nipple, erect long before I get there, roll it between my fingers, and pinch. His quick response earns the other a similar gift, only with teeth. My face continues to skim down his chest, my hands rubbing the sides of his body as he moans for me, incoherent. My nose traces his chest, his abs, and makes landfall beside his toasty, eager cock. Well, well, well.

“You trimmed.” Without me. It’s already started.

“Surprise.”

“When?”

“When you were picking out a tie to wear for dinner.” I need to get my priorities straight.

I growl at him a little as I make myself at home in his blond, fuzzy nest, letting him buck and squirm and moan all he wants from my well-deserved attention. I slide my right hand along his outer right thigh and start kissing his bent knee at the kneecap, taking it slow. I tongue my way down his inner thigh, listening to him whimper. As I get closer to his dick, he's panting and sucking in little breaths of air. I nip at his inner thighs until he spreads his legs for me like he should.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so.” The kissing and sucking, sucking and kissing continues down his inner thigh until I'm back at his cock again, only this time I have a different agenda. My lips brush the length of his cock as lightly as I can, no tongue, no spit, just warm, dry lips that are barely there. My hands are there too, but just carelessly stroking his balls; the light touch making him think I love him and hate him at the same time. I know he knows better. He starts to beg when I push his legs up and further apart, running my tongue along the short path to his pucker. “Keep them up, Justin.” He yanks on his necktie when he feels my thumbs part his cheeks, my moist breath warming his tiny, pink asshole.

“Fuck.” His head is raised, a battle lost. The necktie abandoned in the sheets. “Uh, god I love this.”

“Lay down.” I taste his reassuring and peculiar flavor, feel his taut ingress quiver and contract as I lick him. His moans morph into gasps when I nudge inside him, savoring the only thing that should be on a dessert menu. His hands grab his legs, keeping them spread for me as I saturate him with my tongue, listening to him beg me to keep going, to stop, to fuck him, to let him keep begging. That didn’t take long at all.

He tugs my hair because I’m not moving fast enough for him, and I don’t object. I glide up his body, my torso smearing the moisture from both of our bodies as a sound leaves his throat that makes me smile. My face dives at his, fast at first, but then everything slows down as my tongue slicks inside his mouth, over his teeth, and then a quiet moment with just lips and eyes locked.

“Brian?” I stop moving and look at him, feeling his lips lightly littering the rest of my face. “I want you.” He eats the smile off of my face, sucking my tongue into his mouth as I lie back on top of him. He licks every bit of my face that tastes like him. I slide my fingers in his mouth.

“Get them wet. This is all you’re getting.” He pulls my hand out of his mouth, locking his eyes on mine as I get him ready. This won’t take long either, unless I want it to. Getting Justin ready is almost redundant, as if anything about fucking Justin could ever be redundant. I trace his lips with my finger, a quiet amusement on my face.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?”

“Yes. I promise.” A panting promise, sweet. He wants to please. “What?” He questions my expression. I shrug it off so he asks again, “What?”

I fess up, “I’ve never fuc-- made love to anyone like you. You’re an amazing, persistent little fucker, you know that?” He beams, kisses me.

“Yeah, I know. You don’t suck either.” The smile on his face worthy of a portrait.

“No complaints so far?” My fingers are dry. We got off track. I bring them back to his lips. He holds them back for a second.

“I have some, but I’m not filling out all those forms.” I nod. I don’t blame him. He looks at me through his eyelashes as my fingers disappear into his mouth again, a warm sensation spreading between my legs setting me back on course.

“All little bottom boys get their asses fucked like this, don’t they?”

“Yes. Please.” I kiss him hard as my wet fingers wedge into his wet hole. He bites my lip, my fingers a pinching intrusion, his ass seizing them as they work their way in. He hisses in my ear.

“Be a good boy and let your bottom open up for me.” I widen him slowly, deliberately, staying a step ahead of what he can take. His moaning is almost unbearable. I add another. “Open your bottom, Justin. You heard me.” He strokes himself. I pause for a few seconds, locating the condom I tossed away earlier, right next to him.

“Brian, please don’t stop.” He tucks his head against my shoulder, mewling in my ear as I stretch him, my lips lodged right below his ear.

“Do you like this, Justin?” He more than likes it.

“Yes.” He exhales a little. “Yes.” He wants to come.

