*********

Chapter 1 - The Business of Love.

Slavery, of course, is illegal. It’s been against the law since the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States was ratified in 1865. There are no slaves in America today. There are, however, Personal Companions.

Personal Companions - more commonly known as PCs in modern usage - are not slaves. They are more like indentured servants. Men and women who, for whatever social or economic reason, have been forced to contractually cede their bodies to the whims of another. But anyone in the industry will quickly point out, as many times as needed, that PCs are NOT slaves.

The really ironic thing is that the legalization of PC contracts came about for purely altruistic reasons. Back in the 1960’s and 70’s a group of kind-hearted do-gooders became aware of the fact that indentured serviture was still widely practiced in various parts of the third world and these folks decided to do what little they could to help the poor people who were subjected to this abhorrent plight. They formed a charitable consortium that quietly started to buy up the contracts of these people and then brought them from their homes in the middle east and asia to America. Once the servants were here they were provided for, given jobs and homes, and were helped to attain US citizenship. As soon as they were established, the do-gooders who’d purchased the servant’s contract would free them. It was a noble cause.

Unfortunately, the do-gooders gradually became too good at their good deeds and their cause rapidly became a widespread endeavor. Then some enterprising slumlord somewhere in the still-feudal realms of the third world got it into his head to recoup some of his lost labor force by adding in a new provision to the contracts of his servants. The new clause said that before the servant’s contract could be terminated, if said termination was to occur prior to the natural expiration of the original time period called for in the agreement, that the originating employer would have first rights of refusal to repurchase the contract for some minimal price. The result of this new provision was that the do-gooders could no longer purchase these contracts, take the servants to America and then set them free without the risk of the original employer coming in and claiming the right to reindenture the person.

There followed a period of intense litigation over the validity of these contract clauses. There were significant international law issues discussed and debated, not only in this country but all across the globe. There were even threats of war if the US failed to uphold the contractual rights of the citizens of whatever bully-boy third world country was bucking for this right. The United Nations was ultimately brought in to negotiate a settlement. It was fucking chaos.

Eventually, a less than brilliant junior senator from some backwater state decided to be helpful. He appended a rider, added to a completely unrelated but vitally necessary bill that was a shoe in to be passed, which provided that employment agreements for certain personal services contracts would be upheld in the US and could not be discontinued prior to their original termination dates. No doubt, the senator in question thought that this would resolve all the costly litigation and halt the threats of international embargoes, since the foreign interests could now rest assured that nobody in the US was trying to undermine their sovereign contractual authority. Simple, right? The bill passed in the wee hours of the morning without anyone bothering to analyze the last minute rider and the whole thing was a done deal. It was enacted, signed into law and completely forgotten about until it was far too late to do anything. Nobody had even bothered to think through the consequences of that one tersely worded rider. It seemed like a perfectly straight-forward and easy solution to everyone's problems . . .

. . . Until an enterprising Capitalist with questionable morals read that newly fledged law and had a brainstorm. Basically, the way the rider - now law - was written, it now seemed possible to contractually obligate an individual to be one’s personal servant and, according to federal law, that contract could NOT be terminated. The wording on the new law was just vague enough that it could encompass a broad range of personal service contracts. So, Mr. Capitalist decided to put the law to the test and immediately went out and signed up all his ‘girls’ under officially legal contracts. Before you knew it, this brilliant idea was being taken up by Capitalists all over the country. There were corporations formed to enable more of these wonderful contracts. There were other corporations formed to provide support for the corporations doing the contracting. And, before you knew it, there was an entire industry formed that revolved solely around the Personal Service Contract.

At first the do-gooders who’d started all this were far too caught up in the overseas fall out from the new law, and the consequences to their international charitable actions, to realize what was happening in their own backyards. In the end there were several landmark legal decisions - dealing solely with the international situation - that, for one reason or another, upheld the new law. The international strife was resolved accordingly and the do-gooders reluctantly admitted that they could no longer buy these foreign contracts and thus help their beleaguered third world brethren. But, by the time these concerned citizens gave up the international fight, the domestic trade in the exact same type of unconscionable contract had become firmly entrenched. And, since capitalism is king in this country, once there were publicly held corporations involved, with respectable citizens running things, and the annual revenue from the Personal Service Contract Industry started to rival that of the Banking Industry, there was very little that the do-gooders could do. Especially since the Capitalists seized on those prior landmark legal rulings to support their own efforts. New litigation ensued and the fledgling industry’s rights continued to be upheld because nobody would dare to infringe on the rights of fine upstanding businessmen to make as much money as they possibly could regardless of the questionable morality underlying their business practices. So the industry grew even more. And so on, and so forth, ad infinitum.

By the second decade of the Twenty-first Century - more than fifty years after all this had started - it had become so commonplace to see and hear about PCs that the average person no longer cared very much about it. It wasn’t a good thing - pretty much everyone agreed on that. But, much like the hated Insurance Industry, there didn’t seem to be anything that could be done about it. You just had to deal with it and hope that somebody else, someday, would figure out a better way. But nobody ever did. And in the meantime, if you couldn’t beat it, you might as well join in and make a buck off it just like everyone else.

Which is how Brian Kinney managed to get himself involved in the whole mess.

*********

“Fuck this, Gardner. I don’t want to get in bed with these guys,” Brian complained, shaking his head as he looked through the file folder of information that his boss had handed him.

“Well, luckily, that’s not your call to make, Kinney,” Gardner Vance replied scathingly. “The annual revenue for the PC Industry last year was over $500 billion. That’s ‘Billion’ with a capital ‘B’. And I’m not going to pass up the chance to get a foot in the door just because you have fucking scruples.” He reached over and pointed to a particularly juicy factoid on the printout Brian was currently perusing. “PC Clearinghouse, Inc. is the biggest PC auction house in the region - they operate facilities in five states and seven major cities including Columbus, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and Baltimore. And since they’re one of only three licensed brokerage firms in the state, they’re poised to get even bigger in the not too distant future. Their annual marketing budget for next year alone is more money than you or I have made in our entire lives. Which is why VanGuard NEEDS this account, Kinney. If we can rope PC Clearinghouse in then we’ll never have to worry about money ever again. So I don’t give a flying fart about who you have to get into bed with - you will go to this fucking auction, you will schmooze Walter Lapointe and all his rich friends, and you WILL win this account for VanGuard. If you don’t, you will need to find a new job.”

Brian wanted to tell his smarmy boss to go to hell. If the sleazewad wanted these equally sleazy losers as his clients he should go schmooze them himself. Brian didn’t want to spend his time at some fucking PC auction. It’s not that he had anything against PCs per se, but he found the whole industry borderline distasteful. Generally speaking, Brian looked down his nose at anyone who had to pay to get laid - and that included any rich fuck who would buy himself a PC. It didn’t matter that the average PC cost more than a modest-sized home. As far as he was concerned, it was still paying for sex.

Brian didn’t want to get involved in anything to do with any part of that scene and he was surprised that even Gardner would stoop that low. Although, knowing Vance, he probably wouldn’t care where the fuck the money came from as long as it was cold and green. He was the greediest fucker Brian had ever met. However, Brian wasn’t exactly in a position to object either. He liked his job. He also liked that his well-paid job provided him the freedom to live his life in whatever way he chose. And he liked the potential bonus that he’d get if he signed this particular client. That money would go a long way towards the nest egg Brian was building so that he could eventually strike out on his own, open his own agency and subsequently never have to take sleazy clients like this ever again.

“Fine. I’ll go to your fucking whore auction, Gardner. But you’re going to have to spring for a new Armani tux for me to wear AND a limo to and from the event for me and Cynthia. Plus, when I sign this guy, I want double the regular bonus - twenty percent of the initial contract, not ten,” Brian negotiated, slapping the file onto his desk so that he could stare Vance down.

“Fifteen,” Vance countered.

“Twenty, or you can go yourself,” Brian remained firm, knowing - via Cynthia’s unerring grasp of the office grapevine - that Gardner was required to be at his wife’s grandparents’ fiftieth wedding celebration that night and that, if he didn’t attend, he’d be out looking for wife number five before the end of the month.

“Fine. Twenty. But I want you to not only sign Lapointe but also bring back the names of at least five of his buddies. These auctions always pull a shitload of rich corporate types as well as some big-name politicos. I even heard that Senator Stockwell is slated to attend. I wouldn’t mind getting an in with his campaign and having access to his donor lists,” Gardner ordered, getting to his feet with a satisfied air as if already imagining the money that would soon be lining his pockets.

**********

“I still can’t believe you talked ME into going to this thing,” Cynthia was still pouting, her arms crossed angrily over her chest, ruining the lines of the sleek red Donna Karan gown that Brian had paid for using VanGuard’s expense account. “You know I’m APC! I’ve fucking protested at this self-same facility on more than one occasion. If anyone from the APC Crusaders sees me here I’ll be fucking banned from the organization for life.”

“I know you’re Anti-Personal Companion, Cyn, and I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me tonight if I didn’t really need you,” Brian tried to calm his assistant. “It’s not like I’m Pro-PC myself, you know. I don’t really want to be here any more than you do. But fucking Vance didn’t give me any choice. And if I lose my job, you can bet your fucking Manolos that you’ll end up on the unemployment line too. So we just need to make the best of it. We get in, sign the client and get the fuck out as fast as possible. And then we hand the account off to some flunky and hopefully never have to deal with it again.” When Cynthia still didn’t look placated, Brian decided to try a different tack. “Think of it as research. You’re getting an insider’s look at the industry that none of your other APC friends could ever hope for. Maybe you’ll learn some vital piece of info that you can use in your next protest or something. You know, take them down from the inside.”

“Fuck you, Boss,” Cynthia rejoined, but at the same time she looked a little mollified, leaving Brian reassured that his highly efficient assistant would be on board for the evening.

Which was good because right then the limo pulled to a stop in front of the auction house. The chauffeur trotted around to the curbside door, holding it open for both passengers and then escorting them the few feet up the staircase until they arrived at the elegant red carpet that had been rolled out to meet them. Brian rolled his eyes and grimaced. He’d known these affairs were luxurious but this was fucking ridiculous. It felt like they were attending some Hollywood premiere or something, not a mere auction. Definitely not something as inherently objectionable as the sale of human beings. What the fuck did he know, though.

As soon as their names were checked off the security list by the doorman, a tuxedo-clad usher led them to their seats at the VIP table in the very front of the large main hall. Vance had made sure that they would be seated with Lapointe and his closest cronies for the evening. All the better to win that contract, Mr. Kinney. As they approached, Cynthia, that all-knowing font of information, quietly named off each of the big wigs that were already seated at the large oval table. Walter Lapointe was seated at one of the ends of the oval. From this distance, the man looked like a short, overfed, balding troll who’d been stuffed into a tux jacket that was two sizes too small for his huge belly. Next to Lapointe was a much more dapper gentleman with the over-polished look, perfect hair and practised smile that said right away he was either a used car salesman or a politician. Cynthia whispered that this was Senator Stockwell. Brian shoulda figured. She quickly named off the three other men either seated at the table or standing behind their chairs chatting, all of whom were on Vance’s list of rich potential clients that Brian needed to suck up to. Brian sighed. It was going to be a long night, but at least they were all seated at the same table so he wouldn’t have to track them down.

“Walter Lapointe, I take it,” Brian said with his most charming Kinney smile as he reached out to shake the troll’s hand. “Brian Kinney. Thanks for having us. Gardner Vance mentioned that this was going to be one hell of a shindig but I don’t think he did the affair justice. You’ve pulled out all the stops here tonight,” Brian started in on the schmooze with full force.

He quickly went around the table and introduced himself to the rest of the guests, impressing them all with the fact that he already knew their names, before turning and introducing Cynthia. The men at the table all treated the comely lady with extra chivalry. There were actually very few women at the event, so they all got to pay court to Cynthia en masse. She tolerated the unwelcome attention with her usual flair, and only Brian, who knew her extremely well, could sense the hidden contempt she felt for each and every one of these men.

There followed an extended period of socialization, with attentive waiters making sure that every guest’s glass was kept filled and every plate was laden with sumptuous appetizers, while the movers and shakers in the crowd moved and shook. Brian did his own fair share of shaking, handing out enough business cards to wallpaper half his office and making nice with more people than he could ever remember. If it weren’t for Cynthia and her mini-tablet computer keeping track of them all, Brian would have been lost.

Brian spent a large portion of this time yakking it up with James Stockwell. Stockwell was one of the PC Industry’s primary backers in Washington. The top ten percent of his political donors were almost all industry CEOs and insiders. He’d worked hand in hand with their lobbyists for years to push through legislation that was favorable to their political agenda and to successfully bury any opposition forces. Stockwell himself didn’t own a PC but he was known to attend the parties of all his friends who did. And somehow the man still managed to keep his conservative, family-friendly constituency placated. Brian didn’t know how he did it, but it was fairly impressive. All Brian DID know was that the man was so fucking oily that just sitting next to him for a prolonged period made the adman feel like he needed a long, hot, cleansing shower. Brian was therefore grateful when the arrival of the remaining guest at their table provided a distraction that let him get up and move away from Stockwell’s side.

“Brian, let me introduce you to one of my oldest friends,” Lapointe offered, grabbing the newcomer’s elbow to guide him over towards the spot where Brian was now standing. “Howard Bellweather, this newcomer is Brian Kinney. He’s with VanGuard Advertising and, if what I’ve seen so far holds true, he’s the man who’s going to be handling all my marketing from here on out. Brian, Howard here is one of the country’s most brilliant modern authors . . . as well as one of my best customers. You two should definitely talk. I’m sure Howie could use some help with the PR for his new book.”

Brian shook the man’s hand without flinching even though the mere touch of the large, slightly sweaty palm made his stomach lurch. The simpering smile, the suggestive leer in the watery grey-blue eyes and the fact that the man was standing just a shade too close added to Brian’s immediate discomfort. But there was something else - something instinctual - that caused Brian to hate the man before he’d even really met him. Brian had met other men in the past that elicited the same visceral reaction, and he’d learned to listen to his gut. Every single one of those men had proven to be just as evil as he thought they would be. He didn’t doubt that Howard Bellweather would somehow turn out to be just as vile.

Quickly excusing himself, Brian made his way around the table to where Cynthia was waiting for him. She leaned down, pretending to reach below the table for her purse so that she could whisper a warning to her boss without being observed. “Bellweather has one of the largest collections of PCs in the state. He’s got a virtual seraglio set up at his country estate located just outside Pittsburgh in rural West Virginia. According to my APC contacts, he’s not only the practice’s biggest advocate but also one of the worst PC owners you could imagine. If he didn’t have friends in very influential places, he would have been brought up on Cruelty charges on more than a few occasions over the past decade,” Cynthia’s voice dripped with repugnance as she recited the man’s failings. “He might look and talk like one of society’s elite, but if you ask me he’s just another fucking monster in designer duds.”

Following Bellweather’s advent, the talk around the VIP table turned to a listing of all the supposed benefits that had arisen as a result of the PC trade. It all sounded like hokum to Brian, but maybe he was biased because of his burgeoning dislike of the prime instigator of the conversation. He tried to remain aloof from the discussion but was eventually pulled into it anyway when Lapointe directed the next point at his new advertising advisor.

“That’s exactly what I want to stress for our next advertising campaign, Howie. Are you listening to all this Kinney? Hell, you should probably be taking notes, ‘cause Howie is making some excellent points here,” Lapointe enthusiastically endorsed the smarmy writer’s words.

“I’m not the only one who has advocated the benefits of the PC trade, Walt,” Bellweather spouted his PC propaganda. “I don’t think there’s any dispute that the rise of PCs has made street prostitution almost non-existent, which has gone a long way towards helping to clean up the streets in most large metropolitan areas. Because of the legalization of PCs there’s less crime on the streets, less drug use and a lot less general violence. It’s an uncontroverted fact that national STD rates have dropped by more than half since PCs - who are required by law to be tested every three months - became prevalent. Plus, our PCs today are healthier and happier than ever because the industry is so well regulated. Hell, with all the laws out there governing PC’s care, they’re almost better protected than most of us regular citizens.”

Brian wasn’t really buying all the boosterism, but he still had to listen. This was the angle that the client wanted him to pursue and the client was ALWAYS right. Right? So Brian would listen and he’d use what he heard as the basis for the initial pitch he’d be making. If it helped him rope in PC Clearinghouse and got Vance off his ass, he supposed it would be worth the time he had to spend drowning in the drivel that was currently making his ears ache.

Thankfully, that was about the time that the servers began to bring out dinner, which broke up the conversation and forced Bellweather to return to his seat at the far end of the table. The food was excellent. Lapointe obviously didn’t spare money on either his chef or the menu. Brian’s baked salmon and brie fillets were mouthwatering. The asparagus was tender and mild-flavored. The wild rice pilaf was savory. And it was all artistically displayed on the plates as if the meal was going to be served to the world’s pickiest food critic. Brian, who was normally a finicky eater, found himself relishing the meal.

The only bad thing about this portion of the proceedings was that, halfway through dinner, the PC Handlers began to bring out the stock that would be auctioned off later. While the guests were gluttonously scarfing down their gourmet meals, the Handlers led the boys around to the various tables, thus allowing the potential buyers to look over the goods. Brian found himself distracted from his delicious food as the constant parade of handsome young men wound past their table.

While PCs came in all genders, shapes, sizes and orientations, this particular auction was only for male PCs who were described as predominantly attracted to same sex partners. Not that the PCs would be given the choice of who their partners were out in the real world, but this group was at least sold under the premise that they’d perform better under those conditions. Brian therefore felt right at home amongst the group.

The panoply of PCs on display this evening were decidedly all excellent specimens of the male half of the species. There were all kinds of excellent too. Hard, well-toned, muscled bodies. Tall, sinewy, swimmer’s bodies. Compact bodies that looked like they were built for hard use. Even delicate, effeminate, waifish bodies that looked more like women than many females of Brian’s acquaintance. There were older bodies, younger bodies and even some that seemed extremely young. None of the bodies had any visible flaws. And all of these bodies were marched around the hall, buck naked, clad only in leather collars, with their goods on full display for all to see.

Despite the fact that Brian had so far found the entire evening to be borderline degrading and distasteful, he couldn’t help admiring the string of gorgeous young men. If they weren’t PCs, Brian would have been more than happy to take any one of them off for a night of debauchery. He felt vaguely disgusted with himself when he realized he was half-hard despite the unpleasant circumstances underlying the enticing display.

There were more than thirty PCs on the program that evening so it took quite a while for them to all circulate through the hall. After a bit, a smarmy-looking Handler with a long face and thinning, too-long, mousey-brown curls approached the VIP table with another boy for the guests to check out. This model turned out to be a very pretty, very young, blond boy, who was wearing an unusual harness contraption that covered his ass at the same time it acted as a cock ring for his lovely, and enticingly-erect, dark pink dick. Brian found himself quite impressed with the boy’s cock size, seeing as the frame it was attached to was small and lean and, while moderately well toned, looked almost delicate. Brian found himself more than just a little attracted to this particular body.

Unfortunately, so was Bellweather, who jumped up from his seat with a lustful eagerness that was slightly creepy coming from the significantly older man.

Bellweather scampered over to the handler, who he must have been familiar with since he called the man by name.  “Gary Sapperstein, you old rascal, you. What HAVE you got here? This one looks even more delicious than the excellent meal Walt’s just served us. Maybe I can have the boy for dessert instead?” The rest of the table’s inhabitants tittered with laughter at this supposed joke. “So, Gary, tell me everything about this tasty mouthful.”

The Handler proceeded to detail the boy’s statistics with a businesslike air. Sapperstein announced that the kid went by the designation ‘J327’ and was a seventeen-year-old, certified virgin with strong homosexual tendencies. Sapperstein advised he had only had the boy for about a year or so, which meant he was only minimally trained by industry standards. J327 had been contracted out by his father after the boy was attacked and injured by a classmate and the father couldn’t pay for the hospital bills to treat him. Sapperstein claimed to have taken pity on the boy, saying that he had been so saddened by the sweet young man’s plight that he had probably overpaid the father. That being said, Sapperstein had taken over the boy’s care and, once he’d recovered, had started him on an accelerated training program.

The entire time Gary had been speaking, the boy had remained completely still, standing with his legs slightly spread, his hands cuffed securely behind his back and his head tilted forward, eyes down, betraying no reaction whatsoever to anything that was said about him. Despite the overt obedience, Brian thought that something in the boy’s stance - maybe the way he was holding his shoulders or the rigidness of his pose - evinced a trace of defiance. The boy seemed beaten down, wary, but not yet cowed. Brian found that to be a provocative combination. It was enough to cause him to give the boy more than the cursory glance he’d given the other PCs that had been marched past the table so far.

While Brian was contemplating this enigma, The Sapp was busy answering the table’s many questions about the boy. Bellweather had asked several questions focused on the attack and the boy’s subsequent recovery, delving into the particulars of his injuries as if to ascertain that he truly had no lasting health problems. Sapperstein assured everyone that there were no significant physical disabilities as a result of the attack. When pressed further, Gary did admit that the boy seemed a tad bit simple-minded and explained that, because of the head trauma incurred, the PC didn’t remember much from his prior life.

“But, hey, that’s not really any loss, right?” Gary joked with Bellweather, digging an elbow playfully into the potential buyer’s ribs “Nobody buys a PC for their fucking brains, do they? As long as the rest of the equipment works just fine, who the hell cares about what’s in the boy’s head.” The VIPs all laughed at that as if it was the funniest joke ever told, and Sapperstein followed it up by putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders and giving him what passed for an affectionate squeeze.

Brian noted that the boy visibly flinched at the Handler’s touch. While he remained properly submissive throughout this entire exchange, Brian could sense that the youth was scared of Sapperstein. J327 had only looked up once, right at the end of the Handler’s spiel - catching Brian’s eye very briefly and then quickly looking down when The Sapp noticed the small movement and roughly yanked on the chain linked to the collar around the boy’s neck. The bright gemstone blue eyes that had penetrated his own in that short instant, however, had seemed to connect with Brian in some incomprehensible way. Brian was unsure what message had been conveyed, but he knew that there was something in this boy that was special.

Not that he knew what the fuck to do about it right then, though.

*********

********

Chapter 2 - Far From Fair.

Brian wasn’t the only one taken with J327.

Howard Bellweather seemed positively entranced by the boy. Before Sapperstein was even finished with his sales pitch, Bellweather began to run his hands over the boy’s body, touching his limbs, feeling his genitals, pinching his butt cheek to test the firmness of the muscles, even tweaking a nipple to see how it felt between his fingers. Brian watched the boy unconsciously shying away from the touching at first, before he was quickly and efficiently reprimanded by The Sapp. As Sapperstein ordered the kid to stand still, Brian noticed that the boy seemed to jerk upright for a brief moment, his body almost seizing for one or two seconds, before once again resuming his formerly submissive pose. After that, J327 forced himself to stand still. However, as more and more people came up, crowding around him and starting to paw at him, the youth began to visibly tremble. Brian caught a momentary look of panic darting across the youth’s face, but knew there was nothing to be done about it. The kid would not be allowed to move and there wasn’t anything Brian could do to help him. So neither of them did anything.  

“So what's with this harness, Sapp? I want to check out the rest of the goods,” Bellweather complained as he wantonly fondled the boy’s cheek with one hand and tugged futilely at the snug leather band protecting the kid’s crack. “Come on, Gary. You don’t expect me to buy the car without checking under the hood first, do you?” Everyone laughed again.

“No way, Howie,” Sapperstein refused, pretending to bat away the potential buyer’s hands. “This kid is a complete and total virgin. He hasn’t had even so much as one pinky finger penetrating his tight little ass and I intend to keep it that way, at least for the next hour or so until he's sold. *Hahaha*. So there’s not going to be any test driving this merchandise beforehand. That's precisely why I put him in the belt - I knew all the degenerate reprobates like you wouldn't be able to keep their hands off his tender, untried ass and I wanted to keep this gem safe for its future owner.”

Bellweather sputtered a half-hearted objection but could clearly see that Sapperstein wasn't going to relent on this point so he didn't push. “You know you're killing me with this untouchable temptation, Gary,” he teased, eliciting another spate of chuckling from the crowd. “But, I guess I do see your point. I'd probably do the same in your position. I'm sure this sweet young thing has a perfectly tiny, tight little pucker and we wouldn't want it violated prematurely.”

The slimey man looked the boy over appreciatively once more, his hand caressing the planes of J327’s smooth, pale back with avid possessiveness. “Yes, he truly is lovely, Sapp. Probably the best item on tonight’s program. I think I'll be taking this one home myself. The idea of being the very first to crack open this perfect virgin ass is simply too delicious. I can already imagine how hot and tight he’ll be when I sink my dick in balls-deep with that first big thrust.” Bellweather licked his lips and actually moaned aloud at whatever further deviant images were flitting through his brain.

“I bet you’ll like that, won’t you, my Sweet,” Howard addressed the boy directly for the first time, trailing his fingertips down the side of the youth’s face in a lecherous caress. “You’re gonna love it when I rip through that cherry of yours.” J327 maintained his submissive pose but somehow still managed, to Brian's eyes, to convey just how terrified Bellweather’s proposal made him. Nobody else seemed to notice, or maybe they just didn't care. The table full of VIPs continued to laugh politely at Bellweather’s ongoing lewd comments. “You really are such a tempting and innocent morsel, my Sweet,” he added. “I'm sure my guests will love you - after I'm done initiating you, of course.”

That incongruous comment immediately captured Brian’s attention. “Guests?” he asked.

“Why, yes. It's become sort of a tradition for me to hold an Auction After-Party,” Bellweather explained cheerily. “It’s just my way of welcoming my new acquisitions into the fold, so to speak.”

“And they're always rip-roaring bashes too,” Stockwell piped up, his face wreathed in lascivious smiles as he fondly recalled several of these prior events to the listeners. “But the craziest was that time you had one of your PCs take on that huge bay stallion you brought up from your stables. Shit, Howie! I'll never forget that night. That was fucking amazing to watch. I still can’t believe the boy took all that . . .”

Bellweather and his cronies all laughed on cue at the apparently fond remembrance. “That WAS pretty incredible. Unfortunately the stallion was never the same after that - I was never able to ride him again . . . And I had to put the horse down too!” he joked and everyone apparently thought it was hilarious.

Except for J327, who finally couldn't take it anymore and, catching Sapperstein off guard, managed to pull away so abruptly that he tore the leash out of the Handler's hands before he ran off towards the back of the auditorium. The Sapp followed, grumbling about annoying virgin twinks and how they’re so much work . . . The VIPs just continued to laugh.

“You sure you want to buy that one, Howie?” Stockwell commented teasingly. “I think you'll have your hands full if you do. That one’s going to need a ton of discipline before he’ll be worth anything.”

“Not a problem, Jim. That’s the funnest part,” Bellweather replied with a wink and a chuckle of his own.

*Arrrgh* Cynthia grunted under her breath, having finally had more than she could stand. She stood from the table, threw down her napkin and stomped off in a very unladylike manner. The VIPs seemed to consider this just another part of the evening’s entertainment and laughed even harder at the woman’s huffy exit.

“It seems your ‘girlfriend’ has had her delicate sensibilities offended, Kinney,” Stockwell needled. “That's why I’ve always maintained that women shouldn’t be allowed to even come to these affairs. Most females can’t take it. Unless we’re talking about female PCs - now THEY can take just about anything you throw at them. Or into them. *Hahaha*.”

The rest of the table started to make even more jokes about female PCs, the stories getting raunchier and raunchier by the second, which was when Brian decided to follow Cynthia. He managed to leave much more politely, though, quietly excusing himself to his host and sauntering off unhurriedly, but almost as eager to get away from the distasteful tackiness as his assistant had been.

Brian found his erstwhile assistant pacing in the lobby. He could tell by the heated, angry glares and subvocal growling that the woman was beyond irate. He hesitated to even approach her for fear she would explode at any moment and take him out too. But Brian needed the woman sane and in one piece, so he cautiously edged closer, intent on calming the furious woman in red.

“Those crass, insensitive, fucking monsters! They're not only complete degenerates, they're inhuman. How can they talk like that about another human being? Treating him like a fucking animal. Talking about that poor boy like he wasn't even there. Like he was no more than a sex toy!” Cynthia raved, gesturing wildly with her hands and only just barely managing to keep herself from shouting in her rage. “Did you hear them all going on about the kid being a virgin and how excited that had them? Did you? And that creep, Bellweather, bragging about ‘cracking’ the boy open and then passing him around to his friends. That’s no way for anyone to lose their virginity. It’s basically legalized gang rape!”

Brian had to agree. He still remembered losing his own cherry to some big, fumbling oaf while pressed up against the grimy bricks of a dark alleyway, the stench of over-ripe garbage from the nearby dumpster enveloping all. It was a nasty, messy, painful experience, utterly devoid of anything resembling pleasure, and one of the reasons he'd never bottomed again. But at least it had been consensual. Brian had no one to blame for the poor outcome but himself. This kid, J327, wouldn't even have that rationalization to fall back on.

Brian, like most people, hadn't ever really given PCs much thought. Most of the time they were just part of the landscape. Part of the culture. He'd always figured that if someone was stupid enough - or desperate enough - to contractually obligate themselves into the role of a sex worker, they probably got what they deserved. Beyond that, though, he hadn’t really thought through the concept much.

But it was one thing for an experienced adult to sign away their life, and quite a different thing to see it happening to this kid. From the sounds of it, J327 didn't ever have much of a choice in the matter. His father had contracted him into the life when he was barely sixteen. He wasn't experienced. He hadn't had any time to live his life before being thrust into PCdom. First he'd been attacked and put into a coma by some rabid classmate and then, before he'd even recovered, he'd been forced into this impossible situation due to financial hardship. Now he was about to have his virginity auctioned off to the highest bidder - which would most likely end up being the utterly vile Howard Bellweather - and his new owner would be allowed to violate him in whatever despicable manner he chose. Without J327 being given any say in it at all.

It wasn't fair. In fact, it wasn't even in the neighborhood of fair. This whole situation was so far from fair that Brian didn't think the word ‘fair’ even registered anymore. In fact, it was just plain wrong. Brian did not want to think about what J327 was going to be subjected to. He didn't want to see the boy led off to the fate that was waiting for him . . . but then again, he didn't have any clue about what he could do to fix it.

Brian shook off his morose thoughts. He couldn't let himself worry about something he had no possible hope of remedying. He had to concentrate on what he'd come here to accomplish. He had a job to do and it wasn't rescuing twinks in trouble. He needed to get back in there and woo Lapointe and the other deep pockets. But to do that he needed his able assistant.

It took another ten minutes of talking, cajoling, pleading and eventually a strategic bribe before Brian finally had Cynthia calmed down. Finally, he convinced her to go to the ladies room and clean herself up. Then they would go back in there and try again to make nice with their potential client so they could get the hell out of the place as soon as possible. Cynthia only capitulated in the end because Brian promised they'd be out of there in no more than thirty minutes, tops, and she couldn't get a cab home any faster than that anyway. Brian then escorted the slightly disheveled woman to the ladies room, waiting for her outside because he really didn't want to go back into the hall before he had to either.

Brian paced the hallway, looking at the expensive art lining the walls, while he was waiting for Cynthia to reappear. Lapointe was obviously doing more than okay for himself, judging by the quality of these paintings. Brian recognized several rather well known artists among the bunch. Apparently, human trafficking paid well. As he was contemplating one more of these masterpieces, which happened to be hanging at the farthest end of the hall, Brian heard a muffled scream coming from the room just to his left. Since the door was ajar it was a simple matter to take the two steps needed to allow him to peek through the crack.

Behind the door was what appeared to be a small storage room. The walls were lined with shelves full of cleaning supplies, linens and other miscellania. That was what you would expect to see in such a place. What he didn’t expect to see was Gary Sapperstein looming over J327 with an angry look that made his less than attractive face look even more repellant. The Sapp also had some type of electronic device in his hand that resembled a standard television remote control. However, when the Handler pressed and held the button on the device, J327 seized up, his entire body quaking uncontrollably for several moments before the boy dropped to his knees, crying out in pain. Only then did Sapperstein let up on the remote device.

“How dare you embarrass me like that in front of all those potential customers! Running away. Making it look like I don’t know how to train my stock,” Sapperstein growled at the groveling boy at his feet. Pressing the button on the remote one more time, he hissed, “I’ll teach you not to disobey me ever again, boy.” The boy whimpered as his body convulsed yet again. “I’m just glad that you’re going on the block today. I can’t wait to be rid of your useless, disobedient ass! And you better behave for your new owner, too, you little screw up. If you do anything to negate this sale so that I have to take you back, I’ll make you rue the day you were fucking born,”

Brian was too stunned by what he was seeing to do anything at first. He could only stare in horror at the scene unfolding before his eyes. Luckily, Cynthia, who had just arrived and was now standing behind Brian, reacted faster. She was not going to let this torture go on even one more second. With a growl that was worthy of a rampaging lioness, the bold blonde woman shouldered her way past Brian, reached out towards Sapperstein and wrenched the small black remote out of his hand before the Handler even realized what was going on.

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing, Sapperstein! You can’t use this crap on the kid like that. Not only is THIS,” she held the device up in front of his face demonstratively, “illegal in Pennsylvania, but if you keep zapping him like that without let up, you’ll give him fucking brain damage.”

“Fuck you, lady. You don’t know shit and you’ve got no business telling me what to do. Now get the hell out of my face and let me handle disciplining MY stock the way I see fit,” Gary ordered, snatching the device back from Cynthia and squaring his shoulders as if ready to take her and Brian on physically.

“I don’t think so, Sapp,” Cynthia spit out the name as if it left a sour taste in her mouth just to speak it aloud. “We’re not going anywhere until you back the fuck off and let the boy be. And you know why you’re going to do just that, don’t you?” Sapperstein had started off eying the woman as if she was just so much dirt under his boot, but then, when she didn’t back down, he began to look at her with a bit more wariness. “Because, if you DON’T do what I say, Sapp, I’m going to march back into that hall and tell my new friend, Walter Lapointe, exactly what you’ve been up to and how you were about to use his auction to try and pass off a damaged PC - the one that you claimed was ‘a little slow’ because of his prior accident, but who could just as easily have been damaged here in Lapointe’s facility, right under his nose and on his insurance rider, by this handy little ILLEGAL gadget. That should be enough to get you banned for life from not only this auction house but every other house in the eastern US.”

“Nobody would believe you, bitch,” Gary argued, but his voice was already a lot less forceful than he’d sounded just a minute before.

“Try me, Hosebag,” Cynthia snarled, staring the man down as if she did this kind of thing on a daily basis.

Sapperstein stared back for about thirty seconds before relenting. He glared at the petite blonde - his face set in a threatening grimace - then grabbed the remote device back from Cynthia’s hand, tugged the boy back up onto his feet, and hustled the kid out of the room. Brian and Cynthia turned to watch as the pair disappeared through another set of doors that presumably led to the stage area where the rest of the auction goods were being made ready.

It wasn’t until the doors slammed shut behind The Sapp and his boy that Brian started breathing again. “What the Fuck WAS that thing?” he demanded as he turned to look at the fearless woman standing next to him.

“They call them PC Enforcers,” Cynthia started to explain. “They work sort of like an internal taser, shocking the PC until he or she complies.” When she noted that Brian still looked confused, Cynthia elaborated further. “So, you know how every PC has a tracking microchip that’s implanted in their neck,” Brian nodded - everyone had heard of that, of course - and Cynthia went on with her explanation. “Well, those chips are always implanted super deep and situated in such a way that they basically butt right up against the PC’s spine. Because of this placement, the chip can’t be removed without almost certainly damaging or possibly even killing the PC. This is done purposely so that nobody can steal a PC, alter the chip and then try to resell them. It also means that nobody can free a PC by simply removing the chip illegally. But, because of the chip’s location right next to the spinal cord, there’s a direct link to the PC’s nervous system. Those Enforcer things use that link to deliver a shock directly to the brain when the chip is hit with a certain frequency of radio wave. That’s what Sapperstein was doing with that thing - shocking the boy into submission.” Both Cynthia and Brian shuddered empathetically at the thought. “Of course, PC Enforcers are illegal in most states, but that doesn’t stop unethical Handlers like Sapperstein from using them to discipline their stock. It’s actually considered by some to be the most humane way to train them since it obviates the use of other forms of corporal punishment and prevents any damage to the PC’s body. However, it’s also known to be horribly painful.” Which was clear from the reaction they’d just seen and didn’t make either of them feel any better about the abuse they’d just witnessed.

“You know what?” Brian came to an easy conclusion. “Fuck Vance and fuck this place. I don’t care what the hell Lapointe’s advertising budget is like. I just need to get the hell out of here. Right now. Vance can go screw himself if he doesn’t like it.”

Cynthia agreed wholeheartedly. They had both had more than enough for one night. Brian proposed that they go get Cynthia’s wrap from the table where it had been left, say a polite goodbye to Lapointe - just for propriety’s sake - and then claim some personal emergency that meant they had to leave immediately. Vance could assign some other toady to kiss Lapointe’s ass if he still wanted to go after this account.

Brian wasn’t going to get within a hundred yards of anything PC ever again.

********

********

Chapter 3 - Sale of the Century.

By the time Brian and Cynthia got back into the hall to say their goodbyes, the auction was already well underway. All the more reason to leave, Brian thought. Just as they reached the table, however, the auctioneer announced J327 as the next item up for bidding.

Brian couldn’t help himself. He looked up towards the stage and saw the boy - now gloriously naked since the harness had finally been removed - with his cock still hard from whatever drugs he’d been given, staring down at the assembly as if he was the one in charge. And even though he was shaking with fear and one tear had escaped to roll down his pale cheek, J327 continued to stand there so bravely that Brian was awestruck. This young man was so bold, so beautiful even in adversity, that the entire hall momentarily fell silent. The boy looked defiantly around the room one time, pausing when his eyes landed on Brian and offering the slightest hint of a smile, before his expression went completely blank once again and his eyes dropped to the floor.

Brian felt his legs give out on him. He couldn’t just leave. He couldn’t turn away from this boy. That look made Brian feel like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. When Cynthia tugged at his arm to try and get him to stand up again, he simply waved her off, his attention still focused on the figure up on stage.

“. . . So defiant. You know, I’m really looking forward to tying that boy up to the whipping post I have in my back yard and teaching him some manners,” Brian heard Bellweather bragging to the man sitting next to him.

“Aren’t you worried about damaging him?” Stockwell asked, a little skeptically. “I know you, Howie. You’ve got a pretty heavy hand and, if you’re not careful, someday you’re going to be cited by the PC Regulatory Agency.”

“Fine, Jim. If you think you can do better and still stay within the PCRA guidelines, then you’re welcome to take a turn at the boy later tonight,” Bellweather offered magnanimously, as if trading off the chore of whipping a defenseless teenager was an everyday thing.

The callousness of these men was just too much. Brian refused to take it anymore. He no longer cared what he had to do, but there was no way in hell he would let those stupid brutes get near that beautiful boy.

As the bidding started, there was an initial feeding frenzy of interest in the pretty little blond boy. Brian waited until the bulk of the less serious bidders fell out of the race. Eventually it came down to just Bellweather and one other portly gentleman sitting in the back who looked like he was in his late sixties. When the fat guy shook his head ‘no’ to the auctioneer’s wheedling request for one more bid, and it looked like Bellweather would be the winner, Brian stood up and announced a new bid $75,000 higher than Bellweather’s.

There were gasps of amazement from the audience. Bellweather’s bid had been on the extreme high end of what was usually offered for a PC in these parts. Yes, there had been some high-profile sales in big cities like New York, Miami and Los Angeles that had been higher, but here in podunk little Pittsburgh, for an unknown PC that didn't seem to be anything special, the prices should have been much more reasonable. Brian’s bid was absolutely outrageous.

“What the fuck?” Bellweather roared and leapt to his feet, glaring across the expanse of the table at Brian. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Kinney. You knew damn well that I planned to bid on that lot. I announced it to the entire fucking table. How dare you step in and try to steal him away from me?” Brian simply stood his ground, staring Bellweather down and saying nothing. “To hell with you! I intend to have that boy no matter what it takes. So you’re going to withdraw that bid right now, Kinney, or we’re going to have a problem.”

“Hold on there, Howie. Just calm down for a minute,” Lapointe intervened, insinuating his small plump body between the two disputants before turning to confront Brian. “Are you serious about this, Kinney? You really want to buy the boy?”

“Never been more serious in my life,” Brian replied with a challenging glance over to where Bellweather was standing with Stockwell at his side.

Lapointe grinned up at the tall AdExec. “This is excellent! I have to admit, I was a little unsure of you, Kinney. I know you've never owned a PC yourself and neither has your boss, Mr. Vance. And I’d even started to get the impression that you maybe disapproved of some aspects of our industry,” the client looked shrewdly at Brian, who merely shrugged noncommittally. “But I'm really glad I was wrong.” Lapointe clapped Brian on the shoulder in a comradely fashion. “I think buying your first PC through our clearinghouse is an excellent gesture of goodwill. No other ad agency I've met with ever went half that far.” Lapointe held out his hand towards Brian, beaming beneficently. “You've sold me, Kinney. Have your girl send the contracts over to my office in the morning and I'll have them back to you as soon as legal approves them. And tell Vance that he needs to give you a raise. Hell, he should probably make you a partner considering the way you've gone above and beyond. Oh, never mind - I'll tell him myself,” Lapointe chuckled. “Frankly, you're gonna need it to pay off that bid! Hahaha!”

“You're telling me you're going to let this . . . this interloper . . . steal MY PC right out from under my nose?” Bellweather interrupted furiously.

Lapointe just waved the overbearing man off. “Give it a break, Howie. You've already got a hundred others just like this one waiting for you at home. You don't need this one too. Besides, it's Kinney’s first purchase and he seems rather taken with this particular lot. You should be gracious and let him have this one - look at it like an initiation gift to a newbie in the PC world.” When Bellweather still seemed inclined to argue, Lapointe added, “I tell you what, Howie, how about I give you two boys out of the as yet unsold stock for the same price you just bid on this one. Will that satisfy you?”

Brian eyed the belligerent man, sure he was going to continue arguing, until Stockwell stepped closer and whispered something in Bellweather’s ear. “But I was really looking forward to taking the virgin,” he whined, sounding so childish that Brian had to stop himself from laughing out loud.

Lapointe looked down at the auction catalog sitting open on the table in front of him and quickly flipped ahead a couple pages. “How about Z9764 and C23678. They're both virgins,” Walter offered generously, listing off other boys like he was just reading options from a menu. “Come on, it's BOGO night here at the Clearinghouse,” he joked, getting a smattering of laughter for his effort.

Bellweather sighed, looked over his shoulder at Stockwell - who nodded back - and sighed. “Fine. But I'm still not happy about this, Kinney,” the disappointed man insisted. “This isn't how we do things around here. I'm only cutting you some slack cause you're new and because my friends are telling me to let you off easy. Don't cross me again, though. Next time I WON'T be so understanding.”

Brian nodded that he understood, although he wasn't conceding anything to the bellicose windbag, and sat down. Lapointe gestured to the auctioneer who had been standing on the stage next to J327 all this time, waiting for the boss’ directions. As soon as he saw Lapointe’s signal, he announced that the bids were now closed and the current lot was sold to Mr. Brian Kinney from VanGuard Advertising. Sapperstein stepped forward, reattached the leash to J327’s collar, and led the object of contention off the stage so that the night’s program could resume.

“Shit, Brian!” Cynthia mumbled in her boss’ ear. “I hope you know what the fuck you're doing!”

“Not a fucking clue, Cyn. Not a fucking clue!”

********

Brian sat quietly at the table for at least twenty minutes longer, while he tried to wrap his head around what he'd just done without letting anyone else around him know how much he was freaking out. The dispute between himself and Bellweather had put the kibosh on the easygoing casual conversation of earlier in the evening. Nobody really seemed to know what to say after that. A couple of the table’s other occupants quietly bid on their own PCs and Bellweather even bought a third boy before Brian decided he was ready to deal with the consequences of his actions. During a momentary lull in the proceedings, Brian rose and genially thanked Lapointe for everything, saying that he was eager to go collect his new acquisition and head home.

Lapointe still seemed oblivious to everything other than his own elation over having Brian join the fold of PC owners. He congratulated Brian again and promised to have his secretary call Cynthia in the morning so everyone could get started on the spring ad campaign as soon as possible. Cynthia forced a smile and then swept out of the hall without saying another word. Brian followed her, dreading the lecture he already knew was coming from his APC friend.

Out in the lobby, they were intercepted by a clearinghouse staff member, who ushered the two of them off to the business offices in the southern wing of the building. Brian followed along quiescently, grateful for the staffer’s presence since he knew it was the only thing preventing Cynthia from laying into him. Not that he didn't deserve it. He knew as well as she did that he'd totally fucked up and this time there was no way out.

“Here you are, Mr. Kinney. A cashier will be with you in just a moment. In the meantime, if you'd like, I can send someone in with something for you both to drink,” the staffer offered as she showed them into a tiny, yet elegantly appointed room containing a comfortable couch, a small conference-style desk with a free-standing computer monitor, and three plush chairs. There were no windows, which Brian instantly regretted as he pushed aside the vague idea he'd had of escaping through one. Brian and Cynthia both ordered double Beam’s. They both needed the fortification. The staffer smiled politely and then left, pulling the door closed behind her. The clicking of the latch sounded very loud and very final in the small space.

“What the HELL were you thinking, Brian?” Cynthia growled at him as soon as the room was clear. “I can't believe you just BOUGHT a PC! And I basically helped you do it! This is so . . . so wrong! You DO know how wrong this is, don't you?” She rounded on him viciously. “How could you, Brian? Tell me! How?”

Brian didn't know how to answer. To be honest, he was just as stunned by his actions as Cynthia was. Brian had never planned on owning a PC. And while he wasn't nearly as adamant about it as Cynthia, he'd always considered himself against the practice in a general way, even if he wasn’t a full fledged APC. But now, somehow, in a thoughtless moment, he'd gone against every principle he'd ever held and actually purchased a PC.

He - Brian Kinney - now owned a Personal Companion.

The entire evening seemed so unreal . . . Maybe it really hadn't happened? Maybe this was all a terrible nightmare? Brian really hoped that was the case, and what he thought he'd done, hadn’t actually happened. But, judging by the way Cynthia was berating him - picking up the thread of her lecture when he'd failed to offer up any explanation and condemning him for enabling such an abhorrent practice - the nightmare explanation seemed unlikely.

When Cynthia paused in her diatribe long enough to take a breath, Brian finally stopped her. “I know it's wrong, Cynthia. I agree with pretty much everything you're saying,” he admitted. “And I know that I'm pretty much fucked without lube at this point. You don't need to yell at me anymore, I'm already yelling at myself in my head for all the same reasons. But, I just . . . *sigh* . . . I couldn't . . .” Brian squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell the incipient headache that had been threatening ever since he'd stood up at the auction. “I just couldn’t let the likes of Bellweather and Stockwell have their way with that kid. He looked at me and . . . And I just couldn't do it . . . You said yourself they were going to basically subject him to a gang rape after Bellweather took his virginity. How could I just sit back and let that happen? How?” Brian looked at his friend, his eyes pleading for her forgiveness as well as her understanding. Maybe even her support, since he was definitely going to need it to get through this.

Cynthia slumped in her chair, shook her head disbelievingly and sighed along with her worried boss. “So what the fuck do you plan to do with him, Brian? You do realize that you're legally obligated to take care of him, right? He's going to have to live with you at the loft. Shit, Brian! I wouldn't trust you to take care of one of my houseplants - how the hell are you going to handle taking care of a fucking seventeen year old kid?” Cynthia complained, prompting Brian to start to protest, until he looked up and saw the smile that told him his friend was only teasing him.

“I admit that I may not have thought this thing through completely,” Brian answered, a smile finally finding its way to his own face. “I really hadn’t planned that far ahead. At the time, I was only trying to stop those two creeps from getting their hands on him. Buying the kid just seemed like the only viable option. But I have no idea what I'm going to do from here on out. I guess I'll just have to wing it.”

“Oh, Brian,” Cynthia groaned in exasperation. “PC ownership isn't something you can just ‘wing’. It’s one of the most highly regulated industries out there. There are so many rules . . .” Brian looked at her expectantly, begging for her help with his soulful hazel eyes. “For example,” she continued, “as you probably already know, it's illegal to terminate a PC contract early, except in very limited circumstances, and even then, you have to have the termination approved by the state and the PCRA. And, since most contracts are written for the full term allowed by law, that means this kid will be obligated under his contract for twenty five years. Which, by the way, is longer than most marriages last these days. Of course, the average life expectancy for male PCs is only thirty years, primarily because the suicide rate among PCs is so high.”

Brian’s frown deepened with each new fact his assistant offered, but that didn't stop her. “You also can't just sell him off without jumping through a ton of legal hoops. Individuals can’t sell a PC privately - they can only be sold through licensed brokerages like the one Lapointe owns. Plus, you won't be able to sell him at all for at least one full year after the transfer of ownership goes through. So, if your plan was to find somebody - hopefully somebody nicer than Bellweather - and offload him asap, better scrap that idea or at least put it on hold.”

The conversation was paused there for a few moments while a waiter brought in their drinks and then courteously withdrew after apologizing for the delay caused by their cashier having to deal with a minor problem for another customer.

As soon as the waiter was gone, though, Cynthia resumed her PC education course. “There are a lot of other limitations on PCs as well . . . they aren’t allowed to obtain any higher education degrees. They can’t be put to work outside their owner’s homes or businesses. And they can’t even be directly hired out for sexual services unless it’s through a fully regulated and licensed PC club that’s owned and managed, at least in part, by the PC’s owner. Which means that it's nigh on impossible for a PC to earn a living for him or herself, even if their owner allowed them that opportunity. Unless, of course, you do hire him out to work in a sex club - which you will NOT do, Mr. Kinney, if you value your balls and wish to keep them,” Cynthia ordered, prompting Brian to raise both hands in a gesture of surrender, letting her know he would never cross her in that way. “So, in essence, you, as a PC owner, are now obligated to take care of this person, who is legally prevented from earning any income, for the rest of his natural life.” Brian let out a little involuntary whine as he contemplated that summation. Cynthia, amused by the look of consternation on her friend's face, couldn't help rubbing it in a little. “Congratulations, Boss. It’s a boy!”

Brian shook his head and half-smiled at her. It was a lot to take in. And he knew that brief synopsis was just the tip of the iceberg. He was sure there would be a lot more involved that even Cyn hadn’t yet contemplated. But when he thought about that look the kid had directed his way, he knew he couldn’t have done any differently. Everything Cynthia had just warned him about was irrelevant. He would figure out what to do with the boy later.

Right now, the most pressing thing was to figure out how the hell he was going to pay for his new purchase. Brian was actually thankful that their cashier had been delayed. Pulling out his cell phone, he hit speed dial #7 - not a number he called very frequently, but one that had now become vitally important. Three rings later, his accountant and sometime friend, Ted Schmidt answered.  

“Brian? Did you really mean to dial my number?” the confused voice on the other end of the line said. “If this is some kind of prank, then consider me sufficiently embarrassed already so I can hang up and get back to my dinner.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ted,” Brian responded with the same harshness he always directed Ted’s way, sure that if he ever did treat Ted kindly, the man would probably faint dead away. “I don’t have time to humiliate you right now. I need to know exactly how much cash I have on hand and how much additional money I can raise in the next, say . . .” he looked up at Cynthia who mouthed ‘ninety days’ at him, “ninety days.”

“What did you buy this late on a Saturday night that could possibly cost that much, Brian,” Ted questioned as Brian listened to the sound of a computer keyboard clicking in the background.

“That’s irrelevant, Theodore. Just tell me how much money I have,” Brian ordered.

Ted rattled off a string of numbers, none of which were sufficient to fully cover what Brian had pledged himself for. To make matters worse, the cashier entered right at that moment wearing an obsequious smile and giving the two customers a small bow. Brian covered the speaker of the phone with one hand and looked up at the cashier expectantly.

“How much do I have to put down tonight,” he asked without preamble.

“We require a down payment of not less than twenty percent of the total bid price before you will be allowed to take possession of your purchase, Sir. You have seven business days to gather the necessary down payment funds. The balance of the bid price is due in full within ninety days. If you can’t meet your obligations in those time frames, then your bid will be negated and the next highest bidder will be allowed the chance to step in and complete the purchase,” explained the deferential little man.

Brian didn’t groan aloud, even though he wanted to. Instead he uncovered the phone and told Ted that he needed twenty percent of the outrageous bid price that evening. Ted was stunned into silence for long enough that Brian thought the call might have been dropped.

“Theodore? Theodore! Say something, Theodore.”

“I . . . I’m here, Brian. I just don’t have any fucking clue where you’re going to get that much money in ninety days. What the fuck did you buy? A lear jet? A mansion in the Golden Triangle? A fucking tropical island? What?”

“I bought a Personal Companion,” Brian proclaimed as proudly as he could, realizing that it was useless to try and keep it a secret since, not only would the gang find out about his new purchase the next time they came over, but all PC auction sales were published in the local business news, which Ted himself subscribed to and read religiously.

“Hahahaha! Good one, Brian,” Ted was laughing uproariously on the other end of the phone line. “You really had me going for a minute there, Bri.”

“It’s not a joke, Ted. I need that money and I need it right now. I don’t want to leave the kid here one minute longer than I have to. This place creeps me out and I’m not chained up, naked, in a pen,” Brian admitted, daring the cashier to deny his accusations. The cashier simply smiled back without saying a word.

“Ooooooo-kay!” Ted responded, sounding like he still didn’t totally believe Brian and was just playing along. “Well, you’re going to have to max out both your Visa and your Amex Platinum, but that should be enough for the down payment you mentioned. As for the rest, we can move some funds around, maybe borrow against your retirement account . . . I would hate to see you have to mortgage your loft again when you’re so close to paying it off, but I suppose it’s doable . . . I still don’t think that will be enough, though. I’ll have to work the numbers a bit more and see, but I think . . . maybe if you have a rich uncle who’s about to die and leave you an inheritance, you might just about be able to do it.”

“Fuck you, Theodore,” Brian groused, even though he knew in his heart that Ted was right. “Just do what I pay you to do as my accountant and figure it out. I’ll call you tomorrow morning, and you better have something better to tell me by then,” Brian ordered and then hung up the phone.

Brian pulled out his wallet and handed both his credit cards over to the cashier with a resigned sigh. After all was said and done, Brian had one hundred and fifty two dollars credit left on one card and twelve dollars on the other. He didn’t even want to think about what the minimum monthly payments would be on those two accounts. He realized that what he was doing was completely insane on so many levels that it wasn’t even funny, but he was the kind of person that, once he’d set his mind on a particular course of action, never looked back. He just plowed ahead and figured it out the best he could and dealt with whatever the consequences were. Which was exactly what he was going to do this time as well. The rest of the paperwork was quickly filled out and Brian was handed over the Registration Certificate for J327 along with an Affidavit of Virginity and information on how and where to obtain the mandatory PC insurance policy, documentation of which was required to be filed with the state within thirty days.

Brian handed all the paperwork directly over to Cynthia, not even looking at it because he knew she would handle everything for him and make sure all those annoying dates were put on his calendar. That’s what she did. He was glad too, because if he had to actually think about all those dates and dollar signs, he would probably panic, scream and then run out of the building pulling his hair out.

Unfortunately that wouldn’t help much, since the only way he could think of to come up with the rest of the money he’d need to pay the balance of what he owed for J327 was to win the PC Clearinghouse account so he could get the account signing bonus he’d negotiated with Gardner. Either that, or convince Vance to cover the cost of Brian’s new PC as an expense account advance . . . Nah, Vance was way too much of a tightwad to even consider that option. Either way, though, he now needed to sign this account more desperately than he’d ever needed anything else in his life.

Which meant that running around screaming like a nutcase was not a very good option - not if he meant to keep Lapointe on his good side long enough to get the money to keep the boy he now, tentatively, owned.

********

********

Chapter 4 - Homecoming.

As soon as the financial arrangements had been worked out, Brian and Cynthia were released from the cashiering office and led back to the PC holding pens. Brian had heard the phrase, ‘you could smell the fear’ before, but he’d never actually experienced that particular sensation until that moment. The pens themselves were spotlessly clean and there was no trash or anything else one might find offensive within eyesight. It was about as far removed as possible from the noisome slave dens of antiquity that Brian had read about in books. But it still radiated that all pervasive sense of fear and desperation that he imagined would accompany any such scene. Maybe it was because the area was so spiritlessly barren and antiseptic - with bare, grey, concrete floors, blank, windowless walls, glaring, florescent lighting above and nowhere to sit but the comfortless concrete benches lining the fenced off areas. Or maybe it was the floor to ceiling chain link fencing itself. Or perhaps it was just the men cordoned off in those cheerless pens, each sitting silent and hopeless, staring with blank eyes at nothing. Brian wasn’t sure what it was, but he hated it from the second the doors to the holding area were opened, and knew that maxing out his credit cards had been exactly the right thing to do if it meant he could take the young blond man out of here sooner rather than later.

Brian and Cynthia were seated on the only comfortable looking chairs in the room, while the staffer who had escorted them scanned Brian’s Bill of Sale with a handheld computer and then trotted off to log the information into the wall mounted unit. A few minutes later, everyone’s least favorite PC Handler, Gary Sapperstein sauntered up with J327 in tow. The PC was roughly forced to bend over so that the barcode tattooed on the back of his neck could be scanned as well. And, when the staffer’s handheld unit flashed a bright green light, indicating that everything was copacetic, The Sapp jerked the boy upright, lugged the boy over until he was standing right in front of his new owner and then yanked the chain downward so hard that the youth was toppled to his knees. Apparently, once the sale was final, Sapp no longer felt the need to be gentle with his charges.

As soon as the PC was kneeling obediently in front of his new owner, the Sapp handed the boy’s leash over to Brian. J327 remained in place, his head bowed obediently and eyes downcast. The only indication that he was at all affected by this rough handling was the way he was panting heavily. So far the boy hadn’t made a single sound though.

Brian assumed that they were now done and he could finally get out of this house of horrors. But, before he could stand up, he was stopped by yet another PC Clearinghouse employee. This one was carrying a large, evil-looking tattoo gun and wearing latex gloves.

“I just need to complete your boy’s tat and then you’ll be free to go, Sir,” the tattooist advised, setting down his gun and pulling his own handheld computer unit out of the case strapped onto his belt.

“That’s okay. I don’t need him to be tattooed,” Brian demurred, trying again to get up so he could leave before any more unnecessary pain was inflicted on the kid.

“Sorry, Sir. It’s required by law. We need to add the auction and purchase information to his barcode so that he can be traced to the correct owner if he were to ever become lost,” the guy with the big needle explained.

“Fuck . . .” Brian mumbled, sitting down again and scowling, as the strong man printed out a template using his handheld, bent the boy’s head as far forward as possible, slapped the self-adhesive template strip into place, switched on the gun, and then carefully traced the additional barcode lines onto the pale skin with the tattoo needle. The boy only flinched once, right at the beginning, but stilled immediately when Gary kicked his knee with the steel toe of his boot.

The tattooing took less than five minutes. The guy was obviously a pro and probably did this a hundred times a day, so it didn’t take him long. As soon as this last task was completed, the Sapp reached down, tugged the boy’s cuffed arms up at what had to be a painful angle and slowly unlocked the steel cuffs.

“These are my personal equipment,” Sapperstein explained, as if Brian would be upset that he’d removed the harsh looking things. “You’ll have to get your own, and I recommend that you do it soon, or this one will run you ragged. Believe you, me, he’s quite the handful.” Then with a wicked grin, Gary reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the PC Enforcer device that he’d been using earlier on the boy. “Here. You can have this too. It’s already set to the boy’s frequency,” Gary laughingly told them. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then the slimeball Handler saluted Brian and Cynthia with a mocking tap to his greasy forehead before wandering off, presumably to see to his other merchandise.

The waiting staff escort handed over a shapeless black wool cloak that was all the clothing the boy was allowed. Finally, Brian thought, we can get the hell out of here. He reached down, intending to grab the boy’s arm and help him to his feet, but as soon as he touched him, the tense boy flinched and started trembling. Brian pulled his hand away. He looked down at the kneeling and now trembling form, not having any idea what to do at this impasse. J327 seemed as reluctant to go with Brian as he would be with anyone else. Not that such a reaction was really any big surprise. The boy didn’t know Brian from a sack of dog shit. For all J327 knew, he was just moving out of the frying pan and into a brand new, possibly even more painful, fire.  

Brian sighed. It had been a very long night already and he felt almost as tense as the boy in front of him looked. He rolled his neck and flexed his shoulders, trying to rid them of the stiffness he could feel growing in the muscles due to all the stress. He was dying to get out of there, and retreat back to the relative surety of his loft. Somehow, Brian had it in mind that as soon as he was home, everything would work itself out. He wasn’t going to drag the kid out screaming and kicking though. That wasn’t Brian’s style.

“Um . . .” Brian looked at the escort’s name tag, “Stacy, would you mind giving us just a minute or two here,” he asked as politely as he could.

“Of course, Sir. Please take all the time you need,” she proffered, then added, “and, if you require it, we also have private meeting rooms where you can make yourself better acquainted with your new PC in a more . . . comfortable environment.”

“That won’t be necessary, Stacy,” Brian couldn’t believe these people, but he managed to hold his temper. It would hopefully be only a little longer. “We’ll be fine right here. I just want to talk to him for a bit so he understands what’s going on.”

“Very good, Sir. I’ll be across the way. Just call out if you need anything at all,” she smiled at him before backing away a few steps, then turned and walked to the far corner of the room where several of her co-workers were chatting pleasantly.

“This place gives me the creeps worse than the Halloween Scare House I went to when I was fucking thirteen,” Brian confessed to Cynthia, who shuddered in sympathy, nodding her agreement with that assessment.

Next, Brian looked down at his brand new Personal Companion and tried to school his mind to figure out what the fuck he was going to do with him. He was surprised by how sheepish and awkward he felt as he contemplated the kneeling boy. Brian Kinney hadn’t felt sheepish around another man since he was younger than this boy was now. It just went to show you how totally screwed up this whole enterprise was.  

“Hey, so, um . . .” Brian heard himself stuttering and wished he could kick himself. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “I realize this is a little frightening for you, uh, J327.” Brian felt ridiculous calling the boy by a number. “You don’t have to be scared, though. I won’t hurt you. That’s not why I bought you.” Brian hesitated again - the boy remained completely unresponsive to Brian’s overtures. Behind his left shoulder there was another pen full of other PCs, a few of whom were close enough that they’d overheard Brian’s inept advances. A couple of the older ones even snickered quietly at Brian’s gawkiness.

Cynthia finally took pity on her friend and leaned up so that she could whisper into Brian’s ear. “Sorry, Brian, but this just isn’t going to work unless you get a little more forceful. I know that’s going to feel uncomfortable for you at first, but PCs are trained to only respond to direct orders - they’re not allowed to voice opinions or take any actions on their own, at least not in public. By staying on his knees and not moving until ordered, J327 is doing what he’s been trained to do. If we’re ever going to get out of here, you’re going to have to give him firm directions and make it sound like you know what you’re doing.”

Brian rolled his eyes at the woman’s advice, very uncomfortable with acting like some domineering slave master. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what seemed to be expected of him in this situation. He took another deep breath, reached down with one hand and used it to raise the boy’s face so he could look him in the eye. Once he had eye contact, Brian felt a little better for some inexplicable reason. He smiled down at the teen who looked back, his eyes still betraying the underlying fear but edged with a hint of curiously. Brian thought it was a good sign.

“Ok. We’re leaving now, J327. I want you to get up on your feet and follow me,” This must have been the right thing to say, since the boy immediately vaulted to his feet. “Cynthia, his cloak?” Cyn wrapped the heavy black drapery around the boy’s shoulders. “Come,” Brian directed and then, using the hated leather leash, he began to lead his new PC out of the building while his assistant texted for the limo so it would be waiting for them in front.

“Brian! There you are,” Lapointe’s voice rang out, waylaying them when they were only a dozen meters from the door and, by Brian’s way of seeing it, freedom. “Looks like you’ve got everything worked out. That’s great, Brian. Just great. Can I just say again that I’m thrilled you’ve purchased your first PC from us. You have no idea how wonderful owning your own PC can be.” Brian must have looked skeptical at that statement, because Walter huffed a little laugh his way. “Look, I know this might take a bit of time to adjust to. But if you just give it a chance you’ll see how simple and rewarding the experience can be. I actually find it quite freeing in a way. See, the thing is, a Personal Companion comes without any preconceptions or expectations. It’s not like a normal relationship. You don’t have to worry about making your PC happy or fulfilled. He’s there to make YOU happy and fulfilled. And because of that, the association between you is so much more straightforward. You’re free to just enjoy yourself without worrying about anything. Once you figure that out, you’ll understand why this is really the only way to go.”

“Hmm. Well, that certainly won’t be much of a stretch for me then, Walter,” Brian opined. “Ask anyone who knows me. I’ve never given a damn about the men I fuck and I don’t plan to start bothering now. The only difference is that the men I chose to be with, were free to choose me too.” Brian intentionally left it there, hoping the ambiguity of his statement would leave Lapointe thinking Brian agreed with him, when in reality he was more and more eager to distance himself from the man.

“Good. Then I think you’ll adjust pretty fast.” Lapointe continued with his enthusiastic endorsement of Brian’s new situation. “The only thing that I see giving you any difficulty then, will be learning to discipline your PC. I sense that you’re probably going to be a bit on the lax side with this pretty one in the beginning. I have to warn you though, that will only lead to trouble in the long run. If you don’t start off with a firm hand from the very start, they’ll take advantage of you. I know you’re probably not looking for a ton of advice from anyone - you strike me as the kind of man who likes to figure things out on his own and who learns through trial and error - but, please, if you take nothing else away from here tonight, just try it for a couple of weeks. Be assertive and don’t let him get control and you’ll be a lot happier in the long run.”

“Thanks for the advice, Walter. I’ll do my best,” Brian promised. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m looking forward to getting J327 home.” Brian pulled on the PCs leash and guided the boy around the obstruction of Lapointe’s overly-helpful self. “Good night, Walter. Thanks for your hospitality. We’ll be in touch.”

“Oh, one more thing, Kinney,” Brian almost whined aloud, his disappointment at having his escape thwarted yet again grating on his last nerve. “I was thinking that we should probably get together some time next week. But not in the office. How about dinner at my place? I know my wife would love to meet you. And you could check out our household to see how I govern my PCs. It might give you a better idea about these things. Show you how the rest of us - the one’s who’ve got a little more experience in the lifestyle - do it.”

Brian reminded himself that he needed the guy’s account more than ever now. He could NOT be rude to the man. He had to play nice. “Sure, Walter. That sounds great. Why don’t you call my office tomorrow and let me know when your wife wants to do this thing.” Brian forced a smile to his face and shook his new client’s hand one last time. “Now, I really do want to get this boy home,” Brian added with a leer in the blond’s direction.

“Of course. Of course. Don’t let me keep you. I know how excited you must be. I still remember my own first PC. It was . . . magical,” Lapointe beamed his approval at Brian and then shooed them off with another laugh. “Enjoy yourself tonight, my friend.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Cynthia,” Brian hissed under his breath as he quickly hustled the three of them around the groups of milling guests at the entrance and then down the walk to the waiting limo.

*******

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over and help get you two settled,” Cynthia asked for the third time while the limo idled outside her condo.

“Will you just fucking get out of here and go to your own home, Cynthia,” Brian demanded. “I’ll be just fine. I’m a big boy. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was five years old and I’m sure I’ll be able to handle getting myself home again tonight.”

“But, Brian, you have no idea what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into,” Cynthia ojected one last time.

“And you do? How many PCs do you own, Cyn? Is there something you haven’t told me?” Brian teased, trying to lighten the mood and hopefully thereby get rid of his worrywort friend. “Seriously, Cyn. I’ll figure it out. You don’t need to freak out about this. But you DO need to get home, get some sleep and get to the office bright and early tomorrow morning so we can get those contracts out to Lapointe. And, yes, I know it’s not going to be easy to drag legal into work on a Sunday morning, which is why I’ll need you at top gun levels. So, go, already.”

“Okay, but . . . call me if you need help,” she capitulated, leaning in to peck him on the cheek before stepping out of the door that was being held open by their chauffeur. Peeking back in for one more word, she added, “first thing tomorrow I’m going to call some of my APC contacts. Maybe they’ll have some ideas that can help you. Just . . . well, just . . . oh, fuck it! Goodnight and good luck. You’re going to fucking need it.”

“Ah! Alone at last, eh?” Brian joked as soon as the door slammed shut.

Apparently the boy who’d been cowering in the corner for the duration of the ride did not see the humor in that statement. Maybe he was offended or even more frightened by it, Brian thought. Or maybe he found it hilarious and just didn’t think he was allowed to laugh. Who the fuck knew? Brian couldn’t sense anything beyond the whole passive aloof thing the boy was doing. But at this point he was far too tired to give a flying fuck anymore.

It was a short ride from Cynthia’s place to Brian’s loft so Brian didn’t have too long to contemplate the deep, unspoken meanings behind Silent Boy’s latest lack of response. Which was probably a good thing. Brian had been indulging rather heavily in the limousine bar’s stock of Jim Beam since they’d left the auction house and because of that he wasn’t really in the mood for contemplation. Mostly he was just in the mood for getting a lot drunker. Fuck all those nosy busybodies who said drinking never solved anybody’s problems. Brian hadn’t listened to those guys for years now and, as far as he could tell, drinking had been a great past time for him. So instead of contemplating, Brian concentrated on downing three more shots of the free Beam between Cynthia’s and the loft.

When the limo driver finally stopped in front of the loft and pulled open the door Brian poured himself out onto the front walk and then didn’t make it any further. He was just SO tired, you know. And the door was really, really far away. He thought maybe it would be better to just sleep right there where he landed. Luckily for all, the limo driver was well versed in drunken passengers. He scooped Brian up, got a shoulder under the taller man’s arm and managed to walk the two of them up to the door.

Brian was still lucid enough when they arrived at the door to fish his door keys out of the pocket of his jacket and hand them over to the driver. He was also lucid enough to remember the reason behind why he’d started to get drunk in the first place. And that reason, namely J327, wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Brian therefore, launched himself back towards the limo, arms and legs flailing but somehow keeping himself mostly erect for the two meters it took. And, as expected, the reason for all this mess was still waiting passively in the car.

“Come, you . . . Whatever your name is!” Brian ordered imperiously, far better at being domineering when he was three sheets to the wind than he’d been when stone cold sober. “Walk this way . . .” Of course, as soon as he’d said THAT, he started giggling uncontrollably, imagining the tiny, mostly naked PC, staggering along behind him trying to imitate Brian’s drunken stumbling. Unfortunately, a giggling Brian was not nearly as stable as the ordering around Brian had been and he collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk.

The patient limo driver went back, hauled Brian to his feet and led their entire ragtag band inside, into the elevator and up to the top floor loft. The imperturbable man even unlocked the door and carried his inebriated passenger all the way over to the closest bar stool, where the drunk was summarily deposited without further ado. Leaving Brian and J327 alone together for the first time ever.

The PC stood just inside the doorway, completely at a loss as to what he was supposed to do next. The intoxicated man that had purchased his contract just a few hours earlier was busy slobbering on the counter top. He wasn’t likely to be much help for at least the next eight hours or so until he’d at least partially detoxed. J327 couldn’t just stand there all night though. Or maybe he could. Maybe this was a test of some kind. Shit! What should he do?

“Hey, you!” Brian roused enough to realize he wasn’t alone. “C’mere! Pullup a chair and have a sheat . . . I mean, a seat. Yeah, thasss what I mean. A sheet . . . Hehehehe! Fuck, I’m wasted!” Brian’s conversation devolved into more giggling with a few drunken ramblings thrown in for good measure.

J327 weighed his possible courses of action and decided that he could reasonably consider the wishy-washy directive to sit next to his master as an order. So he went over to the indicated barstool and sat down. Waiting patiently for the next instruction.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?” Brian managed, smiling goofily up at the boy from where his head was resting on the bar. “Yep. You are pitty . . . J3 . . . 3 . . . 37 . . . 337 . . . J37333333333 . . . . Hehehehe!” Brian gave up trying to remember the boy’s official designation. “I can’t fucking call you a number. Thasss jus weird. Ya know? It’s weird. Nobody’s jus a number. Plus, I can’t ‘member numbers when I’m drunk. So we gotta come up with a name for you JJJJJ3333333333something. You gotta have you a name!” Brian insisted, sitting up a little straighter on his stool now that he had something fun to concentrate on for the moment.

“Mmmmeh! I can’st give you a name though. I sucks at names. I never named anythin’ and I’m not ‘bout to start now, dammit! Hahaha!” Brian sighed. “Actuilly . . . thasss not true. I did named somethin’ once. I named a pig. It was . . . It was in high school . . . Yeah. It was my senior year bio class . . . I named the fetal pig that Mikey an’ me had to dissept . . . disssect . . . cut up. ‘Course, I named it ‘Porky’, cause all pigses have to be named ‘Porkey’ right? Ony . . .  after that I just felt bad cuttin’ poor Porkey’s eyes out and shit! I wisheded that I hadna done it after. And thass why I ain’t never named anythin’ since.” Brian related his sad naming story to the hazy blond blur sitting next to him.

“Fuck! How the fuck am I goin’ ta name you? I don’ wanna name nobody. How they ‘spect me to name somethin’,” Brian’s stream of drunken consciousness rambled merrily on. “Not naming ya fucking ‘Porkey’, thass for sure! No fuckin’ way! So, what the fuck AM I s’posed to name you? . . . Is really hard namin’ something, you know. I can’ call ya jus anythin’ . . . I gottsa come up wit somethin’ GOOD. Somethin’ like . . . Don’ know . . . I’ll call you . . . I’ll call you . . . Fuck! . . . Hey, I’ll call you ‘Fuck’! Hehehehe! . . . Yeah! Hahahaha! Thass a great name! Here, Fuck! Hehehehe! . . . . Noooooo! I can’ call you ‘Fuck’. Cause then, whenever I’m fucking somebody and yell out ‘fuck’ you’ll think I’m calling you! That would be fucking crazy, right! Hehehehe! Thaddad would never work!”

Suddenly Brian lurched to his feet, propelled by a strange burst of energy that led him at least as far as the bedroom. “Come, Fuck! Hehehehe!” Brian ordered before collapsing into a giggling mass on the bed “See . . . tha’ll never work. You’ll think I’m saying to come and fuck but I won’ do that lessin you wanna fuck, you know? So’s I can’ call you Fuck.” Brian patted the empty expanse of bed next to him cheerfully. “C’mon, you. Time for bed, Fuck! Hehehe!”

J327 hesitantly stepped into the bedroom area at his new owner’s direction. At least he thought the man had ordered him into the bedroom. Although, anymore, it wasn’t completely clear if he was ordering things, just joking, or simply babbling. J327, however, took it as an order and carefully moved over to the far side of the bed, sitting gingerly on the very edge of the mattress, his heart beating a mile a minute as he wondered what would happen next.

“Shit! Thissis impossible. I can’ name you. But somebody gots to get named, right?” Brian sighed, his voice starting to fade. “So, since I can’ name you, *yawn* you’re gonna haveta name me. Okay? Yeah. You gotsa name me instead. That’ll work. Glad we gots that straightn’d out! So . . . *yawn* . . . whadda ya gonna name me? . . .”

Brian’s blithering eventually faded out into a series of light snores. The blond boy smiled down at the silly man. He was still scared and unsure about what the future held for him. But, at least for right now, things didn’t seem so bad.

J327 unbuttoned the cloak from around his neck and carefully laid himself down on the soft bed next to the slightly wheezy man. Brian immediately rolled over in his sleep and reached out to the warm body next to him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and unconsciously pulling the PC closer to him. “Nice . . . Yeah *yawn* . . . so wassss ya gonna name me?” he asked one last time from just beyond the edge of sleep.

“Brian,” the boy whispered, his voice so soft that it was more a vibration than a sound. “Your name is Brian.” Then he did something so bold it scared him to his very core. J327 leaned to the side, tilted his face up and kissed the sleeping man on the cheek before he rolled over onto his other side and let himself sink into the first deep, restful sleep he’d had in more than a year.