“You’re very tight. I want you to feel how tight you are.” I thrust my fingers inside him hard. He nods and swallows, eyes wide open when I talk to him, then closed as he fights this. He knows better than to come like this. I run my lips from his ear to his mouth, forcing my tongue inside. His moans are muffled as he fucks my hand. He protests into my mouth, tries to push my face off of his.

“Brian, please. I can’t.” His fingers are digging into my biceps. I can feel him tightening. He’s almost gone. My fingers disappear. He groans in frustrated relief as I sheath myself. He’ll come on the first push when he’s this wound up. He’s already trying to calm himself down. He opens his eyes, waiting for me.

“If you moan any louder, sweetheart, Party Bitch is going to hear you on ’26.”” He laughs, out of breath. It’s funny.

“’20.’”

“’26.’ She took the stairs.”

“Did you put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door?”

“No, I put the 'come on in, we’re having an orgy’ sign on the door.” He kicks my ass as I cover him with my upper body, my cock pulsing at his pucker.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD, FUCK ME HARDER, HARDER, HARDER. MORE, MORE, MORE! YES! YES! YES!” Two can play that game. He's so tight his little ass almost chokes my dick. Not for long. “Oh my god Brian. Oh shit. Wait.”

“I’m not waiting, Justin.” His hole's as warm and slippery as the rest of him as I sink inside and fuck him, his moans like surround sound. A warm feeling floods my entire body. Oh fuck, I want this to last longer. Christ. Five or six thrusts in, he tightens under me all of sudden and bursts all over both of us. He wanted to last longer. I slap his bottom, lasted longer than I thought he would. He’s kissing me rabidly, the aftershock of his orgasm entangled with the pounding his ass is getting right now.

“Christ Justin. Your snug little bottom is just like I like it---hot, full, and all mine.” His breathing fights with him. He cries out.

“Hurts Brian. Please don’t stop.”

“Is this how you wanted your ass fucked?” If he makes that face one more time, I’ll come on the spot. Look at his chest instead. “Answer me.”

“Harder.” Fuck. “Brian, I mean it, more. Don’t… stop… fucking… me.” His thrashing has virtually pulled the sheets off this bed.

“I won’t.” I don’t want to. Don’t think I can. I can’t. Words are falling all around me, ending up in a pile on the floor. God, I don’t want this to be over. This is one delicious, chaotic fuck.

“Promise. Don’t.”

“Jus, be quiet.”

“I love y--" I pull his legs to my shoulders, folding him in half. “Oh god, fuck me.”

The only sounds in this room now are our breathing, moaning, and our bodies making contact. The rush in my head is much louder, the volume increasing with every thrust—every time I slide out and find my way back in, he knows I’m back and pulls me farther in. He makes it harder and harder to leave again. His sticky chest is making our movements even slicker as I continue to fuck him. His fingers dig into my shoulders. I can’t make sense out of anything. I can’t give him what he wants, can’t keep going. He feels my body surrendering, the parts that are ready to give up the fight, the others following close behind. My victory re-defining itself as it pours out of me.

I smother him when I come, his moaning the only thing I can comprehend. “Holy fuck Justin. Holy… fucking…… fuck.” His head inches from the wall. Mine making contact. Can’t even feel it. I can’t feel fucking anything. He lies underneath me, catching his breath. The task made much more difficult at first because my mouth is covering his. I have collapsed, given in. Somehow I feel him running his fingers quietly behind my ears, his hand on my head, soothing me with whispered words…

“Jesus, Brian. Oh my god. That was exactly what I wished for. Oh my god, that was amazing. Is your head okay?” His hot breath is almost too loud in my ear. Everything is too loud right now. I lift up for a second to kiss him, hitting my head on the wall again. I groan, burying my face in his pillow. “Brian, be careful.” I’m defeated in his arms.

a few minutes later…

“Brian?” I’m not available for questions right now.

“Hmm?”

“You left the condom in the elevator on purpose, didn’t you?”

“I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it may incriminate me.” Don’t laugh when my dick is inside you. That tickles. I was almost asleep.

“Brian?” Please shut the fuck up, my little kink mister.

“Hmm?”

“Can we do that again, you know, a little later?”

“I’ll just buy you something.” He wears me the fuck out. “Don’t laugh when my dick is inside you. That’s fucking weird.”