********

Chapter 5 - Meet the PC.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!* “Brian! Brian, open up!” *Bang! Bang! Bang!*

“What the fuck?” Brian awoke with a start as the banging that had been only in his aching, hungover head, morphed into an even louder banging that echoed throughout the entire loft.

As he rolled over in the bed he felt the mattress dip and then a blond blur dashed past his still-not-completely-open eyes.

“Wha? . . .” Brian muttered, not sure in his post-drunken state why there was a blond blur in his home this early in the morning.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!* “Brian! Brian!” *Bang! Bang! Bang!*

Brian finally realized that the banging noises were coming from his front door and, based on the yelling that was accompanying the banging, it was probably his best friend, Michael Novotny, that was causing all the unwelcome morning noise. It also meant that neither the banging nor the yelling would stop until he got up and opened the door. That was the thing about Novotny noises, they were persistent and stubbornly difficult to get rid of.

With an audible groan, Brian levered his groggy body out of bed and tramped unsteadily across the breadth of the loft towards the banging and yelling door.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, Mikey, my head’s going to explode and you’ll end up with brains and blood all over your lovely Q-Mart ensemble,” Brian yelled back at the door as he pulled it open to find the usual suspects behind the Sunday morning door banging caper. “Ah! I see you brought accomplices. Morning Theodore. Honeycutt!”

“Don’t call me Honeycutt!” Emmett replied, right on cue.

“Brian, what the fuck is this shit that Ted’s telling us? It’s not true is it?” Michael demanded.

“You were fucking telling the truth? I thought you were just gassing me! But you WERE telling the truth. I read about it in the paper this morning,” Ted insisted, waving the paper in question in the air around his head as evidence. “You bought a fucking Personal Companion? How could you, Brian? First of all, I can’t believe you would just waste all that money, but on a PC? Really? I didn’t think you of all people would ever stoop to something like that. I mean, really, Brian . . .”

“Hold that thought, Theodore,” Brian requested, raising his hand in a stop gesture to emphasize his words. “I need to go puke right now. You can continue lecturing me when I’m done with that.” Brian turned and began to plod up the stairs but halted mid-step and looked over his shoulder. “While I’m gone, somebody make some coffee . . . lots and lots of fucking coffee.”

“Same old Brian Kinney,” Ted announced dismissively. “At least moving up into the realms of the elite who own PCs hasn’t changed him much.”

“Well, since I, for one, really want to hear this story, we definitely need to get that coffee ready. You know he can’t function at all until at least the second cup,” Michael reasoned as he moved towards the kitchen.

“Ooooo! Let me. You know how much I love to play with Brian’s big old Bunn! I mean, you gotta respect a man who has an industrial-sized coffee maker in his home, right?” Emmett skipped over to the elaborate coffee maker and espresso machine with the built-in coffee grinder and began to fiddle with all the parts.

“Don’t fuck up his Bunn, Em. Brian will go fucking ballistic if you mess up his coffee maker. I think he loves that thing more than his jeep. More than his collection of Prada even,” Michael warned his friend, walking over to supervise the coffee making process and leaving Ted sitting at the bar so he could finish reading through the morning’s business news. “I’ll see if Brian’s got any guava juice in the fridge. That should help wake him up along with the coffee.”

Michael made it to the refrigerator, but before he could open it to look for the juice, his eye caught on an unexpected shape huddled in the shadows of the darkened corner just beyond the fridge. He thought at first he must be imagining things, There shouldn’t be anything over in that corner, let alone something that was moving. He craned his neck around the edge of the big, stainless-steel refrigeration unit and found . . . a naked blond boy wearing only a leather collar cowering in the darkness of the corner, his face pressed into the crack between the appliance and the wall and his whole body quivering with fear.

“Emmett,” Michael stage whispered to his friend. When Em didn’t immediately respond, he tried again. “Emmett. Come here!”

“Hold your horses, honey. I just need to get this filter in place and then . . . flip this switch . . . and . . . voila! We have coffee brewing,” Em announced with a flourish. “Now, what’s the problem? No guava juice?”

“I think I found Brian’s new Personal Companion,” Michael waved his friend over and pointed to the quailing form in the corner.

“Oh . . . hmmm. That’s . . . unexpected.” Em’s comments weren’t all that helpful, and Michael rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. Hey . . .” Michael reached out with one hand, intending to pat the younger man’s shoulder reassuringly, but as soon as he touched the boy, the kid cringed even further away from them, his breathing becoming labored, as if he was about to hyperventilate at any moment. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you . . .” Michael noted that even his words seemed to frighten the boy further. “I’m not going to hurt you . . . My name’s Michael. I’m a friend of Brian’s. Are you . . . are you okay? Are you injured? Can you tell us what’s wrong?”

“What are you guys doing over here? How long does it take to get the coffee started anyway?” Ted asked, finally getting up and leaving his paper behind as he walked around the end of the bar to come investigate what his friends were looking at in the far corner.

“Michael found Brian’s new Companion,” Emmett explained. “Only, I think he’s broken or something. He’s hiding in the corner.”

All three men stood together, forming a phalanx of confusion, as they stared at the quaking, panting mess that appeared to be the new addition to their friend’s life.

The staring was only interrupted a few minutes later by the sound of a toilet flushing, the bathroom door sliding open and heavy footsteps tromping down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen. “I hope the fucking coffee is ready. If not, I’m going to be puking again in five minutes or so. Shit! My head feels like a nuclear test zone,” Brian gave a running commentary as he grabbed a coffee mug, held it under the still dripping nozzle of the coffee maker and then took his first ambrosial sip. As soon as he had his first sip of coffee, he turned to his far too quiet friends, wondering why, exactly, they were being far too quiet. “What the fuck are you all doing staring at the damn wall?”

“We think your PC is broken, Bri. He’s acting funny.” Emmett pointed to where the boy was huddled against the wall, still panting and shaking and being completely unresponsive.

“Oh. That’s where he got to . . .” Brian shrugged, tilting his head to the side dismissively, as if finding naked and shivering boys in the corners of his home was somehow commonplace.

“Is he okay, Brian?” Michael asked with genuine concern.

“I have no idea, Mikey,” Brian sighed, reluctantly put his coffee cup down and shouldered his way through the throng of lookie-loos surrounding his new PC. “Morning, J327! Time to come out of the corner and meet the gang . . .” Predictably, this teasing greeting did nothing to roust the panicky boy. “Oh, yeah. Direct orders only. Right . . . J327, come here!” As soon as Brian amended his tone and spoke more authoritatively, the boy seemed to perk up a bit, actually looking over at his master even though he wasn’t any less frightened. “Go and sit on one of the stools at the bar,” Brian added, moving the guys away from the corner so the boy could comply, which he did with relative alacrity. “That’s good. Now . . . do you want some coffee?” Brian asked, forgetting the whole direct order thing for an instant. When he got no response, however, he realized his error, gave up trying to find out what the boy actually wanted and just took the initiative to pour out another mug which he sat in front of the kid.

“So, THIS is your PC?” Ted moved closer, peering over the bar at the interesting specimen with open curiosity. “I still can’t believe you did this, Brian, even though I’m staring at the proof right in front of me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t really have a choice,” Brian explained as he seated himself next to the boy, pushing the kid’s coffee closer to him and pointing from the cup to the boy, hoping that the kid would get the picture and actually start drinking the beverage without further ado. When it seemed to work and J327 lifted his mug, Brian turned back to his hovering friends. “To make a long story, short . . . my boss forced me to go to this auction so he could rope in the owner as a client. I got there and was doing an okay job schmoozing the guy when this total creepazoid blowhard showed up. Some know-it-all by the name of Bellweather . . .”

“You mean, Howard Bellweather? The author? He’s great. I’ve read everything he’s ever written. His latest book, ‘The Gay Gauntlet’, is all about how we as gay people need to force the straight world to give us the respect our community deserves. It was really inspirational,” Ted gushed.

“Be that as it may,” Brian continued between gulps of coffee, “the guy’s a total cretin and probably the biggest pervert I’ve ever met . . . which is really saying a lot, you know.” There was a round of awed nods from the peanut gallery who were all well acquainted with Brian’s knowledge of the area’s various perverts. “Anyway, this Bellweather guy and his buddy Stockwell - also a ‘Class A’ douchebag - kept going on and on about the shit they had planned for the kid here and I . . . Well, they pissed me off to the point that I just had to do something. I couldn’t let them do . . . what they had planned. So I outbid Bellweather and bought the boy myself.”

“Very altruistic, Brian, but now what are you going to do with him?” Em asked the question they were all thinking.

“No fucking clue, Emmy Lou. None at all,” Brian smirked up at them before returning his attention to the remaining coffee in his cup.

“You might not have to worry about what to do with him, if you can’t come up with the money to pay off that insane bid price,” Ted offered, unhelpfully. “Even though I thought at the time that you were pulling my leg, I still went over the numbers for you last night like you asked and I have no idea how you’re going to do this. Are you sure you don’t want to just cut your losses now and tell them you don’t have the money?”

“I can’t do that. If I don’t come up with the money, then the kid goes right back to Bellweather, since he was the guy with the next highest bid. And, trust me on this guys, you wouldn’t send your worst enemy into that guy’s greasy hands.” Brian held his now empty coffee cup out in front of him, prompting Emmett to bring over the carafe and administer a refill. “Which reminds me, I’ve got to get going and get to the office.”

“But it’s Sunday morning, Brian. Even you don’t work on Sundays,” Michael protested.

“Well, I do this Sunday,” Brian corrected him. “I need to get over there and make sure Cynthia has the bloodsuckers in Legal under control so we can get the contract over to PC Clearinghouse and get the guy to sign on the dotted line. The signing bonus I negotiated with Vance for this account will go quite a ways towards helping me pay off the debt for the kid. So, Sunday or not, I need to get to the office as soon as possible.”

Brian plunked down his coffee cup and started to get to his feet. He was still dressed in the rumpled suit pants and tux shirt from the night before, and between the sweaty clothing and his alcohol-clogged pores, he could tell he totally reeked. The aspirin and coffee had at least quelled his headache a bit, but the condition of his stomach was still uncertain and his thought processes were a tiny bit foggy as well.

“What are you going to do with HIM while you’re at the office, Brian?” Michael’s question caused Brian to stop in his tracks.

“I figured he’d just stay here . . . ?”

“Brian, Brian, Brian. You can’t just keep the poor thing holed up here - buck naked and bored out of his mind - for the rest of his life. Even if he IS a PC. It’s just not right,” Emmett insisted pointedly.

“Good point, Honeycutt,” Brian admitted and then glanced over at the boy who remained so still and silent that you tended to forget he was there. “Although, based on what I’ve seen so far, I don’t think he’d mind hiding out here all that much. He’s not really what you’d call a ‘people person’.”

While Brian was pondering how and when to start exposing his new acquisition to the outside world, and wondering how he was going to explain the kid to everyone he knew - most notably Debbie, who would likely rip him a new asshole when she found out he’d done the unthinkable and bought himself a PC - the image of Debbie glaring at him across the expanse of the Liberty Diner suddenly popped into his head. And that mental picture of the Diner was immediately followed by the memory of Cynthia’s dig about him not being able to keep a houseplant alive, let alone another human being. “Shit! I almost forgot. You’re probably hungry, aren’t you?” he asked the kid who, not unexpectedly, said nothing in response. His stomach, though, responded loudly, grumbling at the first mention of food. “I’ll take that as a yes. So, I guess we better find something for you to eat . . . and, I guess, something for you to wear other than that fucking collar.” Brian immediately reached over and started to unbuckle the hated thing.

“If I might make a suggestion, Bri?” Emmett stepped forward, all smiles and plans. “He’s never going to fit in any of your clothes - they’d be huge on his more delicate frame. However, using my training and experience as a member of the men’s fashion industry, I guestimate that your new friend is just about the same size as Michael here. A tad skinnier, of course, but we can deal with that,” Brian almost laughed at the apprising way Emmett was looking over the bashful boy as if measuring him for a whole new wardrobe. “So, what I propose is that you give Michael and me the keys to your Jeep and we’ll pop home while you two are getting a shower. We’ll sort through Michael’s overflowing closet and then bring back a few things for your PC - enough to tide him over for a few days until you guys have time to go shopping for more. And then, once we get the both of you dressed, we can all head back to the Diner for brunch - which is where we were all headed in the first place before Teddy gave us the shocking news that had everyone running over here to see if it was true. That way you can feed your twink, and yourself, before you head to the office for the day.”

Brian thought it through quickly and decided that was the best plan he was going to come up with on short notice. Even if it did mean he’d be facing his pseudo-mother a little sooner than he would prefer. Besides, he did need to feed the kid, so he might as well get the trip to the Diner over with and kill two birds with one stone.

“Fine. But make it fast. I really do need to get to the office as soon as I can,” Brian ordered.

“No problem, Bri. We’ll be back here faster than green grass goes through a goose. Just hand over your keys, oh Studly Leader,” Em teased with a little extra southern flair added in just for fun.

“Whatever, Emmy Lou. Just hurry. But don’t wreck the fucking Jeep. I don’t have the money to fix it right now if you smash it up.” Brian said while looking around. He didn’t see his key ring anywhere it would normally be found, but then, considering his state of inebriation the night before, the fucking keys could be anywhere. “Fuck! Where are my damn keys?” he cursed angrily.

To everyone’s surprise, the previously stationary blond boy jumped up off his barstool and sprinted over to the far side of the dining area where he proceeded to rifle through a pile of forgotten clothing left there from the night before. After only a few seconds, he located the missing keys and then zoomed back over to Brian, dropping gracefully to his knees in front of his master and offering up the keys with both hands. At first, Brian was too startled by these abrupt actions to realize what had evoked such a visceral reaction in the boy. But, glancing down at the young man’s abjectly submissive stance - head tilted forward, eyes downcast, arms raised over his head with the lost keys held up like an offering to an angry god of old, Brian started to get the picture.

“Look at me, J327,” Brian instructed, keeping his voice calm and even while he gently lifted the teen’s chin up with his forefinger until he could see the worried blue eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s not your fault I was so soused last night that I misplaced my keys. And your name is NOT ‘Fuck’. That was just me being a drunken idiot last night. I would never do that to you. So, please, get up. Okay?” The boy silently rose to his feet, his head still bowed but the terrified trembling in his shoulders abating a little bit. “Thank you. Now, go wait for me in the shower. I’ll be right there after I send these guys off.”

Brian waited until the kid had disappeared into the bathroom before he turned to give the keys to his waiting friend.

“Wow. That was . . . weird,” Michael commented, echoing nearly everyone’s thoughts.

“Yeah. He’s a bit jumpy,” Brian returned, intentionally understating the situation. “From what his Handler told everyone before the sale, it sounds like the kid’s had it rough. He was attacked and almost killed by a classmate back when he was only sixteen. That’s actually why his father contracted him out - he couldn’t afford the doctor bills. He had to sell the boy in order to save his life. Unfortunately, the Handler that bought his contract probably made everything worse, the sadistic fucking brute.” Brian heard the way his own voice was rising and fought to control the anger. “This guy - name of Sapperstein - is something else. He had this thing . . . Cynthia said it was called an ‘Enforcer’ or something . . . that he was using to torture the kid, calling it ‘training’. So, between the trauma of getting his head bashed in and the abuse from the fucking Handler, it’s not really much of a surprise the kid is a total mess.” Brian welcomed the sympathy emanating from the eyes of each of his friends. “Anyway, I think that’s why he doesn’t talk and won’t look at anyone. Even I can’t imagine the amount of abuse he’s suffered. And, since the bashing apparently caused some memory loss, he probably doesn’t remember anything else. Any other life. As far as he knows, everyone in the world is out to hurt him in some way. Which is why . . .”

“You did the right thing, Brian,” Michael reassured his friend with a supportive squeeze to his bicep when Brian couldn't continue. “We all understand. And we’ll do what we can to help, won’t we guys.” They all nodded.

“Thank you,” Brian replied, truly touched that his friends were being as understanding as they were, seeing as they were all pretty strongly against the PC trade. “Ok. Here’s the keys. We should be showered and ready by the time you get back.” Michael and Em walked towards the door without saying anything further. “You staying, Theodore?”

“Yeah. I figure I better get started moving some funds around for you and working on the numbers a bit. I’m sure I can come up with something more than what I saw at first glance last night. If you’ll set me up on your computer, I’ll get cracking,” Ted offered, determination lining his usually laconic countenance.

Brian quickly set the accountant up on his home computer and then made his way to the shower. He was grateful for Ted’s help. Actually, he was feeling pretty appreciative towards all his friends. He’d never thought that they would support him like this. And after everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, he knew he was going to need all the help he could get.

********

Chapter 6 - Defining Normal.

Of course the Diner was crowded - it was the appointed time for all the fags in town to congregate for Sunday brunch. That was why Brian had wisely sent the boys ahead, hoping they would already have snagged a table by the time he arrived with his skittish charge. Everything was working out perfectly too. Brian led J327 in through the front door and right over to the gang’s favorite booth, assuming the seats left open for them, before the kid’s panic had a chance to overwhelm him.

The secondary benefit to this strategy was that the boys should have had plenty of time to apprise Debbie of the situation prior to Brian's arrival. Hopefully, that would allow her to blow off most of the steam she would otherwise be venting directly at Brian. Even then, he was sure he wouldn't escape completely unscathed. Debbie was as passionate about her support for the APC movement as she was about everything else she did, and there was no way she was going to tolerate her surrogate son doing something as abhorrent as purchasing a PC.

Which is why Brian was pleasantly surprised when Debbie greeted him with a big smile as soon as she made it over to their table.

“Morning, kiddo!” Debbie affectionately slapped Brian’s shoulder in lieu of a hug. “And kiddo’s handsome young friend.” She beamed down at the blond pressed into the corner where the bench met the wall and hunched into as small a space as was humanly possible. “So, are you gonna introduce me or do I have to do it myself, you little asshole?”

“Deb, this is J327 . . . my PC . . .” Brian replied, cringing in anticipation of the expected shockwave of reproach.

“J327? What the fuck? Why haven’t you given him a real name yet, Brian? The boy can’t go around being called J327 all the time,” Deb rounded on him.

“I only got him last night, Deb. There hasn’t been any time to figure out a name for him yet,” Brian explained, still wondering when he’d be getting hit with the sermon about how evil he was now. When the expected dissertation still didn’t come, he ventured a little more in-depth commentary. “Besides, I don’t know him well enough yet to choose a name for him. I figured I’d take my time and find a name that actually suited him, rather than just pick something at random out of thin air.” Brian noted that both Michael and Emmett were nodding approvingly at him about this plan of action.

“I agree, Brian,” Em added his two cents. “Names are important. They have a lot of power. And you don’t want to choose the wrong one.”

“It’s like in fairy tales,” Michael piped up. “You know, like, how if you know somebody’s name you can charm them. Or even control them sorta. Like when that guy figured out Rumplestiltskin’s name and then redeemed their unborn baby from his evil clutches.”

“You’re so pathetic, Mikey,” Brian snorted at his friend’s bizarre thought processes, even while, in his heart, he agreed with the sentiment.

“Don’t be mean, Brian. I happen to agree - in principle - with what Michael said,” Em insisted. “I think that if you know a being’s ‘real’ name then you can tame him.”

“J327 isn’t a feral cat. I’m not going to try and fucking ‘tame’ him,” Brian grumbled. “And I don’t think he’d like to be called ‘Rumplestiltskin’ either. Would you ‘J’?” Brian smiled at his friends as he spoke, trying to ease the harshness of his words just a bit while still getting his point across.

It DID bother him the way everyone continued to talk about the boy as if he wasn’t there. Or maybe as if he couldn’t understand them. He wasn’t a pet or an interesting zoo specimen. He was a man, albeit a young one, and Brian needed to get the people around him to see that too. Not that they meant any harm by the way they were acting - they probably didn’t even realize they were doing it. Maybe he should hurry up and find the kid a name. That would probably help to humanize him in everyone’s eyes. But, even so, Brian still didn’t know what that name should be.

“Hey, I know,” Michael’s eyes lit up as a result of whatever brilliant idea he’d just had. “Why don’t you find out what his real ‘real’ name is? You know, the name he grew up with? You said he was only contracted out about a year or so ago, so he had to have had a name before that. You could officially rename him that and then he’d have his real name back for all time.”

“That’s . . . actually a pretty smart idea, Mikey,” Brian nodded receptively. “I’m sure there’s records somewhere with the name on them, although there’s probably some moronic law somewhere that says they can’t tell it to me. You wouldn’t believe all the stupid regulations there are about PCs.”

“Can’t you just ask him?” Debbie looked mildly confused.

“J doesn’t remember much from before he was contracted out, Deb,” Brian explained in a quiet voice so that not everyone in the Diner would hear. “He suffered severe head trauma about a year and a half ago and has some memory loss. Or, at least, that’s what I was told. But even if he did remember his name, since he isn’t speaking to me yet, I don’t think asking will help.” Turning towards the little blond wallflower, Brian addressed the boy directly, “What do you say, J? Do you remember your old name? Or would you like some completely new name to go with your new life?”

As expected, the wary PC said nothing, prompting Brian to lean over, extend his arm around the boy’s hunched shoulders and whisper in the perfect shell-like ear. “You know, I’m starting to suspect that the only reason you won't talk is because you're too fucking stubborn. But that's fine by me, J. I'll still be here when you're ready.”

“So, I'm assuming that the reason you're here is because you plan to feed the boy,” Debbie interrupted their private tete-a-tete. “He's way too skinny. The kid’s practically a fucking twig, and if you don't start feeding him right, Kiddo, then I'll have a thing or two to say about it.”

“For once, Deb - and mostly because it isn't me you're threatening to stuff full of carbohydrates - I think I agree with you on the too skinny thing,” Brian capitulated. “So, I'm giving you free rein here. Feel free to stuff J like food’s going out of style. Do your worst.”

“Good answer. I'll bring him the Double BS . . . to start with,” Debbie glowed at the invitation to ply her chosen trade on yet another victim. “While I'm at it, you want the usual, Brian? Egg white omelet and dry wheat toast?”

“You got it, Deb,” Brian ordered. “And don't forget the coffee. Lots of coffee.”

Deb was as good as her word, bringing everyone at the table plates brimming with yummy, breakfasty goodness, and making sure Brian's coffee cup was never empty. Everyone dug into their food with gusto as soon as it was served, except for the blond boy in the corner. He just sat there staring at his plate, almost as if it were invisible, until Brian finally realized what was going on and huffed exaggeratedly.

“J327, eat your food now,” Brian instructed firmly.

The boy obediently picked up his fork and dug into the towering double stack of syrupy pancakes along with the sides of bacon, sausage and hash browns. Brian and the gang focused on their own breakfasts, chatting casually with one another about the usual topics, and almost completely forgetting about the mute boy’s presence. Until, after twenty minutes or so, Emmett redirected Brian's attention to the PC's corner.

The boy’s progress on his feast had slowed considerably. The fork was still moving from the plate to his mouth and back again, but there were now longer pauses between each bite. Even as Brian watched, the boy placed his free hand on his visibly distended belly, rubbing at it carefully for a moment, before taking one more bite. It was painfully obvious that the kid was full and didn’t really want anything more to eat. However, he diligently took bite after slow bite, as if determined to somehow get through the entire gargantuan meal no matter what.

Brian, who knew from personal experience that it was virtually impossible to eat the full Double BS without making yourself puke at least once halfway through, didn’t know whether to laugh at the kid or tell him off. At first it didn’t make sense to him, why the boy was forcing himself to continue eating. Then, after watching yet one more reluctant bite, it dawned on him that he had ordered J327 to eat the food. Which was exactly what he was trying to do - eat the food. All the food. Despite the fact that he was likely going to make himself ill doing it. Fucking stupid PC training!

Brian pushed away his own plate, turned to the boy and reached out with his left hand to stop the next forkful. With his right hand, he cupped the kid’s chin. “J, I’m going to give you a Standing Order,” Brian said as soon as he’d made the boy turn enough so he could look him directly in the eye. “From now on, and until such time as I officially revoke this order, you are allowed to begin eating as soon as you are served any food, at any time of the day or night. You are also allowed to stop eating whenever you are full or otherwise feel you are done with your meal. And I expect you to follow this order without my having to repeat it. Do you understand, J?” Brian paused and held the younger man’s gaze without letting him look away, waiting for an acknowledgement. “I need you to answer me, J. Do you understand this order?” Brian asked again.

After a full three minutes, Brian got his answer. The boy’s chin twitched, nodding down and then up just one time, the entire span of the movement measuring less than a centimeter. It was enough for Brian though. It proved that the boy was paying attention and understood about the eating thing. Brian just hoped that permanently solved the problem. He didn’t relish having to go through this same exercise with every single meal.

“Good. Now, if you're done eating, you can put your fork down. We’ll be leaving soon. Just give me a minute to finish my coffee,” Brian explained and smiled when the fork clattered to the plate and lay still. “Silly brat,” he couldn’t help but add. “I’ve seen three hundred pound bears who couldn’t finish the Double BS on their own. I should have let you keep going, though. I bet you would have done it. You’d have been sick for the rest of the day, but your stubborn ass would have still finished the whole fucking thing, wouldn’t you?”

The inscrutable PC didn’t answer, of course. Brian thought that he maybe betrayed the first hint of a smile, though. It was more than enough to confirm Brian’s suspicions that the primary motivation behind the kid’s actions wasn’t just fear, but pride. And he liked that.

The next time Deb hustled past their table Brian called for their check. “That's ok, Brian,” Michael intervened, waving his mother off. “We’ll get this. You've got enough on your plate right now and you need to save your money . . .”

“Save your fucking charity, Mikey,” Brian snarled and tossed $40 onto the table. “I'm not so broke I can't pay for my own fucking breakfast. Besides, after I close the deal I'm off to work on, everything will be fine.”

“But, Brian,” Michael held out the money, trying to get his friend to take it back.

“Keep your money, Michael. I’ll be fine,” Brian reiterated then reached out and hooked J327 by the back of the neck as he started to slide out of the bench. “Let’s go, J.”

*Nnnnmhh* The barest whimper of sound escaped the boy right when Brian’s hand came in contact with his neck. Brian instantly dropped his hand and looked over at his PC. He'd seen the kid stoically take a lot rougher treatment from The Sapp without a peep. He didn’t think he’d grabbed him that hard either. What the fuck?

“J?” Brian asked with concern.

The boy let his head drop even farther forward, fully exposing the nape of his neck and the garishly vivid barcode tattoo imprinted there. It was plain to see that the new portions added to the tat the night before were now red and inflamed. No wonder the boy had flinched when Brian touched it.

“Shit! The fucking tat they gave him yesterday is fucking infected. We just can’t catch a break, can we J?” Brian groused, reaching out to gently trace the area with his finger. “Stupid fucking PC rules - forcing this shit on him. Not only is it a butt ugly eyesore, but they probably didn’t even bother sterilizing the damn needle.”

“It could be worse. They could have used a hot iron fresh out of the fire to brand him, like in days of old,” Ted quipped sarcastically, earning him a nasty glare from Brian before the man turned back to examine the boy’s injury.

“Looks like we’re going to have to add a trip to the doctor to our agenda for the day, J,” Brian said, shaking his head in disgust.

“It doesn’t look that bad, Brian,” Michael gave his opinion. “I know Ma’s got a first aid kit in the back. You could try just putting a bandage on it with some antibiotic ointment and give it a day or so.”

Michael was already up and out of his seat before Brian had a chance to agree. A minute later he was back with the large plastic box that contained the Diner’s first aid supplies. With all of them voicing directions and even the denizens of the neighboring booth offering occasional advice, Brian managed to get a large gauze pad liberally coated with ointment and then the whole thing taped over the affected area. It might not have been the most elegant job of doctoring, but Brian hoped it was at least adequate to keep the site clean. Hopefully the infection would abate on it’s own.

Brian tossed the remains of the unused medical tape onto the pile of other detritus accumulated on the table. “Good enough, I suppose.” He finally stood up and gestured for J327 to follow him. “Now, maybe I can actually get out of here and get to the office, so I can earn the money needed to make my glamorous new PC Lifestyle possible, hmm?” he added with full-on sarcasm.

“Don’t work too hard, Kiddo,” Debbie offered with a fond motherly smile. “And remember to stop long enough to feed this one every so often. One real meal isn’t going to be enough to get our newest family member fed up the right way.”

“Yes, Mother,” Brian replied sarcastically.

“Good boy,” Debbie gave Brian one of her signature bear hugs punctuated with a slap to his cheek for good measure. “I’ll be by the loft tomorrow with some real food for you guys. If I know you, there’s nothing in your fridge besides beer and poppers. But now that you’re responsible for somebody other than yourself, you’re going to have to fix that, Brian. You might even have to buy groceries for once.”

Brian made a face at the proffered suggestion, earning him a round of sympathetic laughter from the group. It was a well established fact that Brian avoided the grocery store as if it were a plague-filled leper colony. If it weren’t for the need to keep his beer cold, Brian probably wouldn't need a fridge at all, because it hadn’t been used for anything else in years.

“Shit! I hate the fucking grocery store. It's always crawling with breeders,” Brian whinged but knew it was inevitable. Maybe he'd have to look into a grocery delivery service?

“Oh, Brian . . .” Debbie was almost too overcome by laughter to finish her thought. “If that's the worst thing you have to deal with after the shit you pulled last night, I'll eat my fucking wig! You have no idea, kiddo.” Brian simply scowled again and turned to leave, assuming that J327 was following. Before he could make it out the door, though, Debbie hit him with one last humorous zinger. “Poor baby. For a guy who never wanted to come within a million miles of a relationship, you sure did it this time. Hahaha! You just skipped right over the dating and boyfriend thing and went and got yourself a fucking husband! Hehehe! Welcome to the world of relationships, Honey!”

Brian slammed through the front door, not deigning to look back or otherwise acknowledge the guffaws of hilarity echoing through the building, and pointedly ignoring the blond shadow trailing at his elbow.

********

Brian was still silently fuming by the time they made it to the VanGuard offices. Cynthia didn't bother to even address him after seeing the storm clouds hovering over his head. She did give a cheery ‘Good Morning’ to J327 as the boy trotted unconcernedly after his new Master.

Fifteen minutes later, armed with a triple-shot, nonfat latte, Cynthia finally ventured into her boss’ office. Brian had finally calmed down and was seated at his desk going through his email, the comforting routine helping to re-establish a sense of equanimity. J327 was still standing just inside the doorway, probably right where he'd stopped after entering. Cyn was not happy seeing the way that Brian was ignoring the boy or that he’d left him standing for so long. Did he not get that the boy wouldn’t do anything, not even seat himself, without Brian’s permission?

“Brian . . .” she said to get his attention.

“What?” he barked, not even looking up from his computer.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Brian. You don’t want to get on my shit list. And, after what you put me through last night, you’re already on thin ground,” she warned, her bossy tone instantly alerting Brian that she was serious. When he looked up, she pointed to the boy. “I think you forgot something?”

“Shit . . . Sit down, J,” Brian ordered.

J327 instantly plopped down on the carpet right where he’d been standing.

“Fucking A!” Brian grumbled. “Damn it, J. Get up and go sit on the fucking couch like a normal human.”

J327 scrambled back up to his feet and dashed over to the couch where he sat in the far corner, making himself small like the mouse he was trying to be.

“Don’t yell at him, Brian,” Cynthia complained, plunking his coffee down on the desk so hard the liquid sloshed out of the little hole in the plastic top and dripped down the side onto the papers strewn about. “He was just doing what you told him to do. Grow the fuck up already - you’re the one who got yourself into this mess, now start taking your responsibilities seriously and don’t take your bad moods out on this poor defenseless kid.” Cynthia stomped back out of the office, slamming the door closed in her wake.

“. . . defenseless kid my ass,” Brian muttered under his breath, catching a stealthy sideways glance aimed his direction from the boy on the couch. “I’m not amused, J. I know you did that on purpose. But getting me in trouble with Cynthia isn’t funny and it’s not going to help.” Since there was no reaction from the boy, though, Brian simply turned back to his work. He was smiling a little bit though. Maybe he was slightly amused. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Brian was much more solicitous the next time Cynthia came into the office. She noticed and relented a tiny bit. “Here’s the PC Clearinghouse contract from Legal. I checked it over and it seems fine. Do you want to look at it before I fax it over to Lapointe?”

“Nah. Just get it sent. I know he said he’d have it back to us right away, but I expect it will take him at least a few days. And there’s no sense in my looking it over until after we see what revisions they’re going to want.” Brian pushed the stack of papers away from him. “In the meantime, though, where’s the Bronian Graphics layouts? I was supposed to have seen those yesterday but they weren’t ready before I had to leave for the fucking auction. If the Art Deparment fucked this up again, I’m going to be handing out pink slips first thing tomorrow morning. That presentation is scheduled for two pm and right now I have nothing to show them.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Boss. I’ve got the initial boards on my desk. You’re going to want to look at the font though. It’s not right . . .”

For the next couple hours the two of them waded through more work, actually getting quite a bit done since it was Sunday and they weren’t being interrupted by other employees or fielding phone calls. Every few minutes, Brian found himself glancing over at the boy still sitting complacently on his couch. He was curious what the kid was thinking, how he was keeping his mind occupied with nothing to distract him, and impressed by the length of time the young man could keep himself virtually immobile. Brian didn’t think he’d be able to sit still for that long even at his age, and was sure that back when he’d been seventeen it would have been impossible. J327 seemed utterly imperturbable though. Frankly, it was a bit creepy.

Finally, after two hours of stillness, the boy shifted in his seat. The movement was so unexpected that it caused both Brian and Cynthia to look up from the Bronian boards that were spread out all across the coffee table. Brian didn’t know why, but somehow that miniscule shift in position seemed to convey more than that the kid was just stretching. It annoyed him, though, that he couldn’t figure out why. It even annoyed him that he found himself so tuned into this boy that his every movement registered in Brian’s head. The situation was just so absurd, and it was starting to really get to him. Not that there was anything he could do about it though.

“I think it’s time for a bathroom break,” Cynthia suggested, getting to her feet and staring pointedly at Brian as if willing a particularly dense student to understand something important.

“Good idea. I definitely had too much coffee this morning,” Brian agreed, already heading towards the door himself.

“Brian . . .” Cynthia called him back, tilting her head purposefully in the motionless PCs direction.

“Oh, fucking hell! You can’t be serious? You’re saying I even have to tell him when to go take a piss? That’s ridiculous,” Brian erupted, his hands clenching into fists as he fought to control his irritation. “I can’t believe that Lapointe or Bellweather waste their time telling their hordes of PCs when it’s ok to take a crap - how the fuck do THEY work this shit? Cause I’ll tell you right now, I’m not going to be following his perky little ass around all day, every day, making sure he doesn’t need to use the fucking toilet. I’m just not going to do it. No fucking way, Cynthia! No. Fucking. Way!” Cynthia shrugged unhelpfully. Brian growled, dug both hands into his hair and pulled at the beautiful auburn strands in frustration. “Fuck! Come on, J327. Time to use the potty, like a big boy . . .”

Brian ignored the giggles that followed him out the door as he led the boy down the hall and into the men’s room. He couldn’t afford to have Cynthia mad at him, so he’d have to put up with her laughing at him. But he’d be damned if he was going to deal with any more of this stupid PC shit. He had to figure this out before he totally lost his mind.

Brian held the door open for J327 and pointed him towards the wall of urinals. The kid must have had to go pretty bad, since he practically jogged over to the first one, unzipped his pants and was pissing like a firehose seconds later. Brian stepped up to the next urinal and made use of the facilities himself. As soon as they were both done, Brian grabbed the boy by the arm and led him over to the wash basin, disregarding the way the kid flinched at the mere touch.

“Ok. Standing Order Number Two,” Brian intoned as soon as the washing up was accomplished. “From now on, you piss and shit whenever you need to. You do NOT need to ask me or anyone else for permission. You just go. I’m not going to tell you again. Got it?” Brian held the boy’s gaze and waited for the resulting nod of understanding which was given with the same tiny motion as before. “Yeah . . . still NOT amused, J!” he added as he stomped back out of the john. J followed in the same unflappable manner as always, but this time he seated himself back on the couch as soon as he was back inside the office.

“Well, if you don’t have anything else, I’m going to get out of here, Brian,” Cynthia announced soon afterwards.

“No. There’s nothing more you can help with. I’ll finish up those boards and leave them on your desk before I leave,” Brian replied. “One last thing though. I need you to get J’s records and find out what his birth name was. I’m getting sick of calling him J327 but I’m not going to pick out just any random name for him like most losers. If we can find his records, I’ll just use his real name.”

“Good idea, Boss,” Cynthia seemed pleased by Brian’s thoughtfulness, which was good because he needed to earn back some brownie points. “I’ll work on that tomorrow. I need to get all his information together for HR anyway, so that he gets added to your insurance and stuff. I’d also planned on setting up appointments for the doctor’s visit needed for his insurance rider and for you to meet with your lawyer about the necessary changes to your Will and DPOA and stuff. Might as well do all of that at the same time and get it over with.”

“Shit! I hadn’t thought about all that,” Brian admitted.

“That’s why you have me, Boss. Cause without me, you’d have wound up lost, alone and jobless a long time ago.” Cynthia smiled at him condescendingly. Brian didn’t bother to try and contradict her. “Nite, Bri!” she started towards the door, only to turn back at the last minute, “And, just a reminder . . . It’s time to feed him again.” Brian petulantly threw his pen at the door as his assistant giggled her way down the hall.

“I’m fucking surrounded by smart asses . . .” Brian complained to nobody, even as he started to put things away and straighten up his desk so he could leave.

Once his desk was tidied, Brian went to gather the stuff that had been left out on the coffee table next to the couch. Neither he nor Cynthia had come up with a better font color for the Bronian boards, even though he knew in his gut that it wasn’t quite right as is. Looking down at it one more time, he noticed that the color swatch set that they’d been going through was resting atop the board and opened to a completely different palette grouping. Instead of the navy blues they’d been considering, this grouping was of aquamarines, teals and turquoises. It wasn’t a palette that Brian would normally even consider, since these colors were muted and therefore wouldn’t show up as well as the bolder colors in most situations. However, with the product images they were using in this ad, the toned down colors were perfect. The turquoise would work especially well and served to brighten up the entire layout. It was brilliant.

And he knew for a fact, that neither he nor Cynthia had put that color swatch there.

Which left only one other person who might have come up with that color proposal . . . the otherwise uncommunicative PC who was still sitting, rooted and speechless on the couch, just a half a meter away.

“Not bad, J. Not bad at all. Keep this up and I just might forgive you for the whole pissing thing,” Brian praised, noting down the font color change before taking the whole pile of work out to Cynthia’s desk.

********

Chapter 7 - Hurt and Comfort.

Brian pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store closest to the loft and shut off the Jeep’s engine.

“Shit. It’s even more crowded than I expected,” Brian complained, eyeing the almost constant stream of people parading in and out through the wide front entrance of the big warehouse-sized store. “Don’t all these breeders have anything better to do with their Sunday afternoons than shop for even more food? From the looks of most of them, they’d be better off hitting the gym than the grocery store.” Brian looked like he was afraid he might be contaminated and catch their breeder germs just by going into the place. “Oh well. Fuck it! This has to be done, or everyone will keep on giving me shit about not feeding you and telling me how I can’t be trusted with their damned houseplants.”

Brian got out of the car, went around to the other side and held the door open for J327. “Just for the record, though,” he continued as they were walking together, “I can so take care of a house plant. I’ll have you know I had a Christmas Cactus back when I was in college that survived three fucking years. If my damn room mate senior year hadn’t accidentally kicked it off the balcony when he got stoned and tripped over the keg of beer we had cooling out there, that fucker would probably still be alive.” Brian looked sideways to see if his story had managed to get any reaction, but wasn’t surprised that the boy’s expression was still blank. “And don’t tell me that cactuses don’t count. They totally count. Nobody really likes a fucking Ficus anyway.”

Brian gave up on his one sided conversation as they neared the entrance. At the shopping cart corral, he pulled out one of the biggest models they had and maneuvered it over till it was waiting in front of J327. “YOU have to push the cart, J. It's bad enough that I have to be here at all. I'm not driving the fucking food trolley. Now, let's go.”

If anything, the inside of the store was more crowded than it had looked from the outside. They hadn't got more than ten meters inside before they were stopped by a traffic jam involving three carts whose drivers were trying to squeeze around the lady in the giant electric go cart/shopping cart combo that was entirely blocking the entrance to the produce section while she took her time picking through the display of carnation bouquets. As the press of people around them got thicker, Brian saw the boy driving his own cart stiffen. He could empathize - he didn't much care for the crowds either. However, when a buxom brunette with two rowdy kids in tow came barrelling through the throng and bumped into J327 with only a cursory ‘sorry’, Brian knew they were in trouble.

The boy froze in place. His hands clenched around the handle of the cart till his knuckles turned white. His breathing quickened till he was panting. His eyes were darting around wildly and his whole body began to tremble. Brian hadn't ever seen a full-blown panic attack before, but it wasn't difficult to figure out that was what this was.

What to do about it was more problematic. Brian's first instinct - to reach out and grab hold of the boy - was disastrous. The second he felt the additional touch, J327 unfroze, backed away five steps until he came to a stop pressed up against a free-standing display filled with Chilean tangelos, and then crumpled to the floor in a quivering heap. After this, several concerned motherly types began to crowd around the boy, asking him what was wrong, and chattering amongst themselves, giving each other advice and comparing notes about what had just happened. All the additional bodies hovering over him just exacerbated J327’s condition, until Brian was afraid the kid was about to hyperventilate and pass out.

Almost ready to panic himself, Brian shoved aside a kindly-looking blue-haired older lady, boldly strode into the melee and started shouting over all the noise. “Everybody back the fuck away and give the kid some air!”

Either the volume or the cursing must have worked. The phalanx of worried bystanders took several collective steps back, making a small clearing around the fruit stand. Brian knelt in front of J327 but was careful not to touch him.

“Hey, J,” Brian started off, his tone as calm and soothing as he could make it under the circumstances. “It's okay. You're gonna be okay. I'm here and I won't let anything happen to you. It's okay. It's okay . . .”

It took a few minutes, but slowly the boy’s panting and trembling subsided. He blinked up at Brian, his eyes eventually focusing on the concerned face. Then he looked around at all the other faces loitering around the store and enjoying the free entertainment he was providing, almost causing him to panic all over again.

“J! Look at ME! Just ignore all of them. I need you to only look at me,” Brian instructed, glad for once that the kid was conditioned to respond so completely to direct orders. “That's good. See, you're okay. You're gonna be fine. We just need to get you out of here, so you’re gonna have to stand up and walk with me. Can you do that for me now? Come on. Let's go, J”

With a little more cajoling, Brian gradually got the boy onto his feet and then he protectively shepherded him through the watching crowd, back out the door, and all the way to the Jeep. Brian put him into the passenger seat, locked the door and got in himself on the driver’s side. Then they both just sat there, breathing in the silence for the next ten minutes.

“Never thought I'd find somebody who hated grocery shopping more than me,” Brian said with a chuckle once he finally felt calm enough to speak. “So, I guess we’ll just skip the shopping for now. We can order our groceries online and have them delivered tomorrow instead.”

Brian looked over at his companion, scrutinizing the younger man contemplatively for a couple more moments. How such a sweet-looking boy could wreak such havoc on his life in such a short time period was inconceivable. Brian hadn't felt this confused, unsure of himself, and uncertain about his future since he’d turned eighteen and had left his parents house for the last time. What the fuck had he gotten himself into with this kid? It was more than just the PC thing. This boy was damaged in so many ways and Brian was not at all competent to deal with even the most superficial of his issues. For the first time since he'd stood up in the auction house and made his bid, Brian seriously thought about throwing in the towel and giving up. He really didn't think he could do this. He didn't even know where to begin.

As Brian continued to stare at the pale and deceptively guileless face, he saw the boy’s features crumple in a grimace of sadness. J’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but one tear still managed to escape, rolling down the expanse of a high cheekbone and dripping onto the collar of a shirt borrowed from a stranger. Brian watched him swallowing hard, the prominent Adam's apple bobbing, as if he was struggling to swallow the sobbing that surely wanted to come out. But the stubborn boy refused to let the sounds of his sadness have voice. He just swallowed it all - the pain, the sadness, the fear, the loneliness, the futility - because he had no other choice.

And that was exactly why Brian had made the choice to help the kid in the first place. Because he was lucky enough that he DID have a choice. And he had already chosen.

“So, it looks like we’ll be doing take out for dinner tonight,” he announced, reaching across the boy so he could secure the seat belt. “You okay with Thai?” When there was no answer, Brian smiled and started the engine. “That's what I thought you'd say. Thai it is, then.”

********

Brian was actually relieved to sit at home for the evening. After the night and day that he’d had, it was needed. Plus, he could use the quiet and peace in which to think through what he was going to do over the next few weeks.

Despite the fact that most of his acquaintances would label him as impulsive and reckless, Brian was really a very highly organized planner at heart. He just included a lot of free time in most of his plans. And when he was having free time, it was really, really free. However, the rest of his life had been outlined and ordered and tightly structured since he was in his teens. That’s when he’d planned precisely how he was going to pull himself out of the morass of his parents’ burdensome blue collar life and make it so he never had to look back. And, up till now, Brian had never significantly deviated from that plan.

However, going deeply into debt to purchase a PC had definitely NOT been a part of that plan. Because of his momentary insanity the night before, he was going to have to push back or even scrap huge swathes of his prior life plan. Therefore, it seemed like a new plan was in order and he needed time and quiet repose in which to work through the details of that plan.

The quiet part wasn’t difficult. His new PC was probably the quietest man on the face of the planet. Not only did he not speak, but he rarely even made noise by moving. So that wasn’t a problem. However Brian found himself repeatedly distracted from his thoughts just by the mere presence of the kid. And in the relatively small spaces of the loft, there wasn’t really anywhere to get away from that presence.

Which was why the thinking thing wasn’t going so well.

Brian was grateful when the buzzer rang indicating that the Thai food he’d ordered had arrived. That would give him something to concentrate on other than the inarticulate blond presence that had been studiously ignoring him for the past two hours. He jumped up, answered the intercom, buzzed the delivery guy up and then waited at the open door to receive his bounty. Once the food was in hand, he efficiently plated it and then brought the repast over to the coffee table where his pacific PC was waiting.

At least the boy followed his Standing Order Number One and tucked into the food as soon as it was given to him. Brian was glad to see him take at least that much initiative. He really did have to do some research into how other PC owners handled this thing. Not that he’d be following everything they said - especially if those owners were like Bellweather with his ‘spare the rod, spoil the PC’ mentality. But Brian knew that watching others who’d dealt with this situation might at least give him a starting point for how to arrange his future with J. There had to be some way to give the boy back some autonomy despite the rigorous conditioning he’d been subjected to. Because Brian wasn’t about to spend the rest of his life ordering around another life. The way things were now, it was almost like he was the slave to his PC - having to care for and arrange the kid’s every single waking moment. And he just refused to think that was how this thing was going to pan out.

Brian got up to get himself more Pad Thai and another beer to go along with it. As he was setting the take out box down on the counter, he suddenly realized that he should probably give the kid a second serving too. He wouldn’t ask for it, of course, even if he was still hungry. But, then again, what if he wasn’t hungry or didn’t want it and Brian gave it to him anyway. He’d probably force himself to eat it. This was truly a no win situation. Something surely had to change.

Grabbing two beers but not bothering with the seconds on the food for the boy, Brian made his way back to the couch. He noted that the boy’s plate was now spotlessly clean. He hoped that meant he’d liked the food. But, whatever. It was too tiring trying to figure this out without enough communication from the kid to give him even the first clue what to do. Fuck it all. Brian was done for the night.

He set the second beer on the table in front of the kid, pushing it towards him a few inches to indicate he should take it if he wanted, before relaxing back with his own food and beer. The PC stared at the bottle of beer for well on five minutes before apparently deciding it would be allowed and reaching out a tentative hand. Brian happened to be watching this development closely and was smiling at the unfolding action.

So he was still paying attention when he noticed that the hand J327 had grabbed the beer bottle with began to shake. At first it was just a tiny tremor - more like a muscle spasm - the kind everyone has on occasion when your muscles are tired or overworked. But that tiny wobble got steadily bigger and bigger till the beer was sloshing out the top. J327 quickly grabbed at his right hand with his left, steadying the vibrations enough that he could place the bottle back down on the glass table top. Once the bottle was released, the boy snatched back the still quaking hand and tucked it protectively against his stomach as if embarrassed by the sight of it.

Brian put his beer down and extended his own hand towards the boy, palm up, clearly indicating that he wanted to see the affected hand. J327 stared blankly ahead, pretending that he didn’t see the gesture. Brian rolled his eyes and shook his head, but didn’t back down. He needed to know what he was dealing with. Everything he was going to be dealing with. Including whatever was going on with his PC’s wobbly hand.

“J327, give me your right hand,” Brian ordered, glad that the boy was unable to ignore his direct order.

The hand was held out for him, still jittering a bit but nothing near as bad as it had been just a moment before. However, while it wasn’t trembling so much, there was clearly something still wrong with it. Brian could see that the fingers were contracted in on the palm, the digits looking stiff and muscles rigid. The hand now resembled a claw more than anything. And, from the pinched look on the boy’s face, he deduced that it must be painful.

Brian took the claw in both his own, carefully feeling along the straining and spasming muscles. The boy flinched almost imperceptibly when his fingers touched certain hard knots of muscle. He didn’t pull away though, so Brian kept probing, massaging at the stiffness and gently working the contorted fingers until they unbent, finally becoming flexible again.

“This isn’t good,” Brian stated the obvious. “I think we need to get that medical exam for you sooner rather than later, J. And maybe I need to have Cynthia get me all your medical records too. Well, either that, or you could just talk to me and tell me what’s going on with you . . .” No reply came, of course. “No? Okay, then medical records it is.”

Brian kept massaging the hand, glad to note that the muscles were slowly loosening up and the claw relaxing a bit, and while he was massaging away, he kept thinking about how to make the boy talk to him. Eventually, his thoughts began to percolate out into words. “You know, I’ve never been the kind of guy who wanted to talk much. I always thought I was more of the ‘actions speak louder’ type. My best friend, Michael, is more the talking kind of guy. He loves to talk. He’ll talk about anything and everything. He’s particularly fond of talking about his feelings - especially when I get him stoned - and he usually drives me batty when he starts on that shit. I can only take so much of his Chatty Cathy routine before I’m running out the door. Which is why I’m so surprised by how much I really would like to get YOU to talk to me. Ironic, huh?”

The hand now seemed to be fine, the taut muscles had all relaxed and the fingers were once again mobile, so Brian relented with his massaging, but he still kept hold of the hand. “That thing Debbie said earlier is still bugging me, you know? The part about you being like a husband and all. It pissed me off at the time but, now that I think about it, I’m afraid she’s fucking right. You’re contracted out for twenty-five fucking years, J. That’s a long ass time. Like Cyn said, it’s longer than most marriages these days. So, is that what we have now? Something like a marriage. I mean, unless I get tired of you and ship you off to somebody else, you and I are going to be together for more than twenty years . . . I mean . . . Fuck!”

Brian squeezed the hand he was holding, “It really is like a fucking marriage. Or a prison term . . .” Brian smiled down at the hand he was holding, letting the fingers of his one hand trace along the bones of the smaller hand at the same time. “Which is fucking insane, right? I can NOT imagine spending the next twenty fucking years of my life with any one person. But, even more ridiculous, I can’t imagine spending the next twenty years with somebody who refuses to talk to me.”

Brian used his one hand to squeeze the younger man’s fingers around his own. “I know you don’t know me from Adam. You have no reason to trust me and every reason to be afraid. From what I’ve gathered so far, I can tell your life has been a heaping huge pile of shit for as long as you can remember. I can’t change that,” Brian sighed, scooting his own body closer to the boy. “I’m not like that though. Fuck knows, I’m not an angel - ask most anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you I can be a total asshole. But, I won’t hurt you. At least not intentionally. And I’ll try my damnedest not to do it unintentionally either . . . Shit, I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to . . .”

Brian fell silent for several minutes. In the quiet of the evening, the only sound was the humming of the various appliances, and the only movement was Brian’s hand playing with the boy’s hand. It was a comfortable silence though. An intimate silence. The kind that Brian hadn’t really experienced very often up till now in his life. He should have been scared silly by that kind of silence. That kind of innate familiarity. But, for some baffling reason, he wasn’t.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to convince you that I’m not like those people who hurt you. I know it won’t be easy. You probably don’t even know HOW to trust people after all you’ve been through. But . . . well, I hope that you’ll at least learn to trust me enough to talk to me eventually.” Brian released the hand he’d been caressing, carefully laying it down on the boy’s thigh and then picking up his beer again, apparently done with the intimacy for the moment. “Cause, I suspect that twenty plus years of dead silence would go by really, really slowly.”

J327 flexed the hand that had been given back to him. It opened and closed without a glitch. He relaxed enough to sigh deeply. Then he reached out with the hand and used it to pick up the beer that was still waiting for him. And, for the next twenty minutes or so, the two men sat on the couch, sipping at their beers in silence and thinking their separate thoughts . . . together.

********

When Brian had had enough of the silent contemplation thing, he got up, cleaned up the dinner detritus and then popped a DVD into the media center console. Marlon Brando had always been Brian’s go to guy on those rare nights that he stayed in and didn’t want company. The boy didn’t object to his choice of movie, so it was all good. They sat and watched the pretty boys moving across the screen doing all sorts of manly things while Brian recited most of the dialog along with the actors. It was a pleasant way to waste an evening.

Before the movie was done, Brian caught the boy yawning a couple of times, his stoic demeanor dropping the closer the kid came to dropping off. For some reason, that little show of involuntary vulnerability was heartening. When the film was over, Brian locked up and then pointed to the bathroom and cooly instructed the boy to get himself ready for bed.

Brian couldn’t remember much about bedtime the night before since he’d basically just passed out drunk. He did know that the boy had joined him in his bed for the night. And, since there WAS only one bed, he assumed that’s what they’d be doing again tonight. But he realized that there might be problems with that assumption. The way the boy’s body instantly seized up at Brian’s mere mention of the word ‘bed’ was a pretty good indicator of what the kid thought was about to happen.

Fucking Bellweather and all his ilk, making the kid scared to death of even the thought of sex. Brian wished the cretin was there in front of him right that minute so he could punch the guy in the face just once. This beautiful boy shouldn’t be dreading the very concept of sex. Hell, if the world was as it should be, a boy like this would have been out on Liberty Avenue, experimenting with his sexuality, enjoying his freedom and looking to hook up with some hot stud, eager to give away his cherry and experience the joy of getting fucked for the first time. It was wrong on so many levels that a kid as gorgeous as this should be so scared of just being touched that he couldn’t even contemplate having sex without drowning in fear. Without assuming that it would be accompanied by pain. Brian hated that J327 felt that way and he vowed to somehow, someday, prove the boy wrong.

But not tonight. As of tonight, Brian still hadn’t earned enough of the boy’s trust that he could do anything about that particular fear. The best Brian could hope for was that he could prove to the boy that he wouldn’t hurt him. That he wouldn’t take what wasn’t willingly offered. And that J327 was safe with him, no matter what and no matter where.

“Listen to me, J. Are you listening?” Brian said, approaching the boy slowly and not making any alarming motions along the way. “We’re just going to go to bed and then go to sleep. I’m not going to do anything to you. I promise. As far as I’m concerned, your Certificate of Virginity will still be valid come tomorrow morning.” The boy was still standing, frozen in place, the tenseness of his pose unaffected by Brian’s words. “Shit, J. This is one of those times you’re just going to have to trust me . . . or not. But I’m not going to stand around here all night and debate the matter. And I’m not going to have you standing here leering at me all night either. We’re both going to bed because I’m tired and you’re exhausted and we need to sleep. So, this is the plan.” Brian took hold of the boy’s shoulders, ignoring the flinch at his touch, turned the boy around and marched him towards the bathroom. “First, we brush our teeth.” He handed the kid the fresh toothbrush that he’d provided him with that morning. “Then we piss,” Brian grabbed his own toothbrush, added some toothpaste and took it with him while he stood over the toilet and emptied his bladder. “And then we’re going to shower so we don’t stink up the bed. After all that, we will get in the bed, turn off the lights, go to sleep and hope that by tomorrow morning all our problems will have resolved themselves. Got it?”

Despite his hesitance, J327 did follow orders and they both made it to bed in short order. Brian plopped down on the near side of the bed, holding up the duvet on the far side in invitation for his PC. J327 minced slowly around the end of the bed, his steps getting slower and slower the closer he got, until he was standing just next to the mattress.

“Get in,” Brian directed.

J327 reluctantly sat on the edge of the mattress as far from Brian as was possible without falling off. Brian, who was tired of the day’s games, ran out of patience, grabbing the boy around the waist and physically pulling him down, before tugging the covers over them both. J laid there, his body as stiff as a board, petrified with fear. Brian snorted a mirthless laugh, leaned over and kissed the boy on the cheek and then rolled over so he was facing the bathroom door. And, even though they were both tense and it took quite a while, they each managed to fall asleep in the end.

Only to be jarred awake a few hours later by Brian’s blaring and vibrating cell phone.

“What!” Brian yelled into the receiver, uncaring who happened to be calling him at two in the morning.

“It’s happened? No fucking way! Why didn’t you call me earlier? . . . Shit! I can’t believe it . . . Okay . . . Okay, I’m on my way.” Brian hung up and hurtled out of the bed, grabbing whatever clothing he could find. “Get up, J! Come on! We’ve got to get to the hospital. I’ve just become a fucking father!”

********

Chapter 8 - PC Problems.

“You brought HIM?” Michael questioned as soon as Brian’s Jeep pulled up in front of the piece of sidewalk where he was waiting.

“Why not? It’s not like J’s got anything better to do, right?” Brian teased, smiling at the still voiceless PC. “Now shut the fuck up and get in, Mikey. I wanna go meet my Sonny Boy.”

Michael shook his head but jumped in the back and Brian zoomed away. Ten minutes later they were piling out of the vehicle, racing through the parking lot and tumbling through the front doors of Allegheny General Hospital, where they were promptly shushed by the staff. A slightly less rowdy, but still excited, trio was directed upstairs to the maternity ward. One last dash through the hallways got the three of them to the door of the room wherein Brian’s offspring was waiting.

Michael, who happened to be in the lead at the moment, pushed open the door. The room was teaming with a horde of lesbians, who reluctantly parted so that a corridor was opened from the bed to the door where Brian and his entourage were standing, allowing the newcomers a glimpse of the stud’s progeny. Two women were lying together on the large hospital bed - one disheveled blonde dressed in pajamas and one brunette in her street clothes looking very proud and protective. In the blonde’s arms was a squirming bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Brian froze in place at the sight.  

“Shit!” was all he could think of to say.

“Say hello to your son,” the blonde invited, with an elated smile.

Brian continued to just stand there, looking overwhelmed until Michael reached out and pulled him further into the room. “Well, go on.”

Brian slowly padded over to the bed, the stunned look never quite leaving his face. His blond shadow followed a few steps behind, a curious look breaking through the usual blankness on the pale visage. As they neared the group of waiting friends, J327 hung back a bit further, uncomfortable around so many strangers. He managed to find himself a corner that was out of the way and hid himself there with Michael standing in front as a sort of shield.

“Shit!” Brian pronounced again when he reached the side of the big bed, staring down at the baby with an awestruck expression.

“He looks just like you,” the blonde offered with a smile.

“Well, I guess he MUST be mine then, Lindz,” Brian rejoined proudly.

“Wanna hold him?” the mother asked, holding the baby up slightly so Brian could get his hands under the wiggling bundle.

Brian bent down, taking the small body in his two big hands, a beatific smile gracing his face as he hefted the inconsequential weight.

“Don’t drop him,” the loud brunette warned, extending her own hands as if to catch the baby.

“That’s JUST what I planned to do, Mel,” Brian shot her a look that quelled the pushy woman for a moment. “Give me some credit. I’m not a total putz.” Brian straightened up, the baby now securely settled in his grip, and examined this prize. “Hey there, Sonny Boy. How’s your first night on Earth?”

“So far, he’s being a little angel,” Lindsey replied on the baby’s behalf. “Of course, he’s only had a couple hours to figure out how to be naughty. Give him a few days and I’m sure he’ll get the hang of it.”

“Especially considering he’s got your genes,” Mel quipped snarkily, eliciting a facetious smile from Brian but no comment.

“We’ve been talking about names,” the blonde woman interjected before her friend and her wife got started on their usual insult trading games. “Mel wants to call him ‘Abraham’ after her grandfather . . .” She looked up at Brian with a pleading look in her eyes. “But I like ‘Gus’,” she added with a little nod and a wink so that Brian knew which was the right answer to give.

“More naming things?” Brian huffed a disgruntled sigh. “Why the hell does everyone want me to name things all the time these days.” He admired the tiny morsel of humanity in his hands for another minute, but then looked over at the mute blond hiding in the corner for support. “What do you think, J? You like ‘Abraham’?”

J327’s mouth scrunched up as if the name was a bit distasteful and shook his head the tiniest bit from side to side.

“I think I agree with you. He wouldn’t survive a day at school being named ‘Abraham’,” Brian interpreted the gesture for those who didn’t speak Mute PC. “What do you think about, ‘Gus’?”

The boy shrugged but added in a meager little nod.

“Yeah. You’re right. I guess ‘Gus’ would be okay,” Brian confirmed, beaming down at his son. “Gus . . . it’s a good butch name. Say hello to your daddy, Gus?” The boy gurgled up at his father agreeably for a moment or two before Brian walked over the few steps needed to hand the baby off to his new companion. “Here, J. You named him, so you should get to hold him next.”

The cautious PC took the baby into his arms with such gentleness. Brian beamed down at the beautiful pair. He rather liked seeing both of his boys together and happy. He thought the older of the pair even smiled a little while he was gazing down at the infant in his arms.

“And who the hell is this kid to decide MY son’s name?” Mel snarled with a glare directed to the blond boy in the corner. “It’s not bad enough that you brought a fucking trick with you to meet your son for the first time, but you’re going to let him name him too, Brian?”

“Well, Smelly Melly, since I knew there’d be wall-to-wall carpet munchers here, I figured I needed to bring my own entertainment,” Brian snarked back. “But, you’re wrong about J being a trick. He’s actually my new PC.”

Brian threw out that little zinger, knowing that it was bound to get a pretty big reaction. He probably hadn’t counted on the reaction he actually did get though. Or the fallout that came later.

The first reaction was a stunned silence that fell over the hospital room. That part was par for the course, and Brian wasn’t overly concerned about it.  Then came the questions and censure.

“What the hell, Brian?” Mel squawked. “You bought a PC? What happened? Did you finally make your way through every single fuckable guy in the city of Pittsburgh and have to resort to buying it? Even so, I can’t believe you would stoop that low. I mean, a PC? Really, Brian!”

“Really, Mel. But no, I didn’t have to resort to buying it. If you must know, J was sort of an accident. I didn’t exactly PLAN on buying a PC. It just sorta happened.”

“Buying a PC doesn’t just HAPPEN, you asshole . . .” Mel sounded like she was about to lay into Brian with both barrels, but then, out of the blue, the other mother interrupted.

“I’d like Gus back now, please,” Lindsey demanded, holding her arms out to Brian with a disapproving glare. Brian sighed but took the child back from J327 and brought him to his mother. “Thank you, Brian. Now, I’m feeling a bit tired, so . . . If you don’t mind, I think it’s probably time for you and your companions to leave.” Lindsey said snippily, cradling the baby in her arms and focusing all her attention on him to the exclusion of the others in the room.

“What? I just got here, Lindz. I’d like to spend a little more time getting to know my son, if you don’t mind.” Brian didn’t understand why his friend’s tone had become so icy all of the sudden, but he didn’t like it at all.

“Actually, I DO mind, Brian. I think it’s time for you to leave,” Lindsey reiterated unsympathetically, looking up at Brian with evident disdain. “If you want to spend some more time with Gus, we can arrange it for later . . . provided you don’t bring HIM along with you.”

“What the fuck, Lindsey? What the hell is your problem?” Brian growled.

“My problem, Brian, is that you were callous enough to have brought that piece of TRASH with you to see your son for the first time,” Lindsey snarled angrily. “I mean, I know you don’t care about anyone but yourself, but I didn’t think you’d stoop so low as to expose our son to that kind of thing. He’s barely a couple hours old and you’re already letting filth like THAT near him? How could you, Brian?”

“Fuck you, Lindz. You’re completely fucking out of line,” Brian hissed back at the irrational woman. “J isn’t some piece of trash. He’s just a kid. He didn’t ask to be a PC - his father’s the one who contracted him out. But even if he had been the one to do it, I think you’re totally fucking overreacting,” Brian insisted, moving away from the bed and positioning himself so that he was physically standing between Lindsey and J. “Besides, haven’t you always been APC? I wouldn’t expect someone like you to attack him like this.”

“Of course I’m APC. I HATE PCs. I think Personal Companions are absolutely abhorrent,” Lindsey spat, shooting disgusted looks at the cowering blond boy over Brian’s shoulder. “If you ask me, they’re worse than street prostitutes - at least prostitutes sometimes move beyond that life. PCs, on the other hand, have no purpose other than to act the whore. I’d be thrilled to see the practice totally banned. That doesn’t mean I want one of them near my child.” Brian was so stunned by this vindictive diatribe that he couldn’t think of anything to say. “And if you insist on associating with this kind of . . . of refuse, Brian . . . Well, then, maybe I need to rethink whether or not you should continue as a presence in Gus’ life.”

Brian huffed sharply, too overcome with fury to even form words at first. He couldn’t believe that Lindsey, of all people, was acting like this. She had always been the most liberal person he’d ever met. She was the kind of politically correct, activist lesbian that made the stereotype look tame. The Lindsey that Brian thought he knew would never attack or judge anyone for WHO they were, only for how they acted. But that Lindsey seemed MIA. The woman who’d just condemned Brian’s PC without any justification and without even knowing him was a stranger to him. A scary, prejudiced, stranger. And not someone he wanted to know anymore.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about Lindsey,” Brian finally found his voice. “You don’t know J or what he’s been through. He can’t help it that he was contracted out. He didn’t choose to be a PC. And I can’t believe that you would attack him for it without even giving us a chance to tell you his story. But, if that’s how you want it, then fine. For better or for worse, J’s going to be part of my life for the foreseeable future. And if you can’t handle that, then I guess you can’t handle me either.” Brian turned, grabbed hold of J’s hand and began walking towards the door. “Have a nice life, Lindz.” The sound of the door shutting behind him seemed to signal the finality of the moment.

Brian led J down the hall, their sedate pace quite a contrast to the happy, mad rush of their entrance. A minute later, Michael too came out of the hospital room and loped along until he caught up with them. Michael squeezed Brian’s shoulder and smiled supportively. Brian didn’t stop walking.

“Brian. Brian, wait,” Mel’s voice echoed through the sparsely furnished hallway, halting them just before they reached the elevator. “I’m sorry about that, Brian,” she said when she’d caught up to them. “I know Lindsey sounded rather harsh back there . . .”

“Harsh? I think that was a little more than harsh, Mel,” Brian growled. “It was fucking rude and nasty and you apologizing for her, isn’t going to do shit.” He turned his back on the woman, pressing the elevator call button with a misplaced vigor.

“You’re right. It was rude. And I’m not apologizing for her. But, you have to understand where she’s coming from,” Mel said placatingly. “Lindsey grew up with money. Everyone in her circle had PCs. Even her father. Which, as you can imagine, didn’t go over well with her mother. From what I understand, the PC in their household was a major source of contention and family upheaval. Lindsey’s just venting because of all the havoc she had to live through with that going on in the house when she was a child. It has nothing to do with your PC, of course, but she can’t help her bias.”

“Actually, she can, Mel,” Brian asserted. “And until she does, Lindsey won’t be seeing much of me or my ‘piece of trash’ PC.”

“Brian, please. I know she was out of line, but she’s in there crying her eyes out,” Mel explained. “Not that I care, myself, but Lindsey will be devastated if she loses your friendship over this.”

“Well, that’s up to her, now, isn’t it, Mel.” Brian wasn’t going to relent on this point. “You know, I understand that there’s a lot of prejudice out there against PCs, but I never thought any of MY friends would be among the haters marching around and spouting a bunch of bigoted nonsense. If you’re going to hate J just because he’s a PC, what’s next? Hating Mikey because he’s a Wop or me because I’m a poor Mick from the wrong side of the tracks? And how is that any different than those people who hate all of us because we’re homosexuals?” Nobody answered him, of course. “Exactly. It’s not. And when Lindsey’s figured that out, she can come and apologize to J directly. But, until then, don’t bother.”

The elevator doors opened right then, and Brian hustled himself and J aboard, not even looking in Mel’s direction while the doors slid shut.

“She’ll come around, Brian. She just needs to cool off a bit,” Michael offered.

“Maybe.” Brian still hadn’t released J’s hand, his fingers now playing with the small knuckles as the elevator carried them down.

“You’re going to have to make up with her eventually, Brian,” Michael maintained. “I mean, you have to, or you’ll never see Gus again.”

Brian took a deep breath, squeezing the hand he was holding even tighter, but remained as mute as his PC for the rest of the trip back to the loft.

********

Brian’s alarm went off far too early the next morning - or at least it felt that way. At least this time, though, he wasn’t hungover as well as tired. As per his usual routine, he rolled out of bed, plodded to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee brewing before his eyes were even completely open. While he was waiting for that, he trudged back up the stairs to the bathroom and took a nice long piss. His brain only just barely acknowledged the still slumbering lump with the mussy blond top that was just peeking out from under the duvet. Apparently his new PC was not a morning person.

By the time he made it back to the kitchen there was coffee. Instead of bothering with a cup, he just pulled the entire carafe out, dumped in most of the sugar bowl, and called it good. With this life-saving elixir in hand, he shuffled back upstairs and climbed into the warm bed again.

This was the point in his morning when Brian would start to think through what he needed to do over the course of the rest of his day. Today was a little different, however, because this was the first workday since Brian had obtained the blond-topped lump waiting next to him in his bed. Which meant that he had to worry about more than just what appointments he had scheduled for work.

So, what did one do with a PC when his or her particular services weren’t needed. From what he’d overheard at the auction the other night, big PC owners like Bellweather had whole harems of the creatures, so presumably they weren’t all ‘engaged’ at any one time. Which meant they had to be able to do something other than follow their owners around all day taking up space. For the life of him, though, Brian couldn’t think what that would be. Especially not with all those fucking regulations about what PCs couldn’t do.

Conceivably, Brian could just leave the kid here at the loft while he went off to work. J had to be able to entertain himself for that long, right? Worst case scenario, the boy could stare at the walls here, all alone, if that’s all he was allowed to do according to his damned PC training. At least then Brian wouldn’t be distracted by his staring, wondering if he should be doing something other than letting the kid stare at the walls.

But, since they hadn’t managed to brave the grocery store the day before, there still wasn’t any food in the loft. He couldn’t just leave the kid here all day without feeding him. The Starving Boys and Houseplants Protection Society - led by one Debbie Novotny - would hunt Brian down and castrate him if he did that. And, if he was going to haul the kid as far as the Diner in order to feed him, he might as well just take him with to the office afterwards. Only, what would he do with the kid once they got there?

Brian quickly came to the conclusion that he wasn’t awake enough to come up with a solution to this particular problem. He’d just have to wing it and hope for the best. He finished off the rest of his carafe of coffee, set the empty container on the side table and started to think about the next most important item of business - what he wanted to wear that day.

He’d just settled on the grey Armani pinstripe paired with a dark plum Ralph Lauren silk shirt and a matching tie, a la page, but was still waffling between two shoe options, when the warm lump of boy next to him purred in his sleep and rolled closer. Next, to Brian's amusement, the Don’t-Touch-Me Boy proceeded to wrap his entire body around Brian, his arms cinched around the older man’s waist, their legs intertwined, the blond head snugged up tight under Brian's chin and pretty much every other centimeter of skin along their frames from shoulder to toes touching in some way. This maneuver was accompanied by a happy little murmur of pleasure, which just so happened to be the loudest noise Brian had heard the kid make outside the time he'd caught The Sapp torturing him with that Enforcer device. And, to his even greater amusement, Brian found that he actually didn’t mind being used as a body pillow by the boy.

Brian Kinney had never been known to snuggle. With anyone. His parents had been at best cold and at worst abusive. He’d never had a teddy bear. His first real friend in life had been Michael Novotny, who he hadn’t met until he was in high school, and therefore well past the age of friendly snuggling. He’d assiduously avoided anything close to a relationship throughout his first twenty-nine years of life. Add to that the fact that the guys he liked to fuck most often were big. well-toned, muscle-queen types, and snuggling with one of THEM would have been like having a two hundred pound, sweaty, cum-smeared whale glomming on you. So you see why there really hadn’t been any call for Brian to snuggle prior to this exact moment in time?

Brian had never even thought to try snuggling with a sweet, little, blond twink. Generally speaking, he didn’t do twinks, blond or otherwise. But now that he’d been introduced to the experience, he found it rather enjoyable. Before he knew it, one of his arms had even wrapped itself around the twink’s back and was pulling the boy in closer. The enjoyment level was ramped up a few additional notches after he noticed that the snuggly boy came complete with a very respectable quantity of morning wood, which the twink was unconsciously pressing against Brian’s thigh. This development gave Brian all SORTS of ideas about where he could take the snuggling . . . if only the snuggly boy was agreeable.

Alas, almost as soon as Brian reached down and took the snuggly boy’s luscious big boner into his hand, the snuggliness of the morning evaporated and Don’t-Touch-Me boy was back.

J327 awoke with a start. He instantly realized where he was and also where Brian’s hand was. In less than a heartbeat, that perfect pecker completely deflated and the PC morphed into a paralyzed ball of panic.

So much for the snuggling, Brian thought with a momentary whiff of regret.

“Morning, J,” Brian said as he slowly and deliberately moved his hand away from the boy’s crotch, noting the way the tense body next to him relaxed incrementally. “You about ready to get moving? I need to get you fed again and then head to the office for another day of advertising fun. And - lucky you - you get to come with.” Even though he wasn't expecting a verbal answer, Brian thought the boy would start to get up, move around or something, but he just stayed where he was, still acting scared. “Hey . . . It's okay, you know. I promised I wouldn't do anything you weren't ready for.” Still no reaction at all. “Fine,” Brian added, twisting his neck to leave a kiss on the top of the blond head before disentangling the arms from around his waist. “You take a minute or two to pull yourself together and then come join me in the shower.”

Brian, who was still affected himself by the morning’s experiences, took himself and his own boner off to the shower, giving the kid a bit of privacy. He didn't see any reason to waste a perfectly good erection though, so as soon as he was in the shower, he soaped up his good right hand and went to work. Fueled by visions of snugly warm blond boy, he was already halfway there when the shower door clicked open and his vision appeared in the flesh - a little disconcerted by what he found hidden in the steamy shower, of course. Brian only had enough presence of mind left to order J327 to come in and close the door so all the nice warm steam wouldn't escape, before he returned his focus to stroking himself. The shocked and confused PC just stood there and watched until, not more than a couple minutes later, Brian moaned out a tortured ‘fuck, yeah’ and shot his morning load all over the shower wall.  

“Ahhh! That's MUCH better,” Brian sighed, refreshed for the moment. He picked up the bar of soap, quickly cleaned himself off and then handed it off to his silent shower mate. “Hurry up, J. We've got places to go and people to do. You don't have time to stand around ogling my gorgeous cock all morning, even though I know it's probably tempting.”

Brian chuckled at the slight flush of pink that colored the kid’s cheeks before the blond head dropped further and he could no longer see the embarrassed expression. Teasing his bashful PC was almost as enjoyable as the snuggling had been, Brian decided. If this was indicative of how mornings were going to be from then on, it might not be too bad. Even Brian, who'd never contemplated living with another man before, could probably handle it as long as his mornings were this amusing.

********

Chapter 9 - PC in Advertising.

Cynthia met Brian in his office wearing a huge shit-eating grin and plopped a largish stack of papers down on his desk. “We got him, Bri! Lapointe’s office couriered this over first thing this morning. NOT that I'm happy we’re working for a PPC scumbag like Lapointe, mind you, but at least his money will be going to a good cause.” Cynthia beamed at Brian and J327. “Morning, J. Glad you decided to come with Brian again today.”

“Yep. J’s thrilled with his new career in advertising,” Brian snickered at Cyn's skeptical expression. “You can't tell? See that hidden smile? Under that taciturn exterior, J’s doing virtual cartwheels and jumping up and down with enthusiasm. He's just really good at controlling it.”

“Whatever you say, Boss.” Cynthia smiled indulgently at her friend’s flight of fantasy while she began to scroll through her tablet computer, going over the day’s agenda. “You've got a pretty light morning . . . Two conference calls but nothing big. Then there's the two pm meeting with Bronian - by the way, I loved that turquoise font you picked. That was genius. Whatever made you go with turquoise? It's such an unusual shade.”

“It was just a whim . . .” Brian replied with a wink in J’s direction.

“Well, then you should definitely go with the whimsy more often!” Cynthia asserted.

“I plan to. But first you need to bring me some more clients to win and impress with my whimsy,” Brian directed. “The PC Clearinghouse account bonus will go a long way to help pay for J’s contract, but it's not enough. I could use at least three more just like that. As soon as we can get ‘em too. What other leads have you got for me?”

They spent the next hour going through a list of prospects. Cynthia had one lead she'd been cultivating from an outside source that was probably ready to go. But other than that, the only relatively sure things were the contacts Brian had made on Saturday at the PC auction. He groaned, thinking how distasteful it would be working with most of those cretins. He'd do it if he had to though. He knew he could sell pretty much anything and he'd worked with clients he couldn't stand before. This would be no different. And at least this time it was for a worthy cause.

Said cause had seated himself in the same spot at the far end of the couch as soon as they'd entered and listened passively to everything that transpired in his usual non-communicative way. As soon as Cynthia left with her action list in hand, Brian gathered up the Sailing Sportwear materials that had been languishing on the far end of his credenza for the past two weeks and took the lot of it over to the coffee table. After spreading it all out, Brian also brought over a legal pad, some pens and pencils and the all-important color swatch set.

“Here’s the deal, J,” Brian started off once everything was set up. “I don’t believe Sapperstein’s bullshit that you’re ‘a little slow’. If anyone’s slow, it’s that loser. In fact, I’d bet just about anything I have that, somewhere in there, is a right little genius, just biding his time. And I’ve decided to put that genius to work to help me pay off your contract. See, it’s a win-win situation - you help me, I make more money, we use it to pay off your contract so you don’t have to go join Bellweather’s harem, and everybody lives happily ever after. All you have to do is use that color magic thing you did yesterday.”

Brian sat down next to the boy and pointed to the boards and other promotional materials in front of them. “This is an old account that’s up for renewal. It’s not going to make me big bucks like the PC Clearinghouse account, but every little bit will help, right? However, I’ve been stuck on this for weeks. Zero inspiration. I just couldn’t be bothered to come up with yet another ad to sell exercise equipment and yoga pants to a bunch of overprivileged housewives. I figure maybe you’ll do better. You couldn’t possibly do worse.” Brian chuckled at himself but plowed on with the instructions. “Everything you need is in these files. There’s demographic info, statistics, sales reports . . . basically everything. And I don’t expect you to understand it all, but I thought I’d let you look through it if you wanted. What I really want from you, though, is for you to go through this huge stack of photos and other marketing shit and pull out anything you think will actually look good in a marketing campaign. Then, do your color thing. We’ll need fonts, mat colors, even color wash ideas for the photos if you think it’s necessary. Whatever strikes your fancy.”

Brian sat back and surveyed the ridiculously huge project laid out in front of the kid. He didn’t know what he would see at the end of the day. He really didn’t have any concrete expectations. If nothing came of it, and the kid just sat there again all day, so be it. But, if he was right about this boy, he might get something extraordinary out of this little experiment. Nothing would convince him that J was ‘a little slow’. He had always been an excellent judge of character - it’s what made him such a good AdMan - and he had seen that spark of intelligence in J327’s eyes from the very first moment they’d connected. He just had to figure out how to tap into it. He suspected that, with this project, he was going to come close.

And at least he wouldn’t feel guilty that the boy was sitting around bored out of his mind all day.

So, leaving the boy sitting in front of his piles of work, Brian retreated to his desk and his own piles of work. As always, he had mountains of paperwork to plow through. He also had to prep for the Bronian Graphics presentation. In between those chores, he had to fill out a ridiculous number of forms for HR about his new PC - who knew that there was so much paperwork involved in owning another human being?

He tried to keep himself from looking over in J’s direction throughout the morning. Of course he failed. Repeatedly. But each glance was more and more heartening. J seemed to be pouring over the files, making copious notes on the legal pad and even drawing something on some blank sheets of paper he’d scrounged out of Brian’s printer. It was the first true initiative Brian had seen from the boy and he was thrilled with the development. And even if the kid’s only motivation was to stay out of Bellweather’s clutches, it was a definite step in the right direction as far as Brian was concerned.

A little after noon, Brian looked up once again and found J327 relaxed against the back of the couch, once again inert and staring off into nothing. Brian lowered his brows in concern, wondering if maybe he’d asked too much and the kid had just given up. He was about to get up and go investigate, when Cynthia came bustling into the office, her arms laden with a paperboard drink caddy tray and a bag full of something smelling like lunch.

“Time to water the houseplant, Boss.”

“Back off, Cyn. I’ve had him two days now and haven’t forgotten to feed him yet,” Brian groused.

“Two whole days. Wow! That’s got to be a record for you, Brian. Keep this up and I might even rethink my decision against that Ficus plant I was going to get you last Christmas,” Cynthia teased as she set up the lunch fixings on the conference table in the corner.

Brian just happened to be looking in the right direction at the moment Cynthia mentioned her threatened Christmas present and saw the smile that graced the perfect bow lips of the reticent PC. Damn it. That smile just made Brian want to find other ways to see it again. He suspected that the boy was probably the biggest tease ever seen in the Gayborhood. He definitely had that aloof, Man Of Mystery thing down pat. But Brian knew he was already wearing the boy down. Give him a few more weeks and J would be putty in his capable hands. Or maybe it would be the other way around? Either way, somebody would end up being putty. He was sure of that.

Cynthia was talked into joining them for lunch, so at least Brian had some conversation to go with his food. J327 ate in silence, but seemed happy with his BLT from the deli down the street and finished the whole thing before Brian had even got through half of his own sandwich. He casually passed over the bag of chips he would never eat to the boy, who wolfed that bag down too. See, Brian thought, he was good at the feeding of the twink thing. People were just way too judgmental.

As she was cleaning up the mess after they’d finished their meal, Cynthia came across the work J327 had done displayed on the coffee table. She was so surprised that she actually dropped the bag of sandwich detritus, letting the trash tumble out all over the carpet. It didn’t matter, though, because the ad layout that she found all put together for her on the table was so beautiful and compelling that it took her breath away.

“When did you have time to do THIS, Brian?” Cynthia asked, picking up the sheet of copier paper covered in drawings, notes and photos taped to the page. “This is brilliant. I love the tag line you came up with - It’s hilarious. It’s so whimsical and light-hearted and fun. And everyone our age will get it. Yogi Bear wearing yoga pants. Hahaha! You’re amazing, Brian!”

Brian picked up another sheet of paper, this one with Bugs Bunny on it. And a third with the Power Puff girls. All showing classic cartoon characters doing yoga, aerobics, spinning classes, tai chi . . . and all with amazingly accurate drawings paired with the photos from the client’s stock and full notes about everything from colors to fonts and matting. It was more than Brian had asked for. It was also, as Cynthia had already pointed out, utterly brilliant.

“Shit! How difficult will it be to get licensing rights to all these characters, Cyn?” Brian asked the first question that popped into his head.

“I think it can be done. It might be a bit pricier than Sailing was planning on though. But, if he’s willing to foot the bill, this campaign will end up being a huge money maker for him,” Cynthia voiced the opinion that they were both thinking. “The demographics are perfect for this. This targets exactly the right age group - the sub-boomer generation that is just passing their prime, has lots of disposable income and wants to get more exercise. It’s spot on.”

“I agree, Cyn. It’s perfect. We just need to make sure we can get permission to use the characters . . . and find out if there are any limitations on using artwork and ideas generated by a PC to advance his owner’s advertising career.”

“J327 did all this?” Cynthia stared in amazement at the boy who was once again pretending to be as dense as a hunk of granite.

“None other. But can I use it? There’s no stupid regulations about him not being able to work with me in my job are there. I mean, I don’t actually have an ownership interest in VanGuard. And you were the one telling me all that crap the other day about PCs not being allowed to be employed outside the home. So, what’s the deal about using all this? Can we? And can we give him the credit? Because I don’t want to just take his ideas and pass them off as my own. Not unless there’s no other way to use this stuff. Because I DO want to use it.” Brian was again flipping through the drawings the boy had done, floored by the excellent results of his iffy experiment, but still unsure how to work this PC thing.

“I have no idea, Brian. But I’ll find out for you. And, in the meantime, I’ll get the Art Dept started on these - without telling them who did the work.” Cynthia gathered everything together, shot J327 an appreciative smile and then trotted out with her Louboutin heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she went.

“Come here, J.” Brian ordered as soon as she was gone and the door had closed behind her.

The boy got hesitantly to his feet, shuffling slowly towards Brian and coming to a halt a foot or so from his owner. The boy was exhibiting his typically passive behavior - hands at his sides, head bowed, eyes downcast. Brian wouldn’t let him hide behind that ingrained submissiveness though. He tilted the boy’s head up, looked right into the amazing gemstone blue eyes and then bent down to kiss the surprised cotton candy-pink lips.

“Thank you, J. You did an amazing job on that project. It’s wonderful. And, provided we can get the client to sign off on it, it’s going to make us all a lot of money. You did everything I asked of you and more. I’m incredibly impressed.” The boy’s expression didn’t change even an iota at Brian’s words, but he thought that, maybe, the sparkle in the pretty blue eyes might have brightened just a tiny bit. “Okay, so, you’re going to have to prepare yourself, J. Because I’m going to hug you now. And you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

That warning given, Brian encircled the smaller body in his long arms, folding the boy into his embrace and pulling him tightly against his chest. There was a long moment of tenseness at first, but gradually the reticent stiffness subsided until the little body relaxed. Brian smiled into the mop of short cropped blond hair. He felt his own body relax in response - he hadn't realized until just now how tense he too had been since Saturday. It felt really good, though, to finally hold the kid, getting off for just a minute from the rollercoaster of confusion that had been driving them both for the past couple of days. As long as they kept working as a team, maybe they'd figure this thing out after all. They just had to stick together, cause together, they fit. They meshed. They supported each other and could stand as one.

And for that moment, it felt like everything would all work out fine.

********

Brian returned to his office after the Bronian Graphics presentation pumped with success. Not only had the client loved his concept and the slogan he’d come up with, but their Marketing Director - a savvy forty-something woman with years of experience - had also loved the artwork. She specifically commented on the turquoise font, praising Brian for making such an unusual and bold choice. In large part because of her recommendation, the client signed off on the campaign without a single change. Brian included the bonus money he’d just earned from this in his mental tally of what he needed to gather for J327’s contract. He was happy to think about how quickly the gap between what he had and what he needed was dropping.

Back in his office, things were quiet. Even more quiet than Brian had expected. He’d left the silent PC sitting there on the couch while he’d been in his meeting, not knowing what else to do with the boy. When he got into the office, Brian immediately looked over and saw the little blond just where expected, only now the younger man was curled up in a ball and sound asleep.

Shit, he looked young! The kid’s body wound in on itself as if he was trying to make himself look even smaller than he was. Creating a smaller target perhaps? Even his head was pulled down towards his chest in a guarded manner. Brian had to wonder if this kid had just fallen asleep out of boredom or if he was working off a significant sleep deficit. He didn’t know what J327’s life had been like back at Handler Sapperstein’s training facility, but he imagined it hadn’t been a safe or restful place. It was good that the boy was able to relax enough now that he could catch up on his sleep.

Brian slipped his suit jacket off and approached the couch, intending on dropping it over the kid’s shoulders in lieu of a blanket. As he neared, Brian noted that the lad had his right arm pulled in tightly to his gut, with the left arm cradling it protectively. Brian had seen that stance the night before and knew what it meant. He didn’t know what caused the hand to cramp and tremble, and wondered if it happened frequently or if there was something in the past couple of days that had triggered it. Either way, there had to be something that could be done about it - some medication or treatment of some kind. Brian really did need to get the boy’s medical records and look into this.

Brian grabbed the bottle of Tylenol he kept in his desk drawer as part of his standard hangover treatment kit and brought it with him back to the couch. Sitting next to the slumbering boy, he gently grabbed him by the shoulder. The touch alone must have startled the boy awake though, as his eyes popped open and he sat bolt upright, even while he was still blinking and trying to focus on his surroundings.

“It’s just me, J. You can go back to sleep in a minute if you like. I just wanted to give you some pain pills for your arm. I can tell it must be hurting you again. You were holding it in your sleep,” Brian explained, trying to soothe the spooked PC. “Here. This should help.” Brian took the kid’s good left hand in his own and shook out two tablets from the familiar red-labelled plastic bottle into the open palm. “Go on. Take ‘em,” he directed when the boy still hesitated.

Instead of the instant compliance he expected, however, Brian was surprised to see the kid turn his head away, his mouth clamped tightly shut, and the hand still holding the pain relievers being thrust back towards Brian. Which made no sense at all. The boy was obviously in pain, so why wouldn't he want the meds that would help him? And stranger yet, why was J refusing a direct order? Despite Brian's suspicions that the boy had a deep-seated but carefully hidden rebellious streak, the kid had never yet dared to openly go against a direct order. Considering what Brian had seen of The Sapp’s training techniques, he imagined the consequences for such misbehavior would have been dire. Making these actions even more incomprehensible.

“What’s going on, J? Why won’t you take the meds? They should help with the pain in your hand, so just take them,” Brian tried again, pushing the hand with the two little pills back towards the boy.

J327 shook his head no, turning away even further, his face scrunched up and his body hunched over as if he expected to be hit at any moment for his unpardonable insubordination. Yet he was still unwilling to take the pills. When Brian released his grip on the boy’s left hand, the pills tumbled to the carpet.

“I don’t understand, J. Tell me what’s wrong. Why won’t you take the Tylenol?” Brian asked, genuinely confused and wondering if he’d done something to precipitate this response. “Just tell me why you won’t take the pills, J.”

Still cowering fearfully, J327 managed to reach out with his undamaged hand and grab the Tylenol bottle off the coffee table. With only a quick glance or two at the object, J turned the bottle around until the section of the label detailing all the FDA mandated warnings was visible to Brian. The still puzzled man took the bottle in his own hand and scanned the label, paying special attention to the section that J had seemed to want to show him.

At first nothing stood out. Then, Brian’s eyes landed on the ‘Warnings’ section that started about a third of the way down the bottle. He read through the standard warnings about the dosage and how excessive amounts might potentially cause liver damage, but didn’t think that was causing J’s reaction. Next, however, came the section entitled ‘Do Not Use:’ . . . followed by, ‘If you have ever had an allergic reaction to this product or any of it’s ingredients.’

“Shit! You’re allergic to Tylenol?” Brian asked and received a miniscule nod.”That’s crazy. Nobody’s allergic to Tylenol. That’s what they give you when you’re allergic to everything else . . .” Brian saw another nod. “Which means you probably ARE allergic to everything else. And I almost forced you to take some. Fuck!”

Brian tossed the pill bottle back onto the coffee table, not caring at all that it tipped over and half the contents spilled out. He let out a breath, sank back against the couch cushions and ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t believe what a close call they’d just had. He really had been going to insist that the kid take the medicine. Thankfully, he’d stopped and listened to his gut telling him that something was wrong. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened.

“You know, this would be a LOT easier if you’d just talk to me, you little twat,” Brian complained, shaking his head at the boy still cowering against the arm of the couch as if he expected to be punished at any moment. “Come here, J. Give me your other hand,” Brian insisted, then, when J was still slow to comply, reaching around the boy and grabbing the affected limb without compunction. “I’m not going to hurt you, brat. I’m not angry. I’m just freaking out a little about how I could have fucking killed you with a couple of damn Tylenol just because you won’t talk to me. But I’ll get over it.”

Brian started massaging the boy’s hand which was bent into a painful-looking claw again, not relenting even when the kid flinched at his touch. “Shit. This is bad. It’s even worse than when I saw it last night.” He pressed at the knots of contorted muscles, noting that the tension went halfway up to the kid’s elbow this time. “I wish I knew what caused this. Does it happen all the time? Or . . . maybe you overworked it with all that drawing you did for me this morning? I didn’t even think about it at the time, but that might have made this worse. Damn!”

Brian kept working at the rigid muscles and straining tendons until the tension gradually dissipated. At the same time, the stiffness in the rest of the boy’s body also eased up. Before long, J327 was leaning into Brian’s side, his head resting against the big, solid shoulder, while he succumbed to the solace being offered.

Brian suspected the kid was just about to fall back to sleep when the door to his office opened - without a preceding knock - and his blowhard boss, Gardner Vance blustered in.

“When the hell were you going to tell me about the PC Clearinghouse contract, Kinney?” Vance demanded, assuming an aggressive stance with legs spread and arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at the pair still seated on the couch.

“Good afternoon to you too, Gardner. I’m doing just great. Thanks for asking,” Brian replied sarcastically, not pausing in his massage even though Vance’s angry appearance had caused J327 to shrink back further into his corner again.

“Fuck the pleasantries, Brian. You work for me. I don’t have to be nice. Just answer me. When the hell were you planning on telling me about all this,” he waved at the boy sitting next to his employee as an example. “I just got off the phone with Walter Lapointe and had to fucking pretend the whole time I knew what the hell he was talking about. It was NOT fun for me. Now, I want a full report and an explanation about what the hell you think you’re doing buying a fucking PC!”

Brian finally released J327’s hand and got up from his seat on the couch. He calmly walked around the desk and assumed his place in the office chair. Then, before speaking, he took out the PC Clearinghouse contract and let it fall with a thud to the desktop.

“You told me to go sign Lapointe up, Gardner. So I did. What else do you need to know?” Brian asked, as succinctly and unrepentantly as always.

“Great! But what the fuck is all this other shit he was spouting about? He was fucking raving about how impressed he was that you were willing to embrace his account so much you bought a damn PC? What the hell were you thinking, Kinney. That’s nuts. I don’t pay you enough to do that kind of shit. And if I do, then I’m obviously paying you too much.” Gardner let himself collapse into the guest chair in front of Brian’s desk.

“Why would it matter to you that I bought a PC? I had my reasons,” Brian answered, not about to give any further explanation to his asshole boss. “And, since it got us the fucking account, why the hell are you complaining?”

“Because, you moron, now Lapointe’s all head over heels in love with you and demanding that I make you partner and shit!” Vance admitted with a grimace. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. I’m not planning to reward unmitigated stupidity with a promotion. I happen to know for a fact that there’s no way in hell you can actually pay the bid price Lapointe told me you offered. And how’s it going to look to our brand new client when you renege on your offer and the sale falls through? He’ll think you did all this just to win the account and that you never planned to follow through at all. The agency will look ridiculous and we’ll not only lose that account but he could take others with him if he makes a big enough stink about it. This is the stupidest move I’ve ever heard of, Kinney!”

“Fuck you, Vance. That’s NOT why I bought the kid,” Brian insisted. “And I don’t plan to renege on my bid. I’ll find the money.”

“You damn well better or you’ll not only be out one Personal Companion, you’ll be out of a job, too!” Vance stood up and moved towards the door.

“As long as you pay me the bonus you agreed to for signing up Lapointe, it shouldn’t be a problem, Vance,” Brian reminded his boss before the man could make good his escape.

“You’ll get your fucking bonus as soon as the Clearinghouse money gets here. But, from what I heard, that won’t be nearly enough to save your ass. So you better get back to fucking work,” Vance ordered from his position in the doorway. “Oh, and leave the boy toy at home from now on. This is a fucking office, not a brothel. Your new PC doesn’t need to be here distracting you from working. You can cuddle together on the couch on your own time.”

Brian barely held off till the door was closed before he threw the stapler at the spot where Vance had been standing just a few seconds earlier. Luckily that was all he threw, since Cynthia poked her head around the corner ten seconds later and would have been beaned by any subsequent missiles. Seeing that the coast was clear, though, she let herself in.

“I heard . . .” was all she had to say. “Fucking Vance. He really does need a hobby other than being the biggest asshole on two feet.” Brian just carried on, silently fuming, and didn’t answer her. “Anyway . . . At least I come with information that might help get him off your back, Boss.” She laid a file folder in front of him. “I got you an appointment with one of the two bigwigs from the VIP table that you wanted me to approach. You have a meeting with Simon Craswell next Thursday. He’s some kind of publishing mogul but he also recently bought a small but prestigious art gallery here in Pittsburgh. His secretary said he’d been shopping for an advertising firm for two months and hadn’t yet found anyone he liked. As soon as I told her where you met Simon, she was thrilled. She seemed to think you’d be the perfect person for their marketing work.”

“Peachy . . . yet another troll with too much money who thinks buying and selling human beings is a fun hobby. Can’t wait to spend time with him,” Brian grumbled, but reached for the file nonetheless. “Someday, Cynthia, I’m going to have my own fucking agency, and once I do, I’m NEVER going to take on these kinds of accounts. I know it’s the advertising business, and we’re in it to sell unwanted shit to unsuspecting consumers . . . but even I have a few fucking morals and I HATE this kind of shit.”

“Well, when that day comes, just make sure you take me with you, Boss,” Cynthia offered as supportively as she could. “But, in the meantime, let’s just concentrate on making you enough money to pay off J’s contract. And I’m afraid that the best way to do that, is to put on your Kinney charm and win this guy over.”   

Brian flipped through the contents of the file for a couple minutes, sighed and then pushed the whole thing away from him. “Fine. We’ll work on this tomorrow. At least this business isn’t directly related to the PC trade. I should be able to sell art to rich snobs without any weighty ethical concerns.” Brian looked over at the ‘boy toy’ waiting meekly on his couch. “I was hoping to have J help out on all these new accounts though. He might as well, since the money is going towards paying for his ass. But now with Gardner telling me to keep him home . . .”

“So? I don’t see why J couldn’t do the work from your place just as easily as he can here. You just take the stuff home to him at night. If you need to send him stuff during the day, we can just fax it or email. Worst case, I have to run stuff back and forth from here to there. It’s doable,” Cynthia shrugged unconcerned about the extra effort. “Plus, that resolves some of the legal issues you told me to research,” she added. “I talked to some of my APC contacts about the situation. They told me that you shouldn’t have any problems using J’s work but that giving him credit wouldn’t be advisable. Since he isn’t allowed to work outside your home, technically, it might be a problem to have him doing work here at VanGuard. But, if he’s doing the work for you AT HOME, and you’re just using it as part of your own work product, there shouldn’t be any worries. Since you own him - or at least his contract - everything he produces is legally yours anyway. I know you would prefer to give him credit for his own work, but that’s just not going to happen with a PC. Besides, your clients would probably just automatically discount anything you showed them if they knew it was done by a PC.”

“What-the-fuck-ever,” Brian sounded disgusted but resigned to the reality of the situation. “You’ll have to train him on the computer at the loft and make sure he’s good with the fax and email and stuff - I’m pretty sure none of that was part of his PC training experience.” Brian smiled over at the kid, whose body language gave away the fact that he was getting a little bit overwhelmed by all the plans being made for him. “Oh, and you need to hurry up and get me his records asap. Especially any medical records. Make it your top priority. I found out today he’s allergic to Tylenol, and probably a bunch of other medications as well. I want to have a complete list of all of them, asap. And we also need to get him in to the doctor - there’s something wrong with his hand and I think all that drawing he did this morning made it worse. If we’re going to have him working on our accounts with us, he needs to be able to do it without his hand cramping up in pain on a daily basis. Since you tell me we need a doctor exam for the insurance shit anyway, we should be able to just do it all at once, but I want it scheduled by the end of the week if possible.”

“Got it, Boss. Let me get on that records thing right now,” Cynthia finished jotting down the list of new tasks and then hustled out.

“Okay, J. If you’re going to be my secret, in-home, art department, we’re going to need to deal with the home feeding situation.” Brian turned to his computer and logged onto the internet. “Come here, J,” Brian summoned the kid, forcing him to perch on his knee so they were both able to look at the computer at the same time. “Let’s go grocery shopping . . . without the crowds this time. Now, just point out anything you want and we’ll have it delivered. See . . . fear of crowds, no problem.”

It took a little prodding, but eventually J327 got up enough courage so that he would point to things on the computer screen. Together they managed to order enough to keep even a hungry twink alive for a week or so. Brian was feeling rather proud of himself - all those naysayers could go fuck themselves, since he was doing just fine keeping the boy fed.

Brian could SO keep a houseplant - or maybe even a seventeen-year-old boy - alive and fed indefinitely.

********

Chapter 10 - Casserole Chats.

When Brian and J327 arrived back at the loft that night, they met Debbie Novotny on the front walk. She was carrying a large shopping bag in one hand and had a quilted casserole carrier in the other. Brian groaned. He dreaded Debbie's casserole visits.

“I swear, Deb, I HAVE been feeding him. You don't need to come over here and threaten me with a casserole,” Brian held up both hands in a pleading gesture, hoping against hope that it would ward off the visitation.

“Shut the fuck up and let us in, Asshole. It's colder than a witch’s tit out here. I don't want this,” she lifted the casserole dish higher so all could see, “to get cold. Tuna noodle casserole tastes much better when it's hot.”

“Shit, Deb. You know how much I hate it when you come over here with that crap,” Brian complained, unlocking the door and ushering both the boy and the beldame inside.

“You do not hate it! Tuna noodle is your favorite!” Debbie insisted adamantly.

“No, it's not. And even if it was, I wouldn't want to see it, because that particular dish means you're going to come into my loft, make yourself at home, demand that I get you stoned, and then force me to have a deep, meaningful conversation . . . Which is why I hate your fucking casseroles.”

Brian followed Deb into the elevator even as he protested the pending tuna noodle onslaught. He knew it was already too late for him. He was doomed to an evening of carb and emotional overload. He fucking hated that damned casserole dish. It was always a bad omen.

After they piled out of the elevator, and Brian had unlocked the door to the loft, Debbie marched in and started to organize things without further invitation. Brian watched her go at it, frowning all the time. J327 walked past his owner, eyeing him sideways as he shuffled over to the corner of the couch where he'd become accustomed to sitting.

“Do not laugh, J,” Brian griped as the kid passed him. “You'll see how NOT funny it is after you've been forced to help eat a metric fuck ton of gooey, cheesey tuna and noodles.” J’s expression didn't change, but Brian was sure the kid was laughing inside.

“Okay. Let's get this party started,” Deb said as she sat the casserole dish down on the coffee table and began distributing forks to everyone. “You know, I don't have all day, Brian. Where's the pot already?”

Brian resignedly brought over his stash box and flipped open the lid. Debbie eyed the assortment of pre-rolled doobies with glee and then chose a nice fat one for herself. Brian just shook his head and offered the woman a light. There was no use fighting it. When Debbie Novotny wanted to have a tuna noodle casserole chat with you, you just had to grin and bear it. As soon as Deb’s joint was lit, Brian helped himself to his own, taking a hit and then wordlessly passing it over to J. The PC hesitated briefly but then accepted and took a very small hit himself. Before long they were all three sitting cross legged on the floor and congenially digging into the large casserole together, wearing identical ear-to-ear grins and, in Brian and Debbie's cases, giggling every so often.

But, when Deb set aside both her fork and her joint, Brian knew it was showtime. He sighed, tossed his own fork down and mentally prepared himself to be castigated. Deb surprised him though.

“I didn't come by to break your balls, Kiddo,” she offered as an opening. “I hate the idea that all your hard earned money is going into the pockets of those monsters that run the PC trade, but the boys explained to me why you did it. You're doing a really good thing, saving J from that life, and I'm proud of you, Brian. Really proud.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Brian responded dismissively. “But I didn't do it for you. I don't give a fuck if anyone agrees with me or if they're proud of me. I didn't even really do it for him,” Brian jerked his thumb towards the boy sitting patiently next to him. “I did it for me. I did it because I hate people like that Bellweather guy and all his henchmen. Because I don't want them winning. I don't want them being in control of MY world.”

Debbie scrutinized the man she'd known for almost half his life and, although she didn't totally buy his self-deprecating stance, she decided to let it rest. She knew Brian and also knew how Brian would always deflect any praise. It was just the way Brian was. It didn't change the facts. And she respected him more after what he'd done for this one unfortunate PC boy than she ever had before. He wouldn't let her demonstrate that, though.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, Kiddo,” Debbie replied, reaching over to muss the big guy’s hair like he was just a kid. “I'm still fucking proud of you. And I intend to back you up any way I can. Including talking to Lindsey for you,” Debbie startled him with that statement, causing Brian to look up, intending to interrupt . . . Although that was virtually impossible where Debbie was concerned. “Michael told me how she acted last night, and I have to say I'm pretty fucking disappointed in that girl. There's no justification for that kind of prejudice. I don't care what her philandering father did or what her stick-up-the-ass mother told her - none of that has anything to do with J here,” Deb beamed affectionately at the bashful blond boy. “I intend to give that girl a serious talking to as soon as I see her, Brian. It's just ridiculous that she would try and prevent you from seeing your son because of this poor kid. But, like anyone suffering from that kind of prejudice, she just needs educating. I'm sure that, as soon as she gets to know our J, she’ll realize how full of shit she was.”

“I don't know, Deb. Lindsey didn't seem like she was going to be changing her tune anytime soon.” Brian took another hit off the last joint, killing it in the process, then tossing the remains into the nearby ashtray. “You can't educate people who don't want to learn,” Brian added philosophically. “But it doesn't matter. Lindsey's opinion isn't going to change a thing. I'm not going to back out of my deal with J no matter what Lindsey and Mel do about Gus. Fuck Lindsey. Fuck Bellweather. And fuck Gardner Vance, too. It doesn't matter if they look down on me because I bought J’s contract, or don't like him just because he's a PC. Their uninformed, narrow-minded opinions mean nothing. I say, fuck ‘em all!” Brian reached over and slid his arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him off balance enough so that J toppled over and lay in Brian's lap, looking up at the playful yet earnest face above him. “It's just me and J against the world now, right? Everyone who doesn't like it, can go fuck themselves. We'll be just fine without ‘em.”

“Well, you might not care what the girls do, but I care. I'm not going to let them keep you out of your son’s life for this. Not when Lindsey doesn't even know the whole story,” Debbie insisted, leveraging herself up awkwardly off the floor, and nodding at the pair of boys with certainty. “Don't you worry about it, Kiddo. Just leave her to me.”

Brian chuckled at his surrogate mother’s determination. If anyone could talk someone out of their innate prejudices, it was this woman. And if Debbie couldn't talk you out of them, she'd just wear you down until you gave up from sheer exhaustion. More power to her, Brian thought. If it worked, and Deb was able to placate the girls enough so that he'd get to see the baby, great. He'd been a little amazed at how connected he'd felt towards the little tyke even in just those few minutes he'd been allowed to hold him. Brian hadn't really planned to be involved in the child's life - he'd thought that his part would be over as soon as he jerked off in that cup. But between then and now, something had changed. Well, actually, a fucking LOT had changed - mostly just in the last few days. But, for whatever reason, Brian now thought it wouldn't be a bad thing to maybe get to know his son, at least a little. So maybe it was a good thing that Deb wanted to take this on.

“Well, that's about enough for me, boys,” Debbie announced as she gathered up her purse and coat. “That weed of yours is so mellow I think I need to go home and take a fucking nap,” the jovial dame added with a chortle, then seemed to remember something and turned back to the living room area. “Before I forget, though,” she pulled a well-thumbed magazine over off the stack Brian kept on the end table and fished a pen out of her voluminous purse, “this is my phone number, J.” She scribbled the digits down on the top right corner of the magazine’s cover and shoved it over in J327’s direction, prompting the boy to sit up and look at it more closely. “If you ever need anything, Honey, and Brian isn't around, you just gimme a ring. You don't even need to talk. If I get a call and there's nobody speaking on the other end of the line, I'll know it's you and just come running. Okay?”

J327 darted a glance sideways towards Brian, as if seeking permission for him to accept this offering. Brian smiled and nodded, saying nothing though, so as to give the younger man the option to do with the number whatever he wanted. J looked back up at Debbie, pulled the magazine towards himself, and nodded. Deb seemed satisfied.

“Good boy,” she praised as she started sliding her jacket on. “By the way, Brian, you really DO have to get around to picking a name for J here. We can’t just go around calling him ‘boy’ all the time. It makes me feel like I'm talking to a fucking cocker spaniel or something.”

“I'm working on it, Deb,” Brian assured, getting up to walk her to the door. “I'd like to be able to call him something other than ‘J’ myself. But, until I can either figure out what his real name was before he was contracted out, or I'm struck with inspiration as to a new name, we’re going to just have to make do. Or maybe, if it starts to bother him too much, he’ll relent and tell me what he wants to be called himself?” Brian suggested with a wink in J327’s direction.

“You boys be good,” Deb ordered, leaving them with an admonitory index finger pointing ominously at Brian's chest.

“And that's Debbie Novotny for you, J,” Brian explained as he tugged the loft door closed behind her and started to clean up the mess from their pot-fueled pig-out. “The surrogate mother of every gay boy on Liberty Avenue and our sometimes conscience. Just a word to the wise, though, try not to get on her bad side. You wouldn't like her when she's really angry. She may look like a sweet Mother Hen type, but she can get pretty nasty if you cross her. Plus, when she's mad at you, she won't feed you.”

J327 continued to just sit there on the floor next to the coffee table. Brian ruffled the blond hair as he passed by - pot tended to make him demonstrably affectionate, so what the hell - but the kid didn't look up. He seemed to be staring at the magazine Debbie had written her number on and thinking about something. Brian continued to putter about, tidying things, putting away the leftover casserole, and washing dishes. A couple of times, he caught J surreptitiously watching him out of the corner of his eye, following Brian's movements with an intense scrutiny, as if he was trying to figure out a complicated enigma. Brian left him to his mental puzzle.

It wasn't long before the pleasant silence within the loft was broken by the ringing of the land line. Brian, suspecting who it was based on the timing, picked it up with a peremptory, “hey, Mikey!” He smiled over at J327 and winked, indicating that he'd been right in his assumption. Brian thought J’s expression might have lightened just a bit, as if the kid was maybe just a little amused even if he wouldn't let himself smile. But then the lightness disappeared and the boy went back to contemplating his magazine and playing with the pen Debbie seemed to have left by accident.

“Yeah, your mom just left. After torturing us with her tuna noodle casserole . . . Of course he’s here. Where the fuck else would he be?” Brian kicked gently at J’s thigh as he walked past. “Yep, Deb has officially adopted him . . . Mikey says ‘Hi’ and that he'll bring you more clothes tomorrow,” Brian addressed J and got a small nod of acknowledgement. “No . . . No way . . . Fuck off, Mikey . . . No. Not tonight . . . Because, Mondays at Woody’s are fucking karaoke and you know I hate that shit . . . Okay . . . I said okay, didn't I? . . . Yeah, see ya tomorrow . . . Whatever!” Brian hung up and replaced the phone on its charging cradle before returning to the couch.

“Hey, you. Better get up off the floor. It's cold down there,” Brian insisted, reaching down to help the boy up and then seating him back on the warmer couch. J327 easily acceded to that suggestion, rising from the floor and then sitting again where he was placed. All the time, though, he kept ahold of the magazine he'd been doodling on, holding it in front of him and staring at it like it held some profound mystery. Even after he was seated, J continued to look at the item, biting at his bottom lip worriedly while darting quick glances Brian's way every so often.

“So, what's up with that magazine, J?” Brian couldn't help his curiosity. “I'm pretty sure nothing on the cover of Architectural Digest could be THAT enthralling.”

There was still no response from the boy, though, so Brian grabbed the magazine out of his hands and quickly glanced over it in order to figure out what was so fascinating about the thing. Nothing about the magazine itself seemed all that interesting - it was just a photo of some modernistic building. Up in the right hand corner was the scrawl of Debbie's handwriting where she'd written her phone number in large, easy-to-read numbers. That was expected. But then Brian saw another addition that wasn't expected. Above Deb’s number, written in tiny clipped letters that were positioned so close to the top edge of the paper you almost couldn't see them, was one word.

‘Justin’

“Justin, huh?” Brian looked at the quiet boy sitting next to him and still worrying at his bottom lip. “Was that your name from before?” No answer. “Well, either way, it fits you.” Brian stretched out his hand. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Justin.”

It took a couple of moments, but eventually the boy accepted the hand, tentatively shaking with Brian before retreating back into himself once more. Brian was glad to note that they seemed to be making at least a little bit of progress. Slowly but surely.

He picked up the television remote off the side table and flipped on the television before relaxing back into the couch. After flipping through about a hundred channels, he finally came to an old black and white movie that he thought he could tolerate, and propped up his feet, prepared to get comfortable for the long run. By fifteen minutes into the movie, Justin had allowed Brian to wrap his long arm around the narrow shoulders and was tranquilly nestled against the bigger man’s side.

Yep. They were definitely making progress,

********

For the second morning in a row, Brian awoke to a snuggly blond boy with a big boner. It seemed like this was going to become a trend. Not that Brian objected at all to the circumstances. He was just a little leery of starting anything when experience had proven that he wasn’t likely to get anywhere with it.

Which was a really strange thought. Presumably the boy had received all the standard PC training, right? Brian had never really concerned himself with that kind of thing, but he vaguely remembered reading something about what PCs were trained to do and it was pretty comprehensive. So, how had he ended up with the one PC in the country that didn’t seem able to do anything even remotely sexual without going into some sort of panicked withdrawal. How the fuck had Sapperstein managed to hide this little peccadillo? How had he been able to hide any of the kid’s many physical and emotional problems? Then again, if Bellweather was representative of the type of guy in the market for someone like Justin, he probably wouldn’t have cared at all that the kid was scared to death of just being touched. Fuck. For all Brian knew, that would just turn the fucker on even more.

Brian, on the other hand, would never force himself on anyone that wasn’t interested in reciprocating. Although that, in itself, was problematic. Because here he was, wrapped up in the arms of a hot little Twink who was unconsciously rubbing his very lovely cock against Brian’s hip in his sleep, and making Brian fucking hornier than hell in the process. And Brian couldn’t do one fucking thing about it. Which just wasn’t fucking fair.

Oh, well. Brian had never been the kind to fret over what he couldn’t have. He would take what he could get and make do. Which meant that he would enjoy the comfy warm blond boy in his bed to the fullest extent possible while he could. And when the boy inevitably pulled away, Brian would deal with it. But, in the interim, he decided to enjoy the sleepy rutting and maybe even help himself to a little relatively innocent groping.

That being decided, Brian reached down, grabbed himself a handful of perky Twink ass, and pulled the hot little body closer to him so he could get in a little frotting of his own. Mmmmmm. That was nice. Okay, not as nice as actually sinking his now steel hard cock into the tight little ass he was groping, but nice enough. At least to start with. And who knew - maybe the boy would surprise him and suddenly remember all that legendary PC sex training of his?

For the first five minutes, Brian thought his hopes might be realized. The boy seemed to enjoy the initial groping. He was making happy little mewling noises in his sleep and rutting against Brian’s hip with all his sleepy might. Brian shifted around until his own cock was snuggled tightly against the boy’s stomach and he started in on some rutting of his own. Okay, so it was a tad bit sophomoric - all this frotting and moaning with no expectation that it would go anywhere, but what the fuck, right? Seize the moment. Carpe diem. Or at least carpe the ass in your hand. Brian was happy enough for the moment that he just kept on rutting against the pliant body, leaving the occasional kiss on any available patch of skin his lips could reach, and fondling the luscious mounds of perky ass through the boy’s boxer briefs. There were worse ways to wake up.

Lamentably, the pleasurable grinding didn’t last very long. After only a few minutes, Justin’s happy little mewls started to sound more like unhappy mewls and the breathless sighs turned into distressed panting. The sweet, innocent rutting became more and more frantic until the boy was struggling to get away rather than get closer. But even when Brian let go, the agitated thrashing just continued to get worse. Finally, with a whispered ‘No, no!’ the frenetic bundle of hysteria scrambled backwards so far that Justin tumbled off the far side of the mattress onto the floor.

The transformation from happy, horny, sleeping Twink to quivering ball of dread happened so fast that Brian didn’t have a chance to do anything to stop it. He was still lying there, his now-empty arms held out ineffectively, as if trying to grapple the fleeing boy to him. Justin blinked up from his landing spot on the floor, confused and gasping, his heavy breathing evidencing the panic that had washed through his body only seconds previously.

“Well, fuck!” Brian exclaimed once he'd found his voice. “At least having you around here is interesting, Justin. Frustrating as fuck, but interesting.” Then Brian climbed out of bed and followed his jutting cock all the way to the shower, leaving the confused boy still sitting on the floor.

But not for long. Brian had only just soaped up in preparation for the morning’s masturbation marathon, when the shower door clicked open and a submissive little blond sylph slipped inside. This time Justin quickly shut the door behind him without direction, standing off to the side in his usual stance with bowed head and downcast eyes. All the while, though, Brian could tell that the kid was peeking through his lowered lashes. Well, if the boy wanted to watch, then Brian was happy to oblige.

Brian leaned back against the glass wall of the shower enclosure and let one hand play with his balls while his other hand continued to slowly stroke his fully engorged cock. The hot water flowed down over his chest and groin as he squeezed and twisted with his fist, eking out every last twitch of sensation that he could. Fuck it felt good. And the tempting, yet off limits, twink standing there watching him just added to the feeling. Brian liked the veiled way the kid followed every motion he made, listened to every groan of pleasure, while still never allowing himself to react in any way.

This innocent fascination was far more seductive than the more overt and obvious responses that Brian was used to getting from men. He found himself more and more turned on by the enigmatic boy, which fueled his showery joyride even more, and spurred him to perform just a little more than necessary for his audience. Being just a little more vocal than he would ordinarily be. Drawing out the pleasure just a little longer than needed. Making a show of how slowly he could thrust into his fist and pinching his own nipples with plain eroticism. Trying to get a rise out of the boy and instead just driving himself to even higher levels of lust.

And before he knew it, he’d passed that immeasurable point where there was no going back or controlling the flood of bliss that cascaded across his nerve endings like the water that was raining over his body. One last thrust and he was coming all over the wall and his hand and his chest, grunting out his satisfaction in time with the hammering of his heartbeat. And all the while, Brian’s eyes remained locked with the hooded blue gaze peeping out from under the thick dark blond eyelashes, neither man’s attention drifting for even a second even as Brian’s body trembled through its ultimate release.

When it was all over, Brian couldn’t help but chuckle at himself and the ridiculous situation. “Yeah . . . Don’t even TRY to pretend you didn’t enjoy that, Brat,” he teased as he passed over the bar of soap to the waiting boy. Justin accepted the soap without a word, and moved closer so he was further under the water spray as he began to cleanse himself. “Did I mention before how totally frustrating this is?” the older man asked as he watched the soap gliding over those acres of creamy ivory skin, the sight making his fingers itch to reach out and follow along behind the dripping suds. Of course he received no answer.

“Fuck!” Brian blew out a deep breath and then reached for the bottle of shampoo. “I get it though. This is you being in control of what little you can control. Which, unfortunately, isn’t very much, is it? So, fine . . . I don’t mind in the least if you watch me, Twat. And when you’re ready, feel free to join in . . .” Brian offered, smiling at the staring boy in an accepting way, before ducking under the water to rinse his hair. “Now, better hurry and get ready before Cynthia gets here. Or do you intend to tease HER with your hot, naked Twinkie bod too?” Brian exited the shower with a wink and a smile, enjoying the fact that he could tease the reluctant PC back for once.

********

Chapter 11 - All About Your New PC.

By the time Justin did make it out of the bathroom, Cynthia had already arrived. He had to scurry around in the bedroom, dressing and tidying up after himself quickly, before he managed to traipse down the stairs and join the others. Brian was, not unexpectedly, slurping down the latte that the ever-efficient assistant had brought him as he sat at the kitchen bar and paged through the newspaper that she’d also picked up on her way. At the spot next to him was a styrofoam take out box, simply waiting for Justin to tuck into. Brian patted the seat of the barstool next to him without bothering to look up, indicating that Justin should sit and get started on breakfast.

“So, your ten o’clock got moved to tomorrow afternoon,” Cynthia was reciting, going through Brian’s calendar on her tablet as she sipped at her own coffee. “And you’re meeting with Phil in Accounting about the PC Clearinghouse budget at 2:30.” Brian nodded, remaining transfixed on his paper all the while, and letting her ramble on. “I also followed up on that list of things you wanted me to handle for J,” Cyn smiled over at the boy, who was diligently applying himself to the delicious bacon and egg croissant sandwich he’d been provided with that morning. “I filed a request with the PCRA for all the records on PC J327, but because of the insane government bureaucracy involved it could take up to four weeks to get it. Idiots.”

“That’s okay. I’m not in as big a rush anymore since we figured out the name thing last night,” Brian explained, finally setting aside his paper. “Cynthia Morgan, I’d like to formally introduce you to Justin, formerly known as J327.”

“That’s great! Nice name, Justin,” Cynthia smiled and nodded at the boy with almost maternal affection. “So, did you just pick a name, Brian?”  

“Nope. Justin picked it himself,” Brian bragged and stole a scrap of bacon that had fallen out of the boy’s sandwich onto the edge of the takeout tray. “I’m not sure, but I think it was his real name from before. Either way, though, we can now call him something other than ‘Hey, You!’ so that’s good.”

“And it’s definitely better than ‘Boy!’,” Cynthia frowned at that thought, probably remembering the dismissive way that Bellweather and the others at the auction had been talking about Justin. “I like ‘Justin’. I had an uncle by that name. He was a sweetheart too.” Brian thought that the young man sitting next to him might have even started to smile a bit at that pronouncement, before he remembered to control his expression more thoroughly.

“Okay, so I guess it won’t be a problem, then, to wait for the remaining information. As for the rest of it, I got Justin a doctor’s appointment for Friday morning. I asked around and found a doctor that’s on the PCRA approved provider list but that has a good reputation anyway,” Cynthia sounded like that wasn’t at all a common combination. “I talked to their office and they said they would get his medical records transferred directly to them before the appointment. You should be able to ask their office for copies, Brian. I specifically mentioned the allergy issue, but you’re going to have to follow up to make sure you get that list before you leave.”

“Great job, Cyn,” Brian praised her efficacy. However, he quickly noted that she didn’t look all that happy, even though she’d accomplished a lot in just the couple of days they’d had to work on all this. Biting the bullet, he ventured to ask, “so, I get the impression that you’re going to use that trite old cliche that you have good news and bad news . . . why don’t we just cut to the chase and you can choose which you tell me first.”

“Well, the good news is that, while I was calling around to my APC friends for advice on the doctor and stuff, I made some really great new contacts,” Cynthia explained, sounding apologetic even before she explained why she needed to be. “I thought that they’d be really critical, you know, but once I explained the circumstances they seemed supportive, despite the fact that you’re going to be feeding the monster, so to speak, by paying all this money to the cretins running the PC trade. Unfortunately, in the process, I kinda let it slip that it’s going to be difficult for you to come up with the full bid price - I know you wouldn’t normally want me spreading your business around like that, Brian, and I apologize, but these guys seem to really want to help. A couple of them have even set up appointments to meet with you about taking over their marketing. I know that they’re small fry compared to the likes of PC Clearinghouse, but I figure that every little bit helps, right?”

Brian's first instinct was to rip Cynthia a new one for spreading around any confidential financial information about him. He didn't really want it bandied around that he was struggling to pay off Justin's bid. His ego had always relied heavily on the general assumption that Brian Kinney made good money and therefore was comfortable. Even if it hadn't always been true, he liked to give off that air. And even though he truly was in a bit of a jam over this PC contract right now, he really didn't want everyone and their brother to know about it.

On the other hand though, Cynthia was right that a few additional new clients wouldn't hurt. Every additional account signing bonus he could drum up would help. It was also a good idea to expand on their APC contacts, just in case he needed more help finding his way out of this mess he'd gotten himself into. And let's face it, after his limited but distasteful experiences so far with the PC world, it would be a relief to be representing some companies on the other side of the fight. At least these guys wouldn't make him want to gag just from being in their presence - he hoped - which was more than he could say for the likes of Lapointe.

So, after thinking it through, Brian resigned himself to NOT killing Cynthia for this one-time, limited lack of discretion.

His decision must have registered on his face, because after a long, uncertain pause, Cynthia sighed and then carried on, detailing for Brian the potential new clients she'd dug up for him. They sounded promising. One was a medium-sized contractor specializing in moderately priced multi-use buildings and urban renewal projects. Another was the director of a local non-profit that, while that company itself might not bring in much as a client, could potentially hook VanGuard up with their list of big named corporate sponsors. In the end, Brian was happy with the new possibles, as well as the enticement that there might be more where they came from if Cynthia worked this thing right. Brian gave her Carte Blanche to do what she had to with the rest of her contacts as long as they might win Brian similar clients.

“So, if the ‘good news’ was your confession that you've been spreading my financial woes all over town,” Brian continued when they'd finished with that topic, “I'm assuming that the bad news must be really bad?”

“I suppose it could be worse,” Cynthia tried briefly to put a good spin on her next agenda item, but then, after thinking it through, gave up in favor of just plain getting it over with. “The really bad news is that Lapointe has invited you to a dinner party at his Point Breeze home on Friday night.” Brian was already in the process of declining before Cynthia had even finished her sentence. She resolutely held up her hand, though, to quell his interruption. “And you can't say no because that's when Lapointe says he’ll give you the check for the initial account deposit. I tried to get him to just wire the money - I told his assistant it was standard operating procedure to do all payments by wire and I even told him that you were already busy this weekend, but he fucking insisted. According to Troy, the guy I was speaking with, Lapointe said he knew you'd make an exception for him because of how big the account was. Troy also said that Lapointe wouldn't take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Shit, Cynthia! The last thing I want to do is spend another night schmoozing with that scumbag and his buddies! Once in a lifetime was more than enough, but twice in less than a week is fucking excruciating,” Brian protested vehemently. “Fuck it! There's no way I'm doing this shit again. I don't want to get within a mile of the guy ever again in my life if I can avoid it. Vance is the one who had the hard on for this fucker’s account - he can go to the dinner party from hell and get the fucking check himself.”

“Sorry, Brian, but Lapointe doesn't want Vance. He wants you . . . And you're supposed to bring Justin with you,” Cynthia added, cringing as she said the words in such an uncharacteristic way that Brian wondered if she thought he was likely to hit her.

Not that he didn't have the urge to hit SOMETHING. “No. Fucking. WAY!” Brian erupted, vaulting to his feet and knocking his stool backwards with the violence of his movements. “I'm NOT going to some tacky PC orgy party and, even if I were, I'm certainly NOT taking Justin anywhere near that type of thing. Lapointe can shove his fucking account up his overweight ass if he thinks he can condition it on me playing along with whatever sick little fantasies he's cooked up. Fuck him and the sick dick he rode in on . . .”

“Whoa, hold your horses, Boss,” Cyn demanded, stepping in front of where he was pacing and holding up both hands to stop him in his tracks. “I was promised it won't be like that. I asked Troy. He swore that's not what this is about. He said that the wives will all be present, and they wouldn't be planning to attend if it were going to be one of those events,” Cynthia tried to reassure her boss, but Brian was still pretty agitated and not inclined to listen to more. “What I was told was that Lapointe simply wants to help you out by letting you see how they manage their PCs. Supposedly, since you're new to the PC life, he wants to take you under his wing and show you the ropes, so to speak. ‘Welcome you into the fold’ was how Troy put it.”

Realizing that this explanation hadn't helped much, the frazzled woman reached up to grab Brian's arm before he could march angrily away. “I know, Brian. Trust me, I know. That's probably the most condescending and demeaning thing I've ever heard, and that's saying alot considering some of the reprobate clients we’ve dealt with over the years. And I know a staunch APC advocate like myself is the last person you'd expect to say it, but I think you have to do this,” she said with chary conviction. When it appeared that Brian was still going to walk away and refuse to listen any further, Cynthia pulled out all the stops, hanging on to the sleeve of Brian's dress shirt and basically refusing to let go even as he dragged her along the floor. “Brian, please, just stop and think about it. Please.”

Brian frowned and huffed and even stomped one foot but Cynthia was unrelenting. She just refused to let go of him no matter what. When he tried to physically peel her fingers off his arm, she tightened her grip to the point that she almost tore his shirt. That was when Brian realized that he was going to have to at least listen to her, or risk irreparable damage to his brand new Armani shirt. So he turned and stared down at her, his legs splayed and his arms crossed over his chest in the most closed off stance imaginable. But he was at least standing still, so Cyn hurried on to explain her reasoning.

“I know you don't want to do this, Boss. I wouldn't either. But I don't think you have a choice,” Cynthia pleaded. “If you don't go to this dinner, at best you lose the account. At worst you lose the account AND your job once Vance finds out. And neither outcome is going to help you protect Justin,” she flung out one hand towards the boy who was huddled dispiritedly on his stool as he too listened to this explanation.

“I know you want to spare him from having to deal with this. I know it's going to be horrible for him. Lapointe and his friends are likely going to be humiliating and cruel to Justin and probably not much better towards you, Brian. And it's going to almost fucking kill you to have to put up with it. But refusing to attend this silly dinner party just to protect Justin, is only going to put him even more at risk in the long run. Because if we can't somehow come up with the money for you to pay off his contract price, he’ll be back there in that life anyway. And he’ll likely receive even worse treatment from them, in retaliation against you defaulting on your bid, than if you hadn't bothered in the first place.”

Despite how furious this whole scenario made him, Brian was beginning to see Cynthia's point. “I can't believe I’M saying this, Boss, but this is one time you can't just stand on your principles and refuse. Not if you actually care about saving Justin. Because if you don't go to this stupid fucking dinner and find some way to get through it without setting off Lapointe, you might just as well deliver that kid up to Bellweather tomorrow morning with a big red ribbon tied around his ass. If you refuse, that's where he’ll end up anyway.”

Cynthia finally let go of Brian's sleeve and the man took off, pacing the width of the loft with adrenaline-filled strides. He was so furious, felt so trapped by circumstances, he wanted to hit someone, throw things, scream, anything, but knew none of it would help. So he paced, and scrubbed at his face with hands that ended up pulling at his hair in angry frustration, and grumbled. But, after all that, he still had to agree with Cynthia. He didn't have any real choice. He couldn't afford to piss off Lapointe, lose the account or get fired. If he did, then all of this would have been for nothing.

Brian finally slowed down enough to look around him. Cynthia was perched on one barstool, nervously waiting to hear Brian's decision. She seemed vaguely hopeful and confident that they could still resolve this mess. Justin, the unfortunate boy who was mired at the center of this maelstrom, didn't look like he shared Cyn’s cautious optimism.

Justin had turned away from the main part of the loft, his body hunched over the bar, shoulders slumped dejectedly, head down and every line of his body screaming out with hopelessness. Brian hated seeing how defeated the kid seemed. He hated thinking that the sexy little flash of defiance he caught every once in awhile in Justin's eyes could be permanently extinguished. Brian had known the youth for less than three days, but he was able to read him so well - the decided lack of verbal communications notwithstanding - that he knew Justin was already assuming the worst. He was probably already preparing to close himself off, looking for a way to hide inside himself, and ready to give up. It was what Justin had expected would happen from the very beginning anyway, right? Justin didn't have any choice - he would just have to bear whatever humiliation was thrown his way . . . at least until it finally became too much and killed him.

Brian simply could NOT let that happen. He wouldn't give up. He wouldn’t let Bellweather and Lapointe win. He wouldn't let them break this kid. He just couldn’t let that happen. It didn't matter that the thought of sitting down to a meal with the repulsive sons of bitches was abhorrent to him. It just didn't matter. Brian would do what he had to do. He'd dance with the devil, if he had to. Whatever it took. Because, now that he knew Justin, he didn't have a choice either.

Resolved in his own mind, Brian walked over to stand behind the kid’s stool. He laid his hands on the hunched over shoulders, ignoring the way they flinched involuntarily at his touch, and started to rub at the tense muscles he found there. The stress radiating off the smaller body was so strong it was almost visible. Brian hated it. But he was going to find some way to fix it. He had to.

“I know this sucks, Justin. I don't want to do this either. But I think Cynthia's right. We’re going to have to go to this dinner thing and figure some way to get through it - it's the only solution I can think of right now. But I promise you, I won't let them hurt you. We’ll figure something out, okay? I swear I'll fix this. Somehow.”

Brian slid his hands around and down the cringing boy’s chest, pulling the slighter frame back against him and holding on tightly. He didn't let go even though the body in his arms tensed up and then struggled a little, trying half-heartedly to get free. Brian just held on. Not letting go. Until the struggle stopped and the rigid body began to relax. Then he let his chin drop so that it was resting atop the mop of silky blond hair and just stood there, breathing in synchronicity with the frightened boy, until both their heartbeats slowed.

********

Brian returned to the office after a long and only minimally-productive lunch meeting with the representative of Liberty Air. Those guys took the concept of the Three Martini Lunch to laughable extremes. Even Brian, who didn’t usually have a problem holding his liquor, felt a little light-headed as he got off the elevator and strolled down the hallway towards his office. Halfway down the hall, Cynthia fell in behind him and followed along.

“How is everything back at the loft?” Brian asked with a bit of apprehension.

“Fine. I left Justin unpacking the half a ton of groceries that were delivered. I also gave him the spare key you had me make for him. I doubt he’ll go anywhere though. Can you imagine him out there alone in a crowd of people on the street? That’s a surefire recipe for disaster if I ever heard of one,” Cynthia replied smoothly, albeit with a hint of some concern in her tone.

Brian wasn’t about to argue that point. He didn’t see Justin voluntarily leaving the loft on his own, but he didn’t want the kid to feel like a prisoner there either. Hence the key, so at least he’d have the option to leave whether or not he chose to exercise that option.

“And the rest? How’d the computer stuff go?” Brian asked, interested to know if his plan to keep the kid busy was going to work or not.

“Great. He seemed really interested to get started on the account you gave him to work on today . . .”

“Why do I sense there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Brian asked as he seated himself in the chair behind his desk. “And I doubt it’s the kinda butt I want to get involved with.”

“No buts - of any kind,” Cynthia reassured with a grin as she took the guest chair across from Brian. “Justin did remarkably well on all the computer stuff. He had no problems at all. In fact, he picked it up faster than anyone I’ve ever seen . . . Which is what made me think - even more than before - that this kid really isn’t the usual type you see ending up as a PC,” she continued. “I tell you, Brian, I was pretty much amazed at how good he is with the basic computer stuff. I didn’t have to show him much at all. Even with the graphics program, he was able to pick it up absurdly fast.”

“From everything I’ve seen so far, I can tell that Justin had to have had a pretty decent education. Which definitely isn’t the norm for a PC. Plus, this kid isn’t just smart, Brian, he’s borderline genius. He took the bare bones ideas you outlined on that account and fucking went to town on them, adding stuff and extrapolating like you wouldn’t believe. I have no doubt that whatever he’ll have ready by the time you get home will be magnificent. And that, along with everything else, made me even more curious.”

Cynthia held out her tablet for Brian to look at. “So, as soon as I got back here to the office, I did a little research. Now that I had a name to work with, it made it a lot easier. And, I found a shitload of information for you, although I’m not sure how much you’re going to like what I found.”

Brian took the tablet and started scrolling through the pages of information his assistant had dug up. Most of it was archived news stories from a year earlier about a teenager who was attacked the night of his Junior Prom by a fellow student. A quick look at the picture of the victim and it was clear that this was, indeed their Justin. Brian already knew that part of the story. What he hadn’t known was that both Justin and the fellow student who’d attacked him had gone to St. James Academy - one of the most expensive private college prep schools in the state. There was even a few references to Justin’s father, one Craig Taylor, who was cited in the article to be a ‘prominent businessman in the community’ and the owner of a chain of retail electronics stores. Brian swiped through one story after another, scanning the rather sketchy facts, and studying the accompanying pictures.

“I looked up this Craig Taylor,” Cynthia informed Brian when he finally set aside the tablet. “He’s pretty well known. And, by all accounts, he’s doing just fine on the financial front . . . There’s no way in hell this guy didn’t have insurance, and even if he didn’t, he should have been able to pay for Justin’s hospital bills.”

She opened up another tab on her tablet and handed it back to Brian. This page showed a picture of your average fifty-something year old man, a little thick through the paunch, with thinning hair that was now more grey than blond, but clearly resembling the boy waiting for Brian at home. The guy was standing in front of what appeared to be your typical big-box strip-mall electronic’s store. The heading on the news article indicated that the picture had been taken at the grand opening of the chain’s brand new flagship store.

The date of the article was less than three months after the bashing incident where Justin had been injured.

Clearly, somebody was NOT telling the truth about what happened to Justin. This was NOT some kid who’s father couldn’t afford the hospital bills to take care of his injured son and was therefore left with no alternative but to contract him away as a PC in order to save his life. Gary Sapperstein either hadn’t had all the facts about the boy whose contract he accepted, or he wasn’t being honest with the potential buyers at the PC Clearinghouse auction when he relayed the boy’s story. Not that Brian would ever take the word of somebody like Sapperstein at face value - he was clearly scum of the earth, no doubt about it - but looking at the picture of Businessman Craig Traylor, there was enough of a smarmy used-car-salesman look to the man that you really didn’t know if he was trustworthy either. Brian suspected there was a lot more to the story than met the eye. Brian didn’t think they’d know what really happened, though, until he had more info, or until Justin was willing to talk. And, even then, he didn’t think there was anything he could do about what appeared, more and more, to be a totally unfair situation.

********

Chapter 12 - Fed Up Being PC.

When Brian walked in the door that evening after work, he wasn’t at all surprised to find Justin seated in ‘his’ spot on the far end of the couch, curled up in a ball so as to make himself as small as possible, and quietly staring at the floor. It was like the boy thought he’d be in trouble if he was caught having moved at all during the day. Brian shook his head, pulled the door closed behind him and walked over to the desk to offload his briefcase. The lump of boy on the couch pretended not to even notice Brian’s entry. If possible, he seemed to be trying to make himself even smaller, the closer Brian came. Brian hoped that this wasn’t a new trend. He hated the idea of having to re-establish the existing level of trust with the kid every time they’d been apart for any length of time.

“Hey, Brat,” Brian teased as he neared the couch, plopping down playfully next to the boy, the momentum of his fall causing the kid to bounce out of his seat and lean into Brian’s side. “Miss me?” he asked with a chuckle as he draped an arm casually around the boy’s shoulders, ignoring the instant tension caused by the touch. “Soooooo. How was your day, dear? Did you have fun playing computer games with Cynthia this morning? She said you’d have all sorts of fun things to show me when I got home.”

The boy apparently took this as an order to produce the work he’d done on the ad campaign that Brian had given him to look over. Justin leapt to his feet, trotted over to the desk and gathered together some materials that had been waiting there. Then he zipped back, came to a halt directly in front of where Brian was seated on the couch, dropped to his knees and held the files up in his hands as if making an offering to the gods. Brian huffed out an aggravated sigh and shook his head at the servile behavior. He didn’t want to be treated with such veneration. He was just a man - nothing more and nothing less - and the subservience that Justin insisted on showing him really made him uncomfortable. He wondered how much longer he’d have to put up with that shit before he could finally convince the boy that it wasn’t expected.

“Get up, Justin,” Brian grabbed the kneeling man by the arm and physically pulled him up until the boy was once again seated on the couch next to him. “You don’t have to kneel at my feet, you know.” The boy didn’t acknowledge the words at all, and Brian decided to let it slide, hoping that time alone would make things easier for them both. Instead, Brian took the file that Justin was still holding out to him and flipped it open. “So, show me what fabulous creations you’ve come up with for this account.”

And just like Cynthia had predicted, Brian was blown away by how truly great the kid’s work was. Brian really hadn't expected anything as comprehensive as what the kid handed him. He hadn’t given the boy much in terms of guidance - all Brian had wanted was to see what the younger man could do. He’d thought that maybe he’d get some drawings or computer graphics that went along with the vague ideas he’d jotted down in passing. What he got back, however, was an almost complete and photo-ready ad campaign that was practically perfect.

Brian was so stunned that it took him a couple of minutes just to think of something to say. During that small interval, though, the kid must have taken his silence as disapproval. When Brian hadn’t commented right away, the boy’s submissive yet joyful eagerness rapidly dissipated. Brian could almost feel him shutting down and the enthusiasm fading away, leaving Justin once again blank and emotionless. As soon as he realized what was happening, though, Brian rushed to correct the boy’s misapprehension.

He quickly set the file aside and gathered the boy’s hands in his own, pulling slightly until the seemingly defeated young man was facing him. “Justin, this is incredible. It’s so good, I’m literally speechless. I didn’t expect anything this extensive. But you’ve done pretty much all the artwork, incorporating all my sales ideas, in only one afternoon. It’s amazing. It would take the art department at work upwards of a week to get anything back and it wouldn’t be anywhere near this good. This is . . . it’s good. Really. Really. Fucking good.”

At first, Brian could tell that Justin didn’t quite believe him. Maybe he thought that Brian was just humoring him? There was still so little trust there, that the boy probably didn’t want to believe his pretty words. But, slowly, the impassive expression on the youth’s face morphed into proud acceptance. And then, for the first time in the three days since Brian had met the young man, Justin finally let himself smile. It was only a very little smile - really just the beginnings of a smile, if you will - but the corners of those plump pink lips actually turned up and, for once, the boy didn’t try to hide it.

Brian decided right then and there that he rather liked the kid’s smile and wouldn’t mind seeing it a lot more often.

Brian began to go over the work in detail, pointing out some small things that Justin could change or adjust. The boy didn’t actually speak in response to Brian’s comments, but he would point to sections of the work or pull out documentation from the file and show these to Brian. All in all, they were communicating quite well. After they’d finished going through things, Justin seemed keen to jump right up and go make the small revisions. He would have sprinted over to the computer and got right on it, if Brian hadn’t stopped him.

“You don’t have to do it tonight, Justin,” Brian grabbed his wrist to prevent the boy’s exodus. “It’ll wait until tomorrow morning. I don’t actually have to do the presentation on this account until the end of next week. Like I said, if I’d had to use the VanGuard art department this would have taken a lot longer, so I usually start on it far in advance. But you’re so speedy that we don’t have to worry about it. Tomorrow will be soon enough though. You should relax for the rest of the evening.”

Justin’s spirits seemed a bit dampened by this directive. Brian shook his head tolerantly. But he didn’t want Justin overdoing it or working his hand till it cramped up again. Not until they’d met with the doctor and found out exactly what was going on or how to treat it. So, for now, the kid would just have to chill. Besides, it was probably good for him to learn how to relax. He didn’t imagine the young man had been afforded that opportunity much in the recent past.

In part to distract them both, Brian sent the PC to go select a takeout menu for their dinner. That was enough of a stretch for the boy that it demanded his full attention. The older man watched with amusement as the kid stood at the kitchen counter, shuffling through the huge stack of menus, pausing every so often when he came across a likely option and then surreptitiously eyeing Brian as if to divine his Master’s input on the selection process via telepathy. It was a fairly humorous scene, and Brian just sat back and let the boy have at it while he watched.

Finally, after a good ten minutes, Justin seemed to have arrived at some decision. With the winning menu clutched firmly in his hand, the nervous boy sidled back around the end of the couch and then offered it to Brian with lowered head and downcast eyes.

At least he didn't drop to his knees again, Brian thought as he accepted the proffered menu. “Greek, huh?” Brian was surprised by the boy’s selection. “Excellent choice. I haven't had Greek in weeks . . . Well, except for that hot Greek guy I met in the baths last Wednesday. I think he said his name was Niko,” Brian teased with a wink. “Now, he was spicy.” Unfortunately, all that earned him was another uncommunicative pause. “Guess I need to work on my material, eh? Oh well, Stand Up probably wouldn't be a good career choice for me anyway. I don't actually like people enough to care about making them happy.” Brian related, before picking up the phone and preparing to dial. “So, Brat, you got a preference for what you want me to order or should I just surprise you?” And when there was no answer, probably because Justin had used up his entire day’s worth of boldness with that one smile, Brian simply called in two orders of souvlaki, a large greek salad for them to share and, at the last minute, an order of baklava for the kid’s dessert.

While they were waiting for the food to arrive, Brian gathered up the campaign materials Justin had created and put it away on the desk where it would be waiting for Justin in the morning. Then he got two beers out of the fridge, turned on the television and pulled Justin down onto the couch with him. By the time their dinner was delivered twenty minutes later, they were thoroughly up to date on the latest newsworthy happenings in The Pitts, thanks to the local news. But, since the quality of the local news was questionable at best, Brian was more than happy to switch off the idiot box as soon as there was any other distraction. In other words, dinner was more than welcome when it did appear.

“So, you like Greek food, huh?” Brian initiated the conversation as soon as they were both seated at the table. “See, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the exotic food type. You look more like a typical, greasy hamburger and fries teenager to me.” Justin continued to fork his souvlaki into his mouth without comment. “You know, I think I could get used to these conversations of ours. I like talking to somebody that never contradicts me or talks back. I should have you give Mikey some lessons.”

Right on cue, the phone rang, and Brian hopped up to get it. “What a surprise, Mikey! I didn’t think you’d be calling for at least another three minutes!” Brian said into the phone without any other greeting. “Yes, Mikey . . . Yes . . . I already said I’d go out with you tonight, didn’t I? So, then, why the fuck are you calling and asking me again? . . . Yes, he’s here. Where the fuck else would he be, Mikey? . . . Fine . . . Fine! Yes, I’ll be ready, mother!” Brian pushed the button to end the call and tossed the phone onto the couch in consternation at his friend’s smothering.

“Yep. I definitely think you need to give Mikey some convo lessons, J!” Brian laughed, and then traipsed up to the bedroom to get changed, glad that he’d pretty much finished his dinner before Mikey called. “So, the guys want me to go out with them tonight,” Brian yelled to his silent companion as he was stripping out of his work attire. “We’re meeting at a local bar called ‘Woody’s’ and then we’ll probably go to a dance club after. You’re welcome to come, of course, but if you’d rather stay here, that’s fine too,” Brian pulled on a pair of skin tight jeans and then took a detour to the bathroom to make sure his hair was good before he selected which sleeveless black shirt he would be wearing.

By the time he emerged from the bedroom, adorned in his typical club-wear finery, ready to see and be seen, the remains of their dinner had miraculously cleaned themselves up, the kitchen was once again immaculate and the boy was seated - again - on the far end of the couch staring into space like he’d never moved. Rather than please him, though, Brian found himself pissed off. The kid’s whole self-effacing, obedience thing was really getting to him. Here was a bright, intelligent, well-educated kid, who clearly had a lot of potential, and it annoyed the fuck out of him that instead of using all that innate talent, the boy was running around debasing himself at Brian’s feet, trying his damnedest to become invisible, and pretending to be the maid. It was just wrong on so many levels. And the subservient thing made Brian feel like he was in some way perpetuating all this wrongness. He would really have to do something about this.

But all such reforms would have to wait for another night because, right then, the buzzer for the downstairs door went off, signaling Michael’s arrival. Brian hit the release for the front door and pulled the big metal loft door open. Then he started loading up his pockets with the essentials - wallet, phone, keys, a ribbon of condoms and a pocket-sized tube of high-quality lube. Everything a boy needed to enjoy himself out on the town. By the time Michael had clambered up the stairs, Brian was pulling on his favorite brown leather bomber jacket.

“Hey, Brian!” Michael offered his characteristic greeting with a typical Mikey grin. “You ready to go? The guys are probably already waiting for us. I told Em to go ahead without me cause I wanted to stop by here and drop off some more stuff for J.” He held up a shopping bag full of more hand-me-downs. “Hey, J. Hope these are okay. I figured you'd need more than just the few outfits I brought you the other day. And I threw in some socks and briefs and other shit I got at the Big Q today too. If you need anything else, just let me know, and I can get it for you with my employee discount.”

Justin got up off the couch, accepted the bag and then stood there in the same submissive stance that just annoyed Brian further.

“He doesn’t need more shit from the Big Crap Emporium, Mikey,” Brian groused. “Not everyone wants to look like their clothing is mass produced by Chinese prison labor.”

“Well, when you’ve got the money to shop on Fifth Avenue again, Brian, then you can buy him what you want,” Michael snapped back. “But in the meantime, the kid needs clothes and you need to save your money to pay for his contract.”

Brian lowered his brows and frowned, ready to argue. Only, he couldn’t actually refute anything his friend said. Which made him even more pissed off than he’d already been. Fucking ridiculous damned PC contract!

“Whatever. Can we get the fuck out of here already? You two girls can chat about the latest Big Q fashions some other time. I need a drink and a fuck - not necessarily in that order.” Brian swept aside any further thought of PCs or PC contracts, ready to get away from it all for at least one night.

Then, looking over at Justin, Brian noted that the boy had resumed his exact same docile posture in the usual position on the fucking couch. The sight made Brian feel like he was about to blow a gasket. He really needed to get the hell out of there.

“So, I’m assuming from your lack of interest that you’re not joining us tonight?” No answer, of course. “Fine. Your choice. But I’m not going to have you sitting there all fucking night on the damned sofa, either. So, consider this a direct order,” he declared, moving around to stand in the boy’s direct line of vision where there would be no question about whether or not he heard Brian’s instructions. “Go drink a beer or two and watch some fucking porn on the computer. Or read a fucking book. Or, hell, help yourself to some weed and get fucking wasted if you want. Do anything you like, only DON’T be sitting there on the fucking couch staring into space when I get home. You hear me?” Brian waited until he received the almost imperceptible nod of acceptance. “Good.”

Brian strode towards the door - happy that the kid would obey at least that one order - leaving with a, “Later, Brat,” thrown over his shoulder as he pulled the door shut in his wake.

********

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Pittsburgh’s latest inductee into the exotic and titillating PC Lifestyle,” Ted welcomed Brian upon his arrival at Woody’s that evening. “Come to mingle with the rest of us peons and rub your good fortune in our noses?” he teased.

“Fuck off, Theodore,” Brian growled without even a hint of his usual sarcastic humor underlying the vitriol. “Give me a double shot of Beam and an Iron City Beer,” he yelled at the bartender and then tapped impatiently on the bar till he was served. “Another!” he demanded after slamming the first shot as soon as it was served. Only then, sufficiently lubricated with alcohol, did Brian deign to bestow any attention on his friends.

“What the fuck are you all staring at?” Brian growled in lieu of greeting.

“Hell, Brian. You’d think somebody with a hot little Twinkie lover as tasty as our J would be in a lot better mood,” Emmett commented, looking down his nose at the grumpy stud. “And where, pray tell, is our sweet little PC baby tonight? You’re not trying to keep him holed up in the loft all by his lonesome again, are you? You have to let him out for air every so often, you know.”

“His name is ‘Justin’, not ‘J’,” Brian corrected, downing his second double shot and then moving on to his beer. “And he doesn’t like crowds, so he’s back at the loft. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“They’re just teasing you, Brian,” Michael tried to placate his grouchy friend.

“Ooooo! You gave him a name already? How'd you decide on ‘Justin’?” Emmett asked with his typical friendly nosiness. “I thought you were going to wait until you found out his real name?”

“That is his real name. Or, at least I think it is,” Brian turned around, leaned back against the bar and sipped at his beer while he scoped out the evening’s possibilities. “Either way, the kid told me that’s what he wanted to be called. So, Justin, it is!” Brian shook his head at the first likely to walk by and cruise him, assured he could do better. “Why do you guys all care anyway? It’s like the first thing anyone asks me as soon as they see me anymore - how’s your PC? You losers need to get a life, you know.”