**************
bedtime

But will you love me tomorrow

“I have to pull out.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“I have to. You’re not a pretzel.” Not full time anyway. I get a good look at the bed, lit only from the dim light of the bathroom. The sheets are sort of on the bed. I can’t really tell. Don’t really care. I watch him as he stretches out. I lie on my back, feeling like I should be smoking right now. I look over at him. He looks sleepy. He rolls on his side facing me, his hand in my hair, his face smiling at me. “What?” He better not be horny again.

“I’m really proud of you Brian.”

“Why? Because I used the “L” word in a sentence?” He kicks me. He’s a strong little fucker.

“No, you asshole.”

“Because I defended your honor in a duel with the Party Bitch?”

“Um, no. And you didn’t defend my honor. She thinks I’m a fucking prostitute.”

“A very expensive prostitute.” He laughs.

“No, I’m proud of you because your—our---clothes are strewn all over this place, and you haven’t had an anxiety attack or needed any special medication.”

“Don’t make me spank you again.”

“Brian”. He turns away from me, pulling the covers over his head. He must want me to.

“I’m just teasing you.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Fine. Come here.” I roll on my side and pull him to me, kissing his neck, the side of his face, ending up at his ear. My hands are elsewhere, where they’re not supposed to be. “I think we should warm this up a little before you start pushing it against me all night.”

“Brian, what did I say?” He slides my hand off of his ass, over his hip, and onto his dick. I take it in my hand, feeling it get hard again. I drape my leg over his legs, encompassing him.

“We need to sleep, Justin. You’ve worn me ragged the last forty-eight hours.”

“I know. Did you have fun today, Brian?” Best day of my life or damn close to it.

“Yeah. I had a blast.”

“You did?” He tilts his head back.

“Yeah. Watching you prance around in your new clothes and just being with you, was really fun, really nice actually. I think I actually kind of like you.” He pokes me with his elbow.

“Yeah, me too.”

We’re both kind of quiet for a while. I listen to him breathe in my arms, shift my body a little. He reaches behind him pulling my hips to his, my erection resting in the crevice of his ass, my desire quiet. His hand covers mine on his cock with a gentle squeeze as he presses a condom into my other hand. I open the wrapper with my teeth. I press one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip as I slide inside, pushing through his resistance.

“Ah. Ow.”

He closes his eyes, biting his lip as he swells to take me again. My fingers trail his chin, letting him know that I’m watching his face as he accepts me. I don’t think the tears he’s crying have anything to do with the pain he’s in.

“Justin, don’t.” He dries his eyes on his pillowcase and looks back at me. I lean in to kiss him, the salt from his tears flavoring our kiss.

“I’m just sore.” I nod, accepting that version of the truth, my head over his shoulder. I need to speed this up for both of us, but my mind won’t cooperate, preferring the in-flight movie instead. I see him everywhere I’ve ever fucked him as I rock inside him—smashed against the wall of the backroom, insecure and shadowed at the baths, cold and bundled up in an alley with his pants pushed down no farther than necessary, bent over my many desks, warm and wet in the shower, even relieved in a hotel room much like this one a long time ago when I showed up to take him home. The endless chairs, kitchen counters, table tops, sofas, pillows, support beams, and---

“Brian.” He nudges me. “Please.” I rarely come before he does, usually when I’m not paying attention. I tighten my grip around his cock, his ass clenching my dick as his orgasm starts, a nice finish for mine. “Stay okay? Don’t move.” He’s tired, his voice trailing off, his hand looking for mine.

“I’m not going anywhere. Go to sleep.” He’s sound asleep in less than ten minutes, no acknowledgement at all when I pull us apart, dispose of the condoms, piss, and turn off the light. I return, wrapping myself around him again. He stirs. “Go back to sleep, Justin.”

“Mmmmkay. Just don’t snore in my ear and don’t kick me.”

I love you, too.

BRIAN’S POV

How do you call your lover boy?
”Come here, lover boy”
And if he doesn't answer
”Oh, lover boy”
And if he still doesn't answer?

1:11 am

The sheets are barely on the bed, and Justin’s not in it. His pillow’s gone too. I follow the light to find him on the sofa in the outer room, sound asleep, the television muted, the remote control lodged underneath him. I contemplate picking him up and carrying him back to bed but decide I ought to have a semblance of a bed to put him in first. Our bedroom is dark. I open the curtains a little, the light from the street enough to re-sheet with. I’m doing a shitty job, wondering why he got up in the first place, why I didn’t notice. Too preoccupied to make a bed. Pathetic. Fuck it. It’s good enough.