“You can’t help it if we’re all a little curious, Bri,” Ted broke in. “I’ve never known anyone who owned a PC before. Well, at least not personally. So, tell us . . . What’s it like? Huh? I hear they teach them all kinds of crazy, kinky shit. I bet it’s wild, right?”

“Yeah . . . crazy. That’s exactly what it is, Theodore. Fucking crazy,” Brian rejoined with his most sarcastic smirk. “Now, if you don’t mind, I did NOT come here tonight to talk about Justin. I came because I needed a break from all the PC shit,” Brian chugged the rest of his beer and then slammed the bottle back onto the bar top. “I also need to get into THAT ass as soon as humanly possible. So, if you’ll all excuse me, I'm off to get my needs met.” He then strutted away in rapid pursuit of the beefy, muscle queen ass that had just sauntered temptingly by.

“Shit! What’s his fucking problem,” Ted complained as soon as Brian was out of earshot. “You’d think a guy who just bought himself a beautiful young PC would be in a lot better mood than that. And what’s with this closed-mouthed shit? He’s never been bashful about sharing tales of his sexual conquests in the past, so why now?”

“It IS a bit odd,” Emmett added his opinion. “Plus, you wouldn’t think someone with a live-in hottie like that sweet little Twink would act quite so desperate to find a fuck, would you? I mean, the way he shot off after that guy, you’d think he hadn’t gotten any action in days. What’s up with that?”

“Lay off Brian, guys,” Michael pleaded, sticking up for his friend. “I think this whole PC thing has been really hard on him. I mean, the money thing is bad enough, but I get the impression that there’s a lot of shit going on that we don't know about. The more I see of that kid, the more he seems . . . Well, a bit off, I guess. Dealing with all that and the money thing too can’t be easy on Brian. I'm a little worried about both of them, actually.”

“We all agree that Brian did a good thing taking in that kid, Michael,” Ted added. “It’s plain to see how traumatized he is. And I’m sure that Brian’s having a bit of trouble adjusting to things, too. Having someone else moving into his loft with him has got to be tough on a dedicated loner like Brian. But still, it can’t be all that bad. Face it, that kid is fucking beautiful. Even a lone wolf like Brian Kinney couldn’t object to having a gorgeous, hot twink with a delicious bubble butt like that around all the time. Hell - not that I support the PC trade - but if I were in Brian’s shoes and had the chance to spend some time with a fully trained, sexual companion, you sure as fuck wouldn’t hear me objecting.” They all paused in their conversation to watch as Brian reemerged from the backroom and immediately headed off down the bar after his next conquest of the night. “And you wouldn’t see me wasting my time going after random fucks here at Woody’s when I had somebody like Justin waiting for me at home, either.”

As Brian traipsed past them with yet another victim in tow, they all had the same thought.

********

“Shhhhh! You’re gonna wake him up. Gotta be more quiet! Shhhhh!” Brian ordered the trick, who had spent the entire elevator ride up to the loft moaning at ridiculously loud levels.

The trick just moaned again in the affirmative. Brian rolled his eyes, but didn’t really say more because he was too busy enjoying the way the guy was mouthing his cock through his jeans to bother. It took a couple minutes after the elevator stopped before he realized they had arrived. Then he had to seriously think about it before he decided that he’d rather go into the loft to fuck than do it there in the lift. If the guy hadn’t been so fucking tall, Brian might not have cared. But, since the large, well-built hispanic guy he’d opted to end the night with was maybe an inch taller than him, Brian figured it would all go more easily if they moved this inside. So, before the trick could do more than unzip his fly, Brian batted him away, lifted the gate on the elevator and then started to drag the guy along after him towards the loft’s door.

Brian was drunk enough that it took him three tries to actually get the key into the lock. It didn’t help matters that Joselito was dry humping his back while Brian was fumbling around with the keys. You couldn’t fault the guy for a lack of enthusiasm, at least. As soon as the door slid open, ‘Lito was tumbling through it, so eager to get Brian on top of him that he seemed willing to pull him down right there in the doorway and fuck on the hardwood floor. Brian might even have complied if he hadn't been distracted by a flash of movement over to his right.

“Hey, Justin! You're not on the couch! Good boy! That means we can fuck on it instead!” Brian announced as soon as he'd registered that it was indeed the PC who had caught his attention by jumping up out of the chair behind the computer. “Venga, ‘Lito. We're moving this party over to the couch.” Brian stood up, wobbled a bit until his sloshing head reached equilibrium again and then looked down at the man still lying on the floor at his feet. “Why aren’t you naked yet?” Brian asked, sure that this step should have already been accomplished.

The big butch brute slowly clambered to his feet, stipping off his t-shirt to reveal olive-toned skin, six-pack abs and a slightly furry chest that was sufficient to make Brian’s mouth water. ‘Lito shot a sexy smile the stud’s way, winking and adding in a one-two flex of his pecs as further enticement. Brian reached out with one hand, grabbed hold of the guy’s belt and started walking him backwards in the direction of the couch, already envisioning all the things he was going to do with and to that tanned and toned body.

“Who’s that?” ‘Lito asked, looking over Brian’s shoulder at the little blond shadow hovering in the distance as if unsure what was expected of him in this strange new situation. “I don’t mind a threesome. But he is kinda young.”

“Never mind him. He just likes to watch. Don’t you, J?” Brian chuckled as he caught the blond’s eye and then pushed ‘Lito over so that the big guy tumbled back onto the couch. “Now, get those fucking pants off already. You’re keeping our audience waiting.” The amiable trick scrambled to follow orders, while Brian stood there towering over him, eyeing the proceedings with a smirk, until he all of a sudden realized that it had been upwards of fifteen minutes since he’d had a drink. That state of affairs really was unacceptable. “Hey, Justin - get me that bottle of Beam, will you?”

The boy scurried over to the drinks cart in the corner and then hurried back with the mostly-full fifth of bourbon. Brian managed to swipe the bottle out of Justin’s hand before the kid could fall to his knees. Which left the PC standing there, not sure what he was supposed to do next, while Brian upended the bottle and took a huge swig.

By this point, ‘Lito had managed to get his jeans off and then squirm around so that he was kneeling on the seat of the couch, with his body draped over the back and his hungry ass stuck out right at the level of Brian’s cock. Brian approved. He slapped the guy’s right ass cheek with an audible whack, pleased with the white handprint his action left on the dark skin. He was also pleased that the trick du jour had come prepared with a butt plug already in place, which meant that Brian wouldn’t be obliged to engage in any annoying prep work. Nice!

“Here, hold this, J!” Brian passed the bottle of Beam back to his handy household minion.

He hooked one finger through the pull-ring at the bottom of the trick’s plug and jerked it out with a firm tug. ‘Lito moaned with the pleasure/pain, shoving his ass out further towards Brian in mute supplication. Who was Brian to deny the poor boy? He unzipped his own jeans, reaching into the pocket to get a condom before he shoved them all the way down . . . only to find that he was out. He must have been busier than he remembered at Woody’s and Babylon that night because he’d had a whole string of them when he left the loft earlier.

Oh, well. No worries. There were a lot more where those came from. “Justin, run upstairs and grab me a condom out of the bowl in the bedroom, will ya. Oh, and don’t forget the lube,” he ordered, taking back the bottle of Beam before the kid could remove it from his reach.

Justin hesitated a second. That, in and of itself, was so out of character that it caused Brian to look up. Even through his half-drunken haze, Brian could see the jumble of fear and confusion and uncertainty on the younger man’s face. But he didn’t want to think about that right then. He didn’t want to think about any of it. For just a little while longer, Brian wanted to escape from his own sense of turmoil. From the burden of his responsibility for this scared, abused young man who he had so unwittingly become fettered with. That had been the whole purpose behind going out, getting drunk and fucking his way through the night. And Brian just wasn’t ready to deal with panicky teenaged PCs right at that moment. Right then, he really just wanted to plow into hot hunky hispanic ass and then go pass out in his bed.

He would deal with distrustful, uptight, voiceless, subservient dependants tomorrow. Tonight he just wanted to fuck his brains out. He gave the hesitant boy a curt nod and a twist of his head in the direction of the bedroom, causing Justin to drop his gaze and hustle to obey. It only took a few seconds for him to retrieve the requested items and hand them off to his master. Brian took the condom without a word, ripped open the packaging, and quickly rolled it down his dick. Then he squirted a palmful of lube out of the bottle and immediately handed it back to the hovering blond.

“That’s all I needed, Justin. You don’t have to stay or anything if you don’t want to,” Brian conceded, willing to give the boy at least that much consideration before he turned his attention back to the trick and wiped the rest of his troubles from his mind by sinking his dick into the waiting ass with as much force as he could manage.

********

Chapter 13 - PC Musings.

The sound of the clunky old elevator rumbling loudly woke the boy who had been dozing in front of the computer. He really wasn’t all that interested in watching porn - he’d been inundated with hours of the same, fed to him in the guise of ‘training’ by his Handler, and therefore was rarely turned on by it anymore - but he’d been ordered to do it by his new Master, so he’d tried it. Not unexpectedly, though, he’d fallen asleep after not more than fifteen minutes.

Jiggling the mouse so the computer screen lit up, he noted that it was almost two am. No wonder his neck was so stiff. He’d been sleeping here on this chair for more than four hours. The couch would have been more comfortable . . .

He heard the Master’s voice out on the landing along with another voice answering. That gave him pause. He wasn’t even that comfortable with Brian yet. The thought of some stranger coming into the loft this late at night wasn’t at all reassuring. Strangers were inherently dangerous. They were unknowns. He already had too many unknowns in his life and really didn’t need more. But, it wasn’t like he’d get any say in the matter anyway, so what difference did it make how many strangers the Master brought home.

When the door slid open and some huge, dark-haired, brute of a man literally fell through the entry onto the floor, the boy froze in place. He was so terrified by the very sight of this loud, unexpected intruder, that he felt paralyzed. Only the appearance of Brian, stumbling in right behind the frightening stranger, kept him from running and trying to hide. He wasn’t yet convinced that he could actually trust the new Master, but at least he was a familiar face and that was somewhat comforting. Add to that the fact that he’d been so well conditioned to respond to whatever master owned him, and the boy found himself rooted in place, waiting to be told what he could or should do.

Even more disconcerting, he could tell almost from the start that Brian was pretty much wasted. That wasn’t at all reassuring. Drunk men were unpredictable. The Master had promised him that first night that he wouldn’t make the boy do anything that he didn’t want to do, but you couldn’t believe that kind of promise. He’d been betrayed so many times - by people that he should have been able to trust - that he no longer believed anyone. Not when it really counted. All he could really hope for was that he wouldn’t be too badly hurt when everything finally did go to hell. But the uncertainty about when it would happen was the hardest part.

The boy knew that a situation like this, where the Master was drunk and there was a stranger thrown into the mix, was a recipe for disaster. But he was scared of the consequences of running away even more. His experience so far had proven that you would be hurt worse if you tried to escape your fate. It was better to just get it over with most of the time. So, even though he was terrified, the boy stayed where he was, hoping against hope that the two men wouldn’t see him or, if they did, they wouldn’t bother to include him in whatever they had planned.

Of course he wasn’t that lucky. He’d never been lucky. Why should now be any different? First, the Master noticed him. Then the other man suggested that he be included in their play. The boy felt his heart sink. This was it. This was going to be the moment when it all fell apart. And there was nothing he could do about it. He tried not to make it worse by disobeying, but it was difficult because all he could think of was that he couldn’t do this thing. He couldn’t. It would kill him. And there wasn’t a fucking thing he, a bought and paid-for Personal Companion, could do about it.

So he obeyed the Master’s orders and brought him more alcohol and then fetched the condoms and lube as requested. And then he waited. Knowing that he had no control whatsoever over what was going to happen. No say at all in anything - not his life and especially not what happened to his body. It was all up to the vagaries of fate and the whims of this half-drunk man that he’d known for only three days who, because he had money and the law on his side, was allowed to command everything in the boy’s terrifying world.

Which was why, when the Master said, “that’s all I needed, Justin. You don’t have to stay or anything if you don’t want to,” he didn’t understand at first. He thought he must have heard wrong. The boy didn’t trust that he would be let off the hook once again. That just didn’t make any sense. He’d been told time and time again by his Handler that his only value was in the sexual pleasure he could give his owner - that was the only reason anyone would buy his contract. But if this Brian didn’t want him for sex - at least not right then and, if he could be believed, not ever unless the boy wanted it too - then what did he want? Why was he doing all this. Why had Brian pledged all that money to purchase his contract? This was all just so confusing and unsettling.

And because he didn’t understand it, and didn’t trust that it was true, the boy simply stayed put even after the Master dismissed him. It was like staring at a train wreck - he felt he just couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t look away. He had to stay and watch and wait. He was so sure that, in the end, he would be betrayed yet again, that nothing around him seemed real. Maybe it really was all just a dream. Maybe he would snap out of it at any minute and his reality - the reality that he expected, where he was just a sex toy that had been purchased for the benefit of the highest bidder and who was about to have his life violently torn to shreds - would finally fall upon him. Frankly, it would almost be a relief for it to happen already. Because once the worst had happened, at least then he wouldn’t have to live in fear of it for any longer.

So the boy stayed and watched everything that transpired with an odd sense of disconnection. He watched the Master fucking the stranger. He listened to the grunting and moaning. He watched the Master’s face and noted the way the man let himself become submerged in the pleasure of the moment. He was aware when both men reached their climaxes, the smell of sex pervading the air as they rode through the resulting spasms of their release. And, in some cordoned off area of his brain, he registered that the stranger seemed to really enjoy what Brian was doing to him. But the boy was simply too closed off and fearful to understand any of it. He could only be an observer for the time being. He would have to wait to process it all later.

When it was over, he continued to stare as Brian pulled out, slapped the trick on the ass one more time for posterity, stripped the used condom and flung it haphazardly across the room, and then declared that he had to piss. Beam bottle in hand, the man tottered off towards the bathroom, leaving the trick on the couch and the mutely staring boy where he’d been standing watching for the duration. The trick flopped over, lolling on the couch cushions, chuckling to himself quietly as he decadently played in the mess of cum on his stomach with one finger.

“So, did you like the show, little boy?” the stranger asked, his voice low and deep, humming in a way that anyone else would probably think was seductive, but that the boy found menacing. “The way you were staring the whole time, it seemed like you were really into it. You sure you only like to watch? I wouldn’t mind letting you play with us on the next round. How about it, huh?”

The boy looked over to the bathroom but the Master wasn’t anywhere in sight. When he turned back to the trick, the man was playing with himself, stroking his long, thin dick, using his own cum as lube, and leering at the dithering boy. That knot of tension that had only barely ebbed, began to build again in the boy’s gut.

“Come on, Pretty Boy. It’ll be fun.” The trick licked his lips as if preparing to take a big juicy bite out of the demure blond boy. “Kinney’s a great fuck, but I always enjoy mixing it up.” The boy shook his head and started to back away, but the big stranger seemed prepared to press his suit. Before he’d taken more than three steps the trick was up on his feet too and following after the retreating boy. “I’d make it really good for you, you know. You’d love it.” The words sounded more like threats than an inducement.

He finally broke and ran, although he already knew it was futile. He only made it as far as the kitchen island before the larger man was on him, pinning him to the counter with one large meaty hand on each side of his body, preventing him from fleeing further. The boy cringed as far back from the heavily muscled frame crowding in on him as possible. He’d half-turned, bending almost sideways to try and prevent those threateningly large hands from touching him, but it was no use. He was trapped like a rat in a cage. And before he could do anything, the big meaty paws were on him, touching him, pulling at his clothing, reaching up under the hem of his shirt and crawling along over his bare skin. The trick’s honeyed words assaulting his ears at the same time as his body was pressing against the boy’s smaller frame.

“Come on, Sweetness. Don’t be like that. I know you want it,” the imploring and yet combative words kept hammering at him until he was bent and twisted over the edge of the island, tying his best to shrink away from the onslaught.

Which is when the worst thing possible happened.

The brute pawing at him paused. Then he reached up with his enormous left hand, pulled back the neck of the t-shirt the boy had been wearing, and scanned the back of his neck. Of course, the boy knew exactly what he would see there. He’d taken the bandage off his neck just that afternoon, figuring that the tattoo had finally healed enough that he didn’t need it anymore. Only, now, he desperately wished he’d waited one more day to remove that convenient covering.

“Fuck! Kinney got himself a PC? I hadn’t heard anything about that. Way to go, Kinney! This night is just getting better and better,” the jubilant trick crowed as soon as he saw the tell-tale tat. “I can’t WAIT to try you out, little boy. The things I’ve heard about PCs . . . This is going to be so fucking good!”

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing!” An angry voice rang out so loud that it echoed off the high ceilings of the loft. “Get your fucking meat paws off him.”

“You didn’t tell me he was a PC! I am so totally psyched about this, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve always dreamed of trying out a PC. Listen, how about, for the next round we spit him in the middle . . .”

“Fuck you, Asshole! Can’t you tell from the way the kid’s trying to claw his way through my solid marble countertops that he’s not fucking interested in anything to do with you? And I didn’t give you permission to touch him, so get the fuck away right, fucking, NOW!” the Master demanded, grabbing hold of one hamhock-sized meat paw and yanking the bigger man around so hard that the guy almost toppled over. “Now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops on you, which is my right as his owner.”

“Hey, back the fuck off, Kinney. I figured you wouldn’t mind. I mean, you’re the one who told your PC to watch us before. I just assumed, after that, you’d want to have him join us for the next round. Isn’t that the only reason you’d have a PC? Sex IS all they’re good for, right?” the guy shook off Brian’s hands, and stood his ground.

“No, you moron. That’s not ‘all they’re good for’! In case you didn’t notice, he may be a PC but he also happens to be a fucking human being. He’s not a damn sex toy. Or are you blind as well as stupid?” the Master moved around so that his body was physically blocking the trick, who was now sputtering indignantly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. As I recall, I instructed Justin to watch if he wanted to. I said nothing about him joining in, and I sure as shit didn’t say anything about you touching or even talking to him. Just because he’s a PC doesn’t mean that just anyone has the right to take liberties with him. Especially not without my permission. So, are you going to leave quietly or should I call the police and file a formal complaint?”

“Fuck you, Kinney!” the big trick spat.

“Not even in your wildest dreams, asswipe,” the Master hissed back at him, crowding the guy backwards, further and further from the kitchen island. “Now, you have exactly sixty seconds to pick up your fucking clothes and get the hell out. And don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way.”

The boy watched in silence as the Master hounded the man till he had his clothing in hand and then led him to the door without even giving the guy time to dress. Brian didn’t even wait till the big oaf was all the way clear of the entryway before sliding the door closed, clipping the trick’s shoulder in the process, but since the door was heavy and metal, that little obstacle didn’t even slow it down much. The Master slammed it against the jamb and immediately flipped the lock.

And then he turned back and looked at the boy. “Fuck! Stupid fucking loser. You okay?”

The boy didn’t know what to say, even if he had been willing to break his silence and say it.

“Stupid question. Of course you're not. Fucking pushy trick . . . Ignorant bigot . . .” The grumbling and cursing went on for a bit, as the Master paced angrily around the loft, picking up the forgotten bottle of Beam from the coffee table on the second circuit, and using the strategically placed swigs of bourbon that followed to emphasize certain points in his rant. Eventually, though, the ranting petered out and the pacing turned into more of a drunken shambling. When the conversation devolved into a broken repetition of, “you . . . You don't deserve this shit, J. Nobody deserves this shit. Fucking shit. Fucking stupid shit . . .” the boy knew it was pretty much over.

Interrupting the next circuit of shuffling curses at the point when the Master was closest to the bedroom steps, it was fairly easy to detour the tired man up the three steps and then into the bed. He grabbed the almost empty bottle out of the falling man’s hands just before the heavy body hit the bed. The Master didn't put up any fight at all as the boy lifted the covers, rolled him over and tucked him in. Brian was snoring long before the lights had been switched off, and was totally dead to the world when the youngster shed his own clothes and climbed into bed next to his Master.

Which is why the boy felt brave enough to scoot up close to the snoring body, drape one arm across the broad expanse, lay his head on the sturdy chest and whisper “Thank you, Brian,” before leaving a barely there kiss on the closest patch of bare skin he could reach.

********

Brian reluctantly woke up to the unfortunately familiar feeling that his head had been involved in a Chernobyl-grade meltdown the past night. He really did have to quit doing this to himself. Especially on work days. At least this time he’d pretty much stuck to just whiskey, which he usually tolerated relatively well, so his stomach wasn’t too queasy. But his head . . .

While he was contemplating what he’d have to do to make it out of bed without his brain leaking out through his ears, Brian felt the mattress shifting and a warm body easing up behind him. He’d woken up lying on his stomach but with his left leg hitched up so that he wasn’t completely flat. The position allowed plenty of room between his thighs for a warm leg to insinuate itself, wrapping around his extended right leg. Brian didn’t mind the pleasant warmth at his back at all, and wasn’t really that eager to move, so he remained where he was, not letting on that he was awake. Little by little, his bed mate inched closer until the smaller frame was pressed all along its length against Brian’s right side.

After another minute or two, he felt a tentative hand reaching over and gently resting, ever so lightly, against the skin of his upper back. Brian kept himself still, concentrating on making his breathing as steady and deep as possible so as not to give away the fact that he was actually awake. He didn’t want to scare off the boy’s intrepid explorations. When the hand moved gingerly up to play in the small hairs at the nape of his neck, he had to fight not to shiver at the way it was tickling. Luckily, the hair play didn’t last very long. After another few seconds, the hand began to trail downwards, leaving feather-light tracings of touch along his skin, down his spine, across one shoulder blade, following the length of his lats until it paused just above the rise of his left butt cheek.

Brian assumed that was as far as things would go. Justin was so hesitant about everything. Even this much initiative was surprising. He didn't think the kid would dare anything more.

Apparently he was wrong, though. Either the boy was emboldened by the mistaken belief that Brian was still asleep or maybe he simply couldn't help himself. But, either way, the next moment saw that inquisitive hand slowly gliding lower and lower, almost as if it had a mind of its own, until Brian felt the gently questing fingers curling over the rise of his glute, squeezing almost imperceptibly, while one brazen pinky just barely brushed at the entrance to Brian’s crack. And there the hand paused, not letting go, but not moving either. Just holding on as if testing out the possibility of more.

Brian didn't know what to think. He tried not to react in any way, sure that even the tiniest of movements would cause the hand to retract. At the same time he was insanely turned on by the careful, tentative, barely-there touches, intrigued by this covert display of boldness, and surprisingly aroused by that brave little pinky finger straying so close to the one place he never let anyone venture.

If that had been the extent of it, though, he probably would have chalked it up to nothing more than a random caress. Maybe just the first hesitant stirrings of affection from the repressed boy. Just a sleepy, friendly gesture engendered by their necessary closeness while sharing a bed. Not something meant to be intentionally sexual in nature. However, the next thing Brian knew, the titillation caused by that roving hand was multiplied exponentially by the sensation of a growing hardness blooming in the meager space between the boy's groin and the spot where it was pressed up against the back of his right hip. He could feel the heat of the solid length stirring against his flesh, a cooler drop of wetness at the tip, as the boy very delicately rocked his hips so very slightly that you almost couldn't detect the motion. But that tiny movement was amplified by the heavy panting breaths ghosting across the skin of Brian's shoulder and the infinitesimal squeezing of that hand still cupped around his ass.

Nope - this was not just an innocent little touch.

Not that Brian minded in the least that he was being fondled and dry humped while he was, presumably, still asleep. Actually he was strangely proud of the boy. Not to mention incredibly turned on by the entire experience. However, his own rapidly filling dick was uncomfortably trapped under his belly, held in place at the odd angle it had been in when he'd been asleep and flaccid. He couldn't move to release it without startling the boy, which would undoubtedly cause the kid’s tiny moment of bliss to come to a crashing halt. So he simply tried his best to bear the discomfort, keeping himself still and letting the boy have his moment of stolen fun.

Despite his resolve to continue playing possum, though, something in Brian's posture - maybe some small twitch of a muscle or a hitch in his breathing as he tried to swallow the pain caused by his cramped dick - must have eventually given him away. One minute the boy was happily frotting away and the next his entire body tensed up, the hand on Brian’s ass was retracted and you could feel him holding his breath. Brian didn’t know if he should continue with his play acting or if it was already too late.

When he felt the boner pressed into his hip start to deflate, he decided to act. He quickly extended his left leg and, in the same motion, rolled in the same direction, flipping over all the way onto his left side so that he ended up facing the now-shocked PC boy. Before the kid could back away, though, Brian encircled the smaller frame with his long arms and pulled the trembling body as close to him as possible. Justin was apparently too shocked at having been caught to do anything other than stare and shake with fear.

Brian hated that the kid so clearly thought he’d done something wrong and seemed to be preparing himself for punishment because of it. He hated the terror-stricken look in the boy’s eyes when he looked up at Brian. He didn’t want to ever be the cause of that kind of embarrassment, fear, and panic. The abuse this young man must have been subjected to in order to cause him to repress his natural sexual impulses so shamefully, had to have been something horrible. Somehow, Brian had to give this oppressed youth back some self-confidence.

Cinching his arms even more tightly around the petrified young man, Brian bent his head into the crook of the boy’s shoulder, wrapped one leg around a quivering thigh and then just held on tightly. It took a long time for the trembling in the smaller body to abate. Even then, Brian didn’t let go. Eventually, the teen stilled, only his faster than normal breathing giving away the fact that he was still unsure about what was going to happen. Only then did Brian relent a little and loosen his grip just a fraction. Just enough so that he could move his hips, tilting them upward so that the boy could feel the still-strong erection that Brian pressed into his belly, rubbing it against the boy’s own flagging member.

“It’s okay, Justin,” Brian whispered into the tender skin along the side of the PC’s neck. “I don’t mind at all. I liked it. And,” he added a small kiss to the soft flesh, “it’s okay for you to let yourself feel these things.” Another kiss found it’s way, a little higher up the column of the long, pale neck. “To let yourself feel . . .” Another kiss, just under the jawline. “. . . Attracted to someone. To want to feel like this.” Brian tilted his pelvis higher, pressing harder against the yielding stomach muscles, pleased to feel that the boy’s erection now matched his own. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re in charge here, Justin. You get to make the calls. What YOU want and WHEN you want it . . . Here, with me, for now, you’re in control. And you don’t have to be scared of me or afraid of what you want . . . Okay?”

For the space of a dozen heartbeats, the gemstone blue eyes remained locked on Brian’s own hazel gaze. Brian felt like those eyes were drilling into the depths of his psyche, searching for hidden meanings and concealed untruths. It was completely out of character for the normally taciturn man, but he forced himself to open up completely for those few seconds. He needed this poor abused boy to understand that he wasn’t trying to trick him. He wanted Justin to be able to trust him. Implicitly. And the only way he could think to make that happen was to be scrupulously open, honest, and to let the younger man know that he DID have some say over his life. Even if it was just in this one small thing.

Justin must have believed whatever he saw. There was a flash of surprised acceptance in those penetrating blue depths. And then, totally unexpectedly, the boy lunged forward, seizing Brian’s lips in a passionate kiss that astonished them both. Brian happily returned the kiss, opening to the boldly probing tongue that daringly pressed its advantage, but allowing the younger man to guide the experience. Letting Justin be in control. Until, just before breathing would have become a serious concern, the youth pulled back, looked up into Brian’s eyes with a bashful smile and then buried his head into the pillow as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

Brian huffed a quiet chuckle, kissed the boy’s temple one last time and then rolled away. “Like I said, you get to call the shots.” Unearthing his left arm from under the boy’s body, Brian shook his head at the craziness of his morning already. “But . . . as fun as lying here in bed playing ‘Kiss Me/Don’t Kiss Me’ is, I think I need to get up and start getting ready for work. Those account signing bonuses aren’t going to drop into my lap without me even being there, you know.” Brian swung his feet over the side of the bed and slowly stretched until he was standing. Then, turning towards the bathroom, he left his bed mate with one last offer, “you’re welcome to join me in the shower, if you’d like. Even if you just want to watch again . . .” And he headed off in the direction his painfully hard and unsated erection pointed.

********

Chapter 14 - PC Controversies.

The next two days went by without too much additional drama. Brian was thankful for the momentary reprieve, especially since he didn’t think it would stay that way for long. But at least for those couple of days, everything was calm. Brian went to the office everyday. Justin stayed at the loft and worked on the projects that Brian or Cynthia would bring to him. And everything seemed normal.

Only two minor blips marred the tranquillity. The first occurred on Wednesday when Brian came home after a long day and found Justin still up to his elbows in the most recent Liberty Air campaign. After having to scream at the incompetent VanGuard art department twice earlier that morning, Brian had sent Cynthia back to the loft with the mess so that Justin could take a stab at it. This was a much bigger project than anything he’d previously asked the boy to work on, so he hadn’t expected that much would be accomplished on the first day - even with the whole art department working on it, this campaign would conceivably take a week or two to complete. So, when he got home and found a stack of at least twelve print-ready layouts, he was floored.

The kid had taken the fucked up work Brian got from his own art staff and turned it into something remarkable. The young artist had taken the stock photos Liberty Air wanted to use and used his own artistic skills to turn the backgrounds into Van Gogh-esque masterpieces. It somehow turned the mundane photos of random 747s and uninspired flight attendants into art work. The everyday pictures of airport scenes were now juxtaposed in front of swirling orange and yellow sunsets, rolling green-blue hills and starry night skies. Brian had never seen anything like it. It was amazing. And the client would undoubtedly love it.

“Wow!” Brian picked up the layout on the top of the stack and scrutinized it more closely, not finding anything at all to criticize. “Not bad, Justin. Not bad at all!”

The self-effacing young artist looked down, too shy to meet Brian’s eye, but evidencing just a hint of a proud smile nonetheless. Brian shuffled through the rest of the stack, asking the occasional question or two, but only finding a few minor things that would need to be changed or adjusted. Justin, in his usual stubborn way, managed to answer all Brian’s questions without uttering a single word. He’d point to something, hand over some report or graph, bring up a web page on the computer or, when no other answer would suffice, he’d nod, shake his head or shrug. Brian had to laugh at their unconventional form of communication. But somehow the boy managed to get his point across much more clearly than most of the professionals Brian worked with who would spout off their opinions in virtually endless, wordy diatribes, and still fail to get their point across.

“This is excellent, Justin. I can’t believe you got this much done in one afternoon. How’d you manage that? Did you glue yourself to that chair and not move the whole day?” Brian teased, not expecting any response, of course. And sure to form, Justin didn’t say a word, but his stomach spoke up for him, growling loudly right at that exact moment.

Brian looked over at the immaculately spotless kitchen - the one he’d had stocked full of copious quantities of foodstuffs - then back at the PC who’d been working like a slave on Brian’s project all afternoon. And he KNEW that he’d somehow fucked up again. Maybe those critics accusing him of being unable to care for hungry boys and house plants had something there? Cause, unless he was gravely mistaken, it seemed pretty clear that the boy sitting in front of him had not been making use of those piles of groceries.

“Justin,” Brian turned the chair that the artist was sitting in so that the boy was forced to look at him. “Tell me you HAVE been eating during the day while I’m gone. I didn’t buy all that fucking food so it could sit in the fridge and rot. You ARE making yourself meals, right?” The boy bit his bottom lip and looked away, obviously startled by the anger in Brian’s tone. “Fuck, Justin! Did I not tell you to eat? I thought I’d made it clear. Remember Standing Order Number One? You are supposed to eat . . .” Then Brian remembered the exact wording of the order he’d given the boy, “as soon as you’re served any food . . . Shit! Do you have to be so fucking literal all the time? Fine. Let’s amend Standing Order Number One. You are allowed to eat at ANY time you are hungry. If you are home alone and get hungry, I expect you to fix yourself food and eat. You don’t need to ask permission to feed yourself. And anything you want to cook or eat is fine with me, okay? Just, please don’t fucking starve yourself to death, or else Debbie will have my balls for buttons on her vest at work.”

Brian stood there, silently waiting until Justin nodded that he understood the new order. Brian shook his head and grumbled about stupid stubborn PCs as he marched over to the phone and called in an extra large order from his favorite Italian restaurant. He figured he’d take a page out of Debbie’s book, stuff the kid to the fucking gills with pasta and hope it helped. He’d also have to remember to be more careful about the way he worded his instructions from here on out. Fucking PCs and their direct order thing.

On Thursday, Brian made sure to text the kid around noon, just in case, and asked when he was stopping for lunch. The kid sent back a screenshot of the computer screen with an arrow added pointing to the circled clock readout on the bottom left. Brian had to laugh at the stubborn little fucker who was so adamant about not giving in and speaking that he wouldn’t even deign to answer a text with words. You really did have to give the kid credit for his pertinacity, though. Brian respected him for sticking to his guns.

The second disconcerting event happened on Thursday evening.  Brian had been ordered to make an appearance at the Diner - Debbie having apparently learned through osmosis of Brian’s failing with regard to the feeding of his new Twink - so she could properly feed them both. He obediently bundled up his PC as soon as he got home and escorted the boy to the familiar eating place. The Diner was fairly packed with the pre-bar set, meaning that no tables were free when they arrived. Brian steered Justin over to the counter instead, taking the last two spots at the far end. Deb bustled over to them with a huge smile on her face and immediately enveloped Justin in one of her signature bear hugs.

Justin had been getting marginally better at the touching thing over the five or so days since he’d been with Brian. When they were alone, he almost always allowed Brian to casually drape an arm around his shoulders or even hold his hand. In bed, they’d fallen into a comfortable routine where the boy would start off the night huddled on the far edge of the bed all alone but then, gradually, as he felt more comfortable, he’d scoot over closer and closer to Brian’s side of the bed until he ended up falling asleep curled around Brian’s side with his head resting in the the hollow of the larger man’s shoulder. Brian had been very careful not to press for anything beyond the occasional kiss. He let the boy set the pace as to how much intimacy he wanted and when. And it seemed to be working. But Justin still wasn’t exactly happy to be mauled with affection by Debbie Novotny as soon as he entered the Diner, even if he did know, rationally, that Debbie didn’t mean anything sinister by her actions.

“Deb, the boy needs to breathe, please,” Brian commented dryly while he pried her fingers off the boy’s back.

“Oh, sorry, Justin. I’m just happy to see that you're doing so well.” Debbie stood back and surveyed the boy with a critical eye. “Good job, Brian. I’m proud of you. I honestly didn’t think you’d last this long.”

“Your confidence in me is underwhelming, Ma,” Brian complained, giving her a facetious smile as he seated his charge on the stool behind him so that Debbie wouldn’t be able to get at him as easily. “We’re both doing just fine so far, thanks for asking. Justin hasn’t starved to death or threatened to kill me once.”

Debbie laughed but didn’t deny that she had worried over just those things. Luckily, it was too busy in the Diner just then to stand and chat. She quickly took their drink orders and moved off to deliver the food that the cook had just placed in the serving window. Brian relaxed on his stool, enjoying his coffee and the familiar atmosphere of a place that had always seemed a safe haven for him and most of the rest of the gay community.

Which is probably why what happened next took him so much by surprise. One minute he and Justin were simply sitting quietly at the counter while Justin looked over the menu, and the next minute, Brian’s serene thoughts were interrupted by an insistent tapping on his shoulder. He looked over at the person standing behind him, vaguely recognizing the stocky guy dressed in worn work clothing and sporting a shaved head but a full, rufus beard. Brian thought he remembered fucking the guy once, in the far distant past, but couldn’t remember anything else about him other than the fact that he’d been easily forgettable. So, he had no idea why the guy had approached him now.

“Can I help you?” Brian asked, his tone indicating that he’d probably rather be saying ‘fuck off, already’.

“Yeah. You can, Kinney,” the guy replied with a sneer, his glare directed at the back of Justin’s neck where the PC tattoo was plainly visible above the collar of the sweater he’d worn that day. “You can get that piece of shit PC out of here. This is a respectable place, not a fucking whore house, and we don’t need his kind in here.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Brian growled back, momentarily at a loss for words in the face of such blatant hostility coming out of the blue.

“You and your slut here are my problem,” the hairy bear shot back. “I’m trying to fucking eat here and I don’t want your sexual perversions shoved in my face while I’m doing it. I don’t come play with my sex toys in your dining room while you’re having dinner and I don’t want you bringing yours in here.”

“Back the fuck off, asshole.” Brian demanded, standing up and moving so his body was sheltering Justin from the guy’s attentions. “We’re just sitting here waiting for our dinner like everyone else in the place. It’s not like I’m fucking him across the table in front of you. Although, if I remember correctly, you didn’t object to watching me fucking other guys before, so I’m not sure why you should be talking crap about it now.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t shoving your Personal Cumdumpster in my face that time, Kinney,” the guy sneered and glowered over Brian’s shoulder at the cowering PC. “Cause that’s all PCs are right? A convenient place for losers who can’t find willing partners to stick their dicks? And I gotta admit that this one’s pretty, but I figured you of all people, Kinney, wouldn’t have to resort to somebody who sold themselves as a sex toy because they weren’t good enough to do anything else with their lives. I don’t want that kind of trash hanging out anyplace I frequent.”  

“Sounds to me like you’re just jealous because nobody’s interested in you as a sex toy, Mack,” Debbie intervened before the vitriol could get any deeper. “And, if anyone’s a piece of trash who doesn’t have anything better to do with their lives, it would be you . . . Or did I not hear that you’d lost your job - AGAIN - and had to move back in with your mother?” Debbie emphasized her point by jabbing the end of her fuzzy-topped pen into the big, burly guy’s chest, causing him to take a step back. “Last time I checked this was a fucking PUBLIC facility, Mack, and that means that we allow pretty much anybody who wants to eat in here. Although, the management does reserve the right to deny service to anyone, and I think that should probably include hate-filled bigots who don’t mind their tongues. So, as I see it, you have two options here, Mack . . . either you apologize to Justin, or you leave. Which do you wanna do, Asshole?”

“Fuck this. I’m outta here!” the disgruntled barbarian hissed, including Debbie in with those he hit with his parting look of disgust. “If you’re going to let whores and tramps take over the place, then I don’t wanna be here anyway.”

“Good! We don’t need small-minded, small-dicked, bigots in here anyway. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Debbie yelled at the man’s retreating back, then turned to confront the rest of the Diner’s patrons. “And if anyone else agrees with him, you can leave right now too! I won’t stand for prejudice of ANY kind in this Diner. Not prejudice against people based on their sexual orientation. Not prejudice against anyone because of their race or religion or country of origin. And NOT prejudice because of a person’s financial condition - which is what discrimination against PCs boils down to. Because, believe you me, nobody - NOBODY - wakes up one morning and decides they WANT to sell their body for money or contract themselves out to be a PC. It’s not like it’s a prime career choice or something, people. So I don’t want to hear ANY of you looking down on someone who was forced into that situation - for whatever fucking reason - because, you’re all just plain fucking LUCKY that it hasn’t happened to you. Got it?” Debbie glared around at every single person in the now completely silent Diner, staring each and every one of them down into submission. “Good. Now, everybody get back to your fucking food before it all goes cold!”

Brian was still so boiling angry even after Mack had left that he didn’t move to sit down. Even Debbie’s harangue didn’t really placate him. He couldn’t believe that anyone would dare to say that kind of shit to his face. Or to a mere kid like Justin. He knew that there was a lot of discrimination against PCs out there - everyone had heard someone or other making bad jokes or derogatory comments - but before this, it had all just been sort of academic as far as he was concerned. He’d never had to personally deal with it. And, whereas he’d long since become inured to the slurs people threw his way because he was gay, he’d been taken unawares by this.

After Debbie finished staring down the Diner, she immediately turned back towards Brian and Justin, her feathers still all a’ruffle, and her expression daunting. Before Brian knew what hit him, the matronly woman had him reseated and was hugging him and petting him in front of the entire crowd of watchers. He might have struggled against such treatment, if only he hadn’t been so shocked that he still couldn’t think straight. So he simply let his surrogate mother dote on him and murmur comforting nonsense about how she wouldn’t let that kind of person say shit that they knew nothing about.

“That fucking idiot,” she was still too riled up to stop railing on the departed Mack. “All anyone really has to do is look at this poor boy and they’d know that he’s too fucking young to have contracted himself out. It’s not like he chose this. But even if he did, that kind of attitude is unacceptable. I won’t hear of it. Not in MY Diner. Not here. Not ever.”

“The problem with prejudice though, Deb, is that it’s unthinking. It’s not logical. It’s not reasonable. It just spouts off without regard to the truth. So whether or not Justin was responsible for his own contract doesn’t really matter. Does it?” Brian answered, mired in defeat. “And that was just the one guy who was stupid enough to say aloud what a lot of others think . . . Fuck!” Brian pushed his coffee cup away from himself in disgust. “I didn’t know it would be this bad,” he admitted, looking askance at the bowed boy sitting on the next stool over. “I didn’t even think about it before. I mean, the way Lindsey acted the other night was bad enough, but . . . oh, fuck it all. Things never really will change will they? We finally make a little headway against the homophobic assholes who didn’t like us because of who we fuck, and then we have to deal with some other fucking bigotry based only on the fact that some rich fuck took advantage of somebody like Justin’s father, who was desperate enough to do practically anything for money. It never really changes, does it?”

“I won’t believe that, Brian. I can’t,” Debbie insisted. “People are just afraid of what they don’t know. And since there’s always something new they still don’t understand, that fear just changes. But I won’t ever believe that they can’t be educated. And I won’t ever stop trying. So don’t you stop either. Hear me?”

“I hear you, Deb. Not sure I believe, though,” Brian shook his head and frowned at the now dejected and submissive demeanor of the boy sitting next to him. “But, whatever. I’ve had enough of fighting the good fight for one night. Think you can wrap up our dinner to go?”

“Sure thing, Honey. Sure thing.” Debbie conceded for the moment. “But don’t you let them win by hiding yourself or this boy away forever. Okay?”

Brian didn’t bother to respond. He didn’t know what more to say. And he didn’t know how much he could take of this new pile of shit heaped on his life. But, once again, he knew it was only a fraction of what Justin would be subjected to for the rest of his life. So, somehow, Brian would have to learn to deal with it too and maybe figure out a way to help his PC through it along the way.

⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣

Friday morning arrived along with the cliche of bad weather portending the bluster of the coming day. Neither Brian nor Justin were looking forward to the dinner that night with Lapointe. But, before they could even get to that, they had to deal with Justin’s doctor appointment. And Brian could tell from the outset that Justin was about as uncomfortable with doctors as he was with crowds.

The boy had barely slept the night before, which meant that Brian hadn’t slept well either. Finally, around two am, Brian had pulled the tossing, turning boy towards him, physically pinning the boy to the bed with his whole body, and refusing to move until the kid finally settled down. Brian didn’t know if it had worked and he’d finally fallen asleep, but at least he’d stopped thrashing around. But, when it was time to get up the next morning, Brian could tell that the PC was completely exhausted and stressed out. Not the best way to begin a day that was guaranteed to be stressful in and of itself.

Cynthia had snagged the first available appointment of the day so, at the very least, they would be able to get it over with early. Brian chivvied the reluctant boy out of bed and into the shower, but didn’t have the heart to tease him with the now almost standard morning masturbation show. Justin was simply too wound up and Brian feared it would just add to his worries. So they were able to shower quickly, get some toast in lieu of breakfast and head out in plenty of time.

Dr. Petrie’s offices were located in an annex of Allegheny General Hospital. Even with the blowing wind and pouring rain, it didn’t take long at all to drive the short distance from the loft to the large medical complex. However, Brian was worried before they were halfway there. Every mile closer they drove, the more Justin shrank in his seat, curling in on himself as if the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders. Brian didn’t know what, exactly, was causing this reaction, but even if he had known, there probably wasn’t anything he could do about it. He hesitated to even reach out for the boy’s hand - fearful that the mere touch would send the kid completely over the edge. Instead, Brian just hurried on, intending to get this over with as soon as possible and hope for the best.

When they arrived at the doctor’s office, Brian had to practically carry his recalcitrant PC into the building, ignoring the way Justin flinched at every single touch and cringed away from everyone they passed. This was far worse than he’d ever seen the boy, except for that time at the grocery store, but there didn’t seem to be anything Brian could do to make it less trying. He was grateful though when the nurse at the reception desk showed them right back to an exam room without making them wait. At least in the small exam room, Justin’s panic could be contained.

Dr. Petrie arrived very soon thereafter. He was exactly what you’d expect a doctor of his standing to be. He looked like a modern-day version of some perfect television doctor of the fifties; a tall, middle-aged white man with short, greying hair and a somber expression, dressed in a white lab coat. The man’s unexceptional appearance didn’t seem to reassure the boy, though. Justin shriveled even more in the chair where he was sitting, seemingly hoping to disappear from sight if he could only make himself small enough. Brian’s reassuring pat on the shoulder didn’t help at all. But the doctor only eyed the situation with a clinical eye and said nothing, his professionalism masking any other opinions he might have about what he observed.

“Good morning, Mr. Kinney. I’m Dr. Petrie. Nice to meet you,” the man announced, advancing to shake Brian’s hand. “I see here that we’re supposed to be looking over your new PC for the insurance records? Is that all? Or do you have any other concerns I can help you with today?”

“No. Of course not, Doctor . . . I just assumed that the cowering in corners and fear of being touched was normal,” Brian snarked, with an unbelieving shrug.

“Quite . . . Well, then, let’s see what we see.” The doctor put the file folder he’d carried in with him down on a counter and pulled on a pair of latex exam gloves. “Do I have your permission to approach the PC?”

“Of course. That IS why we’re here, right?”

“Sorry, Sir, but I’m required to get your explicit permission before I’m allowed to touch your PC. It’s standard in this type of exam,” the man explained.

“More stupid rules. Yes, of course, you have my permission to touch him. And, for the record, his name is ‘Justin’. He’s not ‘the PC’.”

“Very good. I’ll note that in his file for future,” Dr. Petrie replied with perfect professional detachment. “Now, if we could have Justin sit on the exam table . . .”

The usual physical exam routine followed, with the doctor poking and prodding at the boy, looking in various bodily orifices and asking questions, most of which Brian couldn’t answer. The process was slowed down quite a bit because of the way Justin recoiled at every single touch. He also, not unexpectedly, refused to answer any of the questions put to him. He even refused to say ‘Ahhhh’ when the doctor was examining his throat. Brian merely shrugged when the doctor looked to him for help in getting the patient to cooperate. Brian wasn’t about to order the kid to respond to the doctor - he’d already promised himself that he would let the boy have at least that much control over his life and would never try and force him to speak if he wasn’t ready. Because of this, though, the exam took a little longer than usual.

When he was through, the doctor stripped off the gloves, tossed them down a waste chute and then ordered the PC to put his clothing back on. “Well, Mr. Kinney, as far as I can tell, your PC is in satisfactory physical health. I’ll run the blood samples we took and do the usual panel of STD tests as well as a basic health screening panel. But, provided that those turn up as we expect, there doesn’t appear to be anything I need to be concerned with.” The man picked up the file and made several notations in it before he continued with his summation. “I do, however, note that the PC seems to have a substantial number of sequela related to the trauma he suffered approximately a year and a half ago. I’m assuming you’re aware of the attack your PC suffered?”

“Some of it,” Brian replied. “I know he was attacked by a classmate and suffered head trauma. But that’s about all. As you already noted, Justin isn’t much for talking so I haven’t heard the whole story from his end yet. And, even if he did want to talk about it, from what I hear, he may not even remember it. I am worried about the after-effects though. I’ve noticed that his hand sometimes shakes and cramps up when he’s over worked it. Is there anything you can do about that?”

“Yes, that is noted in his file. From what it says here, the attack on your PC resulted in severe Traumatic Brain Injury. Apparently the skull was cracked in several places and required surgery to remove bone fragments as well as to relieve excessive intracranial pressure. In laymen’s terms, they basically drilled three holes in his skull, so that fluid wouldn’t build up in the brain and cause further damage. Afterwards, the patient was in a coma for about two weeks. According to the doctors who were in charge of his care at the time, as a result of these injuries, the PC suffers from several long-term, moderately debilitating conditions, including a significant memory loss related to the incident and some motor skills complications, primarily on the right side. The doctors also noted severe psychological trauma, which is likely the cause of some of the more obvious symptoms we’ve seen here, like the fear of being touched and possibly even the aphasia, or lack of speech. I would imagine he’s also exhibiting other symptoms? The file noted a fear of crowds, panic attacks, insomnia and general social anxiety.”

“Yep. That about covers it all,” Brian sighed, not happy to have all his concerns documented and confirmed. “So, why didn’t the doctors treat all this? I mean, it doesn’t seem like Justin’s recovered much at all if all those things were noted right after the attack and he’s still dealing with it today? It’s been more than a year since that attack. Isn’t there anything that can be done?”

“Yes, of course. There are a number of treatment options,” the doctor reassured. “For example, physical therapy should help with the motor control issues and relieve the cramping and tremors that you’ve noted in his hand. If he’d followed through with that back when he was first injured, he likely wouldn’t be having nearly the problems that you’ve noted now.”

“Then why didn’t they follow through on the physical therapy? Shouldn’t that have been done right after the attack? I thought that kind of shit was more effective if it’s done sooner?” Brian asked, confused about whatever the doctor was implying.

“It says here in the file that physical therapy was discontinued at the insistence of a Mr. Gary Sapperstein . . . I’m assuming that was his Handler at the time?” the doctor offered after reading further in the file.

“That fucker . . . I can’t believe that he discontinued Justin’s therapy. Well, actually, I CAN. He’s a fucking worm, so of course he’d pull that kind of shit. Probably so he could save a few bucks on the doctors,” Brian grumbled. “It’s not too late though? Justin could still benefit from physical therapy, right?”

“Undeniably. Physical therapy should help substantially,” Dr. Petrie affirmed, jotting something more in the file as he answered Brian’s questions. “I’m going to refer you to a colleague of mine. He’ll do a complete PT evaluation and let you know what he thinks can be done. But I have confidence that your PC will see at least some improvement from PT.”

Then the doctor paused, as if thinking through what he planned to say next and hesitating. “May I ask you one other question, Mr. Kinney?” Brian shrugged and nodded. “You don’t really seem like the usual PC owner we see in here. I get the impression you . . . that you maybe care for this boy? That you truly want to see him get better. And not just so that he’ll be insurable or a better personal companion because of it?”

“No, I imagine I’m not your typical PC owner, doc,” Brian hesitated to explain further, not sure where this was going and not convinced that he could trust this doctor even though Cynthia’s friends had said he was a decent guy. So he continued but was intentionally a bit vague in his answers. “But, yes, I do want to see Justin get better. And not just because of the fucking insurance.”

“That’s what I thought.” He paused again, then took out a prescription pad and tapped his pen on the paper for a few seconds before continuing. “Mr. Sapperstein also discontinued the psychological counselling that your PC was receiving. That’s likely exacerbated the symptoms you’ve been noticing. I agree with the diagnosis of the doctors treating your PC at that time - this has all the earmarks of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. And a fairly severe case at that. Counselling would likely help control these symptoms to at least some degree. Although, a lot of it may ease on its own with time. If you’re interested in pursuing mental health counselling for the PC, there are a number of well known PCRA licensed therapists in the area.”

Brian nodded. He thought that the way the doctor was wording this portion of his evaluation was strange. He was going on and on about the PTSD, but then seemed only luke warm about the possibility of therapy. Didn’t doctors go gaga over any kind of fucking therapy? Why wouldn’t he want Justin to get help? PTSD sounded pretty fucking serious to Brian, and even though he wasn’t really all that gung-ho about shrinks, in this case he might make an exception. So why was Dr. Petrie hesitating?

“Great! If it’ll help, then just tell me what to do. Who to go to. I’ll do whatever Justin needs, Doc,” Brian urged.

Petrie studied Brian carefully for one more minute, before nodding and then scribbling something on the prescription pad he’d been holding. “Other than the physical therapy, the only thing I would recommend for your PC right now is better nutrition. He appears to be a little undernourished. I’m writing you a script for a good multivitamin that might help.” The doctor tore off the one sheet he’d been writing on and then quickly wrote something else on the underlying sheet before handing both over to Brian. “And, if you decide you want to pursue the mental health counseling, I can have my nurse give you a list of PCRA approved therapists for you to contact. Otherwise, I’d say your PC seems just fine and you’re good to go.” The doctor reached out his hand one more time to shake his client’s hand. “Good luck, Mr. Kinney.”

Brian noted that the handshake and kind wishes were accompanied by an incongruous wink that totally threw him off for a second. His gaydar hadn’t pinged even once around the good doctor and that was usually the only reason men winked at him. But there was something here. Brian looked at the doctor questioningly, and noted that the man was pointedly looking down at the prescriptions in Brian’s hand. The top one was, clearly, just the script for the vitamins. Nothing surprising there. Brian quickly thumbed the edge of that sheet up and looked at the second script . . . Aha! That explained the surreptitious looks and the wink.

“Thank you, Doctor. I promise I’ll follow through on that,” Brian replied, equally as circumspect as the good doctor even though he didn’t know why it was needed. “Oh, and I’d like to get a complete copy of Justin’s medical records before I leave. I’m especially worried about any allergies you have listed there. I know he’s allergic to Tylenol as well as some other medicines - I want to make sure I have a comprehensive list of all that in case of any emergencies. And, seeing as he’s had a lot of other issues, I’d better just get everything else as well.”

“Of course, Mr. Kinney. I’ll have my assistant get that together for you right away,” Petrie replied agreeably. "Nice to have met you and your PC.” And then the doctor was gone and Brian and Justin were left alone.

“Interesting man,” Brian commented ambiguously. “Alright. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Justin didn’t reply, but at least he wasn’t cowering in his chair anymore now that the doctor was gone. “Let’s get out of here, J. I find I’m all of a sudden sharing your dislike of doctors.” Justin quickly pulled his clothing back on. When Brian went to put an arm around the younger man’s shoulders this time, Justin didn’t flinch away. Good thing, too, since Brian wanted to have the boy close beside him so that he could show him the second prescription the doctor had handed him.

The note on the prescription sheet read:

‘If you really want Justin to get better, don’t take him to a PCRA licensed therapist. They won’t do squat. They’re not allowed to help him the way he needs. Take him to this therapist instead . . .’

********

Chapter 15 - PC Preparations.

After the trying morning with the doctor, Brian thought it was best to simply keep Justin with him for the rest of the day. Fuck Vance and his directive to keep the PC out of the office. Besides, Cynthia had already said she would help them prepare for the PC dinner with Lapointe later that night, and since this whole mess had been instigated by Vance to start with, Brian thought the least he could do was deal with Justin in the office for one day.

Brian parked the boy on the couch as soon as they entered, placed a sketchpad and pencils on the table next to him in case he wanted to do anything, but didn’t give the kid any real work. Justin looked so fucking exhausted, that Brian hoped he would maybe take a nap instead. They were both going to need to be in tip top form that evening, so he should probably try and get some rest now if he could. However, if the kid was as nervous and wound up as Brian was, resting wouldn’t be very likely.

Cynthia strolled into the office less than five minutes after they arrived. Brian handed off the medical records he’d obtained from the Doctor’s office and instructed her to make several copies of the kid’s allergy list so he could have them on hand wherever needed. He also gave her the cryptic note about the psychologist and asked her to investigate further. If therapy could legitimately help the kid, Brian wanted to get him started on it as soon as possible.

The rest of the morning went by quietly. Justin actually did doze off for about an hour while Brian worked as noiselessly as possible on his computer. Thankfully, he didn’t have any appointments or meetings scheduled for that day, so he was able to just sit, plow through a ton of paperwork and use that as a distraction to keep his mind off everything else. That only worked for just so long, though.

Cynthia came in with lunch for all of them around one-thirty. The three of them ate while Brian and his assistant talked about nothing in particular. Justin seemed even more subdued than usual, which was saying a lot for a young man that never actually talked at all. By the time they finished up it was already after two. Cynthia seemed to think that meant it was time to start prepping for the coming dinner party debacle.

The ever-efficient assistant started off easy by running Brian through all the background information they had on Lapointe. Most of this they’d already been through the week before when they’d prepped for the auction. Cynthia had dug up a bit more over the intervening week, though, as well as a large quantity on Lapointe’s wife. Since they didn’t know who else was going to be at this soiree, that was the best Cynthia could do as far as the attendees. She did promise to be available for last minute assists all evening and instructed Brian to text her with the full guest list as soon as he could. That way she could at least give him a heads up on anything really important.

Next, they planned out some ‘safe’ topics of conversation that Brian could use if needed. They also talked about how to deal with any ‘unsafe’ topics that might come up. That part of the proceedings took a lot longer, because, as far as Brian was concerned there were a LOT of unsafe topics. Basically, pretty much anything dealing with PCs was going to be a hot button conversation for him and he wanted to be prepared in advance for how to deal with as many of these issues as possible. In a lot of ways, he felt like a litigant being prepared for court testimony or even a political candidate prepping for a debate. And he was grateful all over again that Cynthia was as thorough and knowledgeable as she was.

After wading through that morass for more than an hour, Brian decided he was as ready as he would ever be for whatever conversation he’d be subjected to, which prompted Cynthia to move on to the even trickier topic of PC etiquette. This was also the stage where, of necessity, Justin needed to be brought into the discussion. Brian got up from behind his desk and moved over so that he was sitting next to the boy on the couch, putting his arm around the hunched over shoulders, trying to provide whatever support he could while taking comfort himself in the solidity he found there.

“So, Justin, I assume you already know all this stuff, but I’m going to run through it anyway since Brian will need to know what’s going on as well,” Cynthia started out. “As for you, Brian, you should probably think of it as BDSM gone hardcore. I know you have some familiarity with that world, but you’ve never probably been exposed to anything like this, so it’s going to seem a little harsh.” Brian nodded, bowing to her greater knowledge. “To start with, you have to understand that Justin will need to act like your Sub and needs to be treated that way at all times. And while I know you don’t really want him to act like that in general, he’s going to have to at this dinner. If he acts any other way, he’s going to draw attention to himself, which we don’t want. And, conversely, you’re going to have act like his Dom.”

“I can do that. It’s not like it’s going to be a huge stretch. It’s not that much different than how the rest of the week has been,” Brian offered.

“Actually, it is a LOT different, Brian. You’re way too nice to Justin in your everyday life to pass muster with this set. I mean, just look at the way you’re sitting there right now,” Cynthia pointed to the two men where they were sitting together on the couch. “Just the way you’re holding Justin would be a major no-no with these people. You are not supposed to care about him or his feelings. You can’t show that you have ANY concern for him at all. Sorry to put this so bluntly, Justin - but, Brian, you’re going to have to treat him like just another piece of furniture. Don’t look at him, don’t speak to him, don’t even touch him more than necessary. Think you can do that?”

“Sure. I can do that. Whatever,” Brian asserted, although his tone betrayed the fact that it wasn’t going to be easy for him.

“Good. Justin, you, of course, will follow Brian any place he goes, staying one pace behind.” Cynthia continued with her instructions. “If you stop, Brian, Justin will be expected to drop to his knees, unless you order him to stand. I strongly suggest that you not let Justin stay anywhere without you, because you just don’t know what people will say or do and he wouldn’t be able to do anything at all to protect himself.” Brian had already planned for this and definitely would NOT be going anywhere without Justin. “While you’re around, nobody will be able to touch Justin or even address him directly. They have to get your permission, as his owner, for any of that. So, just to be safe, stay together.”

“So, now for your attire. Brian, I assume you will be wearing a suit. Nothing too fancy - you don’t want to overdo it - but your usual designer labels should impress.” Brian shrugged, already having planned his outfit for the night, and concurring with Cynthia’s analysis. Then Cyn reached down below her chair and brought out a small shopping bag that had been waiting there throughout the afternoon. “As for Justin, well . . . If this were a formal PC affair, all PCs would be expected to appear completely unclothed, except for their collars, of course. But, since this is just a casual dinner, I’m hoping that you can get away with having Justin dressed in this.”

Brian took the small bag Cynthia handed him and pulled out a very skimpy pair of leather shorts that looked like they wouldn’t cover a five year old, let alone the young man sitting next to him. Shit! Even if the kid could get them on, Brian thought it was likely they’d leave half his ass hanging out the back. And this was considered demure dinner wear?

Cynthia properly read her boss’ face and interrupted before he could complain. “I know they’re not much, Brian, but it’s really the best I think you can get away with. I told you, this is something you’ve never been exposed to and it’s not going to be easy.” Brian sighed and passed the shorts over to Justin, who simply let them sit on his lap where they lay. “As it is, I’m sure somebody’s bound to comment on the shorts. I thought you could just say something vague about them being ‘punishment’. Just don’t get into what you’re punishing him for. That excuse should also suffice to explain why you insist on having him follow you everywhere, I hope.”

“I hope you’re right about all of this, Cynthia. I have a bad fucking feeling about tonight,” Brian worried aloud.

He wasn’t reassured when Cynthia simply looked at the two of them with a small sympathetic smile and didn’t say anything.

********

Nothing much had been accomplished at VanGuard after that. Brian tried to concentrate on more paperwork but soon gave it up and decided to head home. Justin, of course, didn’t object. Not that being back at the loft was any better. Both men seemed completely at loose ends. Brian wandered aimlessly around the rooms and Justin sat in his spot on the couch and stared. It was eerily quiet and uncomfortable. When it came time to start getting ready, it was almost a relief.

Brian dressed himself in his Armani armor and then waited while Justin donned his leather boy shorts. They were just as small as he’d suspected they’d be. And considering it was fucking freezing out, the boy was likely going to be cold all night to boot. Brian grabbed the large black wool cloak that Justin had worn home from the auction and wrapped it around him, hoping that would be enough to keep him warm at least while they were driving around.

The last thing that Brian did before they left was to get Justin’s thick leather collar out of the kitchen junk drawer where he’d stashed it. He didn’t want to even look at the damned thing, and hated that he had to put it on the boy’s neck. Justin, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by this part of the proceedings and meekly bent his head forward to make it easier for Brian to latch the buckle. After the collar was on, Brian also clipped on the long leather leash, feeling stupid even as he started to lead his PC towards the door.

Brian pulled the jeep up to the brightly lit Lapointe mansion a little more than twenty minutes later. He was dreading going inside. What he’d prefer would be to turn the car around and just get the fuck out of there as fast as humanly possible. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Not without risking Justin’s life as well as his own lifestyle. But he couldn’t go in there without saying something reassuring to the boy who was depending on him. Not that he was all that good at reassuring pep talks. He’d never really tried one before. Now seemed a pretty good time to learn, though.

“I’ve never been a big fan of apologies, you know,” Brian started out, hoping to explain himself adequately even though his words sounded insufficient even in his own mind. “I always figured that, by the time you said you were sorry, it was too late to do anything about it. And the words alone rarely help anyway. They don’t make things better or take away the hurt. But, right now, I can’t think of anything else to say to you, Justin,” Brian reached over, his hand cupping the boy’s chin and forcing him to look up until their eyes met. “I AM sorry that you have to do this. I wish to holy fuck that there was some other way to make things right. And I promise you - I swear - that I won’t let anyone in there hurt you tonight. Just try to trust me, okay. I know that’s almost impossible for you at this point, but please try.” Brian leaned forward, his forehead gently resting against the other man’s, their noses almost touching and Brian’s breath ghosting against Justin’s lips with every word. “I need to know that you trust me or I won’t be able to do this. I won’t be able to take you in there. Not knowing how much this is going to frighten you. Not unless I know you believe that I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

Brian held on and waited for a response. Giving the boy all the time he needed to reply. Unwilling to move until he got what he’d asked for. Ready to leave, if that was Justin’s decision. Finally, after a dozen shared breaths, the face Brian held in his hands nodded up and down twice.

“Thank you, Justin,” Brian said gratefully, not releasing his grip until he’d stolen one chaste kiss, then sitting up again with a deep sigh. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Brian got out of the jeep and went around to the passenger side to let Justin out. He reluctantly grabbed the leash and, with one last conspiratorial glance at the boy, set off up the walk to the front door, confident that the PC would follow along obediently. The doorbell was answered by an obsequious, elderly black doorman dressed in black slacks and a black shirt with a black bow tie. Even if Brian didn’t already know the type of people who lived here, this welcoming committee would have clued him in. The doorman greeted the guests, took Brian’s coat and Justin’s cloak, then ushered the man and his companion inside, leading them down a hallway to the room he called the ‘Salon’, announcing Brian to the assembly inside.

“Brian! Welcome! Welcome! Come on in and meet everyone,” Lapointe greeted him jovially, welcoming the AdMan and dragging him further into the room. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Aleta. Aleta, darling, this strapping young man is Brian Kinney. He’s the gentleman I’ve been telling you about. The one that I hope will rejuvenate our marketing efforts and help PC Clearinghouse corner the PC resale market for the entire east coast. Brian, may I introduce my lovely wife, Aleta.”

“Oh, Mr. Kinney. I’m just thrilled to meet you! Walt has been extolling your virtues all week,” the plump, garishly made-up woman tittered, grabbing onto Brian’s forearm and hanging there like a limpet. “I’m so happy you could make it for dinner tonight. I know your secretary said you were already busy, but I’m just tickled pink that you made room in your schedule. Especially since Walt neglected to inform me of the one virtue you possess that I, myself, find the most engaging - your handsome good looks.”

“Why thank you, Mrs. Lapointe. I assure you, the pleasure of getting to meet such a lovely hostess was more than enough of an inducement to get me here,” Brian responded, bringing out the Kinney charm and putting it to what he hoped would be good use.

“Walt did mention that you were a charmer. Now I see why he said that,” the buxom woman giggled at the over-the-top compliment. “But, please, Brian - it IS okay if I call you Brian, right?” Brian nodded acquiescently, “And you should call me Aleta. I just know we’re going to be good friends and friends should always be on a first name basis.” Brian bowed in a gentlemanly fashion without comment. “Wonderful. Now, Brian, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Looping her arm through Brian’s, Aleta Lapointe led the way into the middle of the elegantly appointed room which was filled with people. Brian immediately noticed the surreal dichotomy between the polished and fashionably dressed guests - all of whom were standing around with drinks in their hands and smiles on their faces while they chatted inanely - and the surrounding phalanx of naked PCs who stood silently at attention or knelt at their owners’ feet. It was even stranger that nobody other than himself seemed to notice the strangeness.  It felt like he’d just walked into an alien world where he didn’t understand anything that was going on. But he also smiled and said nothing, because that was what was expected of him.

“So, Brian, I believe you’ve already met Howard and Jim,” Aleta simpered, dragging Brian’s focus back to the present with a sickening lurch as he recognized the two men. “At least there’ll be a few familiar faces for you here tonight.”

“Kinney! When I heard that Walter was having you over tonight I just had to invite myself along so I could see how you and my pretty little lost boy were faring,” Howard Bellweather greeted with a fakely affable smile before looking longingly down at the silent blond boy who had obediently dropped to his knees at Brian’s feet as soon as they stopped walking. “But, from the looks of him, I’d say you two are getting along famously. He looks even more tempting than he did the other night.”

Bellweather didn’t wait to hear Brian’s reply to this comment before turning to Jim Stockwell. “You know, I have always been attracted to beautiful boys. It’s a weakness of mine. Even before I started writing and had the means to purchase PCs, I just couldn’t stay away from pretty, little boys. And, not to toot my own horn or anything, but back then, they couldn’t resist me either. If you know what I mean,” Howard chuckled suggestively while he elbowed his friend jocularly in the ribs. “Those were the days, huh? Not that I can’t still pull them when I put my mind to it. It helps that I’m famous. You should see the way the boys flaunt themselves around me at my book signings sometimes. Basically, I could just point and yell ‘drop your pants’ and they’d fall all over themselves to oblige me. *Hahahaha*”

“You ARE a bad boy, aren’t you, Howie! Don’t you be leading my Jimmy astray, though,” an athletic, dark-haired woman who’d moved to stand next to Stockwell admonished Bellweather. “I have a hard enough time keeping all the women around from throwing themselves at him. I don’t need you tempting him with pretty little blond boys, too.”

“Now, now, Anne, you know how I feel about that. It’s fine for Howie, I suppose, but I would never . . .” Stockwell immediately corrected everyone, looking slightly scandalized by the very suggestion that he would be interested in anything of a homosexual nature - although, if those rumors that Cynthia had mentioned to Brian earlier were true, Jimmy wasn’t above indulging in a boy or two himself at many of the PC parties he was invited to by friends. “Anne, let me introduce you to Brian Kinney. From what Walter tells us, he’s the latest wunderkind of the advertising world,” Stockwell said, quickly changing the subject. “Kinney, may I present my wonderful wife of 23 years, Anne.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Brian intoned, accepting the woman’s proffered hand and then gallantly bowing over it to buss her knuckles.

“Oh, my! You were right about this one, Walter. He is a cad!” Anne Stockwell giggled, and was joined by a still hovering Aleta Lapointe.

“No fair monopolizing him, Anne, dear. I still haven’t introduced Brian to the rest of our group,” Aleta insisted as she shooed away the Stockwells and waved forward another pair of ladies. “Brian, this is Gail Barr - she’s Howard’s sister - and Amanda Hobbs - who’s one of my dearest friends from college. Ladies, come say hello to Brian Kinney, Walter’s newest PC aspirant.”

“Lovely to meet you both, ladies,” Brian shot his most Kinney-esque smile at the two women.

“Welcome into the fold, Mr. Kinney,” said the acerbic-looking Gail, who was gazing at Brian with more than a hint of antipathy as she fingered the leather leash of a small-statured, dark-haired twink PC kneeling at her own feet. “My brother has told everyone about what went down at the auction the other night. He was so disappointed to lose out on the item he was bidding on. Is this him?” The woman gestured towards Justin. “He is quite attractive. I can definitely see why Howard would want him. My brother has always gone for the golden, cream-filled twinkie type.” She twittered smugly at her brother, apparently enjoying her own teasing comment.

“I wouldn’t talk, Sis,” Bellweather replied. “Gail likes to try a twinkie herself every so often. Right, Gail?” The woman smiled and shrugged at her brother. “In fact, we share a lot of the same tastes in men . . . and sometimes even the same men . . . which, it turns out, is a great way to effectively double our respective PC stables,” Howard explained to their listeners. “Gail and I were always taught by our parents to share, you know, and we still do to this day.”

“That’s so economical of you,” was the completely inhumane comment from Aleta Lapointe, as she passed over the admission that Brian himself found utterly vile without even batting an eyelash. “But enough talk of PCs, please. Being married to Walter, I hear PC talk day in and day out. We can do without it for at least a few more minutes tonight, can't we? Besides, I haven’t introduced Brian to the rest of our guests yet. So you boys will just have to talk shop later. Now, Brian, let me introduce you to the Weatheralls. Sam. Diana. Darlings, come over here and meet our newest initiate.”

Brian endured another half hour of meeting and greeting the rest of the Lapointes' friends. Aleta Lapointe seemed to have attached herself to Brian and practically refused to leave his side the entire time. She insisted on making sure he had first a drink and then a plate of hors d’oeuvres, which were kept filled at all times. And she also made sure that he was the center of the conversation as much as possible, as if to show off her new attraction to all her friends. Brian put up with her attentions as best he could, trying to ingratiate himself with the wife, who he found at least marginally less repulsive than the husband. He also spread his Kinney charm around amongst the women as liberally as he could, hoping to win whatever allies he could in this pack of vipers.

By the time the last guests arrived the party consisted of six men and six women, many of whom were accompanied by their own leash-led PCs. It made for quite the crowd. Luckily, only half of them were allowed to speak, which kept the noise level down a bit. However, even through all the noise and bustle, and even though Brian never made it back around to the spot where Bellweather was holding court, he was hyper-aware the entire time of the way the oily man’s eyes followed Justin everywhere. It was bad enough that the room was crowded and stuffy - that alone was more than enough to cause Justin anxiety - but the never ending leers and overheard lewd comments from Bellweather, were even more nerve racking. Brian could feel the almost constant terrified trembling coming from the boy and couldn’t help occasionally reaching down and trailing his fingertips across a bare shoulder or through the thick blond hair, even though Cynthia had warned him not to be too demonstrative. But it was the only thing he COULD do to try and reassure the terror filled boy, so he did it anyway and hoped there wouldn’t be too many negative consequences.

********

Chapter 16 - PC Dining.

Right about the time that Brian felt he had endured enough and was going to tell Bellweather off, the doorman, now serving as butler as well, came in carrying a tray with an expensive-looking cut crystal bell on it. Aleta accepted the bell, rang it loudly, and then announced that dinner was served in the main dining room. All the guests began to move en masse in the direction of the exit, handing off their plates and glasses to the attentive wait staff and tugging their PCs along in their wakes. Brian followed all the rest, although he made sure that he paused for a longer moment than everyone else so that Justin could have a minute to adjust to standing after being on his knees for so long. Once they made it to the dining room though, he was summarily taken in hand by Aleta Lapointe and deposited into the seat at her left hand.

Brian noted that most of the other guests were instructing their PCs to stand at attention around the perimeter of the room. Presumably, this was so that they would be nearby but still out of the way of the servers. Brian, though, didn’t care much for that arrangement. With Justin standing two meters behind him, he wouldn’t be able to see the boy without completely turning around. He also noted that Howard Bellweather, who happened to be seated directly across from him, would basically end up staring straight at Justin the whole meal in that position. Luckily, with Aleta sitting at the foot of the table directly to Brian’s right, there was a little more room on Brian’s right side than most of the other guests would have. Brian hastily took advantage of that circumstance to situate Justin on his knees immediately to the right of his chair, almost under the edge of the table. It might not be the most comfortable place for the boy to have to kneel, but it had the advantage that he was closer to Brian and he was mostly below the table edge so Bellweather would only be able to see the top of the boy’s head. Brian also noted that the kid’s panic level seemed to decrease once he was positioned there, in the relatively out of the way spot, and hidden from most eyes.

“You don’t need to keep your boy so close at hand, Kinney,” Bellweather commented almost immediately. “A little overprotective, aren’t you? I mean, first you show up with him clothed and now you can’t even stand to have him out of your sight? That’s a bad precedent to set for the rest of them, you know.”

“It’s part of my system of discipline,” Brian explained with a vague wave of his hand to indicate there was a lot more to the story than he was going to get into just then. “As his punishment, he’s required to stay in my sight at all times.”

“Good idea, Kinney,” Walter Lapointe bellowed from the far end of the table. “Glad to see that you’re taking my advice from the other night to heart. A firm hand, you know. Right from the start. That’s the only way to handle a new PC.”

Brian smiled genially at his host without either agreeing or disagreeing. Happily, the topic was dropped right then due to the advent of the appetiser course. Brian turned his attention to the food in front of him, and tried to ignore the ongoing inquisitive glares coming his way from the man sitting across the table from him. Brian figured it was better to have Bellweather’s attention focused on him rather than Justin, so he simply pretended not to care. Instead, he turned to his left-hand table companion, Amanda Hobbs, and engaged her in conversation while they ate.

“So, Amanda, I believe you said you went to college with Aleta? Where was that,” Brian asked, as he began to dig into the blue cheese and pear tartlets on his plate.

“That’s right. Aleta, Jim and I all went to Pitt together . . .” the woman explained and then launched into several of what she no doubt considered amusing stories about her happy years at university.

Brian let the stories and anecdotes roll over him without listening too intently. Amanda seemed like a nice enough woman - she was about ten years older than Brian, but well-preserved in the way that wealthy women seemed to be able to manage, with bleached blond hair, a trim figure and a pleasant if empty-headed smile - but since Brian was only using her as a way to while away the time without having to look in Bellweather’s direction, he didn’t really give a damn what she was saying.

While he pretended to listen to her chattering, he was really looking around the room, gauging the other guests, weighing their demeanors and trying to reconcile how these seemingly urbane and mannered people justified their lifestyle. Because, basically, they were all sitting around a formal dining table, dressed to the nines, eating a gourmet meal and discussing the latest political news, while surrounded by a bevy of naked slaves. It was the most incongruous experience of Brian’s life. He just didn’t know how they managed to seem so indifferent to the nudity, the subconscious eroticism and the unabashed sexuality all around them. Were these people just so inured to their PCs that they didn’t notice them at all anymore. And, if so, what the fuck was the reason for having them around anyway? Did they get off on debasing their PCs in this hideous fashion? Or was it just a status symbol at this point? If not, when the fuck did the orgy actually start - he wanted to know so he could be long gone in advance.

Brian tried and tried to figure this bizarre puzzle out as he looked around at each of the people he was at table with and paired them up with their respective PC. Of the twelve guests, seven of them had Personal Companions, including Brian. As expected, Walter Lapointe and his wife, Aleta, each had a PC. Walter’s PC was a big, beefy stud in his late twenties that looked like he could bench press Brian in a pinch. Aleta’s PC was a younger, red-headed youth, very pretty, slim and rather effeminate. Bellweather, of course, had one of the new purchases he’d made the weekend before with him, this one a kid who looked to be a year or two older than Justin but a lot less delicately built. Gail, sitting next to her brother, had the dark-haired twinkie Brian had already noticed before. The Stockwells, next in line on the other side of the table, didn’t have PCs - Cynthia had conjectured that was because of his political leanings and the fact that he liked to try and publically straddle the fence on the PC issue while privately serving as one of the industry’s staunchest supporters. The couple sitting, one on each side of Walter Lapointe at the head of the table, both had PCs as well, and interestingly enough, both of their companions were female.

“So anyway, Jim managed to save the night. After that, all my sorority sisters simply doted on him. He got invited to every single dance we had from that time on and everybody kept telling me how I had the nicest cousin a girl could ever hope for . . .” Brian tuned back into the end of Amanda’s sorority girl tales, immediately focusing in on the most interesting fact.

“So, Jim Stockwell is your cousin?” he questioned, just to make certain. “That’s convenient. So that must be how he met Lapointe.”

“Exactly. Jim met Walter while he and Aleta were dating and they hit it off right from the start. Which was great because Jim ended up being a groomsman for Walter and I was one of Aleta’s bridesmaids and that just worked out so well, you know . . .” Brian zoned out of the conversation again while he analyzed that tidbit of info about Stockwell’s connection to Lapointe. This whole group seemed insidiously incesstuous. “. . . But Jim and Anne have always been so wonderful to me and the kids. I'm actually staying with them right now while my divorce is being finalized. If it weren't for Jim, I don't know what I would have done. He's just so supportive, you know. I mean, with the divorce and helping my girls and even when my son had some legal problems last year - well, if it hadn't been for Jim, Chris might have actually ended up in jail.” Brian had only been listening to this blather with half an ear when he heard the boy at his feet gasp and then felt the quaking body lean into his thigh, breathing heavily and covertly using Brian's leg to help support himself through the panic. “But, thankfully, Jim was there and he gave us some wonderful advice. He even helped us negotiate a settlement out of court,” Amanda Hobbs carried on, with Brian now listening more carefully but still unsure of what was causing Justin such distress. “Which is a lot more than I can say for that bastard I married. Can you believe it - my husband would have just let our son hang. Poor Chris was just so confused and scared. It was terrible, you know? But thank goodness that's all behind us. Chris is off at college now - he got a football scholarship to Arizona State and he's studying Physical Sciences . . .”

Brian didn’t know why some vacuous gossip about this idiot’s kids was affecting Justin so badly, but he was starting to get worried about it. The boy was shaking like a leaf and almost panting at this point. Brian couldn’t tell, without drawing attention to what was going on, if the boy was quaking out of fear or anger or some other emotion. Whatever was going on was intense, though. And the only thing he could think to do was to stealthily reach down with his right hand and grasp the back of the boy’s neck. He held on through the inevitable flinching, refusing to let go even when the trembling got worse for several long minutes until the PC’s breathing finally slowed a bit. Then Brian moved his hand till it was resting on his thigh, but close enough to the boy’s face that he could reach out his pinky finger and surreptitiously stroke the soft cheek every so often without anyone at the table being any the wiser. He just hoped it was enough to get them through the rest of this interminably long night.

“Oh my goodness! Look how I’ve rattled on. I didn’t mean to bore you talking about myself the whole night,” Amanda finally wound down, having apparently exhausted her current store of personal anecdotes, right about the time the wait staff was removing the dregs of the delicious French Onion Soup. “It’s just that you’re SUCH a good listener, Brian. You know, most men aren’t like that. They can’t have a conversation without it being all about THEM. But talking to you is so refreshing,” she gushed, letting her hand alight on Brian’s forearm and giving it an affectionate little squeeze that made Brian want to cringe too. “But, enough about me. I want to know just EVERYTHING about you. You’re so quiet and mysterious. There has to be a story there.”

“I don’t mean to disappoint you, Amanda, but there’s not all that much to tell,” Brian tried to deflect her attention, not really all that comfortable with sharing his private life in this crowd.

“Oh, come on. A handsome, successful young man like yourself? I’m sure you’ve had dozens of hot and steamy affairs in your past,” the woman simpered, touching the back of Brian’s hand with one well-manicured fingertip in what she probably thought was a seductive move.

“Nope. Not a one. I’m afraid I’m a confirmed bachelor. Not at all interested in a relationship.” Brian tried to make it clear he wasn’t interested in Amanda either, both by his words and by the way he deliberately moved his hand away under the guise of attending to the next course of the meal - a delicious asparagus and cherry tomato salad.  

“That’s just so wrong,” Amanda insisted. “I’m sure you just haven’t found the right woman yet, Brian.”

“Don’t you mean the right man?” Brian asked pointedly.

“I’m sorry?” Ms. Hobbs looked over at her dinner companion with complete confusion.

“The right man,” Brian repeated himself, but seeing the ongoing bewilderment, he came to the conclusion that the woman was completely clueless. “You DO realize that I’m gay, right?”

“What? That’s impossible. You can’t be gay!” the woman asserted. “You don’t look gay. You’re so . . . normal looking.”

“I’m not sure what ‘gay’ is supposed to look like,” Brian rounded on her, beginning to get a little annoyed. “But I do assure you, that I’m as gay as blazes. Always have been. Don’t plan on changing.”

“But . . . Seriously . . . You just can’t be gay. You don’t act gay. You don’t, you know, swish when you walk or wave your hands around when you talk or anything. Are you just pulling my leg here, or what?” The woman insistently refused to believe Brian’s plain statement of fact.

Brian sighed with frustration, unsure how to prove to someone so ridiculously ignorant that he was, indeed, gay - short of fucking another guy over the table in front of her, that is. “I’m curious. Doesn’t the fact that I recently purchased a MALE PC clue you in to the fact that I like men?”

“No. That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people own PCs of both genders. I mean, look at Walter. He owns dozens of male PCs and he’s married and has a family. He’s completely normal.” Amanda insisted again.

“Well, I’m completely ‘normal’ too,” Brian rejoined, his tone edging louder along with his irritation level. “I’m just the kind of normal that likes to fuck lots and lots of guys up the ass as often as I possibly can.” Unfortunately for Brian, this last emphatic statement happened at the same time as a lull in the conversation. Not one to back down, though, he continued on, boldly. “I’m gay. That’s just how it is. And if anyone doesn’t like it, I say, go judge yourself. I’m perfectly happy with myself and my MALE PC.”

The stunned silence persisted for quite a while, with all the diners staring Brian down and not really sure what to say. Until the sound of slowly clapping hands finally broke through the dead air. Brian turned with the rest of them to look over at Bellweather, who was applauding with a grave but approving look.

“Good for you, Kinney. Good for you. I like a man who doesn’t mince words,” the man smiled and nodded as the sound of his acclaim slowly died away. “You just said exactly what I’ve been telling this bunch of tossers for years. And incidentally, it’s also the premise of my last book. Have you read it?” Brian shook his head, but that didn’t slow Howard down. “I say that we, as gay men, need to stand up and make ourselves known. We need to be proud of who we are; unapologetic about what we like.”

Brian sat back and happily let Bellweather pontificate for the next ten minutes about gay rights and standing up to be represented. Brian actually agreed with a lot of what the guy was saying, he just didn’t feel the need to be such a big windbag about it. However, Brian was grateful that this little speech took the spotlight off him for the moment. It wasn’t until he heard Bellweather segue back onto the favored topic of PCs that he tuned back into the lecture and found it had taken a disagreeable turn.

“That’s why I think that the PC trade has actually been so good for gay rights. The corporations running things have learned that it’s just good business to cater to the needs of all consumers - straight or gay - and to do that they HAVE to recognize once and for all that being gay isn’t anything out of the ordinary. It’s just part of the individual make up of some PC owners. Some men just want male PCs - it’s as simple as that. If they want our business and our money, they have to deal with our needs as gay men. And since it’s become incredibly lucrative to serve the gay market, not only corporations but the people that run them, are starting to change their minds about homosexuality. In essence, our money is buying us respectability. So, the more we act on our inclinations and assert them through the PC trade, the more our standing becomes mainstream . . .”

There was some generalized agreement with Bellweather’s pompous statements from the rest of the table. Brian wasn’t sure that he wanted to be included in the sect ‘buying’ their way to respectability on the backs of the PCs they purchased. Even ignoring the human part of that equation - the PCs being used for this ass-backwards social climbing - it simply sounded so crass. Just one more thing about Bellweather that Brian found objectionable.

“Not that I always buy my PCs for such lofty philosophical purposes, though,” Bellweather laughed at himself deprecatingly. “I’d be the last to say that I don’t enjoy my PCs in and of themselves. Like I said before, I’m a sucker for a pretty face and a hot little body. Which is why I’m still pissed at you for stealing away THAT little untapped morsel from right under my nose, Kinney.” Bellweather pointed across the table to where Justin was hunkered down as far out of sight as possible. “I was really looking forward to sampling that treat. I just love that pale ivory skin. I bet it turns a lovely pink when you spank him, am I right?” Bellweather laughed maniacally and his sister joined in sycophantically. “Besides, I still think you got the best lot of the night. This one is okay,” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the PC standing behind his chair, “but the other one Walter gave me as a replacement turned out to be a total dud.”

“You didn’t say anything about that before, Howie,” Walter interrupted, his voice laced with concern. “What happened? I thought those two would be perfect for you.”

“The little blond you sold me couldn’t take it. I don’t know what it was, but he just snapped. He seemed okay when I first broke him in. I tend to like them a little fiesty, you know, so I didn’t really mind a bit of a tussle, even though this one . . . well, he did seem a little reluctant. Like he wasn’t really into it at first. But, like I said, I enjoy a bit of roughhousing. It just adds to the fun, especially with the fresh ones, you know. Sometimes it’s more fun to pop their cherry when they fight it. But afterwards, well, the little bitch just lost it. One minute the boy was fine - when I was done cracking his icebox open, I gave him to a couple of my party guests to entertain themselves with - and the next thing I knew he was screaming and flailing around like a banshee. He almost hit one of my guests even. It was so embarrassing.”

“Hmmm. That’s not good. I don’t like hearing stories like that about any of the stock that passes through my house,” Lapointe commented, frowning. “I don’t want to get the reputation that our PCs aren’t adequately trained. Which Handler was he from?”

“MacNeil,” Bellweather answered and all the men around the table nodded and gave little understanding noises. “I’d heard he was a little lax with his boys, but nothing this bad. I’ve already contacted him about returning the boy, but he’s claiming Owner Misuse. Which I say is bull - I mean, I have the right to assume that the products I buy are fit for the ordinary usages for which they’re intended, right? It should be the same with PCs as with anything else you buy. So, if this guy is selling PCs that aren’t able to put up with a little bit of heavy handedness, then what the hell is he thinking? These boys are sexual companions, right? Even if that one was a virgin, it’s not like he didn’t know what was coming. Didn’t that Handler prepare him?”

“Now, Howard, it might not be the Handler’s fault,” Aleta interrupted, ready to offer her sage and experienced opinion. “Sometimes these PCs do just snap like that. I’ve seen it happen several times. You just never know if there’s something in the genetics or psychological makeup that you can’t predict but that will rear up at the oddest moments. Even with the best of training, sometimes a PC will simply break.”

“It’s too bad we aren’t allowed to breed our own PCs,” Gail spoke up, sounding erudite as she expounded on one of her pet theories. “I’m sure it would be possible, using modern genetics and controlled breeding methods, to create a much hardier stock. We do it with other kinds of domesticated animals all the time. I’m not sure why there are such stringent regulations about doing it with PCs. You’d think it would be better for them in the long run, too. Nobody likes an unhappy PC and if we could only breed a more compliant line, they’d be happier with their jobs, right?”

There were a number of nodding heads all around the table along with murmurs of agreement - apparently, this was something that many PC owners considered a wonderful proposition.

That, right there, happened to be Brian’s breaking point. He’d heard enough. It had been bad enough to have to sit and listen to talk about how Bellweather had raped that other boy until he broke - Brian had actually expected that, in a way, since it was exactly what he’d promised for Justin back at the auction - but to hear these people seriously advocating controlled breeding of humans in order to create a better race of slaves . . . well that was too fucking much. He felt his skin crawling and was simply too antsy to sit still any longer. He had to get the fuck out of there or he was going to break just like that PC.

Pushing aside the almost untouched plate of Beef Wellington, Brian leaned over to whisper in his hostess’ ear. “Would you please excuse me, Aleta. I think I need to avail myself of your facilities.”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Lapointe was all smiles and felicity as she quietly gave Brian directions to the guest bathroom. “You’re welcome to leave your PC here. I promise to mind him for you.”

“Thank you, but no. As I said, I can’t leave him. It’s part of my discipline plan.” Brian explained before rising and directing a brusque, “Come!’ to his boy.

Justin rose stiffly to his feet, stumbling a little for the first step or two as the long stint of kneeling had caused his legs to go numb, but following along behind Brian without any other noticeable delay. Brian strode purposefully out of the room, not looking back. He felt like fleeing outright, but held himself to a steady sedate pace. As soon as they were both in the bathroom and the door was closed, though, he basically fell apart.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck . . .” Brian hadn’t really come up with anything better to say after a full minute of muttering curses, so he gave up. “Justin. . . . Justin, I’m sorry. I can’t . . . I can’t believe these people. These monsters. They are sitting around eating their fucking dinner while surrounded by a roomful of naked slaves and discussing how to breed them so that they’ll no longer care about getting raped. This is completely fucking insane. Shit like this doesn’t happen in the real world, does it? I can’t do this. I can’t do this and I’m not even one of the ‘stock’ forced to stand there naked without speaking and listen to it. How can you stand this? How?”

Brian collapsed back against the tile wall, his hands grappling in his hair as if trying to find something to hold onto. He was so consumed by rage at the unfair situation that he didn’t think he could bear to go back out there. And even if he did, considering the way his stomach was heaving, he didn’t think he’d be able to keep his food down.

While Brian stood there, rubbing at his face with his hands and trying to find some way to reconcile what he was feeling with the need to stay here at least until he could get that fucking check from Lapointe, he suddenly felt a soft hand reaching out and just barely making contact with the back of his wrist. At first he didn’t want to even look at the boy. He was embarrassed that he’d fallen apart like this. He was horrified that he’d forced the kid to come to this travesty of a dinner party. He was appalled that he might ever be linked in any way with the kind of people who were sitting around that dining table. And he didn’t want to have to face the boy with all that on his conscience.

Justin didn’t relent though. Brian felt those long artist’s fingers wrap around his wrists and then slowly pull his hands away from his face. Brian saw a worried countenance, the boy biting at his bottom lip with concern and looking at Brian with such empathy, that it almost broke him again. Before he could say anything more, though, the youth stepped closer, dropping his grip on Brian’s wrists and instead wrapping his arms around Brian’s waist. Brian’s own arms naturally cinched tightly around the boy’s back, his head dropping until his nose was buried in the warm floss of gold, allowing him to breath in the reassuring scent of innocence and youth. And then they just stood there together, holding onto each other in silence and gaining comfort from the mere presence of the only other person that might possibly understand.

“Justin . . .” Brian started to pull away after another couple minutes of this warm solace, thinking to say something further in apology, but the younger man wasn’t ready to let him go. Justin held on, burrowing into Brian’s chest, shaking his head and letting out a barely audible ‘shhh’ to quell any speech. So Brian held on too. And it helped. It helped more than he’d ever expected. Just standing there holding onto another human being and wordlessly sharing their distress helped. Eventually, Brian felt at least some of the tension draining from his shoulders and back. He bowed his head and left a tender kiss on the boy’s forehead as a thank you.

“Shit, Justin,” Brian whispered into the silky mop. “You are the strongest person I’ve ever met in my entire fucking life. I have no idea how you’re handling all this while I’m fucking falling apart . . . Thank you. I . . . I really needed a fucking time out, didn’t I?” Brian huffed a mirthless little laugh, ending it with a squeeze and then releasing the boy. “Okay. I think I’m better. I’d love to just leave, but I still don’t have that fucking check . . . So, I guess we have to go back out there. Fuck! . . .” After another deep breath, Brian cracked his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders as if he were getting ready to physically attack something. Then he looked Justin in the eye and nodded with resignation. “You ready?” Justin shrugged. “Yeah, me neither. But what the fuck. As long as we stick together, maybe we’ll be strong enough to get through this. At least I hope so.”

********

Chapter 17 - After Dinner.

By the time Brian and Justin returned to the dining room, the main course had been cleared away and dessert was just being served. Brian waited until the server had set the crystal dish filled with chocolate mousse and garnished with an almond wafer cookie at his place before he resumed his seat. Justin followed along compliantly, settling on his knees on the floor beside Brian without direction.

It seemed that the atmosphere in the room was relatively relaxed once dessert was served. Several of the diners had moved their PCs closer to the table, allowing the companions to either stand beside them or kneel next to their chairs like Justin. Bellweather even had his boy sitting in his lap and was feeding him tid bits of cookie and allowing him sips of his glass of wine. Brian had made sure that Justin was already well fed before they left the loft that evening, thinking that the PCs likely wouldn’t be allowed to eat at all, but now he followed the others’ example and handed the cookie from his dessert to the boy at his feet, briefly caressing the boy’s face at the same time. Justin took the treat without any fanfare and quickly nibbled it down.

“Well, it looks to me like at least one of your purchases from last week turned out satisfactory, Howard,” Stockwell commented, leaning around Gail to tease his friend as Bellweather fondly petted his PC.

“That’s true. Rex here has been quite amenable. So far we’re getting along famously,” Bellweather chuckled as he leaned over to kiss his PC on the nose in a parody of affection that made Brian scowl. Unfortunately, Howard happened to be looking in Brian’s direction right then and noticed the disapproving look. “What’s wrong, Kinney? You don’t approve? Or maybe you’re just jealous because the PC you picked up isn’t as accommodating?”

“I didn’t say a thing, Bellweather,” Brian responded, trying to avert any argument before it happened - unsuccessfully.

“No. But I saw that look you were giving my Rex. He is quite the pretty thing, isn’t he. And so very user friendly,” the man bragged as he lewdly ran his hand down the PCs chest while those around laughed and spooned up their pudding unconcernedly. “I tell you what, Kinney. How about we trade one night. I’ll let you test drive Rex - who, I can guarantee, handles like a dream - and you can let me have a ride on your pretty blond boy there. I really was looking forward to that boy . . . Maybe if I got a chance to get him out of my system I’d be able to move on.” Bellweather laughed wickedly, winking at Brian and licking his lips as he leered at what little he could see of the blond sitting on the floor.

“I don’t think so, Bellweather. I’ve never been good at sharing,” Brian replied with a proprietary glare aimed across the table. “And, if I ever wanted something other than the PC I already have, I’d have no trouble going out and getting my needs met at any club or bar in town. I definitely don’t need your hand me downs.”

“Now, Brian. No need to be all prickly,” Aleta tittered, laying a calming hand on Brian’s arm. “Howard was just being his usual bad boy self. You mustn’t take offense. He’s always trying to shock the rest of us by saying all sorts of outrageous things. I’m sure you’ll get used to him sooner or later.”

“Although, Mr. Kinney is well within his rights if he doesn’t want to share his PC, Aleta,” the gentleman sitting on the other side of Amanda - he’d been introduced to Brian earlier as Sidney Bloom, a local art dealer - interposed. “There are a lot of PC owners who aren’t into the kinds of parties that Howard throws. Not everyone likes to trade PCs around. And, since Mr. Kinney is still rather new to all this, I don’t think it’s fair to push him into anything too opprobrious. He probably just needs some time to get used to his own PC.”

“That’s true, Sidney,” Jim Stockwell remarked. “I have several friends - especially those who keep small, select, stables of PCs - that are very guarded about how and when they lend their stock out to others. That’s not to say one approach is better than the other. It’s just that different people enjoy the PC Lifestyle in different ways. No harm if Kinney isn’t ready to partake of the full range of the PC buffet just yet.”

From where he was sitting, Brian could see that Bellweather wasn’t at all happy that his friends were providing a way for Brian to squirm off the hook. But he wasn’t bold enough to contradict them right then either. If anything, Brian’s harsh insistence that he wasn’t interested in sharing Justin, seemed to fuel Bellweather’s desire for the boy. The entire rest of the time they were at the table, Brian could feel Bellweather’s eyes on either himself or Justin. And even though Justin was hunkered down so that he was mostly hidden by the table, Bellweather would still stare at the young blond’s head almost incessantly. It creeped Brian out. Not that he could do anything about it, though.

“Well, Aleta, my dear, that was a truly wonderful dinner. Thank you,” Lapointe raved to his wife as if she’d personally cooked the repast. “I feel completely stuffed. *Hahaha.* What do the rest of you gentlemen say about us fellows taking a little stroll while we let some of this food settle, hmm?” There were nods and a general murmur of agreement from most of the men. “How about we head downstairs and take our cigars and brandy down there? I was planning on giving Brian a tour of the PC quarters anyway, so we might as well take our half of this party to the rec room. You ladies will excuse us for a bit, won’t you?”

“Of course, Walter. You boys go have fun and smoke your smelly cigars down there. And we women will enjoy our wine without having to wear gas masks while we drink it!” Aleta joked, gathering together her ladyfolk and chivvying them out the door, presumably back to the Salon, while the men moved along at a slower pace.

Brian, as the guest of honor, was obliged to walk along next to Lapointe. Both Justin and Lapointe’s PC trailed along behind their masters at the ends of their respective leashes. The rest of the men from the party followed along behind. As they walked, Lapointe gave Brian a cursory tour of the preposterously large house. Based on the number of rooms they passed, Brian thought they could probably turn the place into a hotel and still have enough space to house the entire Lapointe household. Proof again, if anyone needed it, that the PC trade was more than just ordinarily lucrative. No wonder these people managed to push through whatever legislation or regulations they wanted. With this kind of money, they could probably buy themselves a small country of their own.

After they’d walked the length of the main floor, Lapointe led the group to a staircase at the end of the west wing. This flight of stairs descended to a basement that obviously housed all the employees’ quarters, the laundry and other utility rooms and, of course, the PC quarters. Walter pointed out and explained each of the rooms that they passed - play rooms, discipline rooms, training areas, etc - lecturing Brian all the while about his preferred methods for training and controlling his PCs. The rest of the group would occasionally make their own comments or add in helpful suggestions, all aimed at teaching ‘Brian The Tryo’ the best ways to keep his PC in line. Brian simply nodded, tried not to gag and said nothing.

“These are the PC housing rooms,” Walter announced as they came to the end of one hall where it branched off into two other wings. “We, of course, keep the males and females separate. Our females are here on the right,” he pointed to the door next to him, “and the males are down there. We tend to keep more males than females, for whatever reason, so those quarters are bigger. Sam, if you’d like to leave your girl here, we’re going to set ourselves up in the rec room in the male quarters,” Lapointe directed for the benefit of the one guest who had a female with him and, after that PC had been shown into the women’s room, the group continued on to the section that appeared to take up most of the rest of the basement.

The space they were shown into was quite extensive. The main room was a huge, open area set up sort of like a large living room with sitting areas, an entertainment center, some recreation equipment and a small kitchenette off to the side. Along one wall there was a separate room, its walls consisting of floor to ceiling glass panels so that anyone inside had an unimpaired view of the main room, furnished with comfortable chairs and couches, a green baize-topped poker table in one corner and a fully-stocked wet bar in the other. Leading off the far end of the main room was yet another hallway, which Brian presumed led to bedrooms and such.

As Lapointe pointed out all the amenities of the facility to Brian, the rest of the group unleashed their own PCs and moved off towards the glass room, where they all proceeded to help themselves from the bar. It seemed this was the ‘Rec Room’ where the men would be having their after dinner drinks and cigars. Brian was about to follow them when he was stopped by Walter Lapointe.

“It’s okay to let your boy loose down here, Brian,” the host directed.

“I’d rather not. As I said, he hasn’t finished out his punishment yet . . .” Brian tried to explain.

“Sorry, Brian, but I insist.” Lapointe reached up himself and disconnected the leash from the hook at the back of Justin’s collar. “It’s a house rule - no leashes in quarters.” Brian opened his mouth to object, but Lapointe held up a hand to stop him before he could get a single word out. “Here in the PC quarters I don’t allow any discipline or training at all. We have separate facilities for those things. In here, I want my PCs to feel like they can relax and not have to be at attention all the time. Even a well trained PC can’t be kept on alert 24/7 you know. That’s a sure fire way to incite disobedience. You need to give them SOME down time.” Lapointe waved to two of his own PCs who were lounging on a nearby couch. “John. Joseph. Will you two take Mr. Kinney’s PC and show him around while we’re in the rec room.”

“Yes, Master,” the older of the two, a well-built man in his late thirties responded and then put a hand behind Justin’s back to guide him away.

Justin looked over at Brian for one brief instant, before allowing himself to be led away. Brian had recognized the flash of panic in those worried blue eyes, but he didn’t know what to do. Lapointe was already leading Brian in the opposite direction. The only reassuring thing was that the room had an open floor plan and, since the rec room where the men were going to be sitting had glass walls, he should still be able to keep Justin in sight pretty much all the time. He didn’t see any harm in letting Justin go off with the other PCs. Especially not if Bellweather was going to be in the walled off glass room with Brian and away from Justin.

Lapointe was being very solicitous of Brian. He led the PC tryo over to a plush arm chair, made sure Brian was comfortable, offered him a fat Cohiba Habana cigar, and then personally hurried to pour his guest a large brandy. Brian wasn’t sure what he was being buttered up for, but hoped it didn’t involve anything else to do with Justin. Nevertheless, he accepted Lapointe’s offerings, lit up his stogie and sipped at the excellent brandy along with everyone else. For the time being, even the conversation was unobjectionable, with someone having brought up the topic of classic sports cars and Brian weighing in along with all the rest on a subject he actually liked to discuss. Added to the wine that he’d already had at dinner, the brandy quickly relaxed him and before he knew it he had let his guard down.

Brian was well into his second brandy and the conversation had moved on to architecture, when the outer door to the PC quarters opened and who should enter, but the last person - other than Bellweather - Brian would ever want to see . . . Gary Sapperstein.

“Gary! What are you still doing here?” Lapointe stood up and yelled his greeting to the Handler as he bustled out of the rec room over towards the newcomer. “I thought you’d finished up hours ago.”

“No. I had a little trouble with a couple of your boys and decided to stay late and get it all sorted out so I wouldn’t have to come back tomorrow. Hope you don’t mind, Sir,” Sapperstein apologized as he unhooked the leash from the collar of the man he’d led in, permitting the tall, thin, African American PC to walk away, limping a little as he scurried off.

“Gary is helping me evaluate some of my stock that I’m planning to resell,” Lapointe explained to the rest of the group who had all followed him out to see what the fuss was about. “Aleta and I don’t like to keep more than about twenty-five to thirty on hand at any one time. Any more than that and they become a lot of work to manage. So we change them out fairly frequently. This time around, a few of the ones we’re getting rid of will need some re-training. And Sapperstein’s the best in the business when it comes to stuff like that.”

“Most of your group seems just fine, Mr. Lapointe,” Gary reassured his client. “June is going to need a little work, but I think she’ll come around. Tom and Luke, though, might need more attention. Luke, especially, is gonna be tough. He’s stubborn as hell. I think you’d be better off putting him back into a full, intensive re-training program for the next six months or so and not even trying to sell him until then. Otherwise, you’re going to lose money on that one. He’s borderline unstable at this point.”

“That’s a pity. I really liked that boy, too,” Lapointe said as he looked over at the black man that Sapperstein had brought in, who was now seated in the far corner of the room. “He showed such promise when I first got him. But he just hasn’t lived up to his potential. I have to agree with you, Gary, he’s just too stubborn for his own good. And I refuse to sell a disobedient PC and just pass the problem off to someone else. We’ll have to go the full re-training route, as you suggest.”

“Glad you agree, Sir. If you like, I can take him with me tonight when I leave. That’ll save you the trouble of transporting him later,” Gary offered politely.

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. I’ll tell my PC Manager to come down and help get him ready for you. Thanks, Gary,” Lapointe clapped the Handler on the shoulder and then walked over to the wall phone next to the door to call the Manager.

Gary Sapperstein nodded to Lapointe’s remaining guests - giving Brian an extra-long glare - before heading over to the far end of the room to talk further with the PC that was to be taken away that night.

“Hang on a second there, Sapp. I’ve got a question about another PC for you,” Bellweather spoke up, halting the Handler before he got too far away, and then continuing to walk in tandem together towards the waiting boy.

Brian looked over at the tall, black PC. The man had already noticed that Sapperstein and Bellweather were heading in his direction and he looked worried. By Brian’s estimation, the guy looked to be in his late twenties, but his eyes as he watched the heartless Handler coming towards him looked ancient. His body showed evidence of some hard handling too - he was painfully thin, had some bruising around both wrists and over much of his rib cage, and even one large scar running across his lower abdomen. Brian didn’t know what the guy’s story was, but he didn’t think this man’s life had been a bed of roses, either before or since he’d been contracted out. And, by the sounds of it, the ‘retraining’ he was about to be sent off to, wasn’t going to be fun either. Brian quickly looked at the other grouping of couches and chairs and made sure that Justin was still okay. He was more determined than ever to keep his own stubborn little PC out of the hands of the retraining experts like Sapperstein.

“Sorry about that, gentlemen.” Lapointe hurried back over to his guests. “I'm glad to get that business handled though. It's always best to act quickly when a PC gets moody like that. If you're not careful they can infect your whole stable. Gary will sort him out though. That man can do wonders. Just make sure you don't ask him HOW he gets the results he does - gotta have plausible deniability if the PCRA ever comes around asking questions, right? *Hahaha.*”

Brian was so thankful that his cellphone rang right then - saving him from having to engage in a discussion of the relative merits of the kind of training techniques the likes of Gary sapperstein pursued - that he could have kissed whoever was calling. he was even happier when he looked at the caller ID and saw it was Cynthia. This was just the excuse he needed. Maybe he could get himself and Justin out of there sooner rather than later.

“Sorry, Walter, but I have to take this. It’s work,” Brian advised, standing and moving towards the rec room entrance. “Is there someplace I could talk without disturbing everyone else?”

"Of course, Brian,” Lapointe answered quickly. "Feel free to use one of the privacy rooms. Either of the first two doors on the left as you head down the hall.”

Brian nodded his thanks, tapped the icon to accept the call, and trotted out of the room in the directions Lapointe had indicated. “Hang on, Cynthia, let me get to somewhere I can speak privately.”

He was happy to find that the first door he tried was unlocked and the room unoccupied. He ignored the fact that it was furnished with only a bed and a St. Andrew’s Cross. He really didn’t want to think about all the kink the overweight, middle-aged Lapointe was apparently into. Or was it Mrs. Lapointe that dug bondage? He didn’t know and didn’t care. He was just glad to get the save from Cynthia and rushed to close the door after him.

“Hey, Cyn,” Brian responded. “Have I told you lately how much I adore you? Your timing is impeccable. I am so ready to be out of here.”

“I can imagine. How’s it going so far?”

“It’s fucking horrible - that’s what it is. These people are monsters. I just have no idea how they can’t see that themselves. Maybe they’re all just really well adjusted psychopaths with enough money to hide their conditions. I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want to get the fuck out of here,” Brian insisted, trying to remember to keep his voice low enough that no one in the corridor could hear him.

“I tried to tell you, Brian, but I guess you just have to experience something like that to believe it,” Cynthia replied sympathetically. “Who did Lapointe’s guests end up being. Anyone we would want to go after as a contact later?”

“I doubt it. I don’t want anything to do with any of these people,” Brian reiterated. “I’ll give you one guess, though, who Lapointe’s most obnoxious guest is . . .”

“You’re kidding? Bellweather is there?” Cynthia guessed right off, as always totally in sync with her boss and longtime friend. “That total shit! Is he still slobbering all over himself with lust every time he even looks at Justin? I bet that was fun. Is Justin okay?”

“I guess. We both almost lost it at various points through the dinner. The kid’s pretty fucking brave though, Cynthia. I couldn’t do this in his place.”

“Yeah. He is pretty amazing,” Cynthia shared Brian’s respect for the young man they were both, slowly, getting to know. “So who else is there? I’ll make notes just in case you change your mind about going after any of them.”

Brian quickly ran through the list of the night’s attendees, giving Cynthia all the details he could remember. So far, the only one of the bunch that Brian thought might have even a shred of humanity left was that Sidney Bloom guy - the one who’d stood up for his right to not share Justin. Brian could definitely live without the rest of them.

“Oh, and get this,” Brian continued regaling Cynthia with the last member of the guest list. “Lapointe’s wife actually set me up with a fucking DATE!”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?” Cynthia chuckled, thinking about just how pissed off that would have made her loner boss.

“Try HER name . . . Don’t laugh, but Aleta Lapointe set me up with a woman. Some friend of hers from college named Amanda who happens to also be Jim Stockwell’s cousin.” Brian could hear Cynthia laughing over the phone line. “Even worse, this woman was a total ditz. She spent the first twenty minutes of dinner babbling and didn’t even notice that I wasn’t paying attention at all. She even thanked me for being such a good listener. But seriously, why the fuck would I care about her divorce or want to listen to her endlessly going on about her fucked up son’s legal problems. It sounded to me like the little fucker deserved whatever shit he got. But she just kept prattling on about how poor Chris was so misunderstood, blah, blah, blah . . .”

“So, I assume you won’t want me to get her contact info and keep her in mind next time you need an escort to a function?” Cynthia kidded. “What was her name again?”

“Amanda something . . . Shit. Let me think . . . Hobbs? Yeah, that was it. Amanda Hobbs,” Brian eventually pulled the name out of his memory.

“Fuck!” Cynthia practically screamed into the phone and Brian had to pull it away from his ear. “Brian, don’t you know who that is? I showed you the articles. I can’t believe you didn’t recognize the name . . .” When Brian didn’t respond, the PA answered for him. “Amanda Hobbs is the mother of Chris Hobbs. And Chris Hobbs is . . .”

“Fuck me! Chris Hobbs is the guy who tried to bash Justin’s head in with a fucking baseball bat!” Brian finally remembered why that name had seemed vaguely familiar to him. “Shit! No wonder Justin got so panicked when the cunt started talking about her son. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection. I guess I was just too busy freaking out over Bellweather and the rest of the shit going on to actually listen to her.”

“That must have been horrible for him. And he couldn’t tell you or get away. How is Justin doing now?” Cynthia asked.

“I guess he’s fine. He’s out in the other room with the rest of Lapointe’s PCs right now,” Brian explained, beginning to be worried and thinking that he should get back out there and check on things. “I had to leave him for a minute to come in here and talk to you.”

“You left him alone?” Cynthia screeched indignantly. “What the fuck, Brian? The plan was that you two stay together the whole time. Especially if that cretin Bellweather is around.” Brian totally agreed with her and was already starting for the door. “Okay, here's the plan, you go get Justin right now. Then you tell Lapointe you've got a work emergency and have to leave. You get the fucking check from him and you guys get the hell out of there. Call me as soon as you leave so I know you’re both okay. Got it?”

Brian had just gripped the doorknob, anxious to follow Cynthia’s directions, when there was an insistent knocking on the other side of the door. Brian yanked it open and discovered the reserved guy that had stood up for him at dinner - Sidney Something-or-other - nervously jittering in the hallway. Brian pulled the phone from his ear for the moment and stared at the guy expectantly.

“Sorry to interrupt, Kinney, but I thought you'd want to know that Howard is sniffing around your boy again. I tried to stop him but . . . Well, I'd get out here now if you truly don't want to share the kid,” Bloom insisted, already leading the way back towards the main room.

“I gotta go, Cynthia. I'll call you back when we get out of here,” Brian growled into the phone then ended the call and pocketed his phone.

By then, they were already leaving the confines of the hallway and entering the openness of the main living quarters. Brian immediately scanned the area, expecting to see Justin on the couch where he'd left him, maybe with Bellweather hovering nearby, but hopefully not yet causing the boy too much distress. However, when they arrived, there was no blond boy in sight anywhere. There was also no Bellweather. Not a propitious conjunction of circumstances, in Brian's estimation.

Looking around, Brian could only see a few of the house PCs left. He didn’t know where the rest had disappeared to but, thinking back, he seemed to recall that most of them had got up and left about the same time that the Sapp and Bellweather had headed into the room. Stockwell was also conspicuously absent. Over in the glass walled rec room, Lapointe and the guy Brian hadn’t really spoken with much - Sam Weatherall - were laughing like hyenas, downing yet more glasses of brandy and jointly fondling a twenty-something redhead that seemed bored by the attention. They were probably far too distracted to have noticed what happened to Brian’s PC. But since there wasn’t anyone else around that might have the authority to help, Brian stormed over to Lapointe ready to make some waves.

“Where’s my PC?” Brian demanded furiously, pushing aside the disinterested redhead so that he could tower directly over Lapointe. “I was only out of the room a couple of minutes and he’s gone. Nobody had my permission to take him anywhere, especially not without my knowledge. I want to know where he is right now!”

“Huh?” was the less than brilliant reply from a Lapointe that was obviously more than just a little tipsy at this point. “He was just here a little while ago, I thought. Did you see where the little blond went, Sam?”

Brian didn’t wait around for the other guy’s response. He had a really, really bad feeling about this. He knew every minute counted and he needed to find Justin without delay. But where?

“This way!” Bloom, who’d been dogging Brian’s steps, grabbed the anxious brunet and urged him to follow. “There’s a lot more of those ‘Privacy Rooms’ down that hallway. They’re probably in one of those.”

Brian took off down the hallway, easily outstripping the older and slightly overweight Bloom. He dashed past the first room - the one Brian had been using for his phone call - and tore open the second door. That room was unfortunately empty. Bloom skipped ahead and grabbed for the third door, which opened to reveal the ill-fated black PC who was about to be shipped out with the Sapp, along with an older, stockier, white man, who Brian assumed was Lapointe’s PC Manager. Brian zoomed past that door and grabbed the handle of the fourth door . . . which was locked.

Brian quickly sped back to the prior room, grabbed the Manager guy by the wrist and towed him around to the locked door so quickly that the guy almost stumbled and fell on his face. “Get this door opened, NOW!” he demanded, pointing at the locked knob with an unyielding expression. And despite the fact that the man had no way to know who Brian was or what the situation was, he immediately complied, pulling a large bunch of keys out of his pants’ pocket and fumbling through them till he found the correct one.

Brian recklessly pushed the Manager aside and barged into the previously locked room like a bull charging a matador. As expected, he found the absent Bellweather, flanked on one side by Sapperstein and on the other by Stockwell, all three of whom were looming over a small, struggling blond figure on the bed. The main instigator had one hand on the waistband of the leather shorts and the other on the boy’s right ankle, caught in the act of trying to pull him down the bed even as the rescue squad barreled in. Bellweather’s two accomplices were each holding onto one of Justin’s arms, trying to hold the boy down. All three of them looked up in alarm as soon as Brian, Bloom and the Manager entered.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Brian demanded, taking only three huge strides to cross the room, grab Bellweather by the shoulder and yank him around so violently that the scumbag fell backwards and landed in a heap on his ass. “I said to get away!” Brian screamed at the two remaining attackers, who both promptly let go and stepped away.

Justin scrabbled backwards as soon as he was loosed and hunkered down in a shuddering ball against the headboard of the bed.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I did NOT give any of you permission to touch MY PC, let alone take him into some locked room and molest him. How fucking dare you?” Brian rounded on the contemptible men.

Bellweather gingerly levered himself up off the floor, brushing his pants off nonchalantly and trying to act unconcerned. “We were just having a little fun, Kinney. What’s your problem? Shit, you act like a jealous housewife or something. The boy’s a damn PC, for fuck’s sake. This is what PCs are FOR. Or don’t you get that? Fucking newbies . . . don’t know anything . . .”

“My problem is YOU, Bedwetter!” Brian stepped closer so that he was chest to chest with the vile man, literally spitting in his face with rage. “I already told you to keep your hands off Justin. But you intentionally disregarded that directive. Didn’t you? Isn’t that, like, a felony offense or something? And I have witnesses. So, are you going to back the fuck away right NOW, or do I have Lapointe call the police and haul your ass to jail? Cause I WILL do it - in a fucking heartbeat - you sadistic pig.”

“Now, now, Kinney. No need for that,” Stockwell cautioned, advancing towards the pair, hands held up in a placating gesture, trying to diffuse the situation. “There’s no harm done. Your PC is fine. Nobody meant any offense.”

“What’s all this ruckus?” Walter Lapointe came in through the door, further adding to the crowd in the tiny room.

“Your buddy, Howie, was just about to violate my PC and these two were helping him,” Brian accused pointing to the culprits.

“I’m sure that’s not the case, Brian. You probably just misinterpreted what you saw. Howie and Jim would never do that. Would you guys?” Lapointe scrambled to find some way to restore peace. “Why don’t we all go back to the rec room, sit down, have a few drinks and cool off. Nobody needs to get all riled up about a little thing like this. Right, guys?”

“I don’t think so, Walter. I’m not interested in having a drink, or anything else, with these assholes. I think I’m done for the night,” Brian asserted, still so spitting angry he could barely see straight. “If you’ll just hand over the check for VanGuard, I’ll take my PC and be on my way.”

“Of course. Of course. I think it’s back in my jacket pocket. I’ll just get that for you . . .” Lapointe trotted off, back in the direction of the rec room, to find his jacket.

“I suggest the rest of you losers back the fuck off,” Brian commanded, staring down the three men who were still standing between him and Justin. Bellweather seemed willing to stay and argue, but Jim physically pulled him far enough to the side so that Brian could get by. “Justin? You okay?” he asked softly, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry very far and bending down so he could look the boy in the face even with the way he was crouched. “Shit. We’re leaving, okay? Just hang on a minute,” he ran his fingers through the blond hair, not caring who the fuck was watching at the moment, hating the way the young man flinched frantically away from even that small touch.

Then Brian stood back up and turned to confront the roomful of waiting men. “If you hurt him in any way, you WILL be hearing from my lawyers.”

“We didn’t hardly even touch him, Kinney,” Sapperstein spoke up for the first time. “You should know by now the kid’s a bit flighty. He used to act like that all the fucking time around me. I told you from the outset that he was a bit touched in the head. This is nothing. All you have to do to get him back in line is use that Enforcer I gave you. A zap or two and he’ll come around. It always worked for me.”

“Great! So, your excellent training technique is to basically electro-shock the kid half to death every time he’s scared? Making him even more scared and traumatized, to the point he’s completely useless? That’s your plan? You fucking moron!”

Brian advanced on The Sapp another step with every sentence until Gary was backed into the corner of the room and unable to move further. Brian only just barely stopped himself from slugging the guy - reminding himself that getting into a brawl wasn’t going to help get Justin out of there any faster. Luckily, both Bloom and Weatherall stepped up and pulled Brian back. And, even better, Lapointe returned a moment later waving the promised check in his hands.

“Here you go, Kinney. All signed, sealed and delivered, just as promised,” Lapointe handed the check over with a little flourish, smiling jovially and displaying a forced cheerfulness. “I daresay, that should make your boss a happy man. And you too, I would guess, since your boss says you’re gonna need the bonus you’ll be getting from that check to help pay off your bid on the boy over there.” Brian snatched the check out of Lapointe’s hand without comment - cursing Gardner in his head for spreading his business around to fucktards like Lapointe. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into staying a little longer though? The night was just getting started. And I hate to think of you rushing off with your nose all bent out of shape. I’m sure, once everybody’s cooled down and relaxed, this whole mess will seem like water under the bridge. Can’t I tempt you to stay? There must be something from my stock that you would enjoy?”

Brian fumed silently, wishing he could just tell this blowhard off. But then all the shit he and Justin had been through that night would have been in vain. So, no. He needed to choke back his outrage, make polite excuses, try not to antagonize the client, and just get himself and Justin out of there as soon as fucking possible. Biting his tongue, he answered as tactfully as he could.

“I couldn’t stay even if I wanted to, Lapointe. That call I took earlier was from my office. I have to go take care of an emergency for another client,” Brian dissembled and moved over closer to Justin. “So I’ll just take this,” he folded the PC Clearinghouse check and stuffed it into his suit jacket pocket, “and my PC,” he scooped Justin into his arms, glad the boy weighed practically nothing, “and be on my way.”

And without another thought for anyone other than the shaking boy in his grasp, Brian swooped out of that dreadful room.

********

Chapter 18 - The Aftermath.

They hadn’t driven more than two miles away from the Lapointe mansion before Brian had to pull the jeep over to the side of the road because his hands were shaking so badly he could barely steer. As soon as the vehicle stopped, he collapsed against the steering wheel, struggling to get his emotions under control. He was filled with so much fear and rage and self-recrimination that he felt like he almost couldn’t breathe.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Argh!” He screamed and slammed both fists onto the dash then sat up and blew out a huge lungful of tension-riddled air.

Looking over to his right, Brian could see the blond youth still huddled against the door, arms and legs curled around himself protectively, just the way he’d been when Brian settled him into the seat before they left. Justin’s forehead rested against the cold glass of the passenger window. His breath had fogged up a wide swathe of the pane. He was visibly shaking with each shuddering breath. The sight caused something cold and heavy to churn in Brian’s gut.

“Justin . . .” Brian whispered the name pleadingly. “Justin, please . . .” Only he couldn’t go on because he didn’t know what he was asking. He didn’t have the right to ask the traumatized boy for anything. Not after the way Brian had let him down. “Fuuuuuuuuck!” He screamed again, not realizing until too late that his yelling would cause Justin even more distress.

As the panic-racked PC shrank even further away towards the door, Brian collapsed back against his own seat. He was just making things worse. He was fucking hopeless at this shit - almost as bad as those monsters back at Lapointe’s. How could he ever make it up to the boy?

The ringing of his cell phone finally penetrated Brian’s moment of self-loathing and he automatically accepted the call without even looking at the screen. Thankfully, there was a familiar and helpful voice on the other end. But even then it took Brian almost a minute before he pulled himself together enough to respond to the rising sounds of tension coming through the phone.

“Brian! What the hell’s going on? Answer me, Brian!” Cynthia demanded again.

“I’m here,” Brian answered unresponsively.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Are you still at Lapointe’s? If you can’t talk just say VanGuard,” Cynthia scrambled to try and make sense of what might be going on with her silent friend.

“No. We’re in the car,” Brian answered.

“Phew. I was getting really fucking worried, Brian. How’s Justin? Is he okay?”

“No. He’s not. He’s fucking cowering in the passenger seat and I’m afraid to even touch him - I’d probably just set him off again and . . . Fuck!” Brian pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding the phone and sighed. “I fucked up, Cynthia. I left him alone out there . . . I was only out of the room a couple minutes, just while I was talking to you . . . It was too long. When I got back out there he was gone and then I found him . . . Bellweather and his cohorts were holding him down and . . .” He couldn’t even finish describing the situation.

“Shit! That’s . . .” Cynthia paused, already thinking the worst - that Brian had been too late, and if so, she didn’t know what to say. “Is Justin physically hurt? Does he need a doctor, Brian?”

“No. No, thank fuck. I got there before they did anything other than scare the fucking shit out of him. But he’s . . . He’s not good, Cyn.” Brian stole another look to his right at the little blond ball of panic.

“Where are you right now? Can you drive, Brian?” Ever the pragmatist, Cynthia was already focused on how to help.

“Yeah. I think so. I just . . . I had to pull over for a second, but I think I’m fine now,” Brian answered, trying to sound like he believed himself.

“Okay. Just get to the loft, Brian. I’ll meet you guys there and we’ll . . . We’ll take care of him.”

“On my way,” Brian confirmed and then hung up the phone.

Brian refused to let himself even look over at the boy again, knowing that another glimpse of his trembling passenger wouldn’t help him stay calm enough to drive. He had to follow Cynthia’s directions. If he could just get to the loft, maybe he could think of some way to make this right again. Some way to redeem himself and win back Justin’s trust.

********

Cynthia was indeed waiting for them outside the front entrance to the loft. She jogged over to the Jeep as soon as Brian pulled up to the curb. Brian put the car into park, turned off the ignition, took a deep breath to steady himself and then got out to go around and meet her. Although neither one of them were really the sort to hug, Cynthia couldn’t resist the forlorn look on her boss’ countenance and stepped up to him, insisting that he let her wrap her arms around his middle and hold on for a good long while. Brian relented enough to hug back, briefly, before he pushed her away.

“Here. Get the door,” Brian commanded, handing the woman his keys as soon as he’d unlocked the passenger side door.

Brian carefully pulled open the car door, noting that Justin’s condition didn’t appear any better. “Justin? We’re here. You wanna come inside now?” Brian didn’t think the panting ball of hysteria even heard him, let alone understood his words.

Quickly realizing that it was too cold out - Justin was still only wearing the tiny leather shorts and the wool cloak he’d been wrapped in had slipped to the floorboards - to deal with this problem right there and right then, Brian simply reached in, overlooking the wincing at his touch, and manhandled the boy out of the car. Cynthia quickly realized what was happening and closed the car door behind Brian before rushing over to unlock the loft entrance.

Brian soberly carried the PC inside, held him while the elevator chugged and clanged upwards and then followed Cynthia into the loft. He walked straight to the couch, seating himself with the boy still in his arms, and continued to hold him even after. He just couldn’t let him go. He had to hold on to the still quaking body because it was the only way to make himself feel that it would be alright. To reassure himself that Justin was there, that they had made it out of that hellhole, and that, even if they were both a little the worse for wear, they were essentially in one piece.

Or at least he hoped that Justin was still in one piece.

“Cyn, there’s a blanket on the top shelf in the bedroom closet. Can you get it for me?” Brian asked his hovering assistant as soon as he realized how cold the PC still was even though they were inside.

Cynthia helped wrap the blanket around the shivering boy and then made herself useful by starting some coffee. After bringing over two steaming mugs and giving one to Brian, she sat quietly in a nearby chair with her own coffee, waiting until Brian was ready to unburden himself. It took a good five minutes. By then Justin’s body temp had adjusted and at least he wasn’t shivering anymore. He was still unresponsive, and his right arm and hand were seized up and jittering, but his breathing had slowed. Brian finally felt assured that the youth wouldn’t break apart into little pieces if he didn’t hold onto him with all this strength. Not that he was going to be letting the boy completely go any time soon, though.

“I fucked up so bad, Cynthia,” Brian started speaking without any preface, looking down into the coffee cup he’d finally picked up with his free hand. “I shouldn’t have left him. Not even for a minute. I’d seen the way that douchebag Bellweather was looking at him all through dinner. I should have known he wasn’t going to just back down that easily. Not a fucking slimeball like that.” Brian paused to leave a small kiss on the top of the boy’s head before he continued. “But I thought it would be okay. There were lots of people around. Lapointe and all his other guests were there along with all of Lapointe’s PCs. I just didn’t think anything at all about stepping into the other room for a quick phone call. I should have known better, though.”

Brian put the almost empty coffee cup down on the table and then retucked the blanket more tightly around Justin’s shoulders. Cynthia jumped up and refilled the cup from the hot carafe and brought it back. She found Brian with both arms wrapped tightly around the boy’s body, holding on with all his might, his face buried in blond. The tension in Brian’s body was readily apparent. Justin, on the other hand, seemed to finally be relaxing, his head nestled against Brian’s big, solid chest and his expression now slack.

“The worst part, was that I’d asked him to trust me,” Brian continued as if he couldn’t stop talking even if he’d wanted to. He had to get it out. Had to confess it all in order to get his absolution. “I promised that I wouldn’t let him get hurt and I asked him to trust me. And he did. I know it was so fucking hard for him. I know about not trusting people - how impossible it seems sometimes. But I told him he could trust me and then I fucking let him down. That’s the worst thing I think I’ve ever done in my entire life. I’d rather people think I’m useless and untrustworthy from the get go, than to have them trust me and end up disappointing them. You know?”

“Brian, you can’t do that to yourself. You just can’t,” Cynthia insisted, moving until she could kneel down next to where the two men were still massed together on the couch. “You didn’t mean for any of this to happen. And, from what you’ve said, you couldn’t have known that Justin wouldn’t be safe for those few minutes you stepped away. Hell, it was my call that pulled you away, so it’s at least half my fault.” Brian waved off Cynthia’s attempt to shoulder part of the blame.

“But either way, you did the best you could, Brian. At least you showed up in time to stop Bellweather from doing worse.” Cynthia ran her hand through the blond hair causing the boy to twitch his head even closer towards Brian. “The good thing is that Justin’s not physically hurt. He’s scared - make that terrified - and probably angry, but substantially still in one piece. And as for him being emotionally hurt, well . . . you’re not to blame for all the past abuse he’s suffered, Brian. There’s so much stuff that’s underlying all this. None of that is on you. You can’t take responsibility for Justin reacting this badly when he came to you broken to start with. Not when you’re doing so much to try and help him.”

“So, please, Brian,” she cupped his face with her hands and held on even when he tried to look away, “don’t beat yourself up too much for what happened tonight. It won’t fix things. It won’t make him better. You can only do that if you hold it together for a little longer.”

Since the annoying woman wouldn't let him turn away, Brian squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to listen to her words. He didn’t think he deserved to be forgiven. Not after seeing what his momentary lapse in judgment had done to the boy in his arms.

But, while he was trying to hide from his reality, he felt the head tucked under his chin nuzzle a little deeper into his chest with a barely audible ‘mmm’ and then a tentative hand reached up, wrapped itself lightly around the back of his neck and held on. Brian sighed. That one trifling gesture meant so much to him. It said that the boy did forgive him, whether or not Brian deserved it. And maybe still trusted him. At least enough to need the comfort of Brian’s touch. Which was enough for him, at least for the time being.

With another deep breath, Brian clutched at the PCs body yet again, but then opened his eyes and looked over to where Cynthia was still waiting for him. The always-reliable assistant was looking on at the pair with a relieved grin. She could tell that Brian’s crisis of conscience had passed, with the help of a seemingly powerless seventeen-year-old.

“It looks like you got this, Boss.” Cynthia stood up and beamed one more departing smile the boys’ way.

“Thanks for being here, Cyn,” Brian acknowledged gratefully.

“Anytime. And I mean that, Brian. ANY time.” Cynthia patted him on the shoulder, preparing to go, stopping only when Brian grabbed hold of her wrist.

“Cyn . . . Find out about that psychologist, would you? And get the physical therapy set up as soon as possible please,” Brian commanded. “I can’t fix this without a little help.”

“I’ll get on it, Boss.” Cynthia guaranteed. “Night, Justin. Night, Bri. You two take it easy. See you on Monday.”

Brian knew Cyn would lock up behind herself, so there really wasn’t any need to move. And he was perfectly happy for the moment where he was with a warm, sleepy blond boy on his lap and a warm blanket wrapped around them both. Before long, the stress of the evening - not to mention the rest of the week - took it’s toll on both men. Cynthia wasn’t even all the way out the door before Justin dropped off to sleep. Brian briefly thought about getting up and moving to the bed, but before he had time to act on that thought, he too had succumbed to the tempting pull of the sandman.

Which is probably why Brian was so disoriented and slow to react when he was awakened several hours later by a struggling, flailing, bundle of panic beating against his chest.

“No . . . no!” the muffled words, muttered into the fabric of the twisted blanket that had Brian and Justin bound tightly together, whispered out through the loft. “No. *Uhnnnn* Please.”

“Justin?” Brian tried to shake off the heaviness of sleep sufficiently to figure out what was going on, all the while fending off the fists blindly striking at whatever they could, including Brian’s body. “What? . . . Justin, stop. Stop.”

The boy was too far immersed in the nightmare that was haunting him to understand Brian’s words. He battled against the restraining blanket, kicking at it ineffectually, his whole body convulsing as he tried to escape whatever demons were attacking him in his mind. All Brian could do was hold on - trying to prevent the dream-crazed boy from crashing to the floor as he scuffled with his demons - and mumble vaguely comforting nonsense words to unhearing ears.

“Shhh. It’s okay, Justin. It’s okay. It’s okay . . .” Brian repeated the words, hoping that they would eventually filter through the panic.

It didn’t seem to be working though. Justin was still bucking and punching at the air, his head thrashing back and forth, as he gasped for air and mewled with imagined pain. Finally, giving up on the more cautious methods, Brian resorted to brute force. He managed to get his arms around the straining body, locked his wrists and then flipped them both over so that Justin’s frame was pinned beneath his own against the seat of the couch. Even then the struggle went on for a few more minutes.

Then, at long last, the boy convulsed so violently that he almost dislodged Brian before suddenly jerking fully awake. The boy’s eyes popped open and he stared around wildly for a dozen heartbeats, breathless and terror-stricken and confused. Brian froze, panting almost as hard as Justin, not sure if it was safe to release the boy or if he should hold on a little longer. Before he could say or do anything, though, the panic in the boy’s eyes dissolved and was immediately replaced by bottomless sadness and despair. A despair that Brian had always suspected was there, but which Justin had kept so tightly reined in that it couldn’t escape.

Until now.

And when the dam on all that pent up sorrow finally gave way, there was a fucking lot of it. Brian watched as Justin's face crumpled into a grotesque mask of pain. Which was followed by the first audible sobs. Sobs that grew and mushroomed until they took over, racking the youth's body. Before long, Brian found himself holding an inconsolable blond as Justin cried out months of heart-breaking despair into the relative comfort of that broad, solid chest.

The tears didn't last for long. Even as battered and debased as he was, Justin was still proud. Letting himself be that vulnerable in front of someone - anyone - was unacceptable. He only allowed himself a few minutes of release before he gathered together the shreds of his dignity, sniffled, freed his arms from Brian's grasp, and wiped furiously at his face until the tears were gone. Then he simply lay there, still pinned by the bigger man's body, staring up into Brian's face and waiting passively to see what would happen next.

Brian balanced on his elbows so his hands were free to frame the younger man’s face and play through the sweat streaked hair as he continued to provide what comfort he could. Justin didn't resist. The boy looked so worn out that he probably didn't have the strength to do anything other than lie there, placidly accepting whatever might come. Brian's fingers gently massaged his boy’s scalp in soothing circles while he tried to figure out what to do next.

*******

It was always so disconcerting to wake up like that. The nightmares had become less frequent lately, but they were still persistent. The boy wasn't used to having someone around in the aftermath, though. At least not someone who seemed to actually care enough to try and comfort him. Back at the training center, he'd been kept in a solitary room at night, so he was used to waking up alone and having to struggle through the panic the nightmares caused all on his own. This time felt so different. Still as terrifying, but maybe not so lonely.

As soon as he could quell the tears, he lay there, waiting to see what the repercussions from this latest of his failings would be. His Handler used to make fun of him, teasing him relentlessly about how the poor little baby was scared of his bad dreams. The boy had learned early on not to show any emotion over these episodes if he could help it. Sometimes, though, it was just too much for him. Sometimes he couldn’t stop the tears. Especially after extra trying days. And the day he’d just had qualified for ‘Extra Trying’ a hundred times over, so he supposed it wasn't surprising that he’d succumbed to a nightmare after all that. In fact, what WAS surprising was that he was functional at all considering what he’d just gone through. Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t ashamed and fearful over the fact that he’d let himself sob on the Master’s shoulder so pitifully.

Right now, though, he just didn’t have enough energy to do anything about that problem. All the boy could do was lay there, blinking and sniffling pathetically, while the Master stared at him. If he could figure out what the Master was thinking while he stared, that would be nice. Because so far the boy hadn’t figured this man out at all and that was one of the things that was causing him a lot of stress. Nothing this man - Brian - did made any sense at all. Definitely not the way he was just lying there, petting his PC, after the ruckus the boy had just raised. That made no fucking sense at all. So the boy just lay there, waiting to see what his punishment would be

Strangely enough, however, it didn't seem like ANY punishment was coming. The Master was just lying there, playing with the boy’s hair and looking at him with this quizzical expression. What the fuck? The boy refused to completely let his guard down, though. His experience had shown that you couldn’t trust anybody. Just when you least expected it, you would be hurt. It was better to never trust at all.

So he refused to react. He’d let the Master do whatever it was the man wanted to do. It wasn’t like he could stop him anyway. And the boy would continue to bide his time. He wouldn’t relent now. He’d already given in to this Master more than he should have. He wouldn’t let himself feel anything more for the man. Even though the Master had given the boy interesting work that allowed him to use his artistic skills and had praised him repeatedly for those skills. Even though he had done his best - so far - to keep the boy out of harm’s way. Even though he had - so far - been true to his word and not forced himself on the boy. Even with all that, the boy wouldn’t cave and let this man in.

And, as soon as he’d reminded himself of all those reasons why he wouldn’t capitulate, he realized it was maybe already too late.

The boy had to admit that it felt rather nice to lie there with the larger body still weighing him down. It made him feel grounded. Like that mass was the only thing preventing him from flying apart into little pieces. And the fingers weaving through his hair and massaging his scalp were relaxing. He didn’t even mind the hazel eyes staring into his own. They were eyes that seemed like maybe they understood. Like they might have known sadness almost as heavy as his own. If forced to admit it, the boy might actually own up to the fact that he found himself attracted to the man. He wasn’t bad looking. The Master had a body that could have been in one of those porn videos he’d been forced to watch all the time. His touch was so gentle sometimes. The boy found that he didn’t really mind being touched by the Master all that much.

When the hands running through his hair hesitated over the still-jagged scar on the boy’s right temple, he did wince a little. Not that it still physically hurt, but it was always a reminder of the emotional upheaval that had happened in his formerly happy life, so he hated to be touched there more than anywhere. However, the man’s touch lingered on that spot for several seconds.

“Fuck! All of this . . . it really sucks, doesn’t it,” the older man’s words broke the comfortable silence with their deliberate understatement.

Before he could stop himself, the boy found himself nodding in agreement.

Brian frowned. He shook his head - at what, exactly, the boy didn’t know. Then he leaned down and kissed the scarred right temple, his lips lingering tenderly for half-a-heartbeat longer than expected, before pushing himself up off the couch and standing next to the boy.

“Bed?” the Master asked while holding out a hand to help the boy up off the couch.

The boy again nodded, accepted the hand and allowed himself to be towed up to the bedroom. The master quickly stripped off the now rumpled suit that he’d never changed out of after that horrible dinner party. Then he moved over towards the boy, questioning with his eyes before helping to remove the overly-tight leather shorts the boy had been forced to wear all evening. Once they were both naked, the Master climbed into the big bed and held the far edge of the duvet up in invitation.

The boy walked around the bed, slid under the covers and didn’t even flinch when the Master pulled the smaller body back so his rear was flush up against the solid length of the bigger body.

Shit. It probably was too late to resist this man and his insidiously seductive ways.

Chapter 19 - PC Adjustments.

Brian woke up to what had easily become his new norm after only one week - his arms were full of snuggly, sleepy blond boy. Today’s permutation involved that perky bubble butt being spooned up against Brian’s groin in the most inviting way. He knew that he couldn’t indulge in all the deliciously filthy ideas that the position brought to mind. Hell, he didn’t even dare to rut against that perfect posterior for fear that he would scare the kid.

But, fuck, Brian was horny.

He’d now had Justin with him for an entire week. That was a daunting thought. He, Brian Kinney, had possessed a Personal Companion for a full week. And hadn’t fucked him yet. The irony was killing him.

Even worse, Brian had only been out one night during that long week. And, yes, he had managed to fuck his way through several guys that night but, after the disaster of bringing home the last of that night’s treats, he’d felt like it was all in vain. The rest of the week he’d either been too busy or too preoccupied to go out again. So, basically, it had ended up being the slowest week his sex life had seen in almost a decade. Which just wasn’t fair at all.

After what had happened to Justin the night before, though, Brian didn’t really blame the kid for being so closed off. He’d suffered his own share of abuse as a child so he knew that it wasn’t easy to just move beyond it all. And, considering what he’d learned about the boy’s background - first this attack by some classmate, then the betrayal of his father contracting him out even though money didn’t seem to have been a valid consideration, and finally the more than a year of dealing with the sadistic Gary Sapperstein and his electro-shock training methods - Brian was amazed that the kid was functional at all.

Brian was still kicking himself over the night before. He knew that just barely escaping Bellweather’s designs, being frightened into near catatonia, and then having it all come back to haunt Justin in what had appeared to be a horrific nightmare, had more than likely made things worse. With that in his background, it was not at all surprising that Justin would be scared shitless of being touched, let alone the idea of sex.

Brian understood this and accepted it. He would never press things. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little bit frustrated with the fact that this gorgeous and enticing young man, who was lying in bed next to him, naked and warm and so very fuckable, was essentially off limits.

Did he mention how horny he was?

Brian allowed himself one little nuzzle at the back of the boy’s neck, inhaling the aroma of sleepy youth mixed with the tang of musky sweat left over from the stress of the night before, then left a small, chaste kiss on the pulse point just under one shell-like ear. He slid his arm out from under the still sleeping body and carefully levered himself out of the bed so as to leave his companion unwoken. With a sigh and one last look over at the tempting lump of boy under the covers of his bed, Brian took himself off to the shower and yet another solo hand job to relieve his killer morningwood.

He had only just got started soaping himself in the shower, though, when the door clicked open and the ubiquitous blond boy appeared. As usual, Justin stood off to the side, just barely under the shower spray, with his standard self-effacing stance and his eyes glued to the tile floor. Well, maybe they weren’t precisely glued there - every so often you could see them flickering upwards so that the boy could get a glimpse of what Brian was doing with the hand on his full, hard dick. The little tease even had the beginnings of his own morning boner going there, which was a first for their shower times together. Brian could almost see the thoughts warring in the youth’s head. The natural attraction and desire fighting through the ingrained fear. It couldn’t be easy for the kid. It was probably confusing as hell. But Brian was encouraged by the signs. And he already knew how fucking brave this seemingly delicate young man was - if anyone could somehow break through such debilitating barriers of pain and terror, it was this spunky little shit.

Maybe Brian could help him along just a little bit too?

“You don’t have to stand all the way over there, Justin,” Brian spoke up. “Why don’t you come closer. Get under the spray more.” He tried to make his invitation sound more like a suggestion and less like an order, hoping that the kid would voluntarily take that first step.

Justin hesitated only a moment and then shuffled forward two small steps until he was fully under the shower. Brian celebrated that small victory by reaching down with the hand holding the bar of soap and gently gliding it over the boy’s chest. When Justin didn’t immediately flinch or step away, Brian thought he might as well offer a bit more. He didn’t want to put too much pressure on the kid, but he figured that he’d give him a little opening and see what would come of it. He could always back off if needed.

Trailing the soapy hand down the boy’s body, Brian continued speaking in a soft tone “You’re welcome to continue watching, you know, but if you want to do more, that’s fine too.” Brian moved his hand back to his dick, using the still soapy palm to lubricate his strokes as he stepped forward one final step until they were standing so close that the tip of his dick was only a mere inch from the boy’s own burgeoning cock. “You’re in charge here, remember? You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. But when you decide you want more, you just have to reach out and take it.”

As close as they were standing, there really wasn’t anywhere else for the boy to look other than down at Brian’s soapy cock. The kid seemed mesmerized by the sight. His breathing was now completely synchronized with the movements of Brian’s hand. Breath in, as Brian’s hand stroked up towards the root of the shaft. Breath out, as the hand slowly moved towards the tip. In and up. Out and down. In and out. In and out. And then, almost as if it was against his will, the boy moved forward that last inch or so until they were finally touching.

With the next downward stroke, the back of Brian’s hand brushed against the boy’s cock, causing the youth to gasp as the electrical impulses of the touch scrambled deliciously up his nerve endings. Twice more, and Justin found himself leaning into the  tempting touches, his body wanting this so much but his mind paralyzing him.

“You have to tell me what you want, Justin. Or show me. What do you need me to do?” Brian whispered as his hand once more grazed the boy’s hardened rod, causing his own dick to twitch achingly.

The PC looked up then, his eyes pleading with Brian, asking the older man to help him. Brian could see all the confusion and fear, but that glimmer of desire seemed prevalent. Likely, the boy himself didn’t know what he wanted at the moment. But Brian knew what the young man needed. Maybe he couldn’t ask for it in words, but Justin’s body would tell Brian what to do and when or if he should stop. That would have to be enough.

Very slowly, watching the blue eyes carefully so he would know immediately if he’d gone too far, Brian pressed his lower body even closer to the boy’s. Their two hard dicks, now aligned, rubbed against each other, the lighter pink of the young man’s cock contrasting nicely with the darker purple-pink of his own. When Justin didn’t balk at this move, Brian decided to take it one step further and wrapped his hand around both together. For a half a second the boy tensed up, but then Brian let his hand slide upward along their combined lengths and the tension instantly disappeared. So he continued, reveling in the glorious contact as he stroked and caressed their two twined cocks in tandem until his own breathing was caught up in the mix and they were all breathing and thrusting along with the increasing pace of his motions.

It didn’t take long. They were both so needy and desperate. A dozen more strokes and the kid’s head fell backwards, his perfect pink lips open in a silent moan of release as Brian felt the convulsions of his body begin and his hand filled with the warm milky fluid of Justin’s orgasm. His own was only a pulse behind. And then the two men collapsed against each other, even their panting still in sync as they held one another up under the cooling rain of the shower.

Brian recovered first. He hugged the small body close to his own, and left an approving kiss on the kid’s forehead. Then he retrieved the forgotten bar of soap from the boy’s hand and pulled back far enough so he could start to cleanse them both off.  He didn’t know if he should comment on what had just happened or not. He wasn’t entirely sure how Justin would react. He didn’t want to embarrass the kid by making a big deal out of it or pressure him by sounding smug, but thought he should acknowledge the experience somehow.

“Yeah, I knew you were a brave little fucker from the first minute I saw you,” Brian cursed at the kid affectionately. “Today a hand job in the shower . . . who knows what you’ll get up to by tomorrow, right kid?” Justin smiled bashfully at the tile floor, but Brian could still see the pride his words had engendered. He couldn’t resist a little teasing though, so he leaned down and added in a low murmur, “you can take charge next time, if you want. I’m always game for a bit of good clean fun in the shower.” Brian noted the way the boy’s brow furrowed at that suggestion, almost as if the words alone confused him. “It’s okay, Justin. You did good today, kid. Whenever you’re ready to take control . . . I’ll be waiting.”

Brian wanted to laugh at the way that comment left the kid biting at his bottom lip in thought. He really did hope that Justin would take him up on the challenge someday soon. The kid deserved to have a little control in his life and Brian was more than willing to give him the opportunity. He just wished Justin would hurry up and take it before the situation drove him totally bonkers.

But, of course, Brian didn’t say anything more. He merely turned the boy around, grabbed the shampoo bottle and began to wash the silky blond hair. There was more than enough time for Justin to figure out what he wanted with regards to Brian and sex later. Hell, Justin had only been away from that fucker Sapperstein for one week. It was bound to take a lot longer than that for him to recover if what Brian had seen the night before had been the boy’s norm for the past year. Brian could wait.

He hoped.

********

Brian was a little leery of taking the boy back to the Liberty Diner after their last experience, but he knew the gang would be expecting him for their regular Saturday morning get together, so he decided to chance it. At least this time he’d be on guard and ready, instead of being blindsided like he’d been before. Especially after their shared experiences of the prior night, Brian was adamant about not letting anything more threaten Justin. He still felt he’d failed the boy even though the kid seemed fine again this morning. Better than fine, if that spectacularly enjoyable shower experience meant anything. Nevertheless, Brian was in full-out protection mode as he led the boy in through the Diner’s door and over to the usual booth.

“Hey, Brian!” Michael popped up to welcome his best friend with a hug and kiss. “Hey, Justin. Good to see you. Have a seat. Ma’s running around like a chicken with her head cut off this morning and hasn’t even had time to take our orders, so you’re here in plenty of time.” Michael ushered the newcomers into the booth with Brian making sure that Justin slid all the way to the corner - thinking that he’d be safer out of the way - before moving to sit next to him. “So tell us how that big dinner thing went last night, Brian. We were all worried about you two.”

“Let’s just say it was a perfect clusterfuck of an evening and leave it at that,” Brian responded, not really wanting to relive it again, especially in front of Justin.

“That good, huh?” Ted chuckled. “Just tell me you got the money from that client. I’m still struggling with the numbers to work this bid payment for you, Brian. You’re going to need every penny you can find, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, I got the money,” Brian grimaced at the unwelcome reference to his financial woes. “But even if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t fucking care if I have to sell myself to get the money for Justin’s contract. I’m never going back to that place ever again. Those people . . .” Brian shuddered. He couldn’t even come up with the right words to describe the horrors he’d felt at that dinner. “I know I’m not exactly what you’d call an ‘optimist’, but even I had some smidgen of hope for the innate goodness of humanity until I met these people. These PC folks make monsters look like acceptable dinner company by comparison.”

“Well, at least you’re both okay,” Emmett reached across the table and actually patted Brian on the hand in an unaccustomed gesture of affection. “We were so worried about you two. Especially our Justin here. That just couldn’t have been fun for our little gayling.”

“Brian! Justin! Just the couple I wanted to see,” Debbie announced boisterously, thankfully interrupting before Brian had to reply to Emmett. She put on her most matronly look and pointed one bright red-painted fingernail at them. “Family Dinner tomorrow night at six. Both of you will be there. No excuses.”

“Deb . . .” Brian started to object automatically.

“I SAID no excuses!” She warned with that look that meant she wasn’t kidding and you should just back down now before you got hurt.

Brian rolled his eyes but nodded compliantly. Deb relented immediately, smiled, and took everyone’s breakfast orders, with Justin pointing to what he wanted from the menu and Brian interpreting for him. After that the conversation drifted back to the usual mundane things. Between the gang’s casual chit chat and the bustle of food and drinks arriving and being consumed, the rest of breakfast passed by uneventfully. Even so, Brian stayed on alert throughout the meal, staring down the few customers who happened to pass by their table with a glare that nobody was willing to brave. Justin seemed content to sit in his corner and munch away at his breakfast with relative unconcern. Brian did note, though, that the kid wasn’t shrinking away from his touch anymore, which made the older man strangely happy. It felt like, maybe, things were going to get better from then on.

After breakfast, the boys were hell bent on heading to the gym, as per their usual routine, and insisted that Brian come along. Brian already had his gym bag in the car, so it wasn’t difficult to talk him into their plan. He didn’t really want to take the time to return Justin to the loft, though. Michael stepped up and suggested that Justin simply join them for the day, offering to let the boy use some of his work out clothing. Emmett immediately jumped on that alternative and demanded that Brian let Justin join them. Justin himself was sitting there passively, giving no indication what he wanted to do and leaving it all up to Brian. Since he figured it was a good idea to start exposing the kid to more of the real world again, Brian relented and they all headed down the block to Ript Gym en masse.

All the rest of the gang had just swiped their membership cards as they entered and walked right in. Brian, who had to get a guest pass for Justin, stopped at the front desk. The guest PC was too busy staring around at the facility to pay any attention. Brian, though, noted the minute the big muscle-bound black guy manning the desk looked at Justin and saw the tat on his neck. He’d therefore already steeled himself for some comment or other before the gym employee spoke up.

“May I help you?”

“Yeah. I need a guest pass for my friend. Here’s my card,” Brian handed over his own membership card.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t offer guest passes to PCs,” the desk guard replied looking apologetic.

“Why the fuck not?” Brian glared back. “I’ve been a member at this gym for more than seven years. I’ve probably only used my allotted three guest passes a month once in all that time. I think I’m due a guest or two.”

“Sorry, but it’s company policy. They don’t want people bringing PCs in here. It’s disruptive to the other customers,” the staffer responded, sounding like he didn’t believe the bogus explanation any more than Brian did.