My second trip to the outer room finds him the same way. The infomercial running is pushing a pointless piece of workout equipment, but the model is fucking hot. Most nights I can’t sleep he’d be excellent company for my right hand. Tonight I was sleeping just fine until I woke up without Justin. Something I need to get used to. The advertisement switches to the female portion of the workout as I’m walking to the television to turn it off. The room darkens instantly. My eyes adjust.

“Don’t turn that off.” He’s awake, kind of. I find my way back to the sofa, trying not to bump into anything. I lean over him, pulling the remote out from his crossed arms. I can see him rubbing his eyes in the darkness. He pulls his feet back under the blanket he’s wrapped himself in.

“Hey,” my hand on his shoulder. “I was coming to get you, to bring you back to bed.”

“I’m not coming back to bed. I’m sleeping out here.” He snuggles back down into his pillow. “Put the t.v. back on please or give me the remote.” Justin drowns his sorrows in late night t.v. like I drown mine in booze and illegal substances. I’ve seen him like this before.

“What’s wrong?” I sit on the adjacent sofa, no room for me on the one he’s on.

“Nothing. I’m drowning you out. Go back to bed.” I don’t say anything. Silence as we both just sit here in the darkness. “Well, if you’re just going to sit there, you can get me something to drink.” Fine with me. I’m thirsty too. I open the mini-fridge and grab a bottle of water for me and orange juice for him. I’m not giving him Coke in the middle of the night. I can’t believe I’m even having these thoughts, like he’s Gus or something. “By the way, I’m hungry too.” I grab him a candy bar. Whatever makes him happy.

“Here.”

“Orange juice and a ‘$100,000’ bar?” Truth in advertising. Everything in that mini-bar is probably costing me close to it. What does he care anyway? He’ll eat anything. Just like Mikey on that Life commercial. I start laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“You.”

“What?”

“My best friend is named ‘Mikey,’ and you’re just like that kid ‘Mikey’ in those old Life cereal commercials. ‘Give it to ‘Mikey,’ he’ll eat anything.’” He flips me off in the darkness. “What’s up your ass?” I wonder if there’s Midol in that mini-bar.

“You.” I swear he’s already finished that candy bar. I’m not giving him another one. “You kept telling me to ‘shut the fuck up’ and then you almost hit me. I got tired of it, decided to sleep out here.” Shit. “And then, once I came out here, you just kept right on talking Brian. That’s why I turned on the t.v., I was drowning you out.”

I’ve finished my water. “Well, wake me up next time.”

“I tried to wake you up Brian. That’s when you almost hit me. You’re fucking dangerous to sleep with, and not for the reason that people think.”

What the fuck does that mean? Whatever. “All right, come back to bed. If I start to talk, just hit me really hard or something. I don’t want you to sleep out here.”

“Oh that’s good, Brian. Let’s solve a violent problem with more violence. That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” Dumber than walking around in matching pink tank tops with pepper spray picking on straight people? Uh huh.

“Okay. Then you go back to bed, and I’ll sleep out here. You need to sleep. You’re the one going to the west coast, not me. You’ll be the grumpy little Assistant Art Director if you don’t get some shut-eye.” I hop up from the sofa, scoop him up and carry him back to the bedroom, depositing him into our bed. His naked, little, blanketed body much warmer than mine. I tuck him in, leaning down to kiss him goodnight, his face surprised by the sudden change of scenery. “Sleep tight, Sunshine.” He calls out to me as I’m walking away.

“Brian, here.” He hands me the blanket he had on the sofa, pulling it out from under the covers. I take it from him. “You’ll be cold.”

“Thanks.” I make my way to the sofa, flipping on the t.v., a new infomercial starting—the newest innovation in hair restoration. I turn it back off. I’ve got a while before I have to worry about that shit. This blanket smells like him. I’m keeping it.

*********************
If I couldn't sleep could you sleep
Could you paint me better off

2:31 am

“Can I come sit in your lap?” The scent of my cigarette must have awakened him.

“I thought you were asleep.” I came back in here to find my cigarettes and decided to stay, this chair by the window as comfortable as that sofa. The traffic lights are hypnotic after you stare at them for a while: green, yellow, red, green, yellow, red--the few in this city with correct timing, my mind a thousand miles away, make that a little under twenty five hundred.