“That’s utter fucking bullshit,” Brian growled. “How the fuck is my PC going to be any more disruptive than the guys holding an orgy in the steam room last week?” The staffer only shrugged noncommittally. “Fine. Whatever. I just didn’t expect this shit at a gym on Liberty. Don’t we get enough discrimination outside? Didn’t think I’d have to fight it in here too. Guess you can cancel my membership, then. I’ll take my friend and my business somewhere else.”

Brian tossed his membership card onto the desktop dismissively and turned back towards the door with Justin’s hand in his own.

“Kinney. Wait!” The guy behind the desk had moved around to block their exit. “I . . . Fuck it! It’s a stupid fucking policy. You and your PC can come in. I won’t even charge you for the guest pass.”

Brian scrutinized the man for one long minute and then, sensing that the guy was being honest, he slowly turned back towards the desk. “Okay. But I’ll pay for the guest pass anyway. I don’t want anyone to think I need any favors.”

The desk guy shrugged but complied, running the card and punching some numbers into his computer keyboard before handing over Brian’s card and a one day guest pass. “For what it’s worth, I don’t agree with that stupid fucking policy,” the man said before Brian and Justin could move away. “I don’t have anything against PCs myself. In fact, I was almost one myself,” the man looked at Justin with empathy. “My moms was a fucking piece of shit. She contracted out both my older sisters while they were still kids to pay for her drug habit. I would’ve probably been next, if she hadn’t conveniently OD’d and killed herself. So, I get where you’re coming from man. No hard feelings, right?”

“Life sucks sometimes, doesn’t it,” Brian responded on Justin’s behalf.

“True dat,” the man nodded with a resigned smirk. “I’m Matt, by the way,” he held out his hand towards Justin. “You need anything around here, just let me know.”

Justin looked sideways at Brian for permission. Brian nodded. Justin accepted the hand being offered and gave up a little smile to the much larger man. The big black man patted the little blond kid on the shoulder acceptingly and smiled. Brian rather liked the idea of this behemoth having Justin’s back. Maybe things weren’t quite so cut and dried as they sometimes appeared. Prejudice may be unavoidable, but sometimes there was acceptance hiding just around the corner too.

********

Chapter 20 - PC Craziness.

The boy couldn’t believe how out of control he felt. All day he’d been doing crazy shit that was so out of character for him. But he just couldn’t stop himself. He just felt so different that morning. The Master had called him brave. Was this what brave felt like? He didn’t know, but something had definitely changed.

The day before, the boy had felt like his usual timid, terrified self. Between the the trip to the doctor and the threat of that PC dinner party, he'd been scared out of his mind all day. Which was pretty much par for the course. But between then and now, something had happened. Something had changed.

Maybe it was because of the way the Master had stood up for him and protected him from the Handler and those men at the party? Or maybe it was the way the man had held him and comforted him after his nightmare? It was all so confusing. This Master had been acting far different than what the boy had been led to expect. He’d been considerate and caring and, so far, had kept his word about not pushing the boy. Despite the horror stories that everyone had told him - from the Handler on down to the other PCs - this Master hadn’t forced himself on the boy or taken his virginity yet. Not that the boy completely trusted him. He didn’t know if he could ever truly trust someone again. But after everything that had happened the day before, the boy supposed he was willing to give the man the benefit of a doubt.

Which probably explained why the boy was feeling so much more open towards the Master. But even that didn’t explain the other feelings the boy was having lately. Like the way he’d felt when he woke up that morning and noticed the way the Master was pressed up against his backside. The way the big hard cock had been sandwiched between their bodies, lying there all hot and just waiting. It had actually scared the boy when he realized he’d been hoping that the Master would move and that cock would slip down a little lower . . .

But before he could even begin to reconcile that vague longing, the Master had left the bed and hurried off to the shower by himself. The boy didn’t understand why he felt so disappointed by that. He didn’t stop to think about it, though, before he hopped out of bed himself and trotted off to the shower as well. And he still wasn’t really thinking when he'd acted so boldly, practically inviting the Master to touch him. He didn’t know how he’d dared to be so forward.

But it had felt so amazingly good. Nothing at all like the quickie hand jobs he’d given himself back Before. Nothing like the times he'd done the same, either to himself or to others during his PC training. This had felt so much better. The way the Master's hand had held their two cocks together and stroked them so firmly had been so perfect. He’d loved the feel of the Master’s cock against his own. The heat of it. The smoothness of the skin against his own. The pulsing hardness just under the skin. The boy couldn’t think of it even now without feeling a little aroused again. The Master had seemed to enjoy it too.

Maybe even better, though, was the feeling the boy got afterwards when Brian had said he was brave. The way Brian had smiled at him made something in his gut lurch. He’d felt proud of himself for the first time in so very long. And maybe even a little less scared.

After that the boy had been just floating along through the day. He hadn’t even felt concerned by all the people and noise in the diner. He found he liked listening to the banter between the Master and his friends. He liked the way Debbie would dote on him. He even liked the way the Master was being so very protective of him. He saw the warning looks the man gave to everyone who looked like they were going to say something to the PC. The boy thought it was sort of nice.

Even the gym wasn't so bad at first. Yes, it was crowded and noisy, but the Master and his friends were keeping close by, so he didn't feel too threatened by the hordes of people. The boy hadn't cared at all about the stuff the big black guy at the front desk had said - he was used to hearing a lot worse being said about PCs. The Master seemed a lot more upset by it than the boy was, but they worked it out in the end and the guy didn't seem that bad.

It wasn't till they had been at the gym for a good half hour or so that the boy started to get a little nervous. He didn't understand how to use all the equipment and he'd never worked out before in his life, so he'd mostly just followed along behind the Master, trying his best to stay out of the way. Apparently the Master found that a bit annoying, so he took the boy over to the row of exercise bikes, planted him on the last bike on the right, and told him to stay there. Which was fine - he did know how to bicycle, even if he didn’t really feel like he needed the exercise - except that, once he was sitting there alone, he started to feel all the stares directed his way. Putting one of the gym towels around his neck to hide the PC tattoo didn't help much. The whispering and leering continued. And, yes, the Master wasn't very far away - just over on the weight benches, in his direct line of sight - but it was far enough that the boy felt exposed. It was worse when the Master started talking with that big black guy from the front desk, laughing together and not really paying much attention anymore.

“How are you doing there, Baby?” the Master’s friend - the one called Emmett - came over and took the bike next to him. “You look a little bored. With that perfect little bubble butt of yours I don’t imagine you have to work out much. I, on the other hand, really need some work on my ass. I just haven’t found the right guy for the job yet, if you know what I mean. *Hahaha*”

The boy didn’t reply to the little joke, but he was grateful that the friend was there. It made the staring less frightening. He rather liked the tall friend too - he was very friendly.

“Hey, Honeycutt,” the Master came up just then, patted him on the shoulder and smiled while addressing the friend. “You mind keeping an eye on Justin for a bit. I’m heading into the steam room.”

“Sure thing, Brian. Baby and I will just hang out here and watch the lovely scenery,” the friend answered with a wink in the boy’s direction.

The Master wandered off towards the back where, presumably, the steam room was located, leaving them just sitting there. The nice black man from the desk followed behind him with a huge grin on his face. And the boy just sat there feeling . . . Lost? Abandoned? A little scared? But also, curious and strangely resentful that that man was taking the Master away.

But, since he’d been ordered to stay put, he didn’t have much choice. He just sat on the bike without pedalling, no longer even pretending to workout. He watched the people walking by watching him. He watched the friend chatting with a big buff guy wearing a t-shirt that said ‘Trainer’ until both of them wandered off together too. Then he waited some more.

But that crazy out of control feeling he’d had all day finally became too much for him. He was too antsy to just sit there, even after having been given a direct order. The boy just felt like he HAD to go and find the Master. He didn’t know why, but it was so compelling that he found himself getting up off the bike and heading in the direction of the steam room all on his own initiative. When he reached the door to the room, he pushed it open and walked right in with his clothing still on. He wasn’t sure what he’d find, but he needed to know.

The air in the room was thick with steam. It was difficult to see very far and, even though it wasn’t a large room, it took the boy a while before he found the Master and the big guy. The Master was seated on a tiled bench in the back  corner of the room. The big guy was on his knees in front of the Master with his head in the seated man’s lap. The boy stood to the side so he was out of the way of traffic as other men came and went, several of them moving so as to have a better view of what was going on in that back corner. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to the boy standing there in the steam.

As he watched the head capped with tight, dark curls bobbing at the Master’s crotch, the boy found himself awash with emotions he didn’t understand and couldn’t even name. He didn’t understand why he disliked this so much. He should be happy that the Master was using some other man to get his needs met - that meant he wouldn’t be bothering the boy, right? Wasn’t that what he wanted?

Justin had been only sixteen when he’d been contracted out. Prior to that, he really hadn’t had any sexual experience at all. He’d known he was gay since he was ten, but that didn’t mean anything to him other than that he found men attractive more so than women. But he’d only just begun to think about everything else being gay entailed when his head had that unfortunate encounter with Chris Hobbs’ baseball bat and his entire world had changed. Up till then, the sum total of his experience with sex had been one lousy handjob given on the sly. He hadn’t even gotten a damn kiss out of it. So, other than vague longings that he’d never had a chance to indulge, he had nothing to gauge his current experiences against.

Well, except for what he’d been told at the training center after he’d been contracted out. He’d been told so many times that he wouldn’t like what his owner would do to him. He’d been warned that there would be pain and, based on what some of the other PCs he’d met had said, there could be a LOT of pain. Hell, the stories some of them told were simply horrible - the way they spoke about it, it was a miracle some had even lived through the experience. So, of course the boy was afraid. Nobody wanted THAT done to them. But they’d also told him that it didn’t matter. He had been sold by his father and was now a Personal Companion. He was expected to perform whatever services his Master required. One of which, undoubtedly, would be to serve as a sex partner for his Master or whomever his Master gave him to. That was his job. He wasn’t expected to enjoy it, or even to like it. For a PC, sex wasn’t meant to be fun. It was only fun for the Masters.

Hadn’t everything he’d been told at the training center been proven in just the short time the boy had been out in the world? The night of his auction, that Bellweather man had been bragging about just the type of thing he’d been told to expect. Promising that his first time would be horrible - demeaning and degrading at best, painful and abusive most likely - followed by him being handed around to the man’s guests as a toy for their further use. That was precisely what he’d expected all along. The fact that Bellweather hadn’t turned out to be his ultimate owner only meant he had a brief reprieve. Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t grateful to his Master for that small blessing. From what he’d overheard at the PC dinner the night before, it sounded like his replacement had not fared at all well with Bellweather. But that was just to be expected for a PC, right?

His opinion hadn’t been improved at all by the short time he’d spent in Bellweather’s clutches the night before. The way the man was talking, the threats he was making about all the things he was going to do to the boy, made his skin crawl. He’d even gone into graphic detail about what they’d done to that poor boy that Bellweather had taken home, and it was NOT something that the boy ever wanted to hear, let alone experience. Based on those stories, it wasn’t surprising at all that Bellweather’s boy had snapped. Anyone would have snapped if they’d been subjected to THAT. If his Master hadn’t come in when he did, the boy would have experienced those horrors first hand - Bellweather had explicitly promised him just that. But again, wasn’t that exactly what the boy expected to happen? The fact that he’d been pulled out of that tiny room and delivered from the clutches of the Handler and Bellweather’s friend, didn’t really mean much. It only delayed the inevitable.

Because it WAS inevitable. The boy was actually amazed that the new Master hadn’t already taken his virginity. He didn’t know what the delay was all about, but he knew that sooner or later, the Master WOULD force him to submit. He might not be quite as crass and tasteless as that Bellweather - bragging about his prowess and vaunting all his acts of cruelty for the world to hear - but that didn’t mean he was going to act any differently when the time came. Masters ALWAYS took what they wanted from their PCs. That was just what they did. The boy KNEW that, sooner or later, his new Master would have his way and it really didn’t matter how he went about it. The boy wouldn’t have any say in the matter.

And he didn’t believe the lies the man voiced about how he wouldn’t hurt him. That was bullshit if he’d ever heard it. Of course he would hurt him. Everyone he’d ever known had hurt him. Everyone he’d trusted had betrayed him. His own father had betrayed him - sold him into this pitiful life - why would some stranger he’d only known a week be any different? This Master - Brian - and all his honeyed words simply couldn’t be trusted. Everything the boy had been told since he’d been contracted out, everything he’d seen and heard about the world, proved that this man HAD to be lying. He was just a man like any other and all men cared about was where they could stick their dicks and how hard they could do it. This ‘Brian’ wouldn’t be any different in the end. The boy had no reason to believe he would escape his fate and all the pretty promises in the world wouldn’t change the loathsome reality of his life.

Which is why the boy should be rejoicing that the Master wasn’t interested in him, right?. If the Master would rather be with this stranger, more power to him. If he was busy fucking someone else, he’d leave the boy alone for a little while longer. Not that a short delay in the inevitable meant that much, but it was something.

So, then, why the hell did he feel like this?

Why did he WANT to be the one kneeling on the floor in front of the Master? Why did he so dislike that this man was in HIS place? Why should he have this roiling ball of disappointment in his stomach. Why was watching these two together making him feel so resentful. He didn’t want that. Or at least he didn’t think he wanted that. But then, why did he still feel so confused by what he was seeing?

The boy found himself staring, unable to look away, analysing every move. This scene was fascinating in a way that all the training center demonstrations and porn videos had never been. He found himself comparing what the big guy was doing to what he’d been taught. The guy’s technique was really sloppy. He didn’t have the right angle, his sucking seemed weak and he couldn’t deep throat worth a damn. The boy knew he could do better. A lot better. He was sure that the Master would like his blow jobs a lot more than this amateur production. Maybe, someday, he’d try it - give the Master a really expert blow job - and prove to him that his boy was better than some random fucker you picked up in a gym steam room.

Before the boy’s vague plans could solidify, the scene was over. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud gasping, “Ahhhhhh!” as the Master groaned loudly, threw his head back and thrust upwards with his hips. The big guy tried to swallow it all, but wasn’t fast enough. There was a lot of mess. Like the boy had thought before, terrible technique. If that had been him, he’d have had no trouble swallowing. Of course, he’d have deep throated the Master’s lovely dick to start with so there wouldn’t be any issue with swallowing. But, whatever. It wasn’t his mouth around that luscious, hard cock. He wasn’t the one that the Master had chosen. He’d been spared. Which is what he should want, right?

From where he was standing, the boy couldn’t hear much of the quiet conversation that followed. He did hear some quiet chuckling and then the big guy got up, smiled down at the Master, who promptly smacked him on his ass before ‘Matt’ moved away. The Master stood up and used the towel he’d been sitting on to clean himself of the leftover mess. Then the man sauntered over to where the boy had been standing, smirking at him all the time.

“I like that you like to watch, Justin,” the Master muttered lowly enough that nobody else could hear. “I saw you watching me the whole time and it was hot as fuck. Like I said before, you’re one brave little fucker - no doubt about it.” The Master reached down and snaked one arm around the boy’s waist then cinched his grasp tighter until their bodies were pressed close. The boy could feel the Master’s nakedness pressing against him through the thin cotton of the borrowed gym shorts he was wearing. “Just remember, when you’re ready for more, all you have to do is say the word. You’re in charge, but just so you know, I’d be happy to take care of THIS for you.” The Master let the boy go, only hesitating for a second so that he could brush their mutually hard dicks together once more, before moving all the way away.

The boy didn’t know what to think anymore. Why did the Master do that? Why did he say those things? And why did the boy’s body seem to want something his head knew was a really bad idea?

“Ready to go, Justin?” the Master asked aloud from where he was waiting in the steam room doorway.

Shaking off his uncertainty and confusion, the boy obediently trotted after the man that fate had decreed would be his Master. He still did NOT understand this strange incomprehensible man. He didn’t trust him - he couldn’t allow himself to trust anyone. But, still . . . well, the boy supposed things could be worse. And Brian wasn’t really that bad. Or at least he didn’t seem that bad at the moment.

Then again, this might just be more of that unexplained crazy-out-of-control thing he’d been feeling all day . . .

********

Chapter 21 - PC Speech.

“Hey! You ready to get going, Justin?” Brian asked as he logged off his computer and pushed his chair back from the desk.

He’d spent the last hour or so going through his emails and dealing with some work stuff, hoping to get a head start on the next week. Justin had spent that time sitting quietly on the couch and doing some more work on the Liberty Air campaign, even though Brian had told him that he didn’t have to work on a Sunday. It had been a nice quiet day all round. Something that Brian prized after the last chaotic week.

Actually, the atmosphere around the loft this entire weekend had been really pleasant. It felt sort of nice and homey. Which was strange because he’d never really thought of his loft - his home - as homey before.

Brian had never had a ‘home’, per se, before he’d bought the loft at the ripe old age of twenty five. He didn’t count the horrible series of rental houses where he’d grown up with his hateful parents as ‘homes’. He’d hated every minute he’d spent under whatever roof he’d had to live in with his abusive father and zealot mother. He’d fled from the Kinney household as soon as he could and never gone back. After leaving there, he’d lived in the college dorms for three years, spent two years sharing a hole in the wall apartment with another student until he got his Master’s Degree, and then, once he’d landed his first full time job, had moved into another, slightly bigger apartment. None of these had felt like a home either.

When he’d finally amassed enough to buy his loft, Brian had thought he would finally feel like he had a ‘home’. And he did. Sort of. It was all his, and he could decorate it as he liked, renovate it as he liked, do whatever he liked with the space. He didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to come or go. He was proud of having such a wonderful living space at such a relatively young age. However, even then it hadn’t really felt ‘homey’.

But, for some strange reason, Brian noticed that the loft NOW felt homey. And that was really bizarre since nothing about the loft itself had changed. Brian hadn’t changed. The only change had been the advent of one small, quiet boy into the loft’s environs. Somehow, though, Justin’s mere presence in the space added some indefinable quality that made the loft feel substantially more like a home than just a place to live.

Brian wasn’t going to question it. He didn’t want to jinx himself. He figured he’d just sit back and enjoy the change and see if it lasted. He rather hoped it would.

Unfortunately, they were not going to be allowed to stay and bask in the hominess for much longer. They had been summoned by Debbie Novotny to a ‘Family Dinner’. This was an imperative that one did not scorn lightly. Brian liked his balls where they were - thank you very much - and didn’t intend to put that fact at risk by defying the matron of their little pseudo-family. So he was going to have to get himself and his companion up and out of the house in order to not be overly late for the party.

Justin, as always, jumped up to obey, trotting off to the bedroom to put on something more than the sweatpants he’d been lounging around in all day. Brian chuckled at the boy’s alacrity. If he knew how tedious most Family Dinners were, the kid probably wouldn’t have been that eager. So eager, in fact that the sketchpad he’d been drawing in had been dumped unceremoniously onto the floor in his haste to follow Brian’s directions.

Brian walked over and picked up the pad, which had fallen open to a page about halfway towards the back. Brian carefully straightened out the slightly crumpled pages, noting again the excellent work the boy was doing for his client’s campaign. Curious, though, about all the extra effort the boy seemed to be putting in, Brian quickly flipped through the more distant pages.

And almost immediately wished he hadn’t

The drawings at the beginning of the book were, as expected, scenes from the airline campaign. Nothing Brian hadn’t seen before. He appreciated the artwork again but didn’t stop on any of those pages. Further back in the book, there were other drawings - stuff that didn’t have anything to do with an advertising campaign. These were mostly just doodles. Some were actually pretty good still lifes of scenes around the loft or Brian’s VanGuard offices. Again, very nice, but still Brian flipped past them without much notice. Then he reached an entirely different type of drawing. These drawings he did stop and stare at.

These were drawings that definitely arrested the viewer’s attention.

The first one Brian came across was a picture of a boy - probably Justin, although you couldn’t see the subject’s face, only his hair from the back - tied to the headboard of a bed while he was being strangled with a scarf and fucked violently by a menacing figure that greatly resembled Howard Bellweather. And that was the least disturbing of the pictures that came afterwards.

Brian scanned drawing after drawing, more and more horrified by each one. These were scenes of torture. Of rape. Of pure sadistic violence. The victim in each was Justin himself and the man doing the torture was none other than the esteemed author and moral compass of so many gay men around the world, Mr. Bellweather. However, if any of his readers saw these images, they would soon lose their esteem, along with their lunches.

Brian had never seen such graphic horrors. He didn’t know where Justin had seen them either. He didn’t think that these were actual memories. At least he hoped to fuck they weren’t, because there was no way he could stand knowing that anything like this had happened to his boy. But, if they weren’t depictions of actual events, then they were the most vividly disturbing imaginative works Brian had ever seen.

Was this what Justin saw in his mind? Is this what Justin expected to happen to him? How could a mere boy have these images in his head and not go completely around the bend?

Was THIS all Justin thought of when he imagined sex?

Brian was horrified by this tiniest glimpse into the PC's mindset. If this is what the kid saw when he imagined what sex was going to be like, no wonder he was scared shitless by even a mere touch. If this was what Justin expected would be happening to him, then Brian could understand why he was virtually paralyzed with fear every single time anyone even touched him, let alone touched him with some sort of sexual intentions.

The only thing that he found at all reassuring after looking through the series of disturbing images, was that none of the attackers was him. He’d seen many drawings of Bellweather. A few of Gary Sapperstein. One with Jim Stockwell. And a couple with random men that Brian didn’t recognize. They were all hurting the boy in the pictures in some way. But at least none of the monsters Justin saw in his head looked like Brian. If that had been the case, then Brian would have known that it was hopeless. If Justin ever saw HIM as one of those men, Brian wouldn’t ever be able to get through to him. And he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for making the kid feel that threatened. But, since Brian’s image hadn’t appeared, maybe there was still some modicum of hope.

All Brian knew was that Cynthia better hurry up and find out about that psychologist.

********

Brian really wasn’t sure about this whole family dinner thing. He had been sitting in the jeep for a good five minutes while parked outside Deb’s house, and still didn’t know whether or not he wanted to go inside. The only thing that finally convinced him to move was the fact that it was fucking freezing out and, with the car turned off, the heater didn’t work. It was either turn the car back on and head home, freeze to death sitting there, or go on inside. Justin, sitting peaceably in the passenger seat, didn’t seem to have a preference either way, so Brian eventually capitulated and decided to try his luck inside.

“Finally! Ma was just about to send me out to get you guys,” Michael exclaimed as soon as Brian opened the door and led his PC inside.

“It’s about time!” Deb interjected. “I was worried poor Justin would freeze to death out there before you finally got the balls to come on in. Justin, I think you know everybody except my brother Vic who’s sitting over there in the corner holding court like the Queen he is. Wave ‘hello’, Vic.” Vic followed orders and waved at the shy boy who was huddling into Brian’s side. “Now, Brian, you sit down over there on the couch and get to know your son a bit better. Lindsey, you leave Brian be and come in here and help me get dinner served. Justin, honey, you can set the table. Michael you get everyone drinks. All the rest of you get out of my hair so I can finish up in here, damn it!” Debbie ordered everyone around with her usual assumption that she was in charge of the universe, and because they loved her, and they wanted to be fed, the group let her have her way.

Brian squeezed Justin’s hand reassuringly and then let Debbie lead the boy away. He didn’t think anything truly horrible would happen to the kid here, but he still had this uneasy feeling about letting Justin out of his sight in the same house as Lindsey. He hoped that Debbie would make sure that the kid wasn’t overwhelmed. But Justin wasn’t a baby and Brian knew he shouldn’t coddle him. He had to let the young man stand on his own. So, reluctantly, Brian went the opposite way as his boy, finding a spot on the couch and waiting patiently until Mel eventually handed Gus over to his father.

“Hey there, Sonny Boy. How’s life been treating you?” Brian cooed at the blinking bundle of boy in his lap, amazed all over again that somehow this amazing little life was made up of parts of him.

While Brian spoke tenderly with his son, three sets of eyes looked on adoringly from the Kitchen.

Deb was thrilled to see one of her boys - and one that she’d often worried would never grow up - moving into parenthood. Despite all Brian’s protestations to the contrary, she’d always known he would be a wonderful and doting father if given half a chance. And watching as the big man gently tickled the baby’s chin, played with the tiny hands and even left one brief kiss on the infant’s perfectly bowed lips, Deb felt her heart melt. This was something Brian had needed in his life for a long time.

The other thing he’d needed was someone like the boy standing next to Deb and watching Brian with what she thought was a quizzical affection. Debbie could already tell that there was a lot more between Brian and Justin than either was willing to admit. She’d never seen her surrogate son being as protective as he was with this kid. But if anyone needed a champion it was this boy. And Debbie suspected that Brian Kinney would rise to this challenge, like he always did, in a spectacular fashion.

“Here you go, Justin,” Debbie handed off a stack of plates. “You put those on the table and then come back for the silverware. It’s going to be a tight squeeze, I’m afraid - our little group is getting bigger than the table - but that’s okay because we’re family, right? So just do the best you can.”

As soon as Debbie got Justin going on his chore, she picked up the asiago cheese she wanted Lindsey to grate, but was too shocked by the expression on the woman’s face to remember to hand it off right away. The sweet, motherly, doting look the woman had been exhibiting just a minute before while watching Brian cuddling her son had been replaced by a look of abject repugnance as she glared at the boy bustling around the table. Debbie had never seen so much unveiled animosity directed at any one person in her life. But here, in her own home, coming from someone whom she’d known for years and had thought of like a daughter, was a look of pure, unadulterated hatred - the likes of which would make a Klansman seem tolerant - directed at the boy now meekly setting plates out on the family table. It scared the shit out of Debbie for about a half a minute and then made her angry as hell.

“What the FUCK is your problem, Lindsey Peterson?” Debbie demanded, slamming the cheese grater and the cheese too on the formica countertop next to her.

“Me? I don’t have a problem,” Lindsey turned towards Debbie with a sneer slicing through her usually benign features. “It’s Brian that has a problem . . . Associating with decent people, that is. I told him last week that I didn’t want him bringing this piece of trash around my son, but apparently he didn’t listen. So, thanks for the invite, Deb, but I think we’ll just be going. I couldn’t eat with that thing in the house anyway.”

“Now you just stop that right this INSTANT!” Debbie screamed, grabbing Lindsey by the arm before the blonde woman could retreat from the kitchen. “You need to get an attitude adjustment, Missy, and you need it right now. So you’re going to sit the fuck down and listen to me and maybe learn a thing or two about ‘Decent Fucking People.” Debbie pulled out the closest kitchen chair, slid it around until it was blocking Lindsey’s escape and pointed at it with a long, red fingernail.

Lindsey didn’t look like she was going to play along this time. She had her arms crossed over her chest and a stubborn frown on her face. But Debbie was frowning just as hard and she had a good fifty pounds on Lindsey. And Debbie was backed up by an equally frowny Michael, Emmett and Ted, who’d all come in from the front room as soon as they heard the brewing ruckus, and who were all standing behind Debbie so as to further block the path. Behind them, Brian was standing - still holding Gus - but rather than looking at Lindsey, he was looking over to the corner where Justin had retreated with his face turned so that he could halfway hide from the yelling.

“Lindz, Hon, we talked about this at home, remember,” Mel pushed her way through the fray, coming up to her wife and stroking her arm mollifyingly. “We agreed that you’d try and approach things with an open mind. Right?” Lindsey looked down at her shoes, still frowning, so that she wouldn’t have to deal with any of them. “Come on, Lindz. Let’s all just calm down, and sit and have dinner and talk. Okay?”

Lindsey reluctantly let Mel guide her over to the waiting chair. She sat down gingerly, not really relaxing, as if keeping her guard up. You could tell that she wasn't really capitulating. She steadfastly refused to even look in Justin's direction. But direct confrontation wasn't really Lindsey's style. She was more the type to bide her time, manipulate things from behind the scenes, and wait patiently for her machinations to work. Brian was not reassured.

Debbie, however, seemed placated. She quickly rearranged her mental kitchen duty roster and handed the cheese grating job off to Emmett, ordered Ted to finish setting the table and had Michael help bring food over. Brian - still holding the baby - gathered Justin from the corner, and then seated himself and the boy at the farthest end of the table away from the girls. The rest of the group filled in the seats at the table as they finished their various jobs. Deb joined them soon after and started handing around the serving plates and bowls, ordering everyone to take more than they really wanted. Justin was a special target for Debbie’s mothering - he was directed to take at least a double helping of every single dish, heaping it all on his plate until it was practically overflowing. Nobody was willing to say anything against Deb though. In fact, nobody was willing to say anything at all - the atmosphere was still so uncomfortable - so they all just stared at their plates and started eating.

“So, I heard that Barbra is coming out of retirement to do one more, This Is Absolutely The Last ‘Last’ Tour,” Vic piped up, bravely breaking through the awkward silence. “Anybody else want to go see it with me if it hits the Pitts?”

After which, first Emmett and then most of the rest of the guys figured out how to speak again. Vic to the rescue. Brian took a deep breath and tried to relax as well, although he still didn’t like the chill coming his way from the other end of the table.

He just didn’t understand why Lindsey was so overwhelmingly angry with him or how she could be so offended by someone as seemingly innocuous as Justin. The boy was as meek as a fucking church mouse. It wasn’t like the boy would SAY anything objectionable to Lindsey or even in her presence. And despite being a PC, Justin was the last person to go parading his sexuality around the room. Hell, Brian was a lot more likely to be doing or saying unacceptable shit in public - and Lindsey had never been offended by his outrageousness. In fact, Lindsey had, more often than not, egged Brian on, encouraging his depravity and then making excuses when others were offended. So what could she possibly have against this kid?

Brian looked warily at the woman, who was still scowling at her plate of pasta. Justin, sitting beside him, was picking fitfully at his own plate, obviously affected by the ongoing animosity aimed his way. Brian grabbed the boy’s free hand and gave a consolatory squeeze. Funny how the kid had seemed more self-assured kneeling almost naked at Brian’s feet back at that PC dinner than he was here, fully clothed in a roomful of people that Brian considered friends. Maybe because Justin didn’t know his place here. Or maybe it was that the Lapointe crowd at least all accepted the boy in his role as a PC, whereas here, there was at least one guest who didn’t accept him at all. Either way, it was almost as uncomfortable of a dinner experience.

“Brian, Honey, you can’t eat your dinner when you’ve got Gus in one hand and you’re holding Justin’s hand with the other,” Debbie complained. “Here. Pass the baby over. He’s asleep anyway. I’ll go put him up in Michael’s old room where he can get a good long nap without being disturbed.”

Brian reluctantly handed the baby down the table and Deb trotted up the stairs with him. Brian felt strangely unprotected without that tiny shield in his arms. He wasn’t sure why he needed protection from his family, but that’s how he felt. And without Gus in his arms he had nothing better to do than to tuck into the carb-laden dinner with all the rest.

The rest of the meal, though, went by without incident. Lindsey didn’t say a thing throughout, but everyone ignored her and carried on as if she wasn’t just sitting there glaring. Justin, of course, said nothing. And Brian was fairly quiet as well, which meant that the conversation was a lot more subdued than was typical at a Novotny Family Dinner. Everything just felt so awkward. So much for Deb’s theory that socializing over pasta would solve every possible problem.

Before the plates were even cleared, Brian was up out of his seat. He desperately needed a smoke after that whole debacle. He quietly asked Emmett to keep an eye on Justin, and then grabbed Michael on his way to the back door so he’d have company. As they were going out, Brian watched Vic seating himself in the chair next to Justin and amiably engaging the boy in some conversation. That was encouraging. Brian trusted that Vic would take the kid under his wing and make sure he was okay even with a disgruntled Lindsey still lurking.

The fifteen minutes spent in the familiar environs of Deb’s backyard with his oldest friend went a long way towards calming Brian’s rickety nerves. At least this was one thing that didn’t seem to have changed as a result of the crazy week just past. He figured he needed more than just a cigarette though to get himself back to normal. A trip to Babylon’s back room was definitely called for as well. He’d just deposit Justin at the loft and then meet up with the boys at Woody’s for their usual post-family-dinner night of debauchery. That should do the trick - or, more precisely, Brian would do the trick and that would do him.

After advising Michael of this brilliant plan and getting his friend’s wholehearted endorsement of the idea, Brian crushed the butt of his second cigarette and headed back inside to find his PC.

Who was nowhere to be found.

Emmett and Vic were still seated around the now cleared kitchen table, comparing notes about their favorite musicals. Brian didn’t bother to try and interrupt, knowing it was impossible to get a word in edgewise when those two got to gabbing about truly important stuff like that. Debbie was up to her lacy rubber-gloves in dish soap as she worked on the first stack of plates. A quick scan of the living room showed that Ted, Mel and Lindz were all seated around the coffee table with mugs in their hands, discussing some political mumbo-jumbo that Brian could care less about. The only one missing from the picture was the little mute PC. But since he’d already covered the entire first floor with that one brief search, unless Justin had left by the front door on his own, Brian was reasonably sure he’d find his missing boy upstairs.

He jogged up the steps and walked right past the open bathroom door since there was clearly no blond boy inside. Before he’d gone more than a couple steps further, though, he heard a voice coming from the first bedroom on the right. He slowed his footsteps so that he could listen in on the conversation before he was discovered.

What Brian heard was more than just a little surprising. The voice was a melodic low tenor. It sounded a bit raspy - like any voice would be if it hadn’t been used much for the past year or so - but it was still pleasant. If asked, Brian would have to say that the voice was soothing. The baby who was also listening to the voice must have agreed, since he was happily gurgling as if in response to the words.

“Hey there, Gus. You're such a sweet baby,” Brian peeked around the edge of the door and saw his missing PC standing next to the baby’s portable bassinet, leaning over so he could caress the soft infant cheek while he spoke. “Such a good boy, too - not crying or giving your parents trouble. Cause you're still a happy little boy, aren't you? And you're loved.” Brian could see a pudgy baby fist reaching up to grab hold of Justin’s finger, holding on with that unrelenting strength even the youngest babies seem to have. “I hope you always feel like that Gus. I hope you'll always be loved. You deserve to be loved. All little boys deserve to be loved by their parents, even though that doesn't happen a lot of the time. But I hope you'll always be loved, Gus. Always.” The voice tapered off with a wistful air that caused something in Brian’s gut to lurch uncomfortably.

That appeared to be the end of the conversation, however. The owner of the melancholy voice bent to leave a small kiss on the baby’s fat cheek, then paused to smile down at the cherubic face. And, even though he was loathe to interrupt this idyllic moment, Brian thought he’d better announce himself before he was caught eavesdropping.

“So. You'll talk to my son, but not to me, huh?”

The startled PC whipped around, staring up at his owner, fearful of having been caught not only speaking aloud, but also touching the precious baby. Brian leaned back casually against the door jamb with a playful smile on his face, endeavoring to show the boy that he wasn't in any trouble. Justin quickly backed away from the bassinet, keeping his gaze down submissively.

“Sorry, kid, that's not gonna work anymore. Now that I know you CAN talk - and WILL talk, even if it's not to me - that whole mute boy thing just isn't gonna cut it,” Brian teased stepping closer so that he could snake one hand around the boy’s waist.

Justin still refused to look up. Brian could feel the nervous shivering of the tremulous boy who was so caught up in his worries over being caught out that he hadn’t yet realized that Brian wasn’t angry at him. Brian hated that unreasoning fear, but didn’t know how to combat it. He and this boy were still so new. He didn’t have any idea how to prove himself to Justin. He was only just starting to get the barest glimpses into the horrors of his prior life and he knew it wasn’t going to be easy to get through all those layers of built up distrust, even though he desperately wanted to. But what would it take to convince Justin that Brian wasn’t like the men he’d been told to fear. The men he pictured in those disturbing drawings of his. That he wasn’t the kind of man that would hurt an innocent boy.

An uninhibited coo from the nearby baby brought the boy’s words back to Brian’s mind. “He will be loved, you know. Always. I won’t let anything bad happened to him, Justin. Even if I'm not really full-time parent material, I would still be there if he ever needed me. And I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him.” Justin snorted unbelievingly and subconsciously rubbed at the back of his neck where the PC tattoo stood out in glaring contrast to his pale skin. “I would never let my son become a PC, Justin. I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t say that,” the boy finally spoke up even though he still refused to look Brian in the eye. “You can’t predict the future. You can't know what might happen or what misfortunes might come along. It’s not like I ever imagined this would happen to me.” Justin finally looked up, stabbing Brian with an accusing gaze that refused to relent. “As long as it’s legal - as long as it’s a possibility for anyone - it’s a possibility for Gus, too. Because you never know what will happen to him in the future. Even if you mean what you say, you can’t know you’ll always be there for him. Anything can happen. And if he’s unlucky or unwise, there will always be someone who’ll be there to take advantage of the situation.”

Before Brian could come up with something to say to contradict this gloomy pronouncement, Justin pulled out of his grasp and strode determinedly out of the room. Brian was left staring at the space he’d left, feeling like his arms were too empty. Gus gurgling in the bassinet next to him no longer seemed all that reassuring. Because Justin was right. As long as PC contracts were legal, and powerful men like Lapointe and Bellweather had the money to pay for whatever political clout they needed, nobody could be one hundred percent sure they were safe. Or that their children were going to be safe.

********

Chapter 22 - Intrigue and Intimacy.

Cynthia was impatiently waiting for Brian when he arrived at VanGuard on Monday morning. She handed him his latte, as usual, but didn’t even bother with the regular morning banter. Brian raised an eyebrow questioningly at her. Cyn tilted her head in the direction of Brian’s office but said nothing. Brian shook his head, took a deep breath to steel his nerves for whatever was likely to come and then led the way.

As soon as he’d set down his briefcase and pulled his chair up to the desk, Cynthia was there, shoving an opened file in Brian’s face. “I’ve been working on this all weekend and I just keep coming up against dead ends. It’s driving me crazy. But I think there’s something really fishy going on . . .”

Brian looked over the file of information his assistant had presented to him, but didn’t know what, exactly, she was talking about. It looked to him like the copies of Justin’s medical records that he’d brought back from the doctor’s office on Friday. Scanning over it briefly, Brian saw lots of medical notations but nothing that really drew his attention. Instead of floundering through it, though, he pushed the file away from him, sat back in his chair and sipped at his latte, waiting for Cynthia to explain, as he knew she would

“When you told me about meeting Amanda Hobbs at the Lapointe dinner the other night - and the fact that she’s Senator Jim Stockwell’s cousin - I got curious. It seems like just too much of a coincidence to me. So I started to look into things a little more closely.” Cynthia leaned back in the guest chair and took a swallow of her own coffee while she organized her thoughts. “I mean, is it just me or does it seem rather suspicious that right after Justin was attacked by someone with ties to the PC trade, his father contracts him out?” Brian shrugged but nodded and Cyn continued.

“I did a lot more research into Craig Taylor over the weekend and there’s nothing that would indicate he needed money at the time Justin was hurt. His property tax records show that he owns his home over in the Sewickley neighborhood outright. No mortgage at all listed and a quick market check I ran said the property was worth over three-quarters of a million in today's market, maybe more. He could have borrowed against the house without even blinking if he needed money for Justin's medical bills. Since his business is privately held, I can't get any tax records for it, but according to the trades I looked at, he's doing great. There's no sign of any financial trouble on the business end. The only other public records that came up for Taylor were some probate court filings from about five years ago - from what I could tell, he inherited a shitload of money from his wife’s estate when she died. That's probably what he used to pay off the mortgage on his house, but there should have been plenty left over even then. The bottom line is that there's no way in hell Craig Taylor couldn't pay his son’s hospital bills, Brian.”

Brian frowned, flipped through the copies of the public records search documents Cynthia had pulled and had to agree with the woman’s assessment. There was no way this man needed money desperately enough that his only choice was to sell his son. It made no sense. Then Brian recalled some of the comments Amanda Hobbs had made about her poor, misunderstood son’s legal problems, and it clicked.

“At dinner, Hobbs’ mother said something to me about Stockwell helping to negotiate a settlement ‘out of court’ so her kid wouldn't have to go to jail,” he informed Cynthia, who was already nodding as if she expected that news.

“Which might have made sense if this was a simple civil suit . . . Except that, you CAN'T settle a fucking criminal case out of court,” Cynthia insisted, slamming her empty coffee cup down on the edge of Brian's desk and pulling a different printout from the file. “A criminal case isn't in the hands of the parties. You can't just pay someone off to get them to drop criminal charges. Especially not felony charges like first degree assault or attempted murder. Any ‘settlement’ of criminal charges has to go through the District Attorney and be approved by a judge. There's no such thing as ‘out of court’ in criminal cases. In criminal cases, that kind of thing is known as ‘Interfering With A Criminal Investigation’, 'Witness Tampering’ or even plain old ‘Bribery’.” She pushed the piece of paper she’d extracted in Brian’s direction and pointed to a section she’d highlighted. “I called in a favor from a lawyer friend of mine who pulled the court records for the case against Chris Hobbs. As you can see, there’s no record of any court approved plea bargain. The case was just dropped . . . For lack of evidence.”

“What more evidence did they need? Justin’s head was bashed in and the news reports said there were eyewitnesses,” Brian read over the printout and was just as stumped as Cynthia by the conclusion.

“Exactly. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but it looks to me like somehow the Hobbs family - or maybe an influential Senator they happen to be related to - got the DA to just drop all the charges cold. And Craig - the father of the victim - didn’t say a damned thing about it. Which meant the whole thing was just swept under the carpet and forgotten. Justin was of course only a minor at the time, and didn’t have standing to really do much legally. But if Craig, as his legal guardian, had made a fuss and gone to the press about how unfair this was, I doubt the DA would have been allowed to drop the case like that. Craig didn’t say anything though. And Justin was probably still too hurt to even know what was going on. Not to mention that, by the time the charges were officially dropped,” Cynthia pointed to the highlighted date on the court records, “it was already three weeks after Craig signed the PC contract for his son.” She pointed to another date on the PC Bill of Sale that Brian had been given the night of the auction, showing the initial contract date for the purchased PC. “In other words, Craig contracted Justin out before the case was dropped, so that, when it happened, Justin would have had no legal right to object. Only his owner at the time would have been able to say anything, and that never happened.”

Brian looked through all the records again, and came up with the exact same conclusions Cynthia had arrived at. “So . . . somebody paid off Craig Taylor to keep his mouth shut when the charges against Hobbs were dropped.”

“That’s what it looks like to me,” Cynthia leaned back in her chair again with a knowing sneer. “Only they were smart enough to make the payoff look like a standard PC contract deal. Adding in the story that Craig was ‘forced’ to contract out his son because he couldn’t pay the hospital bills, just made it more palatable to everyone. It’s the perfect solution. Craig got paid for his silence. Hobbs got off scot free. And Justin, who was the only one who might have objected, was neutralized because PCs have no legal rights outside what their owners say.”

“Shit!” Brian closed the file and shoved it away from him so hard it flew off the far side of his desk. “It all makes perfect sense, except for why Craig would do such a for shit thing to his son.”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Brian. I personally can’t imagine ever agreeing to something like that for my child,” Cynthia agreed. “But nothing else makes sense. I refuse to believe in that many huge coincidences. And I refuse to let a smart, talented, beautiful kid like Justin be used like this.”

“What do you mean?” Brian leaned forward, his elbows propped on the edge of his desk, scrutinizing the woman across from him as if trying to see into her brain. “Even if we could prove that Craig agreed to this deal, I would imagine it’s too late to go after Hobbs. He’s off in Arizona or somewhere living the All-American dream. The damage has already been done. Justin’s life has already been ruined. Maybe, with a ton of therapy, he might get back the full use of his hand, but I doubt all the psychological problems are ever going to fully go away. What good would it do to expose Craig Taylor for accepting a bribe?”

“Don’t you see? It’s not about Craig Taylor. Or even whether or not we could implicate Stockwell in this scheme. It’s about Justin’s PC contract . . .” Cynthia insisted, scooting forward on her chair so that she could lean forward, almost nose to nose with her boss. “If we can prove that the whole contract scheme was a fraud meant to serve an illegal purpose, we could get Justin’s contract invalidated . . . He’d be free again.”

“Fuck . . .” Brian clasped his hands together and rested his chin against them as he thought through the implications of everything Cynthia was saying. After reaching the only conclusion he could, he sat up straight and nodded decisively. “We have to do this. I don’t know how, but we have to find some proof. Only, don’t tell Justin yet. I don’t want to get his hopes up, you know. I’ve already let him down once and I’m not going to set myself up to do the same thing a second time. Okay?”

“Okay. That’s probably not a bad idea,” Cynthia agreed readily. “But how do we prove any of this, Brian? And, even if we can prove it, who do we go to with that proof?”

“Follow the money, right?” Brian offered. “We have to be talking a pretty hefty sum of money. Craig Taylor was already pretty fucking well off before, so there’s no way he would have done this without getting a huge pay off.”

“True . . . Maybe a huge enough payoff to pay for that brand new flagship store that Craig opened up about three months after Justin’s accident?” Cynthia posited.

“Possibly. But it won’t be enough to prove that Craig got the money,” Brian reasoned through what had to be done. “I mean, he’s already admitted he got the money - he signed the PC contract for his son. We have to prove that the money came from the Hobbs family or Stockwell. Somehow tie the PC contract to the deal to let Chris Hobbs go. And that’s going to be a bitch.”

“Let me see . . .” Cynthia picked up the file of information off the floor where it had landed when Brian had shoved it away from him. “Yeah . . . I thought I remembered seeing this.” She turned the file around so Brian could see what she was reading. “Sapperstein wasn't Justin's original owner like he told everyone at the auction. The medical records you got list Sapperstein only as the Handler. According to these records, the name of the guy that originally contracted for Justin is Ron Hutcherson. It doesn’t sound familiar, but I can research him. There's contact info for this Hutcherson in here too. I should be able to track him down. If he’s part of this scam, he would have to have ties to Stockwell or Hobbs, right? Nobody’s going to just put up the kind of money Craig would have demanded without a good reason. Especially not if you’re buying an already injured PC that might have brain damage - which is what Justin’s doctors were saying at the time.”

“Good point,” Brian agreed with his assistant. “You see what you can find on that front, Cyn. I’ll make a few calls around to some buddies of mine and see if I can find out anything more about Craig Taylor. Maybe, if we work this thing from both ends, we’ll figure out how they connect in the middle.”

********

“No, Mikey . . . Do you not understand English? I said ‘no’ already . . .” Brian was arguing on the phone with his best friend as he came through the door of the loft after work. “Because - as I tell you every single time you call me and ask me to go out with you on a Monday - it’s Karaoke night at Woody’s and I HATE Karaoke . . . Michael, listen to me. Are you listening? . . . I do not want to go to Karaoke night . . . So what if you’re meeting up with some new guy. What the fuck does that have to do with me?” Brian dropped his briefcase off next to the desk and unthinkingly leaned down to kiss the blond boy sitting there in greeting. “What? Are we still in Junior High? I can’t believe you’re going to make me come meet your new beau. Why does it matter if I like him or not? I’m not the one going to be dating the schmuck . . . Mikey . . . Oh, fuck. Fine . . . Yes, fine, I’ll be there. But I’ll be in a bad mood the whole night and it’ll be all your fault, so be prepared to grovel . . . Whatever. But do NOT even attempt to try and make me sing - no matter how drunk I get - or I WILL hurt you!” Brian ended the call and tossed his cell phone on the kitchen counter.

While Brian had been talking on the phone, the industrious PC had stacked up all his work and tidied up the desk. Then he quietly trotted over to the kitchen and stood at the end of the bar, waiting patiently for whatever directions he might be given. Brian grinned at the obsequious display, shaking his head at the boy who insisted on maintaining this mute slave act even though they both knew it was only make believe. Or at least mostly make believe.

Brian walked up to the boy and insistently wrapped his arms around the tempting young man, drawing the slight frame towards him. Ever since Brian had heard the boy speaking to Gus the day before, he’d been trying to encourage him to say more, but Justin had stubbornly remained silent. It was driving Brian crazy. He could still hear that sexy low tenor voice in his head and, for some reason he wasn’t willing to analyze, he really wanted to hear it again. The sure knowledge that the boy was intentionally withholding his words, made Brian want it all the more.

“Hey, you.” Brian leaned in and claimed another kiss, this one full on the plump sweet lips. And, while the boy didn’t exactly kiss back, he didn’t fight Brian’s advances either. “Mmmm. I think I could get used to that when I come home from work on a daily basis.” Justin turned his head away slightly so that Brian couldn’t see directly into his eyes. “You know you’re killing me here, right?” The boy steadfastly continued to look away. “Okay. Be that way. You’re still in charge, but you know I’m always available, right?” Brian thought he caught a hint of a smile on the boy’s face, and figured he’d count this as a win and not press for more.

Brian let go his hold on the boy and turned to make his way up to the bedroom so he could strip out of his work clothes. He was pleased that Justin followed along behind and stood meekly off to the side, surreptitiously watching Brian as he strutted around nakedly. Brian chuckled under his breath. He could tell the boy was interested - maybe against his will - but interested nonetheless. It was a good sign.

“So, you probably heard that Michael’s forcing me to go out with him tonight. He insists that I be there to meet some new guy he’s interested in. Like it’s going to matter if I like him or not. Whatever.” Brian pulled on a pair of jeans - commando, of course - and then started to rifle through his club shirt collection. “But, anyway, I was thinking you should come with me. I know you don’t like crowds much, but it’s Monday night, which is the least busy night of the week, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Besides, you can’t spend all your time holed up here in the loft. What do you say? Wanna get out of here for the night?”

Justin didn’t say a word or even move a muscle. Brian hadn’t actually expected anything different. But since he didn’t hear a refusal, he figured that was as good as he’d get. He rifled through the closet for a minute or two and then came up with a shirt that Michael had donated to Justin - one that had a collar on it that would at least partially cover the PC's tat - and tossed it over to the boy. He had to remember to go do some real clothing shopping for the kid sooner or later.

“Why don’t you go put that on and get ready. We can stop and get something to eat on the way if you’re hungry, or you can just eat the crap they serve at the bar if you don’t mind pub food. You’re still a little on the skinny side, so you can probably handle the grease and carbs. And I’ll just stick to a liquid dinner.”

Justin compliantly pulled off the baggy sweatshirt he’d been wearing before shuffling into the bathroom to wash up a bit. Brian followed, drawn like a moth to a flame by the sight of the slight, alabaster torso with it’s barely there but perfectly formed musculature. The kid was definitely one of the pretty type. There was no way around that. And, while Brian tried not to react to Justin on a physical level alone, not wanting to reinforce the boy’s assumption that he was only there as a sexual companion and therefore that was his only value, the man couldn’t deny that there was indeed a strong physical attraction between them. Not that he’d ever do anything to force matters, but it was getting harder and harder, the longer they were together, to keep his hands off the kid. Brian caught himself kissing or touching the boy a dozen times an hour. It was like his hands had a will of their own.

This one time, Brian let his hands have their way. He strode up behind the boy who was standing at the sink washing his face and ran his hands over the boy’s shoulders and down his arms. Brian noted that Justin rarely flinched away from his touches these days, which pleased him more than he would admit. All he did was pause in his motions as if waiting patiently to see what Brian would do next.

What Brian WANTED to do next was to rub his rapidly filling cock against that plush backside and then, maybe . . .

Nope. He wouldn’t do that. He would never push the boy for more than he was ready to give. Brian simply had to learn to control himself. And hope that he’d get some release when they went out tonight. Because, frankly, he was getting a little tired of hand jobs in the shower two and three times a day.

“Oh, what you do to me, kid,” Brian allowed himself to bend and leave one last kiss on the exposed shoulder with a deep sigh before he forced himself to take a step back and leave the boy be. “Don’t take too long. Mikey will be going ape shit if I don’t show up in time to give him my blessing.”

Twenty minutes later they were walking through the door of Woody’s, both now fully clothed, and with Brian convinced he finally had his hands mostly under control. Justin was a little hesitant because of the unknown location and the bunches of people inside the bar, but even so he obediently plodded along in Brian’s wake. The usual crowd at Woody’s parted to allow Brian’s entrance, just like always. And also, just like always, there were several appreciative men who noted his arrival with hopeful glances. Brian ignored them for the moment, sure that they’d still be there when he was ready, and led his charge over to the table in the back near the pool tables - and as far away from the karaoke stage as possible - where the gang usually held court.

“Brian! You made it!” Michael popped up out of his seat and practically ran over to greet his friend. “Come on over and meet David. David, this is my best friend, Brian Kinney. Brian, this is David Cameron,” Brian took the seat that Michael shoved him towards, openly eyeballing the man who had stood up to welcome him. “I’ve told David, like, everything about you Brian, and all the crazy things we used to get up to as kids, so don’t be surprised if he gives you a bit of shit,” Michael continued on a bit nervously. “Oh, and David, this is Brian’s PC, Justin. Hang on a sec, Justin, and I’ll grab you a chair too.” Michael bustled off to borrow a chair from another table while Brian and David sized each other up.

“So, Davey, I guess this is the part where I ask you what your intentions are towards Mikey and then chase you away with my shotgun if you don’t measure up,” Brian teased, reaching up to grab Justin’s hand and towing the boy over into his lap without waiting for the chair Michael was supposedly bringing. “What do you think, Justin? Does Davey here strike you as a gentleman that we should encourage to walk out with our boy? Provided, of course, that they’re properly chaperoned at all times. Or should we send him packing?” Brian joked and couldn’t help adding in a little poke to the boy’s ribs in an attempt to get an actual laugh out of him. When it didn’t work and all he got was a silent squirm, Brian was the one who laughed. “Oh, you are SO stubborn, aren’t you, J?” Then turning back to David, he added, “well, since Justin has nothing bad to say about you, I guess you pass muster. You have our blessing to continue seeing Mikey. Just don’t bring him home knocked up.”

“Briiiian!” Michael whined, overhearing the last of the conversation and blushing a lovely shade of pink. “Ignore him, David. He’s the biggest kidder you’ve ever met.”

“Hello, hello, hello! What did we miss and who is this hunk of handsome goodness!” Emmett waltzed up to the table and took possession of the chair that Justin hadn’t yet assumed.

Emmett took over the conversation from that point on and quizzed David about everything a gay boy would need to know about a potential steady. Ted arrived about ten minutes later and chimed in whenever Em needed a second opinion. Brian added in the occasional snarky comment but otherwise let his more chatty friends guide the show while he spent his time consuming the beer that David bought as his treat for the table and languidly playing with Justin’s hair as the boy sat in his lap. David shot Brian a few quizzical glances but mostly ignored the pair since he was kept too busy responding to all of the gang’s nosy questions to devote much attention to Brian and his PC.

Since Brian wasn’t doing much of the talking, he ended up doing a lot more of the drinking. He polished off two beers before anyone else at the table had finished their first. Then he signaled a waiter and ordered a double Beam for himself and another beer for Justin even though the PC had only barely sipped at his first. Brian downed the shot and then drank down Justin’s beer too.

At that rate, Brian was feeling the happy haze of alcohol quite soon and it certainly didn’t help him insofar as the restraint department was concerned. His hands had found their way back onto Justin’s body, snaking their way up under the hem of the boy’s shirt so they could tickle the soft skin of his stomach. His lips repeatedly found their way to the boy’s neck, his cheek and even occasionally to his lips. Justin kept his perch on Brian’s lap and docilely endured all the petting without protest. He even returned one or two of the kisses, to Brian’s delight. All of which led to Brian experiencing a persistent and rather uncomfortably firm problem, which was just then pressed up against the tractable boy’s backside, the whole experience nearly driving Brian nuts.

“Shit, Justin,” Brian murmured into the warm flesh at the back of the boy’s neck as he let his hands wander around and down until they were ghosting along the kid’s jeans-clad thighs. It didn't help at all that Brian's fingers had detected a bulge beneath the boy’s zipper that was at least equal to his own. Luckily, he wasn't yet so inebriated that he'd lost all vestiges of reason. He knew he couldn't take this any further. He had promised himself as well as Justin that he wouldn’t press. Even if the sexy little tease sitting in his lap was killing him. “I can't . . . I . . . I . . . I have to . . .” Brian jumped up out of his chair, dumping Justin unceremoniously onto the floor and was already five steps away before anyone could react. “I'll be back. Make sure nobody bugs Justin,” he yelled over his shoulder as he grabbed the first likely looking man in his direct path and pulled the guy after him into the men's room.

“Whoa. What the fuck was that all about,” David asked as Emmett helped Justin up off the floor and onto Brian's vacated chair.

“Don't mind Brian. He probably just saw a trick he had to have. He's like that sometimes,” Michael waved off his friend’s erratic behavior.

“Okay,” David shook his head as he eyed the PC whose typically neutral expression had been replaced by a discountenanced glare aimed in the direction Brian had disappeared. “I just didn't expect that. I mean, one minute your friend’s sitting there looking perfectly content playing with his boy, and the next he's literally running off. Doesn't make much sense to me,” David took a swig of his beer and then pointed to Justin with the neck of the bottle. “I mean, if I had something as tasty as THAT available whenever I wanted, I'd probably never leave my house.” Justin dropped his chin self-effacingly and David laughed. But when nobody else at the table joined him the man obviously remembered where he was and turned back to his date. “Which is I why I'm glad I don't have a PC, because then I never would have met you,” he recovered and winked at Michael who beamed at him with a besotted smile.

By the time Brian sauntered back to the table fifteen minutes later, looking much less frantic, the conversation had long moved away from Brian's sex life. He ambled over to the chair where he'd been sitting before, but Justin stubbornly refused to look up at him, let alone move so Brian could sit. Rather than make a big deal about it, Brian just pulled over yet another chair.

“So, what did I miss? Have you boys already covered Liza’s weight problem and how to feng shui your bathroom?” Brian kidded as he picked up his forgotten drink and tried to get back into the conversation.

Before anyone could answer him, though, they were interrupted by Brian's trick approaching the table holding out a small slip of paper. “Call me if you want to hook up again, Kinney.”

“Not even vaguely interested,” Brian scoffed and pushed away the hand holding out the number.

The guy looked a little miffed but shrugged it off. “Your loss,” he said and then strutted away.

Brian didn't even bother to watch the guy leave. He had already scooted his chair closer to Justin's and reached around to rest his arm over the boy’s shoulders. But when the boy once again flinched away from his touch and refused to look at him, Brian gave it up and turned his full attention back to his beer with a frown.

“Sorry, but I HAVE to ask,” David interjected after watching this strange interplay. “Why the hell would you prefer some mediocre trick over your own PC?”

“I don't,” Brian answered without even really thinking. “The guy was just convenient.”

“More convenient than your own PC who was sitting in your lap at the time you ran off?” David asked further.

Brian scowled over at this presumptuous newcomer. “What business is it of yours who I'm fucking?” he growled.

“None at all,” David shrugged and relaxed back in his own chair as he continued to regard the interaction between Brian and Justin. “Sorry I asked.”

Brian shot the man a mirthless fake smile but didn't otherwise respond. He tried to relax himself, but felt the uncomfortable attention of the rest of the table all still directed at him. Damn the nosy little fuckers. They really all needed to get sex lives of their own so they could lay off speculating about his. Brian felt like an exotic bug pinned to a card while his friends dissected him with their eyes. He subconsciously extended his arm, reaching out for the reassuring comfort of Justin's hand, but was disappointed when the boy twitched his body around so as to prevent the touch.

“Justin? You okay?” He leaned forward and whispered into the boy’s ear. “Someone say something to you while I was gone?”

When Brian didn’t get any response, though, he sat up again and looked over at the kid with growing confusion. What the hell was going on here? Justin's body language showed a completely closed off stance. He was partially turned so that Brian only saw his back. Both arms were crossed tightly over his stomach. His head was turned even more aside so Brian couldn't see his expression at all. Trying one more time to connect, Brian placed his hand at the nape of the boy’s neck and was alarmed when the kid shrugged away from the touch, jerking his body till Brian's hand fell away.

“Oh . . . Fuck me!” he mumbled into his beer, slumping back into his own chair in unhappy confusion, unsure what the hell he was up against now or why the closeness they’d been experiencing all day seemed to have evaporated without explanation.

*********

Chapter 23 - PC Therapy.

“Okay, Brian, you and Justin have an appointment first thing tomorrow morning with Ruby Olmstead, PsyD.” Cynthia advised as she placed the pink message slip on the corner of Brian’s desk Tuesday evening right as Brian was about to pack up and leave for the day.

“You sure about this lady?” Brian picked up the message and looked at the appointment info and address for the Psychologist they’d been referred to. “I got the impression from that doc we saw that PC shrinks aren’t exactly kosher. Although, I’m not sure he was believable either. But Justin’s screwed up enough already. I don’t want someone totally incompetent or with some PC agenda messing with his head any further.”

“As far as I can tell, this one’s the real thing,” Cynthia reassured. “I asked around to all my APC contacts. She has a surprisingly good reputation even though she’s been officially sanctioned by the State Psych Board a half a dozen times. According to the people I talked to, they were pretty much all reprimands for treating PCs outside the PCRA regs. But, on top of being an activist, folks say she’s actually good at her job too. So, I think this is your woman.”

Brian certainly hoped so. He was pretty much at his wit’s end dealing with the moody little shit. Okay, so he understood why the boy had problems, and he wasn’t going to hassle him for that. But Brian really didn’t know what to do. Justin was still refusing to talk to him and, since the night before, he had even reverted to the ‘Don’t Touch Me’ thing. Brian still had no clue what had happened to change things so drastically. He’d asked Michael and Emmett and both had assured him that Justin had been sitting quietly at the table the entire time he’d been in the bathroom with that trick. Nobody had come up to him either. So, what it was that had spooked the kid was a total mystery.

“Just one more thing, Brian. If anyone asks, the appointment is for you, not Justin. Dr. Olmstead technically isn’t allowed to treat PCs. But there’s nothing that says you can’t bring your PC with you to YOUR shrink,” Cynthia winked at her boss, who’d always been vocal about his distrust of psychiatric professionals.

“Great! I’m sure, once she’s finished with Justin, she can help me with this Narcissistic Personality problem I’ve got . . .” Brian kidded her right back, “. . . with my overbearing Personal Assistant who thinks she knows everything.”

Cynthia only laughed and blew him a kiss from the doorway before waving good night.

Brian decided to follow her example and get the hell out of the office. He’d actually had a productive couple of days and was ahead of his workload for a change. It helped that he had his own private art department working from home and that Justin’s work was so much better than what he was used to getting from the VanGuard crew. Instead of a project taking a week because he had to send it back two or three or times, it was done correctly the first time and that was that. Not only did it make Brian look good to his boss and colleagues but he was able to work on a lot more accounts. Which he was hoping would help with his financial worries.

When he arrived at the loft, he found his personal artist ensconced in the usual place on the couch. Brian shook his head. The boy really did need to do something other than sit and draw all day on that fucking couch. He’d have to think on that. Maybe the shrink could help come up with some alternatives. It couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Hey.” Brian plopped down on the sofa himself and smiled comically at the kid. “So, how was your day, dear?”

Justin offered up his work product from the day for Brian’s review without even cracking a smile. Brian took the pile of boards, shuffled through them briefly without really caring, and then tossed them all unceremoniously aside. He didn’t want to sit around and talk about work. Why did Justin have to be so fucking serious all the time? Didn’t this kid know how to have fun? He seriously needed to learn how to relax. Maybe even laugh a little.

“So, heard any good jokes lately?” Brian asked and then laughed at himself for acting like such a stupid goober. Since when did he try and make conversation? Or tell stupid jokes. The things this annoying little twat was driving him to were ludicrous. “Yeah, me neither,” he capitulated when the youth simply stared at him without a word. “So, no jokes . . . Hmmm. Does anything make you laugh? I mean, there’s got to be something you find at least vaguely humorous?” Justin looked away, his face remaining stoic.

“Shit! You are totally infuriating. You know that, right? I’m asking for one - ONE - little chuckle. Just to prove you actually remember how to laugh. So, what’s it going to take? Videos of fat rednecks doing stupid shit? Cute animals and babies? Laurel and Hardy movies? What?” That last option got the barest hint of a smile out of the boy, which was just enough to encourage Brian to continue. “Well, I don’t do slapstick, so you can just give up on that fantasy. I’m not going to slip on bananas or walk into doors or anything. And nothing that would mess up my hair either.”

Brian watched as the younger man turned his head further to the left so that Brian couldn’t see his expression at all. Maybe so the boy could hide the fact that Brian had finally found something that amused him? If so, Brian was making some real progress. But how to capitalize on it? He looked around him but didn’t see anything else that might further the conversation. The only things within his reach were the kid’s sketchpad, pencil and a pillow that had fallen off the couch onto the floor at his feet. There wasn’t anything funny about that sketchpad full of disturbing drawings, that’s for sure. But, the pillow . . . Brian weighed the possibilities and decided to go for it.

Snaking one hand down he stealthily picked up the pillow, holding it in his right hand a little low down so it was partially hidden by his knee. “Justin!” He said the name emphatically, almost as if ordering the boy to give his attention. And it worked. Justin immediately turned to his right, facing Brian directly.

Which is when Brian lifted the pillow and smacked the boy upside the head with it.

It didn’t make Justin laugh. The boy looked at Brian as if his owner had gone crazy - a little angry for being hit and a lot confused about what the hell was going on. Which DID make Brian laugh. Hard.

Maybe it was just a reaction to all the tension they’d been dealing with non-stop for more than a week now. Maybe Brian really had lost his marbles. Who knew? But, right then, Brian found that shocked and baffled look on the boy’s face to be utterly hilarious. And he couldn’t have stopped himself from laughing if he’d tried. So he chuckled. And laughed. And maybe even giggled. And the boy just stared at him as if he was certifiably insane.

So Brian hit him with the pillow again.

Justin, apparently, did not like getting swacked with a pillow by a cackling demented nutcase. He grabbed the pillow out of Brian’s hands and, in an unthinking fit of pique, he hit the guffawing man back. Brian just laughed harder and fell back so that he was lying there on his back, totally unprotected, and giggling like a fiend. Of course, Justin rightfully took offense at being laughed at that way and hit Brian again. Brian held up his hands to protect his face - or maybe it was to protect his hair, because, well, it was Brian - but he was really laughing too hard at that point to effectively hold the boy off. Justin simply changed his aim a bit and swung from a different angle so that he could hit him more efficiently.

Brian did the only thing a boisterously laughing person could do to protect himself and hugged the pillow-slugger to his chest. Justin struggled to free himself, but Brian wasn’t letting go. If anything, he held on tighter, digging his fingers into the boy’s ribs in an attempt to improve his grip. Justin was a squirmer, though. He was wiggling around like a buttered eel. Brian’s fingers slipped and grappled for a hold. Justin’s shirt got pushed up as they wrestled so that the big hands brushed directly over rib cage, belly, sides and finally ended up sliding along the boy’s spine, down the length of his back until they came to a spot just above the swell of the kid’s ass . . .

*Hehehehe*

Music to Brian’s ears! The kid actually laughed aloud, bucking and squirming even more as the older man found Justin’s secret ticklish spot and mercilessly dug his fingers in until the boy was breathless with laughter and floundering around even more energetically while he tried to get away from the tormenting fingers.

“Stop. Stop! STOP! *Hahaha* STOP!” the kid demanded when it seemed likely that he was never going to be able to escape the wicked tickle attack. “STOP! Please.”

Brian paused in his tickle torture and thought for a moment. “Fine. But you have to do two things for me, okay?” The still-winded boy screwed up his face as if this concession was horribly onerous, but nodded. “First, you have to smile for me,” Brian demanded. “I want a real smile too, not one of those half-assed ones you try to hide.” The corners of the boy’s mouth twisted up a little bit but it wasn’t enough for Brian. “Nope. That’s not it. I can tell that’s not your real smile. Come on. Give it to me or I’ll start in with the tickling again.”

Justin seemed about to demure again, but Brian flexed his fingers just a hairsbreadth - enough to brush against that ultra-sensitive spot once more - causing Justin to gasp. “Stop!” he demanded again and Brian lifted one brow questioningly but kept his fingers poised for another assault. The boy rolled his eyes,  shook his head at the ridiculous heights of silliness and sighed. But then smiled. A REAL smile. His lips pulled back in a grin that showed his brilliant white teeth and gave his eyes a sparkle that Brian didn’t think he’d ever seen before. It was a smile that brought to mind that old cliche about ‘being blinded’ because that look literally lit up the room around them.

“That’s much better, Sunshine.” Brian smiled back, the endearment just seeming to pop into his head without permission but being so perfect for this shiny, happy boy, that he couldn’t stop himself from uttering it. “Much better.”

Justin tried to look away then, but Brian wouldn’t let him. He grabbed onto the boy’s chin and held him firmly in place. Unable to look anywhere but at Brian, the youth stared into the older man’s hazel eyes - really, openly, looking at them - and maybe seeing the man behind the eyes for the first time too.

“Okay. Now, for my second request, Sunshine,” Brian went on, hoping that he’d get equally good results as he had with his first stipulation. “Tell me what happened last night at the bar to make you pull away again. I want to know so I can stop it from happening again. I like you smiling and happy - not frowning and flinching everytime we touch.”

Justin bit his bottom lip and looked up at Brian even more confused. “Nothing happened,” he finally answered after a good two minutes of contemplation. Brian huffed and knit his brows, clearly thinking that the kid was just trying to avoid answering. “Really. NOTHING happened. I just . . . I didn’t like it. I don’t know why, but I didn’t like that.”

“Didn’t like what? Being at the bar with the guys?” Brian asked, cluelessly. “Why would that upset you, Justin? I don’t understand.”

Justin hesitated but then, after looking up into Brian’s eyes again and seeing the genuine honesty there, he tried again to answer. “I didn’t like you leaving me there at the table alone while you went off with that other guy. I don’t know why. I just didn’t.”

“Okay.” Brian gave in and let the boy go so he could sit up again. “I don’t get it, but it sounds like you don’t either, so . . .” Justin pushed himself up off Brian’s chest and sat there, straddling the larger man, still looking confused and contemplative. “Thank you for at least answering me, Sunshine. See, don’t you think this is much easier with actual words?” Justin smiled again, a little reservedly this time but still a real smile, and shook his head in the negative. “Twat!” was Brian’s affectionate response. “Fine. Be stubborn. It’s fine with me. I like stubborn little twats. You’re a challenge.” Brian smiled back, his grin almost as brilliant and unrestrained as his boy’s, before he pushed the kid off him and dumped the little blond off the couch. “Now, are you going to keep up this unprecedented streak of eloquence and tell me what you want for dinner or are you going to make me guess again?”

Just to be obstinate - and because he liked to give Brian that challenge he said he wanted - Justin simply sat on the couch and smiled, saying nothing. Brian ruffled the boy’s hair playfully but didn’t press him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t order dinner without the kid’s assistance.

And, he really DID like a good challenge.

********

“Good morning, Mr. Kinney. I’m Dr. Ruby Olmstead. Please have a seat.” The petite woman with mounds of unkempt mousey brown hair stood up from behind her desk as Brian and Justin entered her office and waved them over to the sitting area on the other side of the room.

Brian towed his unwilling PC after him and seated them both on the plush, overstuffed couch. Justin scooted over until he was practically hidden in the cushions next to the far armrest. Brian sat close to him, ready to give the boy whatever support he needed, but not so close that he would crowd him. They both looked up at the psychologist when she came over and took the armchair across from them.

Brian surveyed this doctor with more than a little of his normal skepticism. She didn’t look like what he imagined a shrink should. First of all, she was relatively young, or at least young-looking. Brian thought she was probably less than forty, which seemed impossible considering the list of all the woman’s credentials that Cynthia had shown him. She also didn’t look erudite or studious. She was homey looking but had a quirky little smile and a glint in her eye that spoke of mischief. Her plain dark blue pantsuit was professional and doctorly enough, but then the ‘Wizard of Oz’ sparkly red pumps she wore with it threw the whole look off. She reminded Brian more of a Hobbit with a capricious taste in clothing than a doctor.

“Dr. Petrie and I spoke briefly about this case, and I have all the medical records he sent over, but perhaps we should start with you telling me what you’d like to accomplish here, Mr. Kinney,” the doctor began, smiling at both men with an open and inviting look.

“It’s Brian, please. I hate being called ‘Mr. Kinney’ outside of work.”

“Fine. Brian, then. I prefer to go by my given name as well. You can call me ‘Ruby’ or, if you prefer, ‘Dr. Ruby’. And I assume this is Justin?” she looked over at the self-effacing blond boy trying to disappear into the couch cushions. “Do I have your permission to address your PC directly, Brian?”

“Of course. He’s the reason we’re here, so you damn well better be willing to talk to him,” Brian scoffed.

“I understand, but as his owner, doctors as well as other people are legally required to get your permission to speak to your PC. I think it also helps to have the PC know that you’re giving him permission to talk to me directly. I just like to get that out of the way right at the beginning. Okay?” The woman said with another of her understanding smiles. Brian nodded and squeezed Justin’s hand - which he was still holding, by the way - to let the boy know he was good with all this. “Good. So, Brian, Justin, tell me why you’re here and what you think I can help you with.”

Brian looked aside at the timid boy and waited a few moments to see if he would say anything. He didn’t think Justin would speak up that easily, but he wanted to give him the chance. When the kid remained mute, Brian took up the narrative himself.

“Well, if you’ve got the medical records, you should already know a lot of what’s going on. Justin was attacked by a former classmate, had his head bashed in and, according to Doc Petrie, is suffering from a lot of PTSD issues related to that.” Brian explained briefly, but when the doctor didn’t step in to carry on the conversation, he felt compelled to add more. “Bottom line, he's afraid. A lot. He doesn’t like crowds - or even people in general - he has panic attacks, nightmares, and basically can’t stand to be touched . . . Although he’s getting a bit better with the touching thing the past couple of days,” Brian held up their joined hands as evidence, smiling at the boy next to him at the same time. “Add to that how he's pretty much terrified of the very idea of sex, and you've got a good picture of what we're dealing with.” The doctor lifted an eyebrow at that stunning disclosure but didn't interrupt, so Brian didn't stop talking. “I just want him to learn to be a little less scared of everything. I don’t want him to be afraid of me. And I would like for him to feel like he can actually talk to me.”

“That sounds like a lot to deal with, Justin,” Dr. Olmstead addressed the boy, trying to give him an opening to voice his own opinions, without any luck.

“Did I mention that he also doesn’t really care for doctors much?” Brian added with a small huff of laughter.

“No. But that’s understandable, what with everything else. So, Justin, what do you think of all this? Are you frightened of all that stuff that Brian listed?” Dr. Ruby asked, again trying to engage the silent PC. Eventually Justin gave a guarded little nod of agreement, which the doctor seemed satisfied with. Turning towards Brian, she asked one more background question. “Does Justin talk at all?”

“Not much,” Brian conceded. “We’ve had exactly two conversations, neither of which lasted more than a minute total. He’s a bit stubborn, you see,” Brian smiled sideways at his PC. “But, we still manage to communicate pretty well even so - I’ve got him working on some stuff for me for work and when we need to discuss it he either points to stuff, pulls info up for me on the computer or just draws whatever it is he has questions about. It works pretty well. In fact, I was thinking about just this issue last night and I thought it might work for here too, so I had him bring along his sketchbook. Maybe, if he doesn’t feel ready to talk, he could just draw? He’s pretty fast and good too. Will that work, doc?”

Brian handed over the sketchbook that the boy had left sitting on a side table next to the couch. Ruby flipped through the pages quickly, noting the elaborate and detailed drawings. She didn’t miss the transition from the work-related drawings at the front of the book to the more disturbing personal sketches hidden at the back, pausing a bit longer on a few of those before handing the book back to it’s owner.

“I think that will work fine, Justin. At least for a start. Although, I hope that eventually you’ll find you can trust me enough to voice your thoughts more directly.” Justin didn’t look up. He kept his eyes focused on the book that was now resting on his lap, opened to a clean page. “Okay. Let’s get started then. I think I concur with Dr. Petrie’s diagnosis of PTSD, which is pretty common after the type of attack you suffered, Justin. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. But it can be very debilitating if it isn’t dealt with. However, I can’t just wave my magic psychologist’s wand and make it go away. I’ll help you all I can, but you’re the one who is going to have to do all the hard work. And I’d like to know that you want to from the start, or we’ll just be spinning our wheels. So, do you want to try this, Justin?”

The boy sat there unmoving and unspeaking for another long minute as he apparently thought through all the doctor was asking. Brian gripped the hand he was still holding even tighter, reaching over with his free hand to caress the back of Justin’s knuckles in an additional tiny, supportive gesture. The way that the kid was chewing at his bottom lip was indicative of the turmoil going on inside him. But neither Brian nor the doctor knew what the outcome of his deliberations would be.

Finally, with a deep sigh, Justin looked over at Brian, examining the other man as if he wanted to dissect him with his mere gaze. It wasn’t clear if he found his answer there, or if the lack of an answer from his Master was what prompted him to decide, but either way, he somehow got the courage to look up at the doctor directly and nod his acceptance of her proposal. He did want to try the therapy, for whatever good it would do.

“Excellent. That’s a good start, Justin,” the doctor smiled down at him, relaxing just a bit herself at this welcome admission and leaning back in her chair. “How about we go back to the beginning of all this then. I saw in your records that you experienced some memory loss as a result of the attack. Do you remember it at all?” Justin shook his head in the negative. “Do you remember your life from before?” Justin shrugged, nodded unemphatically and then shrugged again. “So, I take that to mean you remember some of your life from before the attack but maybe not all. Is that correct?” Justin nodded again. “Well, there’s not a lot in your file about this incident. It seems so random and unexpected. This boy you went to school with just attacked you after a school dance? I understand that you don’t remember the attack, but do you have any idea why this happened? Why this boy,” she looked through the file and found the name, “Chris Hobbs,” Justin flinched just hearing the name, “would have attacked you?”

Justin pulled the pencil out of the spiral binding at the top of his sketchpad and started to draw his explanation. Brian and Dr. Ruby exchanged expectant glances as they waited to see what the boy would show them. It didn’t take long. Justin was quick at his work. When he had a rudimentary drawing, he turned it around so that the doctor could see it right-way-up, and waited.

Brian leaned forward so he could see the picture as well. It wasn’t as detailed as most of the kid’s work, but it was more than adequate to depict the scene. Two boys - one of whom was clearly Justin - sitting next to each other with Justin’s hand on the other boy’s dick.

“I can see that this is you. Who’s the other young man?” Dr. Ruby asked, apparently unfazed by the graphic nature of the drawing.

“It’s Chris Hobbs. I recognize him from the newspaper articles about the bashing,” Brian answered for his boy.

“So, you and the boy who later attacked you were sexually intimate?” the doctor interpreted, getting a nod from Justin. “Then what happened, Justin?”

Another picture, drawn below the first, quickly emerged. This one showed Justin being slammed into a wall of lockers by Hobbs, whose hand was wrapped around the shorter boy’s neck. Justin had added a word bubble coming from Hobbs that read ‘Faggot!’. In the background of the picture were vague shapes and faces, showing that the scene had taken place in front of an audience, most of whom seemed to be laughing at the boy’s plight, without anyone helping.

“Afterwards, Hobbs had a change of heart and began bullying you?” Ruby asked and received another nod from the artist. Then he added a smaller word bubble, these words in lowercase and parentheses as if whispered, reading, ‘if you ever tell ANYONE about that day, I’ll fucking kill you’. “I see. He was worried that you would tell about the sexual encounter you two had and that he would be exposed as being a homosexual. That’s a pretty common reaction for someone just figuring out his sexuality. How did it progress to an actual attack though?”

Another quick drawing and Brian and Ruby found themselves staring at Justin sitting outside under a tree alongside a girl - both wearing what appeared to be school uniforms - with Justin whispering into the girl’s ear. The girl had an amazed look on her face and there was another speech bubble coming from her mouth. ‘No way! CHRIS HOBBS? He let you give him a hand job? I can’t believe it . . .’. It also showed, half hidden behind the tree where they were sitting, the face of a third youth, this boy listening in on the private conversation, with a shocked look on his face.

“So, someone overheard you telling a friend about your experience with Mr. Hobbs and, I assume, it got back to him? That makes more sense,” Dr. Ruby tried to clarify the chain of events. “What’s the next thing you remember?”

Justin flipped to a fresh page and started in on a new drawing. This one was more detailed and took him a bit longer. Which left plenty of time for Brian to sit and stew over the unwelcome knowledge that a fellow fag had been the one responsible for Justin’s condition. Fucking closeted loser. If it was possible for Brian to hate Hobbs any more, he did now.

Finally putting down his pencil, Justin revealed the new picture he’d drawn. It clearly showed a hospital room with him propped up in the bed, wires and a breathing tube all still in place, indicating that he hadn’t been awake for long. Hovering over him, looking larger than life and more menacing too, was Gary Sapperstein. You could see that Justin was pulling away from the man even while still constrained to the hospital bed by his condition. The words in the speech bubble coming from Sapperstein’s head were even more menacing. ‘You belong to ME now, boy! Your father didn’t want some pansy-assed embarrassment like you around so he sold you to me as a Personal Companion. You better get used to the idea because you and I are going to become real good friends. *Zapppp!*’ Brian didn’t fail to note the small electronic device in the Handler’s right hand or the gleeful look on the man’s face as he pressed the button on the Enforcer.

“I see . . .” Dr. Ruby seemed to scrutinize the picture for a long interval. “Who is this man?”

“That sadistic fucker is the Handler that trained Justin for the year or so from when he was contracted out until I bought him,” Brian explained. “And, as you can see from that drawing, the creep’s favorite method of training his PCs is using that torture device in his hand - his PC Enforcer - to electro-shock Justin and the others into compliance. Damned, sick, motherfucking bastard . . .” Brian couldn’t come up with enough curse words to vent all his hatred for the evil man and eventually tapered off into silence.

Justin was huddling in the corner of the couch again, stressed out anew by either the memories or Brian’s reaction, or maybe both. As soon as Brian realized that he was making things worse, he stopped, refocused on Justin, wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him in close for a dose of comfort. He also noted that Justin was holding his right hand in a cramped position against his stomach - a sure sign that The Claw was resurfacing. With his free hand, Brian began to massage the tense muscles, carefully working through the pain he knew he was causing just by touching it in that condition.

Meanwhile, the doctor said nothing as she quietly watched the interesting interplay between her newest patient and the man who was his legal owner. This was not at all the typical dynamic she saw between a PC owner and his companion. Even the ones she’d met that she considered to be compassionate and caring owners had never shown this level of benevolent concern for their PCs. This was something wholly different. In her professional opinion, this man - Brian Kinney - was already head over heels in love with the boy he was holding in his arms.

Which, considering the legal reality of Personal Companion ownership, could prove to be a very difficult thing for these two . . .

********

Chapter 24 - PC Panic.

Justin had been even more quiet and reserved after they left the therapist’s office. The doctor hadn’t delved too deep into the boy’s problems at that first meeting - it had mostly been about getting some background information and finding out what Justin remembered and what he didn’t. She’d told them that the real work would start the next time they saw her. Brian wanted to get moving on the therapy as quickly as possible so he set up another appointment for them on Friday. And, in the meantime, Justin had been sent home with instructions to draw more pictures about whatever issues he wanted to work on first.

Because of all that, the boy seemed contemplative and maybe even a little depressed, and Brian made the executive decision to keep the kid with him the rest of the day. Sitting home alone in the loft all day just didn’t seem like a great idea for someone already a little down. Instead, Brian got the boy involved in working on some ideas for the pitch he would be making the next day to Simon Craswell.

Cynthia had come up with a lot of information on Mr. Craswell over the past week. The man came from old money and still had a lot of it. He was the CEO of a major publishing house out of New York City but liked to dabble in other interests all over the place. His most recent dabbling had brought him to Pittsburgh where he’d purchased a controlling interest in a local art gallery. Word on the street had it that the gallery owner had fallen on some hard times and been desperate for money. So desperate that he’d let Craswell come in and take over. The New Yorker had put a lot of money into completely overhauling and modernizing the gallery, which was scheduled to reopen in less than a month.

Since they hadn’t yet hired a marketing firm, Craswell’s staff had been handling all the promotions for the reopening in house. They had NOT been doing a very good job, in Brian’s opinion. He was sure he could nail this account without any problems. Basically, anything he came up with would have to be better than what they had now. Not that Brian would ever tolerate giving less than his best on an account. Which is where Justin came in. Brian decided to start him working on some new logo/branding ideas and, depending on what the kid came up with, they’d work a marketing plan around that.

The rest of the day sailed smoothly by. Brian, Justin and Cynthia worked well together, each feeding off the ideas of the others, their ideas meshing remarkably well. Before they left for the day, Brian had three separate logo suggestions ready to present the next morning. Brian was sure that one of them was sure to wow Mr. Craswell.

They stopped off and picked up takeout Chinese on the way home, which reminded Brian that he probably needed to look into the status of the groceries in the loft. Justin would never tell him if they were getting low on something. He thought he’d been doing rather well at keeping his boy fed so far, but didn’t want to be accused of failing in his duties just because he forgot to order more supplies. Thank fuck for grocery delivery services.

They were only halfway through their dinner though when the phone rang. Based on the timing, Brian was about eighty-five percent sure that it was Michael calling to drag him out for the night. Which might not be a bad idea, actually, because Justin wasn’t being very good company and Brian wasn’t in the mood to just sit around and stare at the walls with him. So, he tossed his chopsticks aside and lumbered over to grab the phone before it went to voicemail.

“Hello, Mikey! Where is it you’re going to insist on taking me tonight?” Brian said without bothering with a greeting. “So what? I already met David the other night. He was boring. Old and boring. Why would I want to go out with him again tonight? . . . This is what, your third date, and you haven’t fucked yet? Mikey, have I taught you nothing? . . . That’s just plain wrong, Mikey . . . I’m just saying, how do you know if you want to keep on dating him until you know if he’s a good fuck or not? . . . Well, I don’t know what you expect me to do about it, Mikey. Give him a demonstration in case he’s so old he forgot how it’s done? Hold it for him while you bend over? What? . . . Fine. Okay. I’ll meet you at Woody’s again. But if you can’t get him to fuck you after tonight I’m putting my foot down and insisting you break up with his ass . . . Whatever.”

Brian tossed the phone aside and picked up his box of lo mein noodles again. “Can you believe that? Three dates and David still hasn’t been able to get it up. That’s just pathetic, if you ask me,” Brian was still chuckling as he sat back down on the floor cushion next to Justin. “So, Mikey’s convinced he needs me with him again tonight. Not sure what he thinks I can do.” Brian noted, a little belatedly, that the boy hadn’t resumed eating his own sesame chicken. “You want to come out with me tonight? You don’t have to. You can stay here if you’d prefer,” he offered, concerned about the obvious tension he was sensing from his PC. “Do you want to go with me, Justin?” The boy shook his head ‘no’ very decisively. “That’s fine, then. Just stay here.” But the kid AGAIN shook his head, just as emphatically.

Brian put down his food again and turned so he was facing the boy. This seemed important. He needed to figure this out. Justin didn’t want to go out but he didn’t want to stay at the loft either? As he looked at the boy whose face was dark and stormy, his lips rolled in as if to keep back some strong emotion, and his breathing heavy, Brian could tell that the kid was just barely keeping it together. He didn’t know what was causing this turmoil, though. Maybe it had something to do with their therapy appointment that morning and everything that had brought up?

“I don’t understand, Justin. I can see you’re upset . . .” Brian felt so totally out of his depth at that moment - dealing with emotional twinks was definitely not his forte, but he was trying. “What is it? What can I do?”

Without looking up from his lap, Justin reached out with one hand and grabbed onto Brian’s forearm.

“Stay, please.”

The words were said so quietly that, if the loft hadn’t already been noiseless, Brian wouldn’t have heard them. He would have felt that strong grip on his arm though. It felt like the kid was holding on for all he was worth. Like he was afraid he’d fly off into pieces if he were to let go.

Brian had been asking Justin to trust him. To talk to him. He’d wanted the kid to be able to take some initiative and say what he needed. To take charge. So, now that he had, Brian knew he needed to listen.

“Okay. I’ll stay,” Brian placed his hand over the boy’s, his thumb brushing over the back of his wrist until he felt the grip relent the tiniest bit. “Let me just call Mikey and tell him I’m not gonna meet him. And then we can . . . Well, we can do whatever you want, Sunshine.” A big sigh and a nod were Brian’s only answer but he figured it was enough.

********

The boy had been fighting off the unsettled, itchy feeling all day. It had been there ever since that meeting with Dr. Ruby, waiting just below the surface and threatening to pull him down when he wasn't looking. But he'd managed to fight it. He'd managed to stay busy. To keep his mind focused. To keep himself distracted. It wasn't easy, but he was doing it.

The boy was grateful that the Master had taken him to VanGuard and given him more work to do. Even though his hand was tired and kept acting up all day, it was good to have a job to occupy him. He was also glad, in a way, to be with the Master all that time. The Master’s calm self-assurance as he bustled through his work and ordered everyone around was soothing. And everything was good while they quietly worked together in the office, even if the itchy feeling was still there, hiding around the edges of his mind.

But then it was time to go back to the Master’s loft and the boy got a little worried. There wasn't as much to keep him distracted back at the loft. The itchy feeling got stronger the closer they got to the Master’s home. By the time they were seated on the floor eating the takeout Chinese, the boy was just barely keeping it contained.

Damn that stupid Dr. Ruby. This was all her fault. Normally the boy kept all the itchy, uncomfortable memories shoved down in the blackness inside him where they couldn't hurt him. But she just HAD to go and ask about everything, pulling those memories of the BEFORE time out for all to see. Why did she think this was going to help him. It didn't help. It made his skin crawl.

Why had she wanted the boy to think about those times? What good did it do to bring up memories that only hurt? Yes, he did have memories of BEFORE, even though he'd tried to forget. He wished those memories would disappear altogether right along with the month or so he couldn't remember from right before he woke up in the hospital. Those older memories, from back when someone named ‘Justin’ still existed - a person who'd had hopes and dreams and plans for a bright and happy future - were dim and hazy, as if they belonged to a different person, but they were there. Every single time he allowed them to resurface, though, they killed him a little more. The boy didn't want to remember Justin or Justin's happy life. It just made the life that came after seem that much more bleak.

The boy tried to eat the food the Master had given him, but it was difficult. The sesame chicken tasted like cardboard in his mouth and didn't help with the churning feeling in his stomach. Just sitting there eating wasn't enough to keep his mind occupied. He needed to do something that would distract him and keep the itchiness under control. Keep the upwelling panic back. He scrambled in his mind trying to come up with something - anything - but was already failing when the phone rang and he knew he was lost.

As soon as he heard the Master talking to his friend about going out that evening, he knew it was all over. The Master asked him if he wanted to join them at the bar. No - he didn't want to be surrounded by all those people when he fell apart, that would just make it worse. But the thought of being here all alone when the Master left was even more daunting. He didn't understand why, but he knew that if the Master left him here alone, he'd break apart into a thousand shards which would then scatter into the far reaches of space never to be found again. At least that was how he felt as the tides of panic began to crest.

The boy didn't even realize he'd spoken until he heard his own voice asking the Master to ‘stay, please’. He looked up and saw his hand gripping tightly at the Master's arm but couldn't recall moving. All he knew was that he needed somebody. Somebody to hold him together. He’d been lonely for so long, he couldn't bear to be alone anymore.

The boy held on long enough to hear the words, ‘okay. I’ll stay’ before the blackness that had been creeping up on him overwhelmed his senses. The next thing he knew, he couldn’t breathe, the world around him had gone dark and he couldn’t hear above the rising pulse of ocean waves pounding in his ears. And he really did think he was going to - literally - fall apart, since he was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering.

But at the last minute, right before he knew he would have to give up and let himself disappear, the boy felt two strong arms encircling him. They felt big and powerful and secure. They held the pieces together. And then his head was resting against a solid, warm chest. And the arms cinched tighter still. And the shaking was countered by the tranquilizing rhythm of someone rocking him gently while soothing, baritone words penetrated the whooshing of his heart in his ears with their calming cadence.

It took a long, long time before the blackness receded enough that the boy could once again understand what was going on around him. He found himself curled into a little ball in the crook of Brian’s arm, his face buried in the cleft of the man’s neck as he inhaled the man’s warm musky maleness, and his own arms clinging desperately to the broad shoulders. Brian was rocking him and whispering comforting nothing words as he ran his hands through the boy’s sweaty hair.

“Shhh. I’m here. I’ve got you, Sunshine. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this. You’re going to be okay. You can do this. I know you can. You’re a brave little fucker, Sunshine . . .”

Was he? Could he be that? He didn’t think he could ever be ‘Justin’ again. Justin was gone. He’d died when that baseball bat had hit him in the head. The boy that woke up in that hospital room to find he’d been abandoned by everyone and sold into what amounted to slavery was a completely different person. From that point on he’d just been ‘boy’ - lowercase, unimportant, unworthy of a name. ‘Justin’ was some idyllic fairy tale character. He couldn’t ever go back to that. But maybe he could be something more than ‘boy’. Maybe he could be a ‘brave little fucker’.

Maybe he could be this man - Brian’s - ‘Sunshine’?

********

Cynthia and Brian filed into the conference room on Thursday morning with boards and files full of information only to find that they were missing the client they expected to find. Instead of the fiftyish, short, grey-haired Simon Craswell, they found the tall, robust and dark-haired man that Brian remembered from the Lapointe dinner as Sidney Bloom. He cautiously advanced and held out his hand in greeting.

“Mr. Bloom. I didn’t expect to see you. I was waiting for a potential client about some new advertising. Not that it isn’t good to see you. I still owe you my thanks for helping me out last weekend. What can I do for you?” Brian asked, shaking the man’s hand vigorously.

“Actually, I AM the client you were waiting for. Or, at least half of the client,” Bloom laughed at the confusion on Brian’s face. “Simon Craswell is my partner. I’m actually the Bloom from ‘Bloom Gallery’.”

“Oh! Well, that makes a lot of sense. I saw in the file that Craswell had only just recently invested in the company but I guess I just didn’t connect the name of his partner with you,” Brian answered, exceedingly glad to be dealing with this much more congenial man than the acerbic Craswell whom he’d only met the one time at the auction and hadn’t really liked that much to start with. “Have a seat, Mr. Bloom.”

“Please, call me Sidney. Anyone who survived that horrible dinner experience alongside me deserves to call me by my first name,” the man offered as he accepted the seat that Cynthia had pulled out for him.

“Ah. So you didn’t enjoy your time at bizarro-mansion any more than I did, I take it?” Brian asked, cautiously feeling out the man and his position on this PC issue.

“Not really, no. No offence meant - I know you own a PC yourself - but it’s really not my thing,” Bloom explained. “My partner, Simon, is a big supporter of the industry, though. He’s the one that forced me to come to that dinner after he got called out of town at the last minute. I wouldn’t have gone except that he insisted. Walter Lapointe happens to be a huge supporter of the arts and Simon was adamant that we ‘court his patronage’.” Brian seated himself at the head of the table in the seat next to Bloom’s but didn’t interrupt, curious to see what this man had to say. “Actually, my wife’s family are pretty adamantly Anti-PC, so she was very unhappy that we had to attend the dinner. I just barely talked her into it. And, after I told her what happened to your PC while we were downstairs, she put her foot down . . . let’s just say I won’t be attending any more dinners at the Lapointe’s.”

“That makes two of us, Sidney,” Brian chimed in.

“How is your boy? He seemed pretty shaken up the other night. Is he okay?” Bloom asked with what seemed like genuine concern.

“He’s doing better, although Justin was pretty upset after all that,” Brian vacillated a moment, still unsure how much to disclose to this relative stranger, but then decided to trust his gut. “To be honest, I’m not a big supporter of the PC industry myself, despite the fact that I recently purchased one. In fact, the reason I bought Justin wasn’t, as everyone seems to think, because I wanted to impress Lapointe. I did it mainly just to keep the kid out of that monster Bellweather’s hands. I can tell you, I wasn’t at all happy to see Howie again at that dinner. And I was even less happy to find him trying to molest Justin the second I turned my back. So, thank you again for helping us.”

“Hmm. That explains a lot, Kinney,” Bloom nodded and leaned forward so he could speak more confidentially. “I overheard some of them talking about you while we were there. They . . . well, let’s just say that they weren’t sure of you and now I understand why. I have to applaud you for what you’ve done though. I agree with your assessment - Howard Bellweather is slimier than a banana slug. Frankly, even being in the same room with the man while he was talking made my skin crawl. I can just imagine what he would have done to someone like your boy. I’m glad you got him away from there.”

“Me too,” Brian replied with conviction. “But enough about the dubious pleasures of the PC World. If I never have to deal with any of those folks again in my lifetime, it’ll be too soon.” He nodded to Cynthia who started putting up the boards that they’d prepared for the meeting. “How about, instead, we talk about how I can help your gallery re-brand itself now that your new partner has dumped all that money into it?”

The three of them talked for about the next thirty minutes with Bloom going through the various logo suggestions that Brian presented and loving each one more than the last. They finally settled on a very clean and modernistic graphic design of the gallery’s name on a multi-colored background that looked like a nineteenth century impressionistic landscape of blooming flowers. It was perfect for the image that Bloom wanted for the updated gallery. He was more than thrilled with the concept as well as the execution and was ready to sign the contract with Brian there on the spot.

“This is truly extraordinary, Kinney,” Bloom said again after they’d finished plowing through all the paperwork. “I have to say, if you’ve got talent like this in your art department, it won’t be long before you’re the most sought after agency in the country. This board is almost good enough to be shown in my gallery alongside the artists. You have to tell me who created this. I’d love to meet him or her.”

“Well, in point of fact, the guy who created all of these boards just happens to be my PC, Justin. Turns out he’s a pretty amazing artist. I’ve had him working on stuff for me the past two weeks and so far my clients have loved every single thing he’s come up with,” Brian bragged, more than happy to finally be able to give credit to the deserving party, even if he couldn’t do it officially.

“You’re kidding me? That little boy did all this?” Bloom picked up one of the discarded boards, which was nevertheless almost as good as the one he’d chosen for the gallery, and shook his head. “This kid has so much talent, it’s scary. Not that I don’t love what he did for you on my stuff, but he’s wasted here doing ads and making business logos. Does he do other stuff? Do you have more of his work? I’d love to see it.”

“Justin’s only been with me for a week and a half, Sidney,” Brian chuckled at the man’s enthusiasm. “He does draw pretty much all the time though. Unfortunately, most of what I’ve seen so far is pretty dark. He’s got a lot of demons following him around. I’m not sure it’s stuff he’d want anyone else to see.”

“I’d still love to take a look at it. If his drawing is anything like this stuff, he could easily sell his work. And what about painting? Or does he only draw?”

“I have no idea if he paints too. Although, judging by his eye for color, I imagine he’d be just as good at that as he is with drawing,” Brian replied, admiring Justin’s boards again himself and making a mental note to grab the kid some painting supplies from the art department before he headed home that evening.

“Well, please, Brian, find out for me. If he really is as good as I think he is, I’m serious about showing his work at the gallery,” Bloom handed one of his business cards to Brian. “Give him that and, if it’s okay with you, tell him to call me if he’s interested. Now that I think about it, I bet I could market his work pretty easily. Just think of the novelty of owning artwork done by a PC. I don’t think there’s anything out there like that. With this quality and that hook, he could end up being huge.”

Brian was still contemplating Justin’s boards long after Bloom was shown out. The idea of letting Justin do more with his art than just create ads was growing on him. Not only would it give the kid another outlet for his creativity, but it would also maybe help him work through some of the issues the therapy was bringing up. And after what Brian had seen the night before, he would do almost anything to find a way to help Justin through all of that. If Bloom could actually sell some of the stuff, that might go a long way towards helping restore some of Justin’s self-worth. Whether or not there was a market for PC artwork, was a question that he’d leave to Bloom. But Brian had to agree with the gallery owner that the kid had more than enough talent to make it work if only he was willing to give it a try.

“Cynthia,” Brian said as soon as his assistant had returned to the room to gather up all the waiting paperwork. “Find out if there are any weird regulations about a PC selling his artwork.”

********

Chapter 25 - Art and Artlessness.

Just before five, Cynthia came back into Brian’s office and plunked down a worn-looking file onto his desk. The woman herself looked almost as worn. She also looked a bit pissed off, and Brian hoped it wasn’t his fault because an angry Cynthia was not fun. However, it was best to just get it over with, whatever it was, so he spoke first.

“What now?”

“This makes no sense,” she said, pointing to the file. “I’ve been trying to find out something about the Ron Hutcherson listed in Justin’s records as the guy who originally contracted with him as a Personal Companion.”

“Yeah? So did you find him? Any ties to Craig Taylor or Stockwell?” Brian asked when she didn’t continue right away.

“I found him, but I don’t know what it means yet,” Cynthia reached over and flipped the file open. “The phone number listed here in the file has been disconnected. Nothing there. I tried to google Ron Hutcherson and there’s about a million men with his name, none of which stand out for any reason even when I cross-reference the name with PCs, Stockwell, Taylor, or even Bellweather.”

“Well, it is a pretty common name.”

“Yeah, but you’d think anyone with the money to buy a PC would stand out from the rest of the run-of-the-mill Hutchersons, right?” Cynthia looked disgusted with her own lack of results. “So, I tried instead to look him up by the address listed in the records . . . Which is where the really weird shit comes in.”

Brian waited while Cynthia pulled out another printout. “This address is a residential care facility for Alzheimer’s patients.” She pointed to a print out of a website page showing a slightly run down-looking nursing home. “Not exactly the first place you’d think of when you picture someone looking for a Personal Companion, right?” Brian had to agree with her. “So, just on a whim, I called the place playing dumb and asked for Ron Hutcherson. I thought maybe our Hutcherson was the owner or a doctor there or something. And, it turns out there IS a Ron Hutcherson at that facility . . . Only, he’s a PATIENT.” Brian looked as confused as Cynthia was. “Yep. The nurse I talked to wouldn’t give me any real information on him, only that this Ron Hutcherson has been there for at least five years, he’s eighty-five and in poor health. He hasn’t even left the facility in more than two years. She said there was no way this guy could have signed a contract for anything, let alone a Personal Companion.”

“He’s a patient?” Brian’s brow furrowed even more with confusion. “You’re right. That makes no sense . . . Unless he’s just a front for Stockwell and Hobbs. But how the fuck do we prove that? It’s not like an Alzheimer’s patient is going to even remember what happened long enough to tell us.”

“Exactly. I looked up the Hobbs family and didn’t see anyone there by the name of Hutcherson. I also looked through what I could find on Stockwell - for a US Senator there’s not that much, strangely enough - but I didn’t find any connection there either. I’m not sure where to go with this next.”

“This guy has to be a patsy. There’s no other explanation for why an Alzheimer’s patient would be out looking for a PC. I’m sure there’s a connection somewhere. We just have to find it.” Brian flipped through the file cursorily, hoping that something else would catch his eye and explain everything, but it didn’t work.

“I’ll keep looking, Brian. And maybe when we get the full records from the PCRA there’ll be something more in there,” Cynthia grabbed up the file that Brian threw down in disgust. “I’m pretty sure that originating PC owners have to have special licenses or something. Which means that the real Ron Hutcherson, whoever he is, must have had to do something more to get to Justin than just sign a piece of paper. Or at least you’d think so. I’m sorry that I didn’t find anything faster, though.”

“Well, keep on it,” Brian advised, thinking back once more to the night before and how vulnerable and scared the boy was in the middle of that horrible panic attack. “Justin . . . he shouldn’t be like this. I want to fix this.”

“I know. I do too, Boss,” Cynthia sighed and straightened her shoulders, undaunted by her lack of success so far and ready to try again.

********

Brian kicked the loft door open with his foot and used his shoulder to slide it wider, grunting from the effort of trying to do that while not dropping anything out of the overflowing cardboard box he had in his arms. He wasn’t completely successful. A bundle of rubber-banded paint brushes that had only been tentatively balanced on top of the pile fell right as he took the first step inside.

“Hey, Sunshine!” he called out loudly while he struggled towards the kitchen table with his box. “Can you come lend a hand here? This shit is fucking heavy.”

The boy came trotting over from where he’d been sitting at the computer. He picked up the brushes that had fallen on his way, looking at them curiously. By then, Brian had managed to offload his box onto the table and was beginning to unpack some of the larger items from it.

“There’s one more thing out on the landing,” he directed the inquisitive PC who brought him the brushes. “Would you mind getting it?”

Two minutes later the boy came struggling back inside, lugging a cumbersome wooden contraption that was at least as tall as he was. Brian, who had cleared away everything from the corner of the loft beyond the desk and office area, called to him to bring his load over there. Justin complied, trying not to scratch the wooden floor by dragging his cumbersome burden or knock any furniture over in the process. By the time he got to Brian, the older man had a fresh white canvas tarp laid out on the empty section of the floor. Together they set up the apparatus that Justin had been carrying which, when unfolded, turned out to be a professional grade artist’s easel.

Next, Brian brought over the still half-full box of other stuff and set it down on the floor in front of the easel. “Okay, Sunshine. I think that should do it for you. I’ll let you sort out the rest of this stuff the way you want it. All I ask is that you DON’T get paint on my fucking floors. Otherwise, you’re good to go.”

The confused PC continued to stand there looking at Brian while holding the bundle of brushes in one hand and a huge watercolor paint set in the other.

Brian couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the kid’s dazed look. Damn, this boy was fucking adorable sometimes. Of course, standing there looking all puzzled and innocent like that, he looked far too young to have been through all he had experienced in his already eventful life. But that just added to Brian’s amusement at the moment.

“You can close your mouth, Sunshine,” Brian chucked the boy under the chin to emphasize his point. “I don’t know what’s so difficult to understand. You, apparently, are an extraordinarily gifted artist - or at least that’s what my newest client, The Bloom Gallery - tells me. And, by the way, I need to thank you for that, since it was your exquisite drawings that clinched the deal with Bloom. Anyway, he said that he wanted to see more of your work and that, if you’re open to the idea, he might be willing to show some of it in his gallery. So, I figured you should get on that right away. You know, strike while the guy’s interest is hot and all. And I don’t know if you just draw or if you paint too, but, I figured that we might as well see. So, I liberated some supplies from the Art Department in order for you to try it out. If you hate painting, I can always cart all this shit back to the office. But, if you love it, we’ll get you your own stuff.” Brian took the paintbrushes out of the boy’s hand and tossed them into the built in drawer under the easel before looking back at the still speechless kid. “What do you say, Sunshine? You wanna be Pittsburgh’s next Picasso?”

Justin looked down at the paintbox in his hand and then over at the easel with all its accoutrements. Then he looked up at Brian as if gauging whether or not the man was serious. Brian smiled at him, rolled his lips in and then waggled his brows at the boy teasingly. It was such a stupid, silly little gesture, and so very un-Brian-like, but perfectly candid too. And it was enough to spark a return smile from the wary boy. A true Sunshine smile. A smile so big it almost split his face in two.

Without even thinking about it, Justin stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Brian’s waist, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” he muttered quietly but distinctly as Brian gladly hugged the boy back, pleased as punch with this reaction to his little surprise.

“You’re welcome, Justin,” Brian responded, leaving a kiss on the top of the shaggy blond head before gently pushing the kid away. “Now, go do something fun with all this shit, cause if I find I dragged it all the way home for nothing I’m gonna be pissed.”

The boy beamed one last smile Brian’s way before gleefully digging into the box and unearthing all his new toys. He efficiently stowed it all away in the easel’s drawers or on the floor beneath and then pinned up a fresh sheet of textured paper. Before Brian was even done changing out of his work clothing, Justin had started in on a watercolor painting involving swirls of green and brown and black. Brian had no idea what it would turn out to be, but that didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that Justin was acting more enthusiastic and animated than Brian had ever seen him.

Brian would have to remember to send Bloom a huge thank you present in the morning for putting this idea into his head.

********

The boy had really been dragging for most of the day. The panic attack he’d had the night before had taken a lot out of him. They always did. It helped a little that the Master had been there and been so nice to him. It made him feel less lost and alone when he finally recovered enough to become aware of his surroundings once again. Afterwards the Master had even taken the boy up to the bed, tucked him under the covers and brought him a bottle of water. And when he got in bed himself, the man had simply held the boy tenderly in his arms until they had both fallen asleep. But even though he’d slept through the night like that, the boy was still lethargic and apathetic the entire next day.

He’d tried to concentrate on the work the Master had left for him, but his mind kept drifting and eventually he’d simply given up. Without that work, though, he really didn’t know what to do with himself. The loft was so big and empty feeling. He’d wandered around the place discontentedly for most of the morning, picking up things and looking at them, examining the books on the bookshelf but not actually picking any up, rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen but not actually hungry enough to eat anything.

He was bored enough that he even thought about maybe going outside and taking a walk, although as soon as that thought popped into his head it was immediately squashed by a pang of terror. The very idea of going anywhere outside the loft without the Master there to protect him was unthinkable. All those unknown people everywhere . . . No, the boy wouldn’t be safe outside. He would just stay in where nobody could get to him.

When the Master finally did get home, he was hugely relieved. Finally he’d have someone to distract him from his tedium. The boy would have been glad for any diversion at all after the long boring day. But the surprise the Master brought him was so amazing that he forgot his listlessness almost immediately.

Art supplies: paints, brushes, paper, pastels, and so much more.

It was like discovering lost treasure. A pleasure that the boy was sure he’d never experience again in this lifetime. Art had once been everything to Justin. But the boy that emerged after the hospital hadn’t been allowed any art at all. Not even his drawing. He had assumed it was a thing of the past. Something that other boy had that his new self would never know again. It had been just another part of the hurt.

And now the Master - Brian - was giving him back his art.

The Master had already given him some creative outlet by letting him draw the ads for his clients. And he hadn’t seemed upset by the few extra drawings the boy had done once he’d finished his work. The boy had actually been quite glad to have that little bit of art again. He hadn’t dared to do more than those few random drawings though. He had just assumed it wouldn’t be allowed. A PC's life was meant to be devoted to pleasing his Master and not frittering away time on some useless hobby like drawing.

So he was mildly surprised when the Master had gone a step further and showed his drawings to the doctor. He’d even bragged about the boy’s work. And when the doctor had told the boy to draw more after they’d left the appointment - to draw his feelings and fears - the Master had seemed to enthusiastically support the idea. But this wasn’t a productive and useful application of his art, like for the Master’s work. It was only him drawing about trivial and unimportant things. It wasn’t something that would ever benefit the Master in any way. Which made it seem unlikely that it would really happen.

It was therefore completely unexpected and totally astonishing when the Master came home with an entire box full of art supplies and a huge easel. This was not just a little drawing every now and then - this was huge. This was painting. This was colors and textures and technique. It was real art.

Even more unbelievable, the Master had said that someone else liked his art and wanted to show it in a gallery. Someone LIKED the boy’s drawings. His ART. And the Master was proud of him. He wanted the boy to make more art. He wanted the boy to ‘do something fun’ with his art. It felt like a gift. Like the Master was giving him back some part of himself that had been physically torn out of him. Now he was getting that missing piece back.

He was so excited by the prospect of trying out some of the new things that he hadn’t even thought about it before he’d gone over and hugged Brian in thanks. He was simply too breathless with elation. He’d even forgotten that he still would rather not speak to the Master, although he couldn’t think of what words he should use to express his gratitude, and had to just go with a plain ‘thank you’. But none of that mattered because, before he knew it, he’d been loosed on those amazing art supplies and was actually painting again, and the rest of the world disappeared for quite a while.

It was much later when the boy finally finished the painting and looked up to find that the rest of the loft was dark and the Master was nowhere to be seen. He quickly cleaned up his work area, taking special care with his new brushes, and then padded off towards the bedroom area. The Master was there, sitting up in the bed with all the pillows behind him, a cigarette in his right hand and a ratty old paperback book propped up against his knees. The boy paused at the foot of the stairs, unsure whether or not he should interrupt and, if so, what it was he wanted to do.

The painting stuff was such an unbelievable gift. Nobody had ever supported his love for art. The only person, outside of his teachers, that had even come close to encouraging him in that regard had been Justin’s mother, but she had died when Justin was only twelve, which was before even his drawing had amounted to much. Justin’s own father had repeatedly denigrated his son and complained about the silly and expensive hobby, saying over and over again that it was a waste of time. So, to have someone finally - completely unexpectedly and wholeheartedly - show the boy such overwhelming consideration, was huge. Bigger than huge, it was monumental. Which was why the boy wanted to try again to express his thanks.

Watching the Master from a distance, the boy tried to reconcile all his muddled up feelings for this inexplicable man. This was his MASTER. The person who had bought his contract. A man he’d been conditioned to distrust. A man he’d been told would treat him like the chattel he was. A man who, he’d been informed, would have zero concern for the boy’s feelings or needs or wants outside the basic obligation to keep the boy alive. The boy had come into this KNOWING all that. Knowing that he couldn’t and didn’t want to trust this man. But, somehow, looking at the Master now, none of that seemed right anymore.

This man had swooped in the night of the auction and taken the boy away from that Bellweather person, pledging money that he didn’t even really have, supposedly just to keep the boy safe. This man - Brian - had protected the boy from Bellweather a second time by rescuing him the night of the PC dinner. He’d shown unprecedented care and kindness to the boy on several occasions. He’d comforted the boy when he was scared and hurting. He had so far been true to his promise not to pressure the boy into sexual acts, even though he had every legal right to do so. He’d talked to the boy like a real person, instead of talking over him like an object, as so many people did around PCs. He’d given the boy enjoyable work to do. He’d done so much. So many things that the boy had no reason whatsoever to expect from a Master. And still, the boy hadn’t trusted him.

But the art stuff . . . that was so much more. It might have seemed quite trivial to most people. Especially compared to all those other actions. But the boy had been sure that all the rest had been fake. That all those other things were ephemeral and would vanish once he gave in and let himself trust. He hadn’t believed it was real. He hadn’t let himself believe in Brian. Until now. Until Brian did something so special - something that meant more than all the rest put together because it was completely unnecessary and selfless - that the boy finally began to doubt his own determination to dislike this man.

Standing there, out of the way and as yet undetected by his subject, the boy looked at this man. Really looked at him. Trying to figure out who the man was. What he was. Why he was the way he was. But the boy couldn’t see it. Not from the outside. From the outside the man looked just like any other man. Granted, he was very good looking. He had strongly masculine features, a classically handsome face, a full head of auburn hair that always looked perfectly tousled, a great body with long, trim muscles and no fat - in other words, he was more than just attractive, he was beautiful. But the boy was used to seeing beautiful men. Most of the PCs he knew were beautiful in their own way. And he knew for a fact that the beauty on the outside didn’t say anything about what was on the inside. It didn’t explain why the man was acting the way he had.

So if he couldn’t see it, how did he know what was real? How did he know that the man truly meant the things he said? How did the boy know if he could trust him?

He looked back over his shoulder at the far corner of the dimly-lit loft where he could just barely make out the easel set up in the corner. Brian didn’t have to give him those things. The boy would have done what was asked of him without getting any of that - he didn’t have the option not to do what was asked of him. And Brian had no way of knowing how much getting these items meant to the boy, so it couldn’t have been that he gave him the art stuff solely to manipulate him or bribe him. In his limited experience, though, the only reason you gave someone something was so that you could get something in return. But, if that wasn’t Brian’s motivation, then . . . maybe he was being honest about just wanting to give the boy something to make him happier? It seemed unlikely but he couldn’t think of any other logical reason for it. And if Brian was being honest about that, was it possible he was being truthful about the rest of it?

Maybe. Maybe not. The boy sighed. He could stand there and think in circles about this all night but it wasn’t likely to get him anywhere. It didn’t change the fact that Brian had given him this wonderful gift. Even if there was some hidden agenda or ulterior motive to the gift, the boy was still grateful for this one night of art he’d had. And he wanted to show Brian that he was grateful. If it all came to nothing tomorrow and he found out it had turned to shit like the rest of his life, so be it. He’d had one night of joy. He would take it for what it was. He’d show Brian how much it HAD meant and hope that the man would understand.

With a renewed resignation, the boy gathered his courage together and cautiously walked up the steps to the bedroom. He didn’t let himself pause or think about it, because he knew he’d chicken out. He just walked right up to the bed and knelt on the floor close to the edge of the mattress on the side where Brian was lying. Once on his knees, he bent his head down submissively, as he’d been taught, and waited patiently until Brian was ready.

“Justin? What is it?” Brian asked, exhaling the lungful of smoke he’d just taken and setting his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the side table. “Are you done with your painting?”

The boy nodded and then let himself look up with a smile on his face. “Thank you,” he said again, trying to infuse the words with all the meaning he felt.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Brian responded, letting the fingers of his right hand caress the blond strands of the boy’s hair.

The boy was too nervous to answer. If he was going to do this thing he’d decided on, he just needed to get it over with. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then raised his hand until it hovered uncertainly over the man’s body for a heartbeat before he let it fall softly onto the sheet covering Brian’s hip. Brian froze while the boy used his fingertips to very lightly stroke the luxurious linen draping, his hand getting a little more adventurous as he felt the effect his touch was having on the things below the sheet.

“Justin,” he heard Brian say his name but he didn’t stop. “Justin, stop. You don’t have to do this,” he grabbed the boy’s wandering hand, and gave it a squeeze. “You’ve already thanked me. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I didn’t bring that crap home just to pressure you into doing something you’re not ready for. Okay? You really don’t have to do anything more.”

“I . . . I want to,” the boy managed to say even though his heart was beating so hard that he briefly worried he might pass out.

Brian still held onto the hand. Finally, the boy opened his eyes, looked over at the man and smiled a shy, uncertain, but sincere smile. Brian loosened his grip and let the hand drop back onto his abdomen. The boy immediately turned his attention to the job ahead of him, and pushed the sheets away so as to expose the man’s body from mid-thigh up. Brian was already hard, his big purpley-pink cock lying like an arrow pointing up towards his belly.

The boy grabbed hold this time without any more teasing touches. Brian’s cock twitched in the palm of his hand, apparently eager for the contact. The boy gave one trial tug, enjoying the way the smooth skin slid through his fist until the ridged head provided a natural stop. He let his thumb play over the spongy, full head, noted the tiny spurt of wetness and then moved his hand back down until the side of his fist bumped against the fullness of Brian’s scrotum.

And that’s all it took. That one short essay was enough to bring it all back. It was easy after that. He let himself enjoy the hefty feel of the weight in his hand as he stroked and twisted and pulled, his fist moving in a gradually increasing tempo. The breathy mewls of approval coming from Brian egged him on. So did the caressing fingers that had found their way back into the boy’s hair, carding through the thick locks and occasionally grabbing on to a handful. The cock in his hand felt good and he liked that he was making Brian feel good, too. The boy didn’t even realize that his other hand had dropped to his own crotch, pressing through the cargo pants he’d been wearing, until he surprised himself with a moan of his own. But, before he’d really had time to think about what was happening, it was all over. He felt Brian’s cock jump in his hand and the man’s hips bucked up without conscious volition. The next thing the boy knew, his fist was full of a creamy wet mess and so were his pants.

“Oh, fuck, Justin!” Brian exhaled as his body relaxed back against the pillow. “Those sure are some artistic fingers you’ve got there.”

The boy giggled at the silliness of the joke. He was well aware of the happy sated smile on the big man’s beautiful cherry red lips and the fact that he’d put that look there. He had a flash of pride that he’d been able to please Brian so well. It might not be a huge accomplishment, but it had been a big step for him nonetheless. And he was pleased that he’d not only done this thing he’d feared, but done it well.

Before he descended too far into gloating though, he remembered his training, he quickly jumped up and ran to the bathroom. He emerged a minute later with a warm, damp washcloth which he used to clean Brian up. Then he trotted back to the sink and cleaned himself up as well. When he returned to the bedroom, Brian was once again under the covers.

“Come here, Justin,” Brian held out his hand to the boy, who accepted it and let himself be pulled down so that he was lying alongside the taller man. “Thank YOU, Sunshine. That was marvelous. I’m really, really, glad you liked your art supplies. And you’re welcome to thank me like that anytime you want.”

Then Brian leaned down and kissed the boy. Not just a little peck like he’d been doling out all week, but a nice, big, juicy, sexy kiss. And you know what? The boy kissed him back. Just as juicily. For a long, long time, too.

********

Chapter 26 - PC Conspiracy.

“Good morning, Justin. Brian. How are you two doing today?” the overly-cheerful-for-that-hour-of-the-morning Dr. Ruby chimed as soon as the men were seated in her office.

“We’re still here, if that counts,” Brian responded as he sipped at the latte he hadn’t yet had time to fully consume on the way to the doctor appointment.

“It counts in my book, Brian. How about you, Justin?” The doctor turned her attention to her actual patient. “How have you been feeling since I saw you on Wednesday? Did you have time to draw me any more examples of what you’re feeling or things that are worrying you?”

“There hasn’t been much time for that, I’m afraid, Doc,” Brian intervened for the timid PC. “Justin was pretty much out of commission after we left here the other day - he spent most of Wednesday night having a total meltdown. Then last night it was the exact opposite - he was busy playing with his new paints and stuff that I got for him, zooming around on a complete high. Not that I’m complaining about the painting, or even the freaking out, really, but what’s with the emotional rollercoaster, Doc?”

“That’s more or less typical for a lot of PTSD patients,” the doctor reassured them as she sat in the big armchair across from the couch where they were perched. “Many victims of trauma experience mood swings and often have trouble moderating their moods. Until we deal with some of the underlying issues that Justin has, that rollercoaster may be a pretty common ride for both of you.” She ignored Brian’s muttering at that pronouncement and carried on. “It also means that we obviously touched on something important last time we met. So, let’s carry on and see where we end up, alright?”

“If you say so, Doc,” Brian groused, acting gruff to cover up the fact that he felt so totally out of his comfort zone with all this psycho-babble stuff.

“Justin, why don’t we start off by talking about some of those drawings of yours. I know that’s not exactly a comfortable topic for you, but my hope is that once we work through some of these issues, it will help alleviate at least some of your anxiety.” Dr. Ruby posited as she held out her hand, gesturing for the sketchbook and then flipping through the pages once it was handed over. “So, last time you told us about the experience you had with Chris Hobbs.” She indicated the picture he’d done of the hand job incident. “Was that your first sexual encounter with another person, Justin?” The boy nodded, looking worried at even the mere mention of his attacker’s name. “Did you have any other sexual experiences between then and when you were bashed?” A negative shake of the head.

“What about all these drawings. Did these things happen to you, Justin?” She pointed to one really disturbing picture showing Bellweather with Justin tied up. Justin shook his head ‘no’ but seemed upset by looking at them nevertheless. “Who is this man? Is he someone you know?”

“That’s the fucker that was about to buy Justin’s contract before I stepped in,” Brian spoke up, letting his tone reflect all the venom he felt towards Howard Bellweather. “Before the auction, this guy was bragging to everyone about exactly what he was planning for Justin after he bought him. How he was going to . . .” Brian had been about to continue with a fully detailed description of everything the man had threatened, but then he noticed the way Justin had started to shrink away from his side, and remembered that he needed to control himself for the boy’s sake. “Well, let’s just say it was highly unpleasant to listen to and I doubt it would have been any more enjoyable to experience in person. The man is vile. I wouldn’t let him own a fucking dog, let alone another human. I couldn’t let him get his hands on Justin.” Brian reached around and began to rub the boy’s back with one hand, although it wasn’t clear to the doctor which man the gesture was meant to comfort. “But, if that’s the kind of man Justin expected to be sold to, then it’s no wonder he’s afraid of sex. I’d be afraid to let somebody like that near me, too.”

“No doubt the problem has been exacerbated by the fact that the only person Justin had been sexually intimate with before he was contracted out ended up attacking and injuring him and was ultimately the catalyst for him becoming a PC,” the doctor added. “Between that and the type of training most PCs receive, you probably have a very skewed sense of what a healthy sexual relationship is supposed to be about, Justin. But what about your sex life now? Brian doesn't strike me as the kind of man who'd treat you like this,” she threw down the book full of awful images. “If he was, he wouldn't have bothered to bring you here. So, have your ideas about this changed at all since you've been with Brian?”

Justin ducked his head without answering, biting at his bottom lip worriedly. Dr. Ruby watched this unexpected reaction with confusion. Based on the boy’s hesitation, she briefly thought that maybe she'd been wrong about Brian. Maybe he wasn't as compassionate and kind as he seemed. The way Justin was acting, it made her think that perhaps the boy was afraid to say anything because Brian had been just as abusive. It was always possible. You couldn't always tell what a person was like from the outside. Especially a PC owner. Maybe her opinion of this PC owner had been wrong?

Just when she was about to speak up and start asking some really hard questions, though, Brian himself cut her off. “He hasn't been with me, Doc.” She looked at him as if the man was speaking a foreign language, so he sighed and explained further. “Outside of a couple handjobs - both of which Justin was in charge of - we haven't done anything.”

As soon as he'd finished with this unbelievable announcement, Brian sat back with his arms crossed and glared at the doctor challengingly. She found herself gaping at him but quickly recalled her professionalism and snapped her mouth shut. Justin remained as he was, sitting there meekly without denying the fantastic statement his owner had just made. It was such an unlikely proposition - how could it be true?

“I don't understand, Mr. Kinney. You purchased a PC - a sexual companion - that you don't intend to have sex with? That simply doesn't make sense. I don't think I've ever heard of anything like that before.”

“It's not like that,” Brian struggled to explain. “I didn't buy Justin because I wanted a PC. I didn’t want a PC at all. I was only at that fucking auction for a business meeting. I'm perfectly capable of getting laid any time I want without buying a damned PC. I told you, I only bought him because I didn't want the kid to lose his virginity while getting gang raped by Bellweather and his fucking party guests. The kid looked terrified and I had to do something. Buying him seemed like the only option at the time.” Brian looked sideways at the boy sitting next to him for a moment before he continued. “But, now that I know him, I’m glad I did it. Justin would be wasted in that life. He deserves more.”

Justin still didn’t look up but his hand did snake over to rest on Brian’s thigh. Brian grabbed hold of it and squeezed affectionately. If you looked carefully, you could even see the corners of the boy’s lips curling up ever so slightly. Dr. Ruby nodded as she watched the interaction between the two. This was definitely something far outside the ordinary.

“Well, that explains why you purchased Justin’s contract, Brian, but not why you haven’t yet had sex with him,” Dr. Ruby pressed on, trying to get to the heart of the truth, and holding out a hand to halt Brian’s incipient interruption. “Regardless of your motivations, you DID buy a Personal Companion. And, despite your conviction that Justin wasn’t meant for this life, the reality is that this IS his life now. As the current owner of his contract, you are, in essence, stuck with him. I’m sure you’re aware of the legalities of that obligation,” Brian nodded in reluctant agreement. “So, what are you saying? Are you telling me that you intend to keep Justin as your PC but never have sex with him? That seems disingenuous to me, Brian.”

“Well, I . . . I . . . It’s not that I don’t . . . I mean, I do . . . want to fuck him, that is . . .” Brian heard himself stuttering and tried to get a grip. “I’m just leaving that up to Justin for now.” When the doctor looked at him skeptically, Brian hurried on to explain, "I know that he’s had it really hard. Which is why he’s afraid of everything, me included. And I get that one of the reasons he feels like that is because he’s had no control over his life for the past year or so. I understand that, better than you might think. So I’m giving him the control back. I told him that he gets to be in charge of when and how we do anything more. It’s not that I don’t find him attractive - shit, a fucking blind man would find Justin attractive - but I’m not going to pressure him into anything before he’s ready. I’m not into unwilling ass. When he’s ready, I just figured that he’d let me know.”

“And in the meantime?” the doctor asked curiously. “How long are you willing to wait around without having sex? If your noble sentiments are to be believed, and you really aren’t going to pressure Justin for more, how exactly do you plan to work this?”

“I don’t know. We’ve been doing fine for the past two weeks, so I don’t see why we can’t just carry on the same way,” Brian replied with his usual insouciance. “And, like I said before, Doc, I can always find a fuck. It’s not like I need him for sex. Justin doesn’t have to worry about that shit - he can take as long as he likes.”

Dr. Olmstead noted that, while Brian was saying this, Justin pulled his hand away, crossed his arms over his stomach in a hunched over fashion and looked away again. At the same time, his left thumb started to rub agitatedly over the back of the other wrist and his right leg started to jiggle very slightly. All signs of extreme agitation just barely held below the surface. Clearly Justin wasn’t quite as sanguine about the situation as his happy-go-lucky owner.

If it had been her, Dr. Ruby would have had a problem with Brian’s attitude as well. On one hand, the man had done a truly selfless thing in buying Justin merely to get him away from an apparently horrible situation. And Brian seemed sincere about the fact that he wanted to help his PC - even that he wanted, in some respects, to give Justin some control over his life. But the way he acted seemed so dismissive. In one breath he said Justin was attractive and the next he was saying that he didn’t need him and was happy to find sex wherever it came. To a boy like Justin who was already confused by sex and so unsure of his place in this new world that he found himself in, Brian’s attitude was likely to just cause even more turmoil.

Not to mention the fact that, while Brian was free to find his pleasure wherever he wanted, Justin was constrained by his situation to look only to Brian for ALL of his needs. Because of this, Justin would most likely feel compelled to please the man who held total sway over him. And even if he didn’t, who was there for Justin to look to for his own sexual needs other than Brian? He WAS a physically healthy seventeen-year-old boy - he was bound to want some outlet for his libido. So, while Brian might say that he wouldn’t put pressure on the boy, the very fact that he was the PCs only real option for an intimate partner, was compelling enough.

Dr. Ruby didn’t think that Brian was doing any of this intentionally, though. She would bet anything she owned that he honestly thought he was doing the right thing. He obviously had no idea how much more confused his actions were making the poor bumfuzzled boy. Brian appeared to be the clueless-where-relationships-are-concerned type. From the little she’d learned about him so far, she could already guess that Brian Kinney, although older and more worldly, was almost as naive as his PC when it came to long-term relationships. As far as she could see, neither of these two had any idea how deep they’d already fallen for each other.

It was a good thing they’d found their way to her, or they’d be up shit creek without a paddle.

“Well, Brian, I think that things will likely prove a little more complicated than you expect,” was her politic response. “But that’s neither here nor there. Because, until Justin can work through some of his trust issues, I don’t see that there’s much hope of anything more happening.” Brian conceded the point with an understanding nod. “Before we can get there, though, I think we should talk about some coping strategies to help you get through the more debilitating aspects of your PTSD. Especially since, from here on out, we’ll be digging into some increasingly stressful topics and I don’t want you having another ‘total meltdown’ - as Brian put it - as a result.”

Justin’s agitation level ramped up a few notches just hearing that pronouncement. Brian, on the other hand, looked relieved. Yep, Ruby figured she had a lot of work to do with these two. But she wanted to help them even more than before.

********

“Jim! You finally made it. I was beginning to think I was going to have to eat lunch by myself,” Howard Bellweather stood up from his table to greet his friend with a manly hug and a slug on the shoulder. “Have a seat and we’ll get you a drink as soon as we can find a waiter.”

Jim Stockwell took the offered seat and ordered a Chivas Regal on the rocks as soon as the waiter was summoned. The restaurant they were in was trendy and crowded but as Howard was a regular there, and usually a big spender to boot, they got relatively fast service. The Senator took a long sip of his scotch as soon as it arrived and then sat back in his chair.

“Oh, I needed that. Long morning with my campaign advisors,” he explained to the man sitting across from him.

Howard, who'd been applying himself to what appeared to be his second martini, smiled sympathetically at his friend. “How IS the campaign going, Jim? From what I hear, it's going to be a tough election year for you Conservative candidates.”

“It's going okay. I am the incumbent so I don't have too much to worry about. As long as I don't do anything stupid between now and Election Day I'll be just fine,” Jim promised, lifting his glass in a mock toast to his assumed win.

“Oh? Stupid . . . like attending a wild PC party just a few weeks before the election, you mean? *Hahaha*” Howard laughed teasingly, adding a wink in his friend’s direction. “Not that I would ever say anything, but I'm pretty sure that WAS you I saw in my playroom two weeks ago, Mr. Family Values, wasn't it?”

Stockwell smiled dubiously back at the grinning jokester. “There's nothing wrong with me attending a party thrown by a good friend, Howie. As long as I don't get caught with my pants down while I’m there - literally or figuratively - nobody's going to care.”

Bellweather leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Well it's a good thing that everyone at that party was too busy to notice then, because I'm pretty sure those pants didn't stay belted and above your waist the whole night. In fact, if I recall correctly, you had an enthusiastic moment or two with my boy Rex here.”

“It would have been rude of me to refuse the delightful party favors you were offering up, Howie,” Jim grinned lasciviously over at the darkly handsome young man hovering behind Bellweather’s chair.

“He IS delightful, isn't he,” Howard replied, tugging on the PC’s leash to pull the boy closer and then casually reaching up to grope the youth’s dick through the boy’s shorts.

“It seems like you're getting along quite well with this one?”

“Oh, heavens, yes. I'm very happy with Rex. He's very tractable and well behaved. Aren't you, Rex?” The PC nodded his head mutely. “That's a good boy, Rex.” Bellweather patted the boy familiarly on the butt to demonstrate his approval.

“At least you got one good one out of that deal at the auction,” Stockwell commented as he carefully watched the other man’s reaction. “I heard you lost that other boy. The little blond. Suicide?”

“Yes. It was dreadful. You wouldn't believe the mess. Blood everywhere,” Bellweather shook his head disgustedly as he calmly took another sip of his drink. “I had to replace the entire carpet in the room where we found him, along with most of the furniture. It was so annoying. I mean, if you're going to slash your wrists, at least do it in the bathroom where the cleanup will be easier, right?”

“I remember from back in my days as a cop - those kinds of scenes certainly can get messy,” Jim sympathized. “Too bad so many of your boys end up like that. Any idea how the kid got ahold of a razor blade?” He asked slyly.

Bellweather’s expression immediately blanked out, giving away nothing. “None at all. It's a total mystery.”

“Yes, quite the mystery,” Jim echoed his friend’s noncommittal response. “Although it’s rather convenient for you that this happened now, isn’t it. Well before the end of the thirty day return window. Especially since the seller wasn’t being cooperative about refunding your money on that one.”

“Well, it just goes to reinforce what I was saying all along - that boy was defective. And it just isn’t fair that somebody would try and foist off their rejects on me like that,” Bellweather complained, only pausing for a moment in his diatribe when the server delivered their food. “I’m not even convinced that boy was a virgin, you know. I’m inclined to believe that somebody had been there before me and then, when they realized what a dud he was, they tried to offload him to someone else. But, whatever. I’m just glad the auction house will now be required to return my money without me having to bother with suing that fraudulent seller.”

“Quite,” Stockwell agreed as he sliced into his t-bone steak. I guess you're just lucky that you so rarely have to deal with problem boys. Of course, you do have to deal with those messes whenever they off themselves, though.”

“Well, it can't be helped, you know. Most PCs just don’t hold up very well these days.” Bellweather tossed a french fry at his current PC, which Rex caught and quickly stuffed in his mouth.

“I wonder if that tasty little blond Kinney stole from you would have fared any better? He looked a bit delicate, but at the very least he would have been fun while he lasted, huh?” Stockwell suggested, trying to edge the conversation around to where he wanted it to go.

“Oh, yeah. I’m still regretting that I didn’t push harder to get Kinney to back down at the auction. I just can’t get that twink out of my mind,” Bellweather agreed as he gobbled at his salmon filet. “That pale white skin . . . mmmmmm . . . can’t you just imagine how well a hand print would show up on that?”

“Delicious,” Stockwell murmured leaving it up to the listener’s call whether he was talking about his meal or the idea of spanking the twink’s ivory ass. “Yeah, it’s too bad Kinney swiped him right out from under your nose like that. And then to act so superior at dinner the other night too. What an ass.”

“He really is a total ass. All smug and condescending, like he’s better than the rest of us. I hate his type.” Bellweather actually set his fork down, he was so upset over even the memory of Brian Kinney. “I asked around about him, you know. Word on the street is that he’s the biggest slut on Liberty Avenue. I don’t know why he’d think he’s any better than anyone else, especially with that kind of reputation.”

“You know, it would serve him right if you were to take that twink back from him after all. The way he was acting, all possessive and not willing to share, I bet that would really chap his ass,” Stockwell suggested.

“I’d love to do that. Not only would it put Kinney in his place, but I’d finally get a taste of that lovely twinkie. Who, we both know, should have been mine in the first place. That boy is EXACTLY my type. I wanted him from the first minute you pointed him out to me in the auction catalog. Fucking Kinney . . .”

“It wouldn’t be very hard to work it so you could get the boy back, you know,” Stockwell dangled the bait temptingly and was gratified when he saw Bellweather’s head pop up. “Didn’t you hear Lapointe the other night saying that Kinney needed the bonus he was going to get from the PC Clearinghouse account in order to pay off the balance he owes for the boy’s contract? I don’t think Superior Kinney is really as financially well set as he likes to portray himself. If he’s having that much trouble getting together the money for the boy, what would happen if, say, he got fired?”

“If he got fired and couldn’t meet his bid obligation then, as the next highest bidder, I would get the boy!” Howie crowed gleefully.

“Exactly!” Jim prodded. “It wouldn’t be that difficult to do either, I wouldn’t think. You’re a good friend and an even better client to Lapointe. How much do you drop a year on PCs through his auction house? I don’t care how great Kinney’s advertising skills are, Lapointe would drop him like a hot potato if you said you’d take your PC business elsewhere. All you’d have to do to get your revenge on Kinney is convince Lapointe to take his account to another agency and Kinney would be sunk. Hell, PC Clearinghouse could even stay with VanGuard - who I’m sure owns the rights to Kinney’s work product - but just insist that Kinney is sacked, and then Lapointe would still get to keep Kinney’s wonderful campaign. The end result would be the same. Kinney would be SOL and wouldn’t be able to pay for the boy. Then you’d just step in and . . .”

“And break in that sweet little blond ass the right way!” Bellweather chuckled approvingly. “I like how you think, Jim! Shit! The things I’m going to do to that boy. It’ll make the fun we had with the dead twink look like child’s play. We’ll have to have another party just to celebrate his initiation . . .”

Bellweather was so enthusiastic about his new plans that he didn’t notice how agitated his PC was getting. That really wasn’t unusual though - nobody ever paid any attention to PCs when their particular services weren’t needed. Like most PC owners, Bellweather tended to treat his boys like furniture. He had long ago forgotten that they had any thoughts or feelings of their own, or if he did remember, he discounted them without consideration. But, if he HAD been paying attention to ‘Rex’, he might have noticed the way the PC’s expression had gotten more and more sullen as his Master talked about first the boy that had killed himself and then Brian Kinney’s boy. It was subtle - no PC of Bellweather’s would ever let himself be caught being outright insubordinate, not if he didn’t want to suffer the inevitable punishment - but if anyone had cared to actually look at the boy’s face, they would have seen it.

However, when Bellweather started to scheme about how he was going to take back the sweet little blond boy and break him, Rex was even less pleased. As his owner lifted his wine glass to toast the horrors he had planned for the poor boy, Rex secretly decided he’d had enough. He was already lost. His one friend had been so hurt and degraded that, when given the choice to take the out of suicide, he’d jumped at it. There was no way Rex could just sit there and let Bellweather brag about how he was going to hurt another PC. He might not have much opportunity to dissent, but even a tiny act of rebellion would make him feel better.

As Bellweather lifted the glass in his right hand, prepared to clink with Stockwell over his proposed PC Initiation Party, Rex ‘accidentally’ shifted forward a half a step. With his head down in the usual submissive pose, it seemed like maybe the PC just hadn’t noticed that his owner’s glass was in the way when he went to transfer his weight to the other foot. Unfortunately, even that small movement was enough to knock into the hand holding the wine glass - which happened to be the third or fourth, and that didn’t count the two martinis while they were waiting for their food, so the hand holding the glass wasn’t that steady in the first place - causing Bellweather to spill the entire glass of wine in his lap.

“What the FUCK!” Bellweather erupted angrily, standing up so fast that his chair fell over backwards and the now empty wine glass crashed to the ground. “You stupid little cow! Look what you’ve done! My pants are ruined!” the irate man screamed at the PC.

Rex backed away, but not fast enough to avoid the backhand across his cheek. That blow caused him to fly backwards into the next table, which toppled over with an even bigger crash. The added ruckus sent Bellweather into an even greater rage. He grabbed hold of Rex’s arm and threw him into the wall, adding in a punch to the boy’s midsection and then a kick once the PC was all the way down. Luckily, Stockwell managed to pull his overwrought friend away at that point, hissing at Bellweather that he was causing a scene and needed to stop.

“Fucking stupid, moronic idiot!” Bellweather continued to hiss even after the server and Stockwell had him pulled away from the grovelling PC. “Look at my pants. They’re ruined! How can anyone be such a hopeless klutz!”

“Howard! Hey, man, calm down. You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” the Senator murmured as he tried to get his friend to sit again.

“I will NOT calm down, Jim. I’m leaving. I have to get out of these clothes. I’m not going to sit here covered in wine while everyone around is laughing at me!” Bellweather shook off his friend’s constraining hand. “Get the fuck up off the damn floor!” he ordered his PC, who scrambled to his feet. “We’re leaving. Now! Go!” The boy trotted off towards the restaurant’s front door, pulling his cloak around him to try and stay warm once he was outside despite the inadequate clothing he was wearing. “I’ll call you later, Jim,” Bellweather barked as he strode angrily after his boy.

“Fine. But don’t forget to follow up on what we talked about, Howie. I still want an invite to that party for your new blond boy!” Stockwell called after the departing man.

“Will do!” Bellweather responded without pausing in his steps.

After Bellweather’s exodus, the restaurant quickly returned to normal. The guests at the neighboring table - the one that had been upended - were reseated at another table, given free drinks and served a second lunch. Jim resumed his own seat and continued on with his own lunch, thankful that his steak hadn’t suffered from the incident. Fucking Bellweather and all his damn PC drama. But, whatever. Stockwell had accomplished what he’d come there for and was happy now to relax and enjoy the rest of his lunch without the crass fairy to distract him.

All was peaceful, once again . . . At least until his cell phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he decided he needed to take the call.

“Stockwell . . . Yeah, don’t worry. I handled it . . . I don’t know how he figured it out. All I know is that the nurse at Anne’s uncle’s nursing home called and told me that Kinney’s office had been sniffing around asking about ‘Ron Hutcherson’ . . . Well, I’m not going to take that risk. I don’t care what he knows or doesn’t know. I’m in the middle of a reelection campaign here, damn it. I can’t just sit back and hope Kinney doesn’t figure it out . . . I’m not exactly eager to go to jail either, Taylor . . . No. I told you, I’ve handled it. Trust me. Your faggot son won’t be a problem for very much longer and neither will Kinney . . . Yes, I know . . . I know . . . Once Bellweather gets his hands on the kid, we’ll be fine. I can assure you, he knows how to keep his PCs in line . . . Yeah, yeah. Just don’t call me again, you hear . . . Exactly!”

Jim Stockwell terminated the call and put the phone back in his pocket. He was sure that everything would be okay. He’d pulled all the right strings with Bellweather. Now he just had to sit back and let the nasty little fairy do his dirty work for him.

*********

Chapter 27 - PC Jealousy?

Brian got out of the car and walked up the brickwork path towards the front door of the remodeled victorian home that served as the abode of the Munchers Plus One. He screwed his courage up before ringing the doorbell then stepped back to wait and see if he’d be allowed entry. When he heard steps approaching the door from inside, he held the stuffed bear dressed in leather chaps, a leather vest and a muir cap out in front of him as a sort of shield. Nobody could be mean to someone bearing gay-themed stuffed animals, right?

It seemed to work. The tall blonde woman who opened the door greeted him with a glowing smile of welcome.

“Brian! Is that for Gus? That’s so sweet. Come in. Come in!” Lindsey swept him in and immediately enveloped him in a Chanel-scented hug. “It’s about time you got over here to see your son.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure I was welcome,” Brian replied with more than a hint of reproach.

“Of course YOU’RE always welcome, Brian,” Lindsey advised, her tone making it sound like Brian was a little slow on the uptake if he didn’t understand why. “Even though Mel and I are Gus’ primary parents, we want you to always be a part of his life. All the literature says that’s the healthiest way to raise a child. The more parental involvement the better especially where non-traditional families are concerned.”

As she continued to lecture him, Lindsey towed Brian after her into the living room. The baby’s bassinet was set up right in the middle of the coffee table as if their child was the centerpiece. Brian noted that the house was not in its usual spotless condition and the young mother seemed a tad bit frazzled. Guess Lindsey was learning fast about that part where the baby doesn’t sleep much. Oh well, she was the one that wanted kids, right?

“Doesn’t he look sweet when he’s asleep?” Lindsey beamed down at her son with maternal pride. “Whenever I look at him when he’s asleep I just want to pick him up and hug him. But, then, when he’s awake and screaming, I just want him to go back to sleep.” She laughed quietly at herself for being such a sentimental, doting parent.

“I can go if you want so Gus can sleep,” Brian offered, already turning back towards the door.

“No. No, Brian. You haven’t had a chance to spend much time with him yet. Of course you can go ahead and pick him up.” Lindsey took the Leather Bear so that Brian’s hands were free and then waved him towards the sleeping infant.

“Hey there, Sonny Boy,” Brian murmured as he reached in, cradled the baby in his hands and lifted him out of the small wicker bed. “Hey, you look bigger to me already, little man. Have you been growing up without your old man’s permission?”

Brian carefully sat in the nearby armchair, holding the baby in his hands and gazing down on the wonder that is a child. He was still in awe of the fact that he was a father - something he'd never planned on - not to mention how perfect his son turned out to be. Lindsey sat nearby, glowing with affection while she admired the beauty of father and son together, and chattering animatedly. It was an idyllic moment.

“This is nice, Brian. You really should come by and do this more often. Gus needs his Daddy Time and I enjoy my Friend Time too,” Lindsey said after about twenty minutes of peacefulness.

“I'll stop in when I can, Lindz, but I'm crazy busy these days. If you can believe it, I've only been out to Woody's twice in the past couple of weeks and I've only made it to the club once since I got Justin,” Brian explained.

“See? He's already causing you problems and you've only had him two weeks,” Lindsey complained, her rosy expression turning instantly sour at the first mention of the PC’s name. “Is his ass really worth all the trouble? It's not like you’ve ever had difficulty finding plenty of guys to fuck. I just do NOT see why you felt the need to go out and buy yourself a whore.”

“Justin is not a whore Lindsey . . .” Brian started to argue, but before he could get any further she cut him off, more than ready to argue the issue.

“Bullshit! That's all Personal Companions are - legalized prostitutes. The name might sound classier, but underneath it all, they're the same thing,” she spat venomously. “Anyone who would choose to be nothing but a sex toy for another's pleasure is a whore in my book. Which is why I just don't get why YOU of all people would buy a PC. You're too good for that shit, Brian. It's tawdry, demeaning, and, in your case, totally unnecessary.” Lindsey was getting more and more upset as she spoke, convincing herself, if no one else, with the vehemence of her arguments. “You know, Brian, I heard the guys talking and they said you were actually struggling to pay off the PC’s contract, which just goes to show what a truly bad idea this whole thing is. Buying a PC is bad enough, but going seriously into debt for some cheap blond boy ass that you could get for free is ridiculous. Why don't you just cut your losses, return him and be done with it?”

“I can't do that, Lindz.” Brian felt like screaming at her, but held back and resolved to try and talk to his old friend one last time. “If I don't come up with the rest of the money for Justin's contract then he goes back to the guy I was trying to save him from in the first place. The same guy who was bragging about how he was going to RAPE the kid as soon as he got Justin home.”

“You can't rape a PC. It's not legally possible,” Lindsey replied coldly.

“That’s bullshit and you know it! That’s no better than saying that someone can’t be raped by their spouse. You KNOW that’s not true, Lindsey, and I can’t believe you would even say shit like that.” Brian got up and went to put the baby back in his bed, ready to storm out of the house and leave.

“Fine. Whatever. But why does this matter to YOU, Brian?” Lindsey stood up too and stepped in front of Brian so he couldn’t leave. “You’re the last person who I’d expect to get involved in someone else’s business. You don’t know this boy. You don’t owe him anything. Why would you go into debt, alienate your friends and family, all for some vulgar little PC?”

“I do know him, Lindz. You’re the one who hasn’t taken the time to get to know Justin. If you did, you’d see that he’s just an innocent fucking kid who doesn’t deserve the shit-storm of his life,” Brian insisted, yelling down into Lindsey’s face now and refusing to stay silent just to preserve some semblance of peace. “Justin did NOT choose this for himself, Lindsey. He was contracted out by his father while he was still in the hospital after being bashed in the fucking head with a baseball bat! And I’m not sure how you come up with the idea that a seventeen year old virgin is a whore! But, regardless of what you think of him or PCs in general, I’m not going to just abandon him to some monster that thinks gang rape is a fun party activity. I don’t care how much it costs - it’s only fucking money.”

Brian pushed his way past Lindsey, knocking her a bit roughly to the side but not really caring anymore, still yelling over his shoulder as he marched towards the door. “What I DO care about is that anyone I ever called a friend might be so fucking bigoted that she can’t look beyond someone’s title to see the real person behind it. If anyone around here sounds ‘vulgar’ or ‘cheap’, it’s you, Lindsey.” Brian wrenched open the door, not stopping even though the argument had now woken Gus, who was wailing from inside the bassinet. “So, fuck you and the high horse you rode in on. I’ll take my piece of trash, whore of a PC over an intractable, unreasoning bigot any fucking day of the week.”

He slammed the door behind him and stormed off towards his car, hoping that he could rid himself of this fury before he returned home to the boy who would be most harmed by Lindsey’s brand of prejudice.

********

Luckily, Brian managed to burn off most of his anger at Lindsey during the two hours he spent working out at the gym. By the time he took the young Asian kickboxer he’d found in the weight lifting area for a quick fuck in the steam room, he was feeling almost back to normal. It helped matters quite a bit, actually, that he was finally getting a little bit of good, clean, sexual release. He really did have to get out more than he had been over the past couple of weeks. These had been the slowest two weeks of his sex life since Brian had graduated from High School. He decided then and there, things just could not go on like that.

When Brian came through the door of the loft, he was greeted almost immediately by a bouncing, happy, paint-spattered blond boy, which went even further to amend his previously bad mood. Justin sprung up to him, grabbed the older man’s wrist and literally towed him over to the corner where there was a myriad of creativity to be admired. The overt enthusiasm the boy exhibited couldn’t have been masked if he’d tried. It was infectious. Brian found himself smiling almost as broadly as Justin while he looked over the boy’s art.

While he waited for Brian to look over what he’d done, the boy stood there, jiggling in place with a nervous pride. He’d been painting almost non-stop since they got through with Dr. Ruby the day before. He’d spent most of Friday working on a series of watercolors and pastel watercolors. He’d been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t noticed the time until Brian forced him to stop for the night after Justin had dropped his paintbrush for the third time due to his hand cramping up. Brian had chastised him the entire time he was massaging the aching arm, warning that if Justin overdid it too much, he’d take the fucking paints away again. Justin didn’t think he meant it - Brian had issued his warning with a teasing smile - but the boy quickly agreed not to push it that far again anyway, wary of abusing his benefactor’s good will.

The boy had begged off going with Brian to the Diner and the gym that Saturday, indicating that he would prefer to stay and paint some more. Brian had indulged him, even though he did think the kid needed to get out of the fucking loft a little more often in the future. He didn’t have the heart to insist on it that morning, though. Not after he saw the wistful way Justin looked at the easel where he’d just set up a small canvas and a few tubes of oil paints. So, with a kiss goodbye, he’d left the boy to his oils for the day.

It looked like he’d made excellent use of them too. Next to the many watercolors and pastel watercolors from the day before, Brian now found all three pre-stretched canvases he’d brought home on Thursday. They were still not dry, so Brian hesitated to touch them too much, but from what he could see already, they were amazing works of abstract expressionism with a twist of angsty teenaged twink PC thrown in for good measure. The colors were mostly subdued, although there were a lot of streaks of blood red running through them as well. Each and every one evoked a sense of dread and anticipation of fearful unknowns in Brian. He wasn't sure he liked them much because of the dark theme, but he knew they were brilliant nonetheless. If Bloom had admired those relatively simplistic drawings he’d seen the other day, he was going to go gaga over these.