“I’ve been awake for awhile.” He readjusts his pillow. “I’ve just been lying here….watching you.”

“You need to sleep. The time difference and everything.”

“I can’t.” He gets out of bed and walks over to me, finishing my cigarette. I offer him the blanket covering my legs. He wraps himself in it, sitting sideways in my lap, leaning against me, looking out the window. He warms me. “What were you writing? I saw you writing in my sketchpad.”

“Some stuff I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t have any other paper.” That’s not true, but it’s passable.

“Hand it to me.” I reach down beside the chair and hand him his sketchpad. He flips to the back page where I was writing. He was watching me. He reads what I wrote. “What does this mean? What is this?”

“It’s information, names and numbers.”

“For what?”

“For you.” I look down at the page for the first time since I wrote the information twenty or so minutes ago. I guess this is as good a time as any. “You need to keep this with you when you get there. When we got here today, the guy who parked the car for us, you remember him?”

“The guy by the curb?” He looks at me.

“Yeah. His name is John Westheim. He’s worked here for years. He’s a childhood friend of mine, grew up on the same street, knew him before I knew Mikey.” He smiles, cautiously. I point to the first set of numbers on the page. “This guy here, Matthew Westheim, is his brother.”

“This guy is that guy's brother?”

“Right. He lives in Burbank, close to the studio where you’ll be working. This is his home number, his work number, and his cell. There’s his address too. His wife’s name is Valerie or Vera, or something. I can’t remember. I was at their wedding, so was Lindsay. She knows them too. It was a long time ago, right after we got out of college. Matt works for a telecommunications company, I think, something high-tech. Anyway, he knows you’re coming out there, and you can use his name for an emergency contact, so you’ll have somebody out there, somebody close by that I trust, to look after you—if you need it. Not that you’ll need it, but if you do.” I stop for a minute to make sure he’s listening to me. “Once you get out there, after a week or so, give him a call. They offered to have you come over for dinner. It’s not a bad idea. He’s got three kids, a huge house. It’ll be good for you to know who they are, just in case.” He nods.

“Okay. I’ll do it, Brian.” He shifts in my lap. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“These other numbers…..one of them is one of my credit cards, it’s reversed, just in case you have an emergency before you get your own money coming in.”

“I have enough money, and Brett is going to help me get settled. I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be fine. I know you will, Justin, but I want you to listen to me.” I close the sketchpad, lay it on the windowsill, pulling him to me, my gaze mostly on the world outside our window right now--the world where he’ll be. “I want you to be careful out there. It’s going to be a lot different than what you’re used to. The stakes are going to be a lot higher. You’re adding money, fame, and influence into an already potent mix. You need to pay attention to what’s going on around you, who you’re with, what they’re doing. Keep your wits about you, keep your head clear so you can make good decisions, so you don’t get led around by the nose. You’re young, hot, and talented—easy prey for a lot of people who won’t give a shit about what happens to you.”

“I’m not going to let anybody take advantage of me. I’ve been around you for four years. I’ve picked up a few things.”

“I know you have, and if you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be so confident that you’re going to be fine out there—more than fine. You’re smart as hell Justin, and I’m proud of you. You deserve this.” I hope I look happy. I want to be.

“I deserve you.” He plays with my hand lying on his leg.

“Nobody deserves me.” Seriously.

“I’m not going to let anybody fuck me Brian, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t, not even here.” I shake my head. That’s the least of my worries.

“You don’t need to promise me that. It’s not realistic. We can talk about it when you get back.”

“But you said—“

“I know what I said, and I meant it. I want you all to myself, but we should do that when we can set boundaries we’re both comfortable with and can live by. But for what it’s worth, no, I don’t want anyone else touching you, not while I’m watching anyway. I don’t want to parade your naked ass around in the backroom of Babylon anymore. If those boys want to see your beautiful naked body, then they can put you through school, buy you three squares a day, watch annoying television shows with you, clothe the mother fucking shit out of you, eat your chicken casserole surprise, and listen to all of your endless stories. They can work for it like I do. I’m not showing them my most prized possession for free anymore.”

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me Brian.” He smiles at me, bats his eyelashes. I pinch his bottom.

“Well then write it down.” I hand him back his sketchpad. He knocks it out of my hand and kisses me instead. I hope he’s not gonna ask me to remember what I said because I can’t remember anything when he kisses me like that. “You’re making me hard.”