“Wow . . . You have been one busy boy today, Sunshine,” Brian teased, laying his hands on the boy’s shoulders and pressing downward to staunch the excited bouncing. “It’s not bad. Not bad at all,” he praised in his typically understated way.

Justin’s already huge grin widened so far that Brian was worried his face might split in two.

“We’ll have to get you a lot more fucking canvases if you’re going to produce at this rate. And more paint, too. Damn, Sunshine, it looks like tomorrow will involve a trip to the closest art supply store.”

The ecstatic little artiste let out a happy squeal and catapulted himself into Brian’s arms. Apparently, Brian was happy to note, Justin liked art supply stores. He was even happier to note that the boy was spiritedly depositing kisses all over Brian’s face in his frenzy of artistic glee. So Brian happily kissed him back, sliding his arms around the boy’s waist and pulling the smaller body tightly against his own.

The kissing quickly progressed beyond the lighthearted friendly stage. The tentative pecks turned into wet, open-mouthed kisses with the boy’s sweet pink tongue venturing out for tastes every so often. Brian let his young protege experiment, allowing the nibbling at his lips, the shy tongue swipes and even the occasional awkward clash of teeth, and vigorously returning all the youth’s efforts. Before long the heat generated by these enthusiastic yet playful kisses started to build, resulting in some interesting developments lower down where their groins were mashed together.

Yep, Brian thoroughly approved of happy artistic Justin.

********

Was he really standing there making out with the Master? The boy couldn't believe his own audacity . . . He was just so happy.

Happy?

That thought caused him to pause for a moment. He pulled back from the man he'd been wantonly kissing and looked up into the grinning hazel eyes. Brian was beaming down at him with pride. It was true - he WAS proud of the boy, you could see it. He'd also praised the new paintings. He'd even proposed that they could go get more supplies so the boy could paint more. And he'd called him ‘Sunshine’ again. Which, right that moment, felt perfectly apropos, because the boy felt shiny and bright and . . . Yes, happy.

He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd felt truly happy. Definitely not since before he'd been contracted out. For the past year and a half, the boy hadn't experienced so much as one single second of happiness. Which is likely why this instance felt so oddly surreal. Was he allowed to be happy? Did he even remember HOW to be happy?

“Hey, Sunshine,” Brian leaned down so that their foreheads were touching, still smiling while he huffed a tiny laugh. “Stop thinking so hard. Just let yourself enjoy the moment and celebrate. You done good here, Brat!” He punctuated his words with a playful kiss to the boy’s nose and another chuckle.

The boy let the smile return to his lips. He HAD done good. And, against all odds, he DID actually feel happy. In fact, there was ‘happy’ bubbling up all over the place right then, so the boy decided to just let it happen. It would probably all come crashing down on him again tomorrow, but for this one moment, he was going to go with the happy thing and forget his fears.

So the boy resumed with the happy kisses once again. He kissed Brian's beautiful raspberry-red lips, sucking on the lower one with a moan because it felt so good and he was allowing himself to feel good. He kissed the strong jaw. He bit at the sculpted chin. He nibbled down the long neck and licked the prominent Adam's apple. And he breathed in the musky maleness of Brian's body.

It was heady stuff. Maybe all that happy driving him on was making him crazy, but the boy didn't want to stop. It felt so good. When Brian's hands molded themselves to the boy’s ass and pulled him in even closer, the youth heard himself moan again. He could feel the older man’s cock through their clothing, pressing into his stomach. His own dick was just as hard. Without letting go of the lips he was kissing once again, the boy shifted a little to the right until he was basically straddling Brian's leg, allowing him to rut against a more solid piece of anatomy.

After that the boy forgot to think about anything else. He just let the happy, Sunshine feelings take over. He was too busy rubbing his cock against the solidity of Brian's thigh, snaking his hands up under Brian's shirt to slide over warm skin, kissing and biting at lips that were just as hungrily caressing him back, and breathing in the heady, pheromone-laden aroma enveloping them to remember anything else. The boy wasn't even sure if the mewls and gasps of pleasure were from him or the man he was seemingly trying to eat alive. It really didn't matter though. All that mattered was how wonderful the boy felt right then. How ridiculously happy he was.

“Oh, fuck, Sunshine,” Brian sighed, gripping the boy’s butt cheeks with both hands and thrusting hard against the boy’s smaller frame.

“Yes. Brian. Yes,” he whispered back with a groan of repletion as the happy erupted out of the core of his being and Sunshine came in his pants.

Thankfully, Brian was holding him up, because otherwise the boy would have collapsed into a puddle at the man's feet after that. All the boy could do was hang on to the broad shoulders, shudder and try to remember how to breathe. Brian seemed to be breathing pretty heavily himself. When the boy finally began to regain the ability to stand on his own, he let Brian pull away a bit.

“Shit, Sunshine. Look what you've done to me,” the big man chuckled, looking down between their bodies. Sure enough, there was a matching wet spot on the front of Brian's jeans. “Damn. I haven’t come in my fucking pants since I was a teenager. You’re a menace to my clothing.”

For five seconds the boy was afraid that Brian was seriously upset. His body tensed up and his breath caught. But then he felt the arms still wrapped around his body hug him tighter and he looked up to find Brian smiling down at him.  

“I was joking, twat!” Brian reassured with another chuckle. “Come on and let’s get cleaned up. Then we have to celebrate - you can order whatever you want for dinner. Thai, Chinese, Filet Mignon?” Brian suggested as he grabbed the younger man’s hand and started to lead him towards the shower. “What’s your favorite meal, Sunshine?”

At first the boy wasn’t going to answer. He was just going to hold his tongue like always and keep his head down. But then he remembered he was now ‘Sunshine’ and Sunshine was a ‘brave little fucker’. Sunshine would answer even if he was unsure whether or not Brian would agree to his choice. So he decided to try it and see what would happen.

“Pizza . . . and ice cream,” the boy said, his voice hushed and questioning even though he was trying to be brave.

“Pizza? I offer you steak and you want pizza?” Brian laughed, pulling the boy closer for yet another kiss. “You really are a teenager, aren’t you? Fine. We’ll have pizza, Sunshine. But then you’ll have to agree to go out to Babylon with me tonight and help me dance off all those fucking calories.”

Brian let the boy go and started to shuck his clothing, tossing the soiled pants into the clothing hamper with a shake of his head. He’d already started the water running in the shower before he looked back and realized that the boy hadn’t followed his example. The boy was still standing there, fully clothed, his head down and a worried frown on his face.

“Sunshine . . .” Brian came back over and cupped the younger man’s face with both hands. “It’ll be fun. I know you don’t like crowds but you can’t stay hidden here in the loft forever. There’s a huge, exciting world out there and you need to get used to being a part of it.” Brian bent and rubbed his nose against the boy’s in a silly, affectionate gesture that elicited a little smile. “The gang will be there - you won’t be alone. You’ll have a few drinks, we can dance, celebrate your paintings, you’ll get to socialize with real people . . .” Brian pulled the boy’s shirt off over his head and then reached down to unbutton his pants. “I really want you to at least try this, Justin. I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here. Or that you aren’t allowed to go out and have a real life just like anyone else. Okay?”

The boy wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but he did want to to be brave and make Brian proud. It felt good to have someone be proud of him. And he also wanted to keep enjoying the happy so, after thinking about it, he nodded guardedly. He would try to do this. He would try to be that brave little Sunshine that Brian wanted.

“Good boy,” Brian kissed him again and then towed him into the shower.

A few hours later - after the boy had consumed two-thirds of a large pizza, half a cesar salad, and a pint of ice cream, while they watched one of Brian’s old black and white movies - the two of them ambled up to the front doors of Babylon. As predicted, Michael, Ted and Emmett were waiting for them.  The boy allowed himself to be hugged and kissed hello by all the Master’s friends and tried not to be too nervous. It wasn’t easy though. Even out here on the street you could hear the loud music that was booming through the walls of the club. And the line of people was already halfway down the block even though it was barely ten.

Brian put his arm around the boy’s shoulders protectively and, with the young artist by his side, he led the group towards the door, not bothering with the line at all. They made it past the bouncer who just nodded at the familiar faces. That was as expected. However, at the desk inside, the guy that collected the money for the door charge held them up.

“Sorry, Kinney. There’s an extra fee for PCs. He can’t come as your guest. He has to have his own membership. Management rules,” Hector, the usual front man, instructed.

“What the fuck? Why?” Brian complained.

“Sorry, man, but the owners don’t want the place becoming a PC sex club,” Hector explained with an unconcerned shrug.

“Fine. Whatever,” Brian sighed and handed over his credit card so the guy could charge him for a membership. When the credit card slip was handed over for him to sign, though, he did a double take. “Why the hell does this say $500? That’s more than three times the regular membership rate.”

“That’s the PC rate, Kinney.” The guy pointed over his shoulder to a small plaque on the wall that did, indeed, list a ‘PC Membership’ price of $500.

Brian grumbled under his breath but knew there wasn’t any getting around it. He signed the damned credit card slip, grabbed the proffered membership card and added it to his own in his wallet, before dragging the boy away from Hector with a departing glare. The boy followed meekly. He didn’t really want to be there, and would have gladly offered to save the Master the membership fee, only he didn’t want to make things worse by speaking up.

Once they were in the club, it was just as loud and boisterous as the boy had expected. There were so many people and it was hot and the lights were either too dark to see by or blindingly bright. He huddled as close to the Master’s side as he could get. The group made their way to the bar and ordered drinks. The Master got the boy a beer, but he only just barely sipped at it, since he was too anxious about the scene going on around him. The friends all talked and joked for a few minutes while they too enjoyed their drinks. This, at least, didn’t feel that scarey to the boy, so, despite all the noise and the people, he gradually started to relax just a little bit.

After the Master’s second shot, he tugged the boy out to the dance floor with him. “Time to show me if you can dance or not, Sunshine,” Brian purred in his ear once they had claimed a relatively open spot on the flashing neon floor. “That’s what I’m talking about. See? Dancing is good, right?” the big man said as he draped his long arms over the boy’s shoulders, pulled their lower halves close and began to sway to the beat of the music.

The boy remembered how much he used to love dancing. It was another of those things he’d thought he’d lost along with his freedom. But the Master was giving this back to him now too. He decided not to fight it and instead let himself be swept up by the pounding beat and the feel of Brian’s arms around him. And it was good. Really good. They danced for three or four songs, usually swaying along about half the tempo of whatever song was playing but not really caring that they were doing their own thing. The boy had to admit, it WAS fun. It was a happy thing to do.

“Hey, Em!” The Master called his friend over after pulling away from the boy. “I’ve got to take a piss. Dance with Justin while I’m gone. Do NOT leave him alone in here, okay? He’s still not great with crowds.”

“No problem, Brian. I’d love to dance with Baby!” Emmett shook his ass closer to the boy and winked at him as he took up the Master’s place. “So, how do you like Babylon? It’s great, isn’t it?”

The boy merely nodded and watched the Master over the friend’s shoulder as the man wound his way through the crowd. Emmett seemed nice enough, and he was a pretty great dancer. Instead of the slow swaying he’d been doing with the Master, they both began to bop around and the dancing got a lot more energetic. It was great. But, after the song ended and the Master still hadn’t returned, the boy started to get a little bit worried. By the end of the second song, he was ready to stop dancing, too nervous to really enjoy himself anymore. He mutely tugged on the friend’s arm and pointed back over to the bar where Ted and Michael could still be seen waiting for the rest of the group. Emmett nodded and led the way through the throngs of people with the boy following closely on his heels.

Ted ordered the boy a bottle of water when they got to the bar. The gang stood around talking and drinking, not at all concerned about where their more lubricious friend might be. The boy wasn’t so sanguine though. He didn’t like this development at all. He had a sinking feeling in his gut. The Master had been gone far too long. Something must be wrong.

However, just when he was about to demand that the friends help him find the missing man, the Master sauntered back. He looked relaxed and smiled around at his friends smugly before waving the bartender over for another drink. The friends didn’t seem to think it was at all odd that the Master had just disappeared for over a half hour - nobody even commented on it at all.

The boy didn’t like it though. And, when the Master came up behind the boy, curling his arms around the slender waist, he really didn’t like it that the older man smelled like sweat and sex. But he didn’t say anything. That wasn’t a PC's place. Besides, he still didn’t understand why the fact that the Master had gone off to have sex with someone else was bothering him. It really shouldn’t matter. But, for some reason, it seemed to take a little of the happy out of the night. The rest of the time they were standing there, the Master chatting with the friends and everyone drinking together, the boy simply stood there, waiting, refusing any more beers and hoping they would be going back to the loft soon.

Before long, a big, beefy, dark haired man came up to the group, his shirt tucked into the back of his belt and his bulging pecs and washboard abs evidencing the many hours he spent in the gym. He bumped shoulders with the Master and winked boldly. The boy watched his Master’s face widen into a sexy smirk. The beefy queen tipped his head in the direction of a darkened hallway that led off the end of the bar. The Master nodded and dropped his hand from where it had been resting on the boy’s shoulder.

“Michael!” the Master yelled over the roar of the music and the crowd, making sure he caught his friend’s eye. “Watch Justin. I’ll be right back.” And then he was gone, strutting after the beefy skank as they disappeared down the hallway.

Michael almost immediately returned to the conversation he’d been engaged in with some hulking, sandy-haired stud wearing attractive wire-rimmed glasses. The boy overheard parts of the conversation - something about comic books and gay characters. He wasn’t at all interested in that particular topic. When a new song came on just a minute or two later, Emmett squealed, jumped up and down and clapped his hands wildly, declaring this was his ‘favorite song ever’. He promptly bounced away, pulling Ted with him as his dance partner.

Which left the boy standing there. Alone. Unprotected and confused amid all the noise and the hordes of strangers. All of whom, he imagined, were staring at him and the undisguisable tattoo on the back of his neck. He felt singled out. A target. Fair game for anything or anyone. He hated that crawling feeling of eyes on him. He hated not knowing where the Master was. He hated that the Master had once again chosen someone other than him.

Well, fuck it! He was not going to just stand there waiting around. He was going to be Sunshine. He was going to be brave. He would go find the Master and refuse to be left behind, alone with the ravening masses.

He pushed away from the bar and walked decisively down the dark hallway. There were no lights in the hall itself. The only light at all was a muted, bluish glow coming from the room at the far end. The walls were bare concrete, painted black. The air back here was thick and smoky and it smelled of sweaty, sex-drenched men. Sunshine didn’t let it deter him, though. He pressed on, dodging past random couples making out in the hallway as if they just couldn’t make it as far as the room.

When the boy emerged into the relatively brighter expanse of the back room, he was almost ready to immediately turn around and retreat. There were men everywhere - grouped in couples, threesomes, or more - all engaged in sexual acts, their bodies writhing and the air full of their groans and moans. It was so dark that it was hard to avoid bumping into someone. Plus, back here in the dark, the men that were previously just ogling him from afar, seemed to feel they had an open invitation to come up and touch him, grope him, anything they liked. He batted the hands away, but they kept coming back again.

Right before he was going to bolt, the boy saw the Master backed up against a wall at the far end of the room. The boy quickly trotted over towards him, stopping at his side and glaring down at the beefy trick who was on his knees at the Master’s feet, slobbering away at Brian's cock.

“Hey, Sunshine!” Brian said when he opened his eyes and found the PC standing next to him. “Problems? Or did you just want to come watch again?” The man smiled over at him, his right hand tangled in the hair of the man at his crotch, while he lazily lifted up his left hand and brushed the knuckles across the boy’s cheek.

The boy looked at Brian. He looked at the incompetent trick. He asked himself, what DID he want? He definitely didn't want this.

That's when the boy found himself unexpectedly overwhelmed by a sudden surge of undiluted rage. Not just anger, but absolute RAGE. It was as if all those months and months of fear and self-doubt and hurt had been instantly transmogrified into a towering wall of unquenchable anger.

“NO!” Sunshine yelled.

Then, without any warning at all, the formerly meek little blond boy stepped forward, viciously backhanded the trick across the side of his face and knocked him flat on his ass. Kicking him out of the way for good measure, the boy dropped to his own knees. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the trick’s slobber, grabbed hold of Brian’s dick with his hand and shoved it into his mouth.

********

Brian, who had let out a yelp of pain when the trick had been so unceremoniously knocked away, sighed with renewed pleasure as the boy’s mouth embraced him. He had to give it to the kid - he was good. Very good.

The scorned trick was still sitting there whingeing and holding his face, but Brian didn’t really miss him at all. How could he when Justin was so excellent at this? Those lips. The tongue work. The way he hollowed out his cheeks, sucked hard and then hummed at the same time. It was exquisite. He vaguely thought that maybe he should try and stop the boy - tell the kid that he didn’t need to do this, that Brian didn’t expect this of him - but there was already too much blood rushing to his dick and away from his brain to enable him to formulate words. The best he could come up with was the occasional moan of appreciation.

Less than five minutes later, Brian was shooting his load as the boy deep throated him one last time. “Fuuuuuuck, Sunshine!” He hollered, not even minding that he was in the back room where it wasn’t exactly polite etiquette to be quite that vocal. To hell with that. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he could remain standing, as the orgasm drained him so perfectly that his knees didn’t seem capable of supporting him any longer. If there was only a clean horizontal surface, he’d be on it right now.

Meanwhile, the boy politely licked up the last drop of cum, tucked Brian gently back into his pants and zipped him up. He remained on his knees, his head bowed patiently, waiting for Brian’s instructions. Gone was the self-assured assertiveness. It was replaced by the subservient demeanor that Brian was more used to seeing from the boy.

Too bad. He found he rather liked the strong-willed, kick-ass kid. And he hoped that this was a sign that he’d be seeing that boy a lot more often in the coming days.

Chapter 28 - The PC Artist.

“Hey, Bri! Wait up,” Ted yelled from halfway down the block as Brian and Justin were nearing the door to the Diner.

“Good Morning, Theodore. To what do I owe the pleasure of being bellowed at by you so early in the day?” Brian asked as soon as the accountant trotted up to them.

“Morning, Bri. Hey, Justin,” Ted panted as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m glad I caught you. I got an email from the bank late yesterday that I hadn’t seen before we went out. It looks like the refi of the loft is all ready to go. You just have to stop in and sign all the paperwork tomorrow afternoon. I set up an appointment for you at 4:00 pm. Hope that’s okay. If not, you can call Tim at the bank and reschedule.”

Brian clapped Ted on the shoulder approvingly. “Great! I’ll be glad to get all of this cleared up so it’s not looming over my head any longer,” Brian said, smiling at Justin to reassure the boy.

“Well, the refinance money, along with what you’ve already got in savings, will get you about three-fourths of the way there. You’ll still have to come up with quite a chunk of change to make the full bid price, Bri,” Ted warned.

“That should be enough, Theodore. With the bonuses I’m owed for this quarter, it’ll be fine. I just have to make sure that Gardner pays me what he owes me sooner rather than later, the fucking miser.” Brian reached out and pulled open the door to the Diner, holding it for the other two men before following them inside. “But I’m not going to think about that today. Today, we’re just going to have brunch and then go see a man about some art. Right, Sunshine?”

Justin smiled shyly and nodded as he followed Brian to the booth where Michael, David and Emmett were already waiting for them. Michael, as expected, hopped up like an eager puppy to hug Brian hello, leaving David scowling at the scene from his corner of the booth. But the chiropractor’s unhappy glare was wiped away by the time the ritual kissing and hugging was finished and Michael resumed his seat. Brian and Justin then slid onto the opposite bench, next to Emmett. Ted squished in beside Michael. It was a tight fit, but the Diner was packed so the gang didn't have much choice. Brian didn't mind too much, though, since Justin didn't take up lots of room. The boy was still hella skinny. Brian made a mental note to step up his Twink & Houseplant feeding efforts.

“I’m glad you showed up this morning, Brian. I was worried about the way you bolted out of the club last night. Everything okay?” Mikey pried.

“Everything’s fine, Mikey,” Brian assured his friend. “I just wanted to get ‘Slugger’ here out of there before he beat up another poor muscle queen,” Brian teased his PC with a joking squeeze to the boy’s shoulders. “I was afraid he’d pick a fight with somebody who was actually going to hit back. He sorta took Mitch by surprise, but that’s not to say some other brute might not take exception to getting his ass handed to him by an innocent-looking blond twink.”

The boys all laughed and teased Justin a little for his backroom antics. It was all in good fun, though, and Justin seemed to take it without any rancor. If anything, the guys seemed rather impressed that the kid had taken out a guy at least twice his size in one fell blow. Brian simply laughed off the whole event and then complemented Justin’s performance, saying it was much better than the blow job he’d been receiving before and he was glad for the change up.

The rest of brunch was a calm affair. Much of the usual - the usual chatter and gossip, the usual food, the usual teasing from Debbie and the usual scenery. Brian liked feeling that things were getting back to the usual. Even Justin seemed to be fitting into what qualified as the usual. That felt right to Brian.

The only thing that didn’t quite feel like the usual, was the way that Michael’s new boyfriend, David, kept inserting his judgmental comments into the conversation. Brian couldn’t see what Michael saw in the guy. Mr. ‘I’ve Already Done That And I’m So Much Better Than You Ever Could Be’ seemed like a self-righteous and judgemental ass.

On top of everything else, David seemed to be ogling Justin a bit more frequently than was really necessary - not a move calculated to ease Brian’s burgeoning dislike of the man. Justin had apparently noticed David’s stares as well. As a result, the boy had become increasingly more subdued as the meal progressed, leaning into Brian’s side more heavily every time the reprobate leered his way. Granted, David always looked away as soon as he discovered Brian had intercepted one of his glares, but still . . . The old lech needed to keep his eyes on his own boyfriend.

Because of this unwanted attention, Brian decided to get Justin out of there sooner rather than later. The gang’s usual lengthy, lazy Sunday Brunch, be damned. He wasn’t going to sit around with Mr. Salacious Stare any longer than he absolutely had to. Brian had had enough of David and was more than ready to leave. The man turned him off his food. The little PC was barely picking at his food by that point as well, which was proof to Brian that it was definitely time to go. He slurped down the last of his third cup of coffee, threw some money on the table to pay for their food and slid himself and his charge out of the booth. Justin scooted after Brian, seemingly just as glad to be out of there.

Besides, they had much more pleasurable errands on their agenda for the day, and Brian was probably almost as eager as Justin to get on to the next item on the list. They said their goodbyes and were out of the Diner in record time. Justin perked up as soon as they reached the Jeep and he spied the canvases and other items in the back once again. Brian had to smile just watching the impatient, wishful look on the boy’s face.

Ten minutes later they were pulling up outside the Bloom Gallery. Brian had called Sidney the day before and arranged for the man to meet them. Bloom had seemed thrilled to hear that Brian’s PC had already produced enough work for the Gallery owner to look at. And the man certainly looked avidly enthusiastic when they stopped the Jeep and found Sidney already jogging down the sidewalk in their direction before they’d even got out.

“Brian! Perfect timing! I just arrived myself,” Sidney greeted his favorite Ad Exec as soon as Brian was out of the car. “I hope you brought me something good.”

Brian ignored the solicitous welcome until he’d opened the door for his passenger. “Justin, you remember Sidney Bloom, right?” Brian intentionally focused on the boy first, hoping to direct Bloom’s attention to the person he should be toadying to and away from Brian himself. “Sidney, I don’t think you were ever actually introduced. This is Justin.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Justin,” the gallery owner held out his hand and Justin, after peeking at Brian for permission, accepted it dubiously. “I hope Brian told you how delighted I was with the logos and other promotional materials you designed for the gallery. When he told me you were the artist I was floored. You’re so young to have such talent. I just can’t wait to see what else you’ve brought me today.” Sidney was already trying to peek in the windows of the car to get a better glimpse of what was waiting within. “Why don’t we take whatever you’ve got inside, huh?”

Brian helped the young artist gather together the loosely wrapped canvases and the large portfolio bag Brian had borrowed from his office in order to get the rest of the work there. Sidney gallantly ushered them into the gallery and straight back to his own office, bypassing the gallery manager and staff who looked on curiously at the group. As soon as they were inside the office, though, the man greedily grabbed up the first canvas he could reach and tore the paper wrapping off.

Brian and Justin stood off to the side, neither saying anything, as they watched the art dealer’s reactions. Bloom stared at that first painting for several long minutes without saying one word. Then he let out one vague ‘Hmmm’ before setting that canvas on a chair and grabbing up the next. And then the last one. Then he stared at the trio of paintings for at least another five minutes.

The longer Bloom went without saying anything, the more intimidated Justin became. By the time the dealer had all three pictures unwrapped, Justin was shifting back and forth on his feet with his hands nervously jittering at his pants leg. Brian calmly reached down and grabbed one of the shaky hands in his own, lacing his fingers through the boy’s and holding on tightly. It seemed to help quite a lot, since the PC almost instantly stopped fidgeting.

“Is there more?” Bloom asked finally, pointing to the portfolio bag that was still unopened.

“Yeah. There’s more. But those are the only three paintings. The rest are drawings, watercolors and pastels,” Brian answered for the artist, giving the boy a bit of a shove towards the waiting bag. “Go on, Justin. Show him the rest.”

The anxious little PC followed directions, picking up the portfolio from the floor by his feet, carrying it over to Bloom’s desk, unzipping it and pulling out the stack of other creations, all while Sidney hovered over his shoulder. Justin barely had enough time to step out of the way before Bloom snagged the pages out of the boy’s hands and began to rifle through them. There were a few more ‘Hmm’s but not much else for another five minutes or so. Finally, Bloom sighed, put down the last of the drawings and brought his hands together, palm to palm as if he was about to pray, before turning around to address Justin and Brian.

“They’re dark. Very dark. Very emotional,” Bloom pronounced, causing Justin’s shoulders to slump with dejection. Then Bloom continued, a smile blooming on his usually saturnine face, “which is perfect - it’s exactly what one would expect from an artist who’s also a PC.”

“Perfect? Meaning you like them? Or perfectly dreadful and nobody will ever want to buy anything that ‘dark’,” Brian questioned, almost as on edge as the twitchy PC by his side.

“Perfect, as in, perfect . . . I love them!” Bloom enthused, clapping his hands over Justin’s and shaking them until the boy staggered to stay upright. “People are going to LOVE these, Justin! They’re going to be falling over themselves to buy these. Your work is exquisite, my boy. Simply amazing. Nobody’s going to believe that someone so young has this much talent. NOBODY! And add to that you being a Personal Companion - the only PC that I’ve ever heard of that’s an artist - and they will be buying your work up faster than you can create it.”

As Bloom’s words sank in, Justin’s face slowly lost its defeated look, allowing a tentative but sunshiny smile to take over. The boy still didn’t look like he completely believed it, though. Brian could see that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes - the blue eyes still showed doubt. Considering Justin’s background, it was quite possible they always would. But Brian would do all he could to help the boy become a believer. Or, at least, a believer in himself and his art.

“So, you’re saying you’ll hang some of these?” Brian asked to clarify matters.

“Of course I’ll be hanging these,” Bloom insisted avidly. “We’ll start with five or so - just enough to give my patrons a tease - and then hang more as they’re sold. I’m going to need a lot more soon, Justin. Especially the oils. Those are superb. Unless I’m completely wrong, those should go fast. They’ll also sell for a lot more.”

Brian could see the man’s mental calculator tallying up his own percentages, which was actually a good sign as far as Brian was concerned. Bloom was first and foremost a businessman and he wouldn’t be blowing this much smoke up their asses if he didn’t think he could make a buck or two off Justin’s work. If Bloom was willing to take a chance on Justin, the little artist must have something going for him.

Twenty minutes later, all the paperwork was signed. The Bloom Gallery would get twenty percent of all sales but agreed to front the costs of any promotions and framing. Sidney had already called the gallery manager in and sent her off with stacks of artwork and instructions on how to frame it all. Bloom was even talking about spotlighting Justin’s work at their next First Thursday event. The way he was talking, Justin sounded like the next Warhol. Brian was just happy that somebody would see the kid’s amazing work and hoped it would help with the boy’s almost nonexistent self esteem. Once all the arrangements were made, Bloom sent Justin off with orders to paint and draw and color as much as he possibly could and bring it all back to the gallery the following week. Then he scampered off to supervise the framing.

Brian hadn’t missed the fact that Justin still hadn’t said one word to Bloom about the reception his art had received. “So, Sunshine, it looks like we have some celebrating to do. Would you like me to take you out for a fabulous dinner tonight?” Brian offered as they walked together towards the waiting jeep. Justin shook his head in the negative. “No? Why not? You just got a major gallery to agree to show your artwork, Sunshine. You deserve to celebrate.” Justin smiled and nodded but still didn’t meet Brian’s gaze. Brian had to stop, turn the boy to face him and physically lift the youth’s chin until their eyes connected. “Tell me, Justin. What DO you want to do?”

“I . . . I want to paint some more,” Justin spoke hesitantly, his voice so quiet that it was difficult to hear him over the sounds of the nearby traffic. “Mr. Bloom said I needed to get him more paintings and drawings as soon as possible . . .” The boy looked down even then, as if embarrassed by his own temerity in speaking up and suggesting something other than what his Master had proposed.

“I don’t think he meant you had to go paint them all immediately, Justin,” Brian chuckled and shook his head. “But . . . if that’s what you want to do, then we better go get you some more supplies, I guess.” That suggestion earned him a brilliant Sunshine smile and direct eye contact for another minute. “Come on, then. We’ll go to the art supply store on the way home.”

An hour later, and several hundred dollars poorer, they were back in the car and on the road to to the loft. The back seat was full of new painting supplies. There were eight new canvases of various sizes, a bag full of oil paints, another sheaf of large watercolor paper, several new sketchbooks and a few other artsy accoutrements whose function Brian didn’t understand, but that Justin seemed to think were essential. Brian had wanted to get even more - especially more canvases - but Justin had been so worried about the cost of everything, he’d put back much of what Brian had tried to put in their cart. Brian had attempted to argue the point, explaining that he considered it an investment and that you couldn’t make money without spending money, but he could see how much more anxious it made the boy and eventually just gave up. If the kid went through all that stuff before the week was out, he’d just pick up more supplies when Justin wasn’t around to worry.

Once they were back at the loft and had all the new stuff piled in Justin’s corner, the boy seemed even more eager to get started on something. He’d immediately put the largest canvas up on the easel and had pulled out his palette before Brian was even done unpacking all the new paints. Brian was delighted to see the spark of excitement in the boy’s eyes as he picked through all the fresh oil tubes. This was probably better therapy for the kid than a hundred hours at Dr. Ruby’s, Brian thought.

Just as he was about to head over to his desk and make himself scarce, Brian felt a tentative touch on his arm. “Thank you, Brian,” the elated artist said in his quiet, self-effacing way. “I . . . I just . . .” The boy struggled to find the words, or maybe to find the courage to voice the words, while Brian waited patiently to hear what it was he so badly wanted to say. “This,” he pointed to the easel and it’s array of supplies, “means so much . . . I can’t explain, but . . . it’s everything . . .”

Brian watched as one solo tear escaped out of the corner of the boy’s right eye and dribbled down his cheek. He reached up and wiped it away with his thumb, his hand lingering on the youth’s soft cheek for a moment before sliding back to rake through the silky blond hair. Justin directed a watery smile up at him, trying to convey all his gratitude even though the words wouldn’t come out. Brian nodded at the brave little PC, accepting the thanks wordlessly, inherently understanding how uncomfortable words sometimes were. And, in lieu of any verbal ‘you’re welcome’, he leaned down and offered his own non-verbal response - a soft, warm, slow kiss on the perfect bubblegum-pink lips - before returning the smile.

“Go on, Sunshine. Go play with your new toys and enjoy yourself,” Brian directed, letting his hand drop from the boy’s hair as he turned to walk off to his own distraction.

Justin grinned at the man’s retreating back for a brief moment before he spun back to his easel and began to lightly sketch out the beginnings of his next painting on the waiting canvas.

********

Chapter 29 - PC Feelings.

The boy turned and stared at all the new art supplies he now had at his disposal and had to smile all over again. It felt like Christmas and his birthday all rolled together. He’d never had this much good quality stuff at hand in his life. Which was problematic in itself since he felt horribly guilty having the Master spend that much money on him, especially when he knew how much the man was struggling to get together all the money for his bid price. He’d tried to get the Master to put some of it back or, at the very least, get less expensive materials. However, the Master had insisted that he get the higher quality stuff, saying his work wouldn’t be the best it could be if he didn’t use the best to start with. The boy was conditioned not to argue, so he gave in without much more discussion, but he still felt a niggling worry eating at his conscience over the money spent on him.

Which was just one more reason to create something that would make the Master proud. With a determined sigh, he picked up a pencil and started lightly sketching the outlines of the picture he saw in his head. But, as always, the initial outline quickly grew and changed. By the time he was actually applying paint, he barely recognized the original idea. That didn’t matter though. He was used to the phenomenon. It often happened that way. Sometimes, like now, he almost completely lost touch with reality while he worked. It was like there was some force outside himself that took over his brush or pencil and guided his motions while his brain was elsewhere. It was incredibly relaxing.

While his hands were busy, the boy found his thoughts drifting back over the momentous events of the past couple of weeks. He was still too overwhelmed by everything that had happened to process it all. It was so hard to believe that he might have actually fallen into a sheltered place. He couldn’t completely avoid the doubt and fear that cropped up again and again no matter what he did, but he was, sort of, starting to believe things might turn out okay. Perhaps he could trust this Master. Perhaps he might survive the life he’d been handed. Maybe . . .

He didn’t know how much later it was when he finally realized that his hands had ceased moving. He found himself standing in front of the easel with what appeared to be a completely finished painting sitting there staring him down. He didn’t recognize it at all. It was nothing like the vision he’d started off with. It was better.

“Hey, Sunshine. You about done?” the boy heard the words a split second before he felt the arms of the older man snaking around his waist in a comforting, loose embrace. “It’s getting late. You’ve been over here for about four hours. How about you take a break and we get some food?”

The boy couldn’t believe that it had been that long. He hadn’t felt the time passing. Now that he thought about it though, he could feel the fatigue in his back and a trembling in his right arm.

It had been worth it though. The painting in front of him was probably one of the best he’d ever done. The swirling blues and blacks and greens were evocative of the depths of a stormy night. But even though the colors were as dark as usual, this time there was something different about the painting. This time, he’d washed the whole canvas with a translucent, shimmering pearlescence that wasn’t so much visible as visceral. You didn’t actually notice it when you looked directly at the painting, but it still registered in your subconscious somehow. The effect was minimized at the center of the image but stronger around the edges, as if it was creeping in from the surroundings against the painter's will. It made him think of a hope that he wasn’t sure he felt. It was a nebulous hope, but somehow still a hope all the same. And it totally surprised the artist who didn’t know where that particularly sticky sentiment had come from.

The arms around him cinched tighter for an instant. “It’s . . . amazing, Sunshine.”

The boy heard the note of pride and felt himself filling with a happy warmth that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. He allowed himself to lean back into the arms of the man holding him, reveling in the sense of easy acceptance. He hadn’t felt this much support ever in his life. It was the best feeling he could remember. And he didn’t want it to end.

“You better be careful though, Sunshine,” the Master murmured in his ear, the warmth of his breath tickling along the boy’s skin. “This one looks borderline cheerful. If you start making your paintings too happy, Bloom will be pissed. He was so thrilled with your ‘darkness’.”

The boy tensed. It was true. This painting didn’t feel as dark as the others that the Bloom man had praised earlier in the day. Maybe he wouldn’t like it. He’d said that the other paintings would sell because they were dark and emotional, like what the public would expect from a PC, but this one wasn’t like those. What if Mr. Bloom rejected this one? The Master would be disappointed in him if this painting wasn’t as good as the others. The boy didn’t want the Master to be disappointed in him. Not ever.

Lunging forward, the boy started to grab for his paintbrush, intent on fixing the painting and obliterating that sheen of possible happiness before anyone would be offended by it. He hadn’t managed to move even a foot though, before the Master pulled him back. He struggled for a moment, so intent on fixing the offensive painting that he didn’t even hear the Master’s words at first.

“Stop it, Justin,” the Master was repeating when he finally focused on the voice in his ear. “I was joking, you silly twat!” The teasing tone finally registered. “It’s perfect. It’s fucking exquisite. Bloom’s going to cream his pants over it. Don’t you dare fuck with it.”

The arms around him held him back while the amused words teased his ear. He was still unconvinced, though. This painting wasn’t like the others and now that the Master had pointed it out he couldn’t help but worry that it wouldn’t be acceptable.

“Damn, it! Stop worrying, Sunshine. I’m sorry I said anything. It’s fucking perfect as it is. Trust me, Bloom is going to love it.” The master’s grip on him was unrelenting, refusing to let him go so that he could get to the canvas.

Despite the words, the boy still wasn’t sure. He needed to know that his efforts hadn’t been wasted. He needed this painting to be perfect. It wasn’t enough that it was good. It had to be right. It had to be acceptable. It had to be good enough to sell so that the Master would be proud of him and the cost of all these supplies would be justified. Anything less was unimaginable.  

“I love it, Sunshine,” the consoling words finally broke through his anxiety with their calm reassurance. “I fucking LOVE it. It’s perfect. It’s just like you, Sunshine. I wouldn't change a thing.”

And, in spite of all the boy’s lingering doubts, the clear sincerity in the Master’s words rang true. He could feel the approval emanating from the strong body behind him. He could hear the pride and praise in the Master’s voice. And it felt . . . It felt so fucking amazing. It felt like the painting looked. It was approval. It was acceptance. It was hope.

And he WANTED that feeling.

The boy wanted that so badly, the desire was tangible. There was an ache in his gut that was so strong, it threatened to swamp him. He hadn’t had hope in so long he’d forgotten how good it felt. He needed that hope so much. If only he could be the Master’s Sunshine and take back that Hope . . .

The boy slowly turned around in the arms circling him. He looked up at the face of the man standing over him. He saw only approval and support. There was no anger. No contempt. No lack of sincerity. Just warmth and affection and approval.

And the boy felt himself falling under that spell. His need for that approval was too much. The undeniable, inherent longing for acceptance wouldn’t be denied. The need for something he thought he’d never feel again. For love.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd reached up with his right hand, curled it around the taller man’s neck and pulled Brian’s face down to his own. His lips latched on to the raspberry red mouth with a hunger he didn’t know he felt until it was unleashed. He was sucking and licking and biting at those lips as if they were the only form of sustenance he’d had in more than a year. And the Master - Brian - was returning his advances with just as much fervor, kissing him back with a sense of urgency that perfectly echoed the boy's desire.

The heat growing up between them was soon evident. The Master’s hands were holding onto the boy’s hips possessively, pulling the smaller body up against his larger frame. The boy’s own hands had slid down until they were gripping the well-muscled biceps, enjoying the innate strength he felt there. When Brian shifted so that one longer leg was between his, the boy couldn’t help himself - he naturally began to rut against it, moaning as the arousal ramped up with every rhythmic motion. And all the while those kisses kept raining down on him, hot and wet and desirous. Desiring HIM. Desiring of a boy who had been told he was nothing and didn’t matter and that nobody would ever care about him again. He felt himself melting into that embrace, his body molding itself to the Master’s warm length, as he fought back the niggling fear that even then tried to assert itself.

The boy wanted this. He wanted to feel these feelings. He wanted to know that someone desired him. He still wasn’t sure if that desire was based only on him being a PC - a glorified sex toy - or if it truly portended more. But he wanted to believe it was something better. He wanted to believe that the Master - Brian - truly did care for him.

He also wanted to maintain that feeling of acceptance and approval. He had really enjoyed that look of pride in Brian’s eyes and he longed to see it again. He wanted to be someone that was worthy of praise and approbation and maybe even love. He wanted to be Brian's 'Sunshine’. Sunshine was strong and bold and smart. Sunshine wasn’t scared of his own shadow. Sunshine wouldn’t be afraid to let Brian touch him. Sunshine was the sort of person that would do whatever it took to prove himself deserving of Brian’s attentions.

Which didn’t mean that the boy no longer felt afraid. He was still apprehensive about the very idea of sex. Everyone had told him that he should be prepared to be hurt and humiliated. But if he had to bear some pain in order to get the acceptance he craved more than anything, he would do it. He could handle a little pain - it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been hurt.

Besides, he figured he might as well get it over with. It was going to happen sooner or later, so it might as well be now, at a time of his own choosing, rather than some other random moment, perhaps when he wasn’t ready. Brian obviously wanted him. The boy thought he wanted this too, or at least his body was telling him it wanted this. He might as well rid himself of his unwanted virginity and be done with it. Hopefully, in the process, he'd please the Master and earn himself more credit with this man who now controlled his world.

With that being settled, the boy steeled his nerves, took a deep breath and reached up to slowly begin unbuttoning the Master’s shirt. He kept his eyes focused on the center of the taller man's chest, afraid that if he didn't concentrate on something innocuous, he'd start to freak out. He'd only managed three buttons before his hands were stilled by larger hands clasping his wrists.

“You don't have to do this, Justin,” the mellow voice intoned but the words were belied by an edge of lust.

The boy continued on to the fourth button.

“Are you SURE?” Brian asked insistently.

Still not looking up, the boy finished off the fifth, sixth and final buttons before pushing the shirt down off Brian's shoulders. Brian finally dropped his hold on the boy’s wrists, allowing the shirt to slide all the way to the floor. The boy let his palms alight on the now bare chest, feeling the heat radiating off the smooth skin. He could feel his own breathing speed up as he hesitatingly trailed his fingertips lower, brushing over nipples that instantly pursed into hard little beads. He watched as the skin stippled under his light touch, finding the sight strangely empowering. He took heart in the fact that he had such power over the body of the man who owned him. It might have seemed a small thing, but it was something HE was finally in control of. He liked that feeling and it encourage him to try for more.

His questing fingers finally drifted to the waistband of Brian’s jeans. The boy swallowed nervously but didn’t stop. He quickly popped the buttons of the fly, one after another, until the fabric was lying open . . . That’s when his bravado failed him. He froze. He didn’t know what to do next or where to put his hands now that he’d accomplished the task of undoing all the buttons he could find.

“We don’t have to do this, Justin,” Brian’s baritone voice murmured, apparently taking the boy’s hesitation for cold feet. “Remember, you’re in charge here. We can stop any time you need to.”

“I . . . I want to. I just . . . I don’t know . . .” He felt so silly stuttering through not even a full sentence, but after more than a year of intentionally holding back his words, it was almost like he’d forgotten how to communicate. “. . . what to do . . .”

“If you’re sure . . .” Brian cupped the boy’s chin with both hands and lifted until he could see the anxious but determined blue eyes.

Whatever the man saw there, must have been convincing. Brian nodded and smiled, then held out his hand, palm up, and waited until the boy laid his own smaller hand on top. He gave the thin artist’s fingers a little squeeze and then headed off towards the bedroom, tugging the smaller man along after him. The boy went willingly, grateful actually that Brian was taking charge of matters.

As soon as they’d reached the bed, Brian dropped the boy’s hand. He turned until they were facing each other, smiling reassuringly down at the uncertain teen. When he still saw no resistance, his fingers began to forage under the hem of the t-shirt the boy was wearing, inching higher along the smooth skin of the boy’s stomach as he gathered the fabric up. The boy stood stock still, unsure of what he should be doing or not doing and instead opting for total quiescence. What with the boy’s docility, it took no time at all for Brian to get the t-shirt off and then remove the loose drawstring pants he was wearing as well.

“So beautiful, Sunshine,” Brian mumbled, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself from saying the words.

The boy would have smiled at the words if he hadn’t been so nervy. Instead he simply waited, trying to quell his anxious expectations about what the Master would do next. He felt like he was about to jump out of his skin any second, but he’d already resolved that he was just going to get this over with, so he stubbornly held still and tried to remain calm.

Brian, meanwhile, shucked off his jeans and then sat down sideways on the bed about halfway down the mattress. He patted the spot next to him invitingly. The boy fought down another surge of incipient panic before he settled himself beside the older man, perching a little nervously on the very edge of the mattress. He gasped when the Master reached over with his right hand, cupped his face and pulled him around till they were facing each other. The Master waited until the boy looked up, then smiled encouragingly. The boy tried to smile back but feared that all he'd managed was a frightened grimace. He knew he was shaking. He couldn't help it.

“Shhhh,” the Master whispered as he leaned in and planted another kiss on the boy’s trembling lips. “It's going to be okay. I'll take care of you, Sunshine,” he promised, sounding just like he did when the boy’s nightmares would wake them. “Shhhh.”

The boy tried unsuccessfully to stop his quaking. He wished the man would just get on with it already. Maybe the Master sensed his trepidation. Or maybe not. But either way, things started to move faster from that point on, as if time itself was speeding up.

The Master claimed the boy’s lips again in a passionate, breath-stealing kiss and, while the boy was busy with that, the older man gently pushed him backwards until he was lying flat with his legs still bent over the edge of the mattress. Next, the kisses began to drift lower, across the boy’s face, his jaw, down his throat, over his collarbone, down his chest. By the time the kisses reached his abdomen, the Master had shifted so that he was now crouching on the floor next to the bed, situated between the boy’s knees.

The still-trembling boy bent his head up so he could watch as the Master settled on his knees, pulling the pale thighs wider, continuing to deposit small kisses over every available centimeter of ivory skin. The Master’s arms snaked under the boy’s legs, wrapping around hamstrings till they could grip solidly onto the slender hips. Then, with a playful smile and a waggle of his unmanicured brunet brows, the older man bent down and enveloped the boy’s cock in his velvety warm mouth.

“Oh!” the boy exclaimed with surprise. He truly hadn't expected that. From everything he'd been taught, he'd assumed that his Master would always be on the receiving end of any blow jobs. He'd never even imagined it would be the other way around. However, as he let his head fall back, he had to admit that the Master was rather good at this. He definitely had the technique down. He also got marks for enthusiasm.

A lot of enthusiasm . . . enough that the boy didn’t think he’d last long enough to get to the actual deflowering. It was only a couple minutes before he felt that rising tide of pleasure welling up from his core and threatening to erupt. The boy tapped at the Master’s shoulder insistently, trying to signal his dilemma even though there wasn’t enough blood in his brain to operate his speech centers. The Master didn’t stop, though. He didn’t even slow down. If anything, he might have accelerated his efforts, his warm wet mouth sliding deliciously up and down the boy’s shaft, maintaining a steady suction while his tongue did little swirly things at the top of every stroke.

The boy’s breath was now coming out in little bursts of ‘oh, oh, oh’ but he stubbornly tried to hold back. He grabbed hold of a fist full of sheet with each hand and tried to think of something other than the tingling vibrations that were emanating outward from his cock and threatening to swamp his entire consciousness. Even then he might have held off except that, right then, the Master moved the hand that had been gently fondling the boy’s balls and a second later he felt one of those fingers sliding up his tightly puckered asshole. After that it was all over. The boy lost complete control and found himself shooting his load down the Master’s throat as his orgasm swept over him.

“That’s better,” the Master asserted, licking his lips as he lifted his head. “Now that the edge is off, and you’re more relaxed, the rest should go a little easier.”

The boy was still gasping for air, so he couldn’t have responded even if he’d known what to say, but he did have to admit that he was pretty well relaxed. In fact, he wasn’t sure his muscles worked at all right at that moment. And he definitely wasn’t trembling with fear any longer. Now he was just trembling from the waves of pleasure still percolating through him.

Chapter 30 - How to Deflower Your PC 101.

Brian had been floored by the beauty of Justin’s latest painting. It was truly exquisite. He liked that it was obviously so much more hopeful than the artist’s previous works. He liked how proud the boy seemed of this new piece. And he had also liked the way the more confident boy had turned in his arms, reached up for him and kissed him. The lad’s innate courage was finally seeping through. Brian knew that it had taken a lot for him to initiate even that small show of intimacy, and he was thrilled with the progress. But when the kissing had gone further, and the boy had begun to unbutton Brian’s shirt, he didn’t know what to think.

“Are you SURE?” Brian heard the words echoing through the loft and wondered who the hell was speaking . . . until he realized that it was his own voice.

Of course, Brian would never coerce someone into having sex, especially not a fucking scared little virgin like Justin, but he was still surprised when he heard himself trying to dissuade the boy. It was one thing to tell the kid that they didn't have to do anything until he was ready, but another thing completely to go that one step further and try to talk the youth out of it altogether. And yet, that seemed to be what he was trying to do. Which was not at ALL like Brian Kinney.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that, despite his actions, Justin didn’t really seem as enthusiastic about the idea of sex as he could have been. He couldn’t even look at Brian while he diligently unbuttoned his shirt. Brian could almost taste the boy’s reluctance. Yes, there was desire there too, but it still felt like the younger man was forcing himself to carry on rather than enjoying himself.

“We don’t have to do this, Justin,” he tried again to ensure Justin was serious.

“I . . . I want to. I just . . . I don’t know . . . what to do . . .” The boy stumbled through an explanation of sorts, although Brian still suspected there was more to the story than what the kid was letting on.

“If you’re sure . . .” Brian replied as he tilted the boy’s head back and looked deeply into the crystal blue depths in an effort to suss out the truth.

What he saw there, more than anything, was determination. Maybe that wasn’t the sentiment he’d have liked to see the most, but it was something. Up till now, the boy hadn’t been determined about anything other than his bid to remain mostly silent. If the kid really did intend to go through with this now, Brian wasn’t going to stop him. He had every intention of empowering his little PC to whatever extent he could, and if that meant letting him push himself into having sex, so be it. Brian had definitely had more enthusiastic sex partners in his life, but if Justin was truly ready for this, he would help him through it. Hopefully, once the boy had powered through his fears, he would realize that sex didn’t have to be as scary a prospect as he’d been trained to believe. Brian would simply have to make sure that the youth’s first experiences were as positive as possible and hope that he was doing the right thing by encouraging this first tentative exploration.

With that goal in mind, Brian grabbed the PC’s hand and led him up to the bedroom. His first order of business was going to be to somehow relax the boy, who was shaking like a leaf in the wind even before Brian had managed to get the kid’s clothes off. Brian resolved to move as cautiously as possible, at least to start with. So, instead of acting like his usual assertive self - the Brian Kinney who would normally have pressed a trick roughly down onto the bed and then climbed aboard, he sat quietly on the edge of the platform and meekly invited the PC to join him. Once Justin was seated next to him, he spent a bit more time kissing the boy, gradually lowering the shivering body to the mattress and trying not to hover over the kid in a way that might seem threatening.  

The first thing Brian noted was that the kid was a fucking mess. Yes, he was obviously aroused - more like horny as hell - but also scared as fuck at the same time. Between the two different sources of stimulation, the boy was practically jumping out of his skin. Not the best frame of mind for him to be in if Brian wanted the younger man to actually enjoy his first time. Luckily, Brian was an expert in all aspects of foreplay, when he chose to actually bother with it. And the first order of business here was to get the boy to relax.

Brian kissed his way down the lithe little body until he landed on his knees between the creamy white thighs with the big prize right at eye level. Brian meant what he’d said earlier about how beautiful this boy was. The small, slender frame, the soft but still adequately defined musculature, the flawless white skin, not to mention that above average cock, were all part of the gorgeous package. Brian had noted that outward beauty from the first second he’d laid eyes on the boy. Now that he’d got to know him better, though, Brian could see that the beauty was more than skin deep. The boy’s strength and spirit, even in the face of outlandish hardship, made that comely package all the more attractive. Looking on him like this - all laid out and open - made Brian even more hungry for the boy and it was more than just a little difficult to hold himself back.

When the boy lifted his head and smiled nervously down at Brian, it thankfully reminded the more experienced man of the task he’d set himself. He smiled back as reassuringly as he could while he wound his arms around the lean thighs, spread the legs wider and then dove down for a taste. The kid’s little ‘oh’ of surprise would have made Brian laugh if his mouth wasn’t already full. All the other erotic ‘oh’ noises that followed told Brian that he was doing a great job, so he continued on the way he’d started, trying to concentrate on his work in order to stave off his own arousal.

He figured he must be doing a good job when the boy tapped his shoulder, clearly ready to burst any second. Which was precisely what Brian had hoped for. A nice quick blow job to take the edge off and relax them both and then they could move on to the main attraction. Brian hadn’t counted on the stubborn little shit trying to hold back his orgasm, though. That wasn’t part of the plan. If the kid didn’t come soon, Brian was going to lose it himself. Which meant it was time to pull out the more elaborate moves.

While the boy was distracted with thrashing around and moaning, Brian quickly stuck two of his fingers in his mouth alongside Justin’s cock. It didn’t take long for them to become nicely coated with saliva. Next, Brian deftly slipped first one and then the other dripping digit up the boy’s incredibly tight ass.

Which definitely did the trick. Justin was shooting his load before Brian had tapped the kid’s prostate for a second time. So much for the seventeen-year-old maintaining any sort of control, Brian laughed to himself as he swallowed the last drops of the boy’s saltiness. But his primary purpose had been achieved - the boy was so relaxed that he couldn’t even lift his head up, let alone find the energy to panic when Brian lifted the lightweight body and slid it further up onto the bed, all the while continuing to scissor and stretch the kid’s pucker with one hand.

Talk about beautiful . . . Justin was lying there looking like a wanton blond angel. His head was turned to the side, eyes closed with those long dark blond lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his breathing slowly calmed. His arms were thrown out to the sides, lying limply as if in surrender. His legs were splayed out to the sides as well, knees bent and the long muscles of his thighs and calves completely relaxed. The only part of the kid’s body that wasn't relaxed was the still half-hard cock nestled in the bush of curly blond pubes at his crotch. As Brian watched his fingers slowly gliding in and out of the blond’s body, that pretty cock gave a little twitch of life and plumped up a little more. The tiny unconscious mewl of pleasure that followed only added to the eroticism of the tableau laid out before him.

Fuck! That enticing look of ravaged innocence was going to be Brian's downfall. The boy was too tempting by half. Brian wanted to just fall on him and devour that luscious body. It was killing him to hold back and go slow, even though he knew he had to. He knew that this moment of open vulnerability was fragile and would vanish if he wasn't extremely careful. It was a very good sign though. The fact that the boy had let down his guard at all, was promising. Now, if Brian could only do this thing right and somehow show Justin that his fears - at least as far as Brian was concerned - were overblown, maybe they could establish a more trusting long term relationship.

After a few minutes, the boy started responding more and more to Brian's fingering. The hips began to buck up into his thrusts. The tight ring of muscles had loosened up considerably, so he ventured to add a third finger. There was a slight tensing at this new intrusion, but it only lasted a moment, and the surprised ‘Oh!’ was followed immediately thereafter by a long drawn out moan as Brian’s fingers again found the boy’s sweet spot. Then those thigh muscles tensed up again as the aroused youth arched up into the touch. It looked like it was high time to move on.  

Brian withdrew his fingers, eliciting a protesting groan from the reclining blond, whose eyes popped open and followed as the older man casually walked the few steps over to the nightstand to retrieve a condom and some lube. Justin's gaze warily measured his every movement as he walked back and tossed the items on the bed next to the supine form. Brian regretfully noted the returning glint of fear in the blue eyes. Damn! He should have thought of that before and had the supplies ready. Oh well. Hopefully he wouldn't have to work too hard to get the boy back to a state of relaxed trust.

Returning to his spot kneeling between Justin's widespread legs, Brian ran his hands up the tense thighs, over the smooth alabaster belly and the flushed chest, leaning forward at the end until he could once again reach the pretty pink lips with his own while his hands finished their explorations by trailing over the boy’s shoulders and arms. Brian laced his fingers with Justin's, squeezing gently and holding on while he patiently kissed the boy until he felt the worst of the tension dissipating. As soon as he felt the smaller body beneath his once more relaxing, Brian released his grip and shifted back onto his heels, smiling sympathetically down on his boy.

The big blue eyes looked back at him, full of arousal but still harboring that inescapable spark of fear. Brian really wished there was something he could do to eliminate that trace of distrust. He hated that it was there. He felt like he should say something reassuring but he didn't know what he COULD say that would help. Brian had never been good with the kind of words that might have helped in a situation like this. He was far better with actions. It was time to just do this and prove to the boy that he didn't need to be afraid.

“Put your legs up on my shoulders,” Brian directed in a calm, quiet voice, his hands trailing along the lightly furred calves as the boy followed his direction. “That's it.” He paused long enough to pick up the condom and tear the wrapper off with his teeth before handing it to the kid. “Go on. Slip it on my dick.” With shaking hands, the boy did as he'd been told. “Okay. Here we go,” Brian added as he snicked open the cap of the lube and squeezed a substantial dollop out onto the kid’s crack. “I know it's cold,” he teased when the little gasp betrayed the youth’s reaction, “but it'll heat up. Now . . . I'll go slow, okay.”

The boy licked his lips and nodded nervously with a submissive and resigned look on his face, which was almost enough to cause Brian to stop. He didn't, though. It probably would never get better. Justin would never totally trust him as long as the scary specter of sex was still hanging over their heads. He just had to do this and prove to the boy how unfounded his fears were. And then, hopefully, Justin would see that he really could trust Brian.

Brian used one hand to coat his sheathed dick with the slippery lube and line himself up. The kid was once again as tense as a tightly coiled spring but he couldn't worry about that now. He grasped the boy’s thighs firmly with both hands and pressed his hips upward until his dick slipped past the initial resistance and slid inside the boy’s ridiculously tight, hot ass.

“Ohhhhhh! Ow. It hurts,” the boy cried out.

Brian paused, holding on tightly to the quivering thighs and trying to catch his own breath so he could answer. “I know it hurts. It always does a little. That's a part of it. But it won't hurt for long. It gets better. I promise. Try to just relax, okay.”

The boy swallowed and nodded but his muscles remained clenched and his body was rigid. Brian couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. He stroked his hands down the boy’s thighs, massaging the straining muscles there and then moving to do the same to the kid’s belly, until the tension began to ebb.

“That's it. That's my Sunshine. I know you can do this. Just relax, okay. I want you to enjoy this,” Brian heard himself whispering, surprised by his own, almost-pleading, words. When he felt the body under him finally unfreezing, Brian sighed and slid his cock in deeper. “Good boy. See, it's not so bad, right? Just relax. I want to make this good for you, Sunshine. I want you to remember this so that, no matter who you're ever with, I'll always be there.”

The constriction loosened a tiny bit more at Brian's calming words, allowing him to slip in a fraction further. He smiled down at the boy, renewed his grip on the now sweaty thighs and, with one final shove, thrust all the way home. The kid gasped but Brian only leaned farther forward, bending the boy in half so that he could kiss him reassuringly as he continued to work in and out with shallow, careful movements until even more of the resistance had let up. When Brian felt the younger man’s hand reach up, carding through his hair and holding his head in place so that Justin could kiss back, he knew he'd succeeded.

********

It HURT! The boy had known it would hurt and he was right. It hurt so bad at first that it felt like somebody had shoved a broom handle up there. If this was how it would always be, the boy knew he couldn't handle it. He'd rather just give up and die now.

“I know it hurts. It always does a little,” the Master’s words barely penetrated his  consciousness. “That's a part of it. But it won't hurt for long. It gets better. I promise. Try to just relax, okay.”

Right, he thought sarcastically. You try and relax when you're being ripped open from the inside out, asshole! But when the big strong hands started to massage his legs and belly, the boy’s body responded favorably and he did begin to relax a little. And, as soon as he relaxed, the pain receded.

“That's it. That's my Sunshine. I know you can do this. Just relax, okay. I want you to enjoy this” The Master’s words were at least a little reassuring. The boy wanted to be this man’s Sunshine. That WAS why he was doing all this, right. So he had to at least try and get through this. Try to make the man proud of him. Try to listen and follow his directions. Right?

The boy took a deep breath and consciously tried to relax his muscles. It must have worked. He saw a smile bloom on the Master’s lips and felt the man's cock sinking deeper into him.

“Good boy. See, it's not so bad, right? Just relax. I want to make this good for you, Sunshine. I want you to remember this so that, no matter who you're ever with, I'll always be there.”

The boy relished the words of praise. They helped to relieve a tiny bit more of the stress. When the Master shoved in even further he gasped, but it really hadn't hurt that much. It just felt uncomfortable at this point. And when he looked up and saw the way the Master was smiling down at him, the hazel eyes sparkling with approval and possessiveness and desire, the boy forgot to be afraid anymore. He somehow knew it was going to be okay.

The Master leaned forward, folding him in half till the boy’s knees almost knocked against his chin, and kissed him hard. He kissed back eagerly. He liked the hungry way the Master was attacking his mouth. He liked knowing that he was causing such an intense reaction in the older man. He reached up and threaded his hands through the baby-fine brunet tresses, holding on and returning kiss for kiss, while down below their bodies slid together and apart and together again in a slow, steady rhythm.

When the kiss finally broke apart, the boy looked up at the man hovering over him. The Master’s eyes were closed. His mouth was slightly open in a sort of smile. It was almost as if the man had drifted off to another place altogether. A beautiful place. And that place was HIM! Knowing how much this man wanted him - how much pleasure he could give his owner - made the boy feel more powerful than he’d ever felt before in his life. He instantly forgot all about the pain and fear. And that was the moment that the boy actually started to enjoy himself.

The boy remembered how to smile as Brian slid in again. He noticed that the motions were becoming easier and more fluid with every thrust. Brian began to rock steadily in and out, the pace slow and languid. The boy tugged on the handful of hair he was still gripping and pulled the big guy down for another kiss, this one more insistent and challenging. Brian was kissing him back fiercely, biting at the boy’s lips whenever they had to separate as if he couldn’t bear to leave them even for the few seconds it took to gasp another breath.  

Before long, the boy caught himself arching up to meet each plunge from above. There was no more pain. It had been replaced by an electric tingle that increased in intensity with every stroke. But when Brian shifted his weight slightly backward, angling into him with perfect aim straight at the boy’s prostate, that tiny tingle became a smoldering fire. The boy pushed back, meeting each thrust with one of his own, his legs no longer resting loosely atop the other man’s shoulders, but rather wrapped tightly as if to pull Brian even deeper inside. He wanted more - more of something he didn’t even understand - but just MORE.

“Please . . . I need . . . I need . . .” the boy couldn’t think of the words to ask for what he wanted and just hoped that imploring note in his words would somehow convey his desires.

In response, Brian let himself go. His pace quickened and each dive into the boy’s core went deeper than the one before. The motions that had started off slow and gentle became faster and more insistent. The powerful thrusts now hard and fast and deep, massaging him from the inside, setting fire to more and more nerve endings with every thrust. Dragging across his prostate on every stroke and causing repeated zaps of almost excruciating pleasure.

“Fuck, Sunshine, you feel so good. So hot. So tight,” Brian’s words filled the boy’s soul with an emotional pleasure that perfectly matched the rising tide of physical sensations.  “I want to stay inside you forever. I never want to leave here.”

The boy looked up at the man who was now so far gone in his own soaring ecstasy that he likely didn’t even know what he was saying. But, for all that, the boy sensed that the words were sincere. Brian truly did want him. This man who could have anything he wanted, who could do whatever he desired with the PC he owned, actually wanted HIM. Wanted to stay with him. Wanted him as a person and not just as a possession. And the boy found, to his surprise, that he wanted the same thing. He wanted Brian to stay inside him forever. He wanted to always be able to feel him inside. To know he would never leave him. That they would always feel like THIS. That he would always feel like this man’s Sunshine.

“Yes, Sunshine! Yes!” Brian’s tone was now urgent and his cock was pounding into the boy so hard that his balls were slapping against the younger man’s ass with a resounding *swack* on each downstroke. “Are you ready, Sunshine? Are you ready?”

The boy could feel his heart beating so strongly it was thudding against his ribcage. His chest was rising and falling so fast he could barely breathe. He felt his balls tightening. His legs, still draped over Brian’s shoulders, contracted and his toes curled as he tried to hold on and ride out the storm.

And then, suddenly, it was too late. The little tendrils of electricity that had been building inside him overwhelmed everything, flaring up into a blaze of fire that swept through him with a cool blue flame and burned out everything in it’s path, leaving him in a sweat-drenched, cum-splashed body that was convulsing through the most powerful orgasm he could ever imagine.

“Brian!” he moaned joyfully at the apex of his delight.

A millisecond later, the boy felt Brian’s body heaving above him as the man trembled through his own powerful climax. “Fuck! I love you, Sunshine! I love you,” the man groaned right as he collapsed in a shuddering, sweaty, sticky mess on top of the smaller man’s body.

A few minutes later, when he’d finally gathered his wits enough to realize where he was and what was going on, Sunshine found himself still lying on the bed, pinned under Brian’s comforting weight. He shifted just enough so that his legs were freed and could drop, one to each side. Then he unwound his fingers from where they were still tangled in the fine auburn locks and tenderly wiped some wayward strands back from the man’s damp brow. Brian mumbled a happy little ‘mmm’ and burrowed his head deeper into the crook of Sunshine’s shoulder. Sunshine wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders and held on tightly so that Brian couldn’t move away. He loved the feeling of that big body draped over him, Brian’s cock still resting inside him, their limbs curled around one another, and wished with all his heart that they’d never have to separate even an inch.

“You okay, Sunshine? Am I getting too heavy?” Brian’s hushed words broke the silence with their concern as he started to stir.

“No. Don’t go,” Sunshine asked, holding on as tight as he could to the moment and the man. “Don’t ever go.”

********

Chapter 31 - PC Sunshine.

Brian was finally starting to stir a bit. Sunshine hoped he hadn’t woken the man with his squirming. He himself hadn’t been able to get much sleep at all. He was too happy and excited to sleep. He was trying to be considerate and let Brian get some rest, but it was difficult to hold still when all he wanted to do was kiss and fondle the older man over and over again. He really wouldn’t mind at all if Brian were to wake up and want to play a bit more.

Sunshine was still awestruck by what had happened the night before. He’d never even imagined that ANYTHING could feel as wonderful as being with Brian had made him feel. And it wasn’t just what Brian could do to his body - which was remarkable in and of itself - it was more what he’d done to the boy’s soul. Brian had said he loved him. He’d shown kindness and caring. He’d been gentle and tender. He’d proven everything Sunshine had ever been told about sex and what he could expect from life to be wrong. It had meant everything to him. So much so that he’d been afraid to go to sleep for fear he’d wake up and find it was all a dream.

Instead of sleeping, he’d wrapped himself around Brian and held on all through the night. Luckily, even in his sleep, Brian had seemed to share a similar desire for closeness. Now that the sun was finally up, Sunshine could enjoy looking at the man lying next to him as well as touching him. Although he couldn’t see much from where he was curled up against the bigger man’s side, with his head nestled on the solidity of Brian’s chest. That was okay, though. He was too comfortable where he was to move.

Brian yawned and stretched out the arm that wasn’t lying under Sunshine’s head. “Morning, Sunshine,” he mumbled with a squeeze to the boy’s shoulders.

Sunshine squeezed back with the arm draped over Brian’s middle as well as the leg that was curled around Brian’s left thigh. And, just because he could, he also nuzzled his face against the warm, musky skin at the cleft of Brian’s shoulder and left a little welcoming kiss there for good measure. He loved that Brian’s response was to chuckle and ruffle his hair up. He loved any time that Brian touched him in any way.

Brian reached out with his free hand and grabbed the alarm clock off the side table. “Shit! Is that the time? I’m fucking late.”

Brian turned his head to the side, left an absentminded kiss on the top of the boy’s blond head and then pried his left arm out from under the smaller man’s body. Sunshine tried to hold on to the arm so the man couldn’t depart, but Brian simply laughed at him, shook him off and padded away to take care of business in the bathroom. Sunshine laid there, sprawled out on the bed and stretching for about two minutes. Then he just couldn’t stand being away from Brian any longer and jumped up to follow him into the bathroom.

Brian had just stepped into the shower when the boy trotted in to join him. He held the door open for the youth, pulling him immediately under the hot rain from above. Sunshine let himself revel in the warmth from both the shower and the man he adored.

“My, my . . . you’re quite the eager little tiger this morning, aren’t you, Sunshine,” Brian commented as soon as he noted the boy’s obviously excited state. “I’m afraid I’ve created a monster,” he teased at the same time he reached down with a sudsy hand and caressed the boy’s cock with one long, lingering stroke.

*Mmmmmmm* was all Sunshine could think of to say at that moment.

“You up for one more, Sunshine?” Brian asked and then grinned at the boy’s eager nod. “Fucking insatiable . . .” The big man bent, left a kiss on the upturned nose then spun the smaller man around and pressed him up against the glass of the shower surround. “Shit! This ass is fucking perfect,” he added as he let his soap-filled palm glide over the swell of one ass cheek and then back up the trench of his crack. “You should come with a warning label, you know. ‘Caution: May Be Habit Forming’. I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of this.”

Sunshine giggled. He was so pleased by the words. He wanted nothing more than to become this man’s habit. Especially if that habit involved the things Brian was now doing with his fingers. Talk about addictive. He knew for a fact he would never get enough of Brian. Or Brian’s fingers. Or his lips. Or his . . .

The rest of Sunshine’s thoughts on the matter were cut short at that point by the advent of Brian’s wonderful, soap-covered dick into his ass.

Twenty minutes later, when the two men eventually emerged from the bathroom, squeaky clean inside and out, Sunshine still couldn’t pull himself away from Brian. He felt like he needed to fill himself up with everything about the man. He had to look at him constantly. He wanted to touch him all the time. He felt like even going into the other room would put him too far away. And he knew that these feelings were ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never actually been loved by anyone before - or at least not for so long that he could barely remember the sensation - and he just couldn’t stand the thought of losing that connection for even a moment.

“Shit! I’m REALLY late now,” Brian complained as he looked at the clock once again “Could you run and start the coffee for me, Sunshine, while I get dressed. I’m going to need about a gallon of caffeine if I’m going to be at all productive this morning.

For a moment, Sunshine’s desire to stay as close as possible to Brian warred with his desire to be helpful to the man he idolized. Eventually, his training tipped the scales and he rushed off to obey the direct command he’d been issued. But, as soon as the coffee maker was percolating away, he rushed back upstairs so he could get another Brian fix. The AdExec was just putting on his suit jacket when the boy arrived. Sunshine gleefully settled onto the bed where he would have a front row seat for the rest of the Brian Getting Dressed Show.

“So, what’s on your agenda for the day,” Brian asked as soon as he was done adjusting his tie in the mirror. “Another masterpiece?”

“I . . . I could . . . maybe . . . go with you to your office today,” Sunshine ventured haltingly, still uncomfortable with voicing his wishes so blatantly. “I could help you with more artwork?”

“Sorry, kiddo. I don’t have any new projects for you,” Brian replied, shaking his head. “I think you’re all caught up on everything, including the whole Liberty Air campaign which would have taken my entire Art Department weeks to wade through, but which you managed single-handedly in just over a week. Besides, I figured you’d want to stay here and play with your art stuff some more. Work on another piece of epic brilliance or something?”

Sunshine lept off the bed and latched on to Brian’s arm before he could leave. “I’d rather be with you,” he suggested, trying to say it bravely and look the man in the eye while he spoke.

“Stop trying to be adorable, Sunshine,” Brian teased. “Adorable doesn’t work on me, you know. I’m immune.”

The joking tone worked. Sunshine smiled and dropped his eyes to the floor with shy embarrassment at being called ‘adorable’. Brian was then able to free his arm from the youth’s clasp long enough to escape from the bedroom. Sunshine didn’t let him get far, though, before jogging after him.

Brian headed straight for the kitchen and proceeded to fill his giant-sized travel mug with well-sugared coffee. What didn’t fit in the mug, he drank straight out of the glass carafe. Sunshine watched the man’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbing and fought back an urge to jump up and kiss it. Or lick it. Or bite it. Anything that would allow him to touch Brian again would be acceptable.

“Okay, well, I’m out of here,” Brian announced as soon as the coffee carafe was empty. “You have fun playing artist for the day.”

Sunshine felt a lump of panic welling up in his throat at the words of farewell. He knew it was stupid and irrational, but he couldn’t help his feelings. He felt that, if Brian left him, this whole happy bubble he’d been living in since the day before would pop and he’d be returned to his prior sad, lonely life.

He hurried over to the door, blocking Brian’s egress with his body, and reaching out to once again grab hold of the taller man’s arm. “Please . . . I . . . I don’t . . . want you to leave,” he muttered, realizing how pathetic the words sounded but unable to stop them.

“Stop, Justin,” Brian ordered.

“No! I like ‘Sunshine’,” he spoke up, more loudly this time. “I want to be ‘Sunshine’.”

“Fine. Sunshine, then.” Brian relented a little bit. “But you can’t come with me today. I’ve got to get some real work done and you’ll only be a distraction. Now, you go over there and do something magnificent with all that art stuff and I’ll be back before you know it. Okay?”

Brian reached up and let the back of his hand trail affectionately over the boy’s cheek. He was smiling indulgently down at the youth but Sunshine could still see the determination in his eyes. And even with all the newfound sense of self he was feeling, the boy couldn’t quite overcome his conditioning enough to argue the point. He knew he was being silly. He really did need to stay here and crank out some more artwork for the Bloom man. That would be the most productive thing he could do.

And Brian would come back for him. He wouldn’t leave him. He would still need his Sunshine come nightfall. Right?

“That’s my good boy. Now, go have fun. Later,”  Brian ordered and with one last kiss goodbye, the man left.

The boy felt all the sunshine in his soul dimming as soon as the loft door slammed shut. Brian was gone - off to work where he would do important things. The boy was once again alone. Even though he knew it was only for the day, he still felt like he’d been abandoned and rejected. Deserted. Bereft. Scared.

Thankfully, that’s when the PC’s conditioning kicked in again. The Master had left him with instructions as to what he was supposed to be doing for the day. He had told the boy to make more art. So the boy would go and paint and follow the Master’s orders. It gave him at least some purpose. He just hoped the day would pass quickly until Brian returned and he could be Sunshine again.

********

It was one of those crisp, clear fall days that seem to pop up unexpectedly after the first long spell of cold wet weather. Lindsey was feeling restless and she hadn’t been out of the house for more than a few minutes since the baby had been born, so the beautiful day was more than welcomed. She promptly bundled Gus up, got the stroller out and set off on an adventure.

She’d walked about a half a mile with no particular destination in mind, before she realized that her steps had led her near the Bloom Gallery. Bloom’s just happened to be one of her favorite art scene venues. She hadn’t been by in quite a while, though. The last few months of her pregnancy had been a whirlwind of planning and other busyness that had kept her away from her usual haunts. She’d heard that Simon Craswell had bought out the place during that time, so she was eager to pop in and see what changes her parents’ old friend had effected. The gallery had been looking a little run down in recent years and she was happy that it was going to get an infusion of capital. Maybe they’d get a better quality of artist in here now too.

As soon as she’d maneuvered the stroller inside, Lindsey was greeted by the tall debonair form of Sidney Bloom himself. “Lindsey! What a pleasant surprise! And who, pray tell, is this?” Bloom bent over the stroller and tickled the drooling infant’s cheek.

“This is my brand new son, Gus,” Lindz beamed with pride at the little bundle.

“Congratulations! I didn’t even know you and Mel were expecting. I guess it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. I was wondering why you hadn’t been by lately. Now I know,” Sidney commented with a welcoming smile.

“It really has been a long time, I guess. My life has been pretty crazy since we decided to do this. We’ve been wanting to start a family for quite a while, but for the longest time Mel and I couldn’t agree on a donor. Then finally, after a LOT of convincing, we managed to talk an old college friend of mine into helping us out. And, nine months later, here we are.” Lindsey reached down, unlatched all the straps and excavated the baby out of the swathes of blankets in order to lift him up for better viewing ease.

“Well, I’m happy for you and Mel both. And I’m also happy that you’re back so I can show you all the big changes going on around here.” Sidney held out a hand to direct his guest further into the main part of the show room. “We’ve just finished our remodeling. I think you’ll be impressed. I’m pretty happy with how everything is coming along.”

Lindsey WAS impressed. The entire gallery had received a fresh coat of paint and there was new carpeting throughout. Several new display racks had also been set up and the artwork hanging there was fresh and modern as well. As she chatted with Sidney, he led her around and told her about the artists and their work, something that Lindz always loved