“You can fuck me if you want.” The thought had crossed my mind.

“I’m afraid to. If I fuck you anymore tonight, you’re going to come down with a killer case of ‘Bottom Boy Burnout’. I don’t know how to cure that.”

“Six to eight months in Hollywood.” Out of the mouths of babes.

“No shit.”

*********************
Wise men say
Only fools rush in

“I want you to do something for me. Something that’s almost as erotic to me as fucking you.” Almost but not quite. “And it’ll save your ass for at least a little while longer.” He starts to get off my lap. “I’m not asking you to blow me.” He cracks me up sometimes.

“What?”

“I want you to draw something for me.” I hand him his sketchpad, flipping to a blank page, and a pencil. The one I was writing with, the one that was laying on the window sill.

“What do you want me to draw?”

“That.” I point out the window. “Just draw what you see out the window.”

He laughs. “You want me to draw the parking deck. That’s really difficult Brian, not to mention aesthetically pleasing.” He turns his sketchpad horizontally in his lap.

“You know how you always tell me that when I’m in the backroom, it’s not who I’m fucking, it’s that I’m fucking?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, sometimes I think it’s the same for you. Sometimes I think you just need to draw. Doesn’t matter what you’re drawing. Just draw. Sometimes I just like to watch you.”

“Okay. But just for the record, I think you’re being really weird. You’ve never wanted to watch me draw something instead of fucking me.”

“You don’t get sore from drawing.”

“Actually, I do. Just in a different place.” I laugh. He relaxes in the chair, leaning back against me again, and I watch him looking out the window at the Fairmont’s hideous monstrosity of a parking structure outside our bedroom window. He starts to sketch, and I feel myself relax with him, the only sounds I hear are our breathing and the brush of his pencil against the paper. Every once in a while his right hand shakes, and he stops, smiling at me the first couple of times. I smile back. I’m used to watching him struggle with that. My right hand covers his the third time when the shaking gets too much. I assume that he’s just going to stop drawing, but he doesn’t. He switches hands. Our right hands stay wrapped together, holding the sketchpad.

“How long have you been able to switch like that, so easily?”

“Couple of months now. I had to. I used to just use my left hand to hold my right hand still.”

“Right. I remember. At the computer. I’ve seen you do that.”

“Well, I did that so much that my left hand was able to hold the stylus really well after a while. I mean, one day, I was like, this is stupid. I just switched the stylus to my other hand and gave it a shot. It took me almost a week to gain decent control, but then I could switch pretty well. Think about it, I had to re-learn my fine-motor skills in my right hand anyway. It wasn’t that hard.”

“Not for someone as stubborn and determined as you.” He switches again, when he’s trying to do something with minute detail. It’s pretty cool to watch actually. The picture is taking shape. I hold the pad for him now. We have a side view of the parking deck from our window, just below the top level. Justin’s picture is a perspective view, inside the last covered layer, a few cars, a few empty parking spaces, columns, shadows. I think he’s almost finished. He’s shading the letters “Level Five.”

“So, do you want this picture, Brian? A souvenir from the Fairmont?” He’s filling in the elevator inside the deck. I hadn’t even noticed that. And the stairwell now. He notices everything.

“I want to ask you something about it.” His rendition of the winding path the cars take through the deck is almost spooky. The arrows feel like they are pointing to a place you don’t want to go.

“Ask me what?” He shades an “EXIT” sign, my hand lying on the picture.

It’s a risk, but it’s just a picture. “I want you to tell me what’s so scary about this.”

“About what?” He moves my hand. The picture looks done to me; he continues to work on it. I take the pencil from him, a hundred percent sure I’ll regret this.

“About this picture. Tell me what scares you about this.” He looks at me, studies my face for a minute.

“Can I have the pencil back?” I hand it back it to him. The next several minutes pass between us like a scene in a David Lynch movie. One of those scenes where the characters are pretending that everything is fine, but the audience knows otherwise. The picture morphs, slowly, right in front of my face. I don’t say a word as the columns holding the upper floor fill with cracks and the exits are erased. “You didn’t have to do all this for me Brian, you know. I don’t need all this.” His voice is deeper now.

The elevators and arrows go nowhere, the few cars littering the level are destroyed by his pencil and eraser, one by one. “I wanted to do it.” I want to do more. I need to do more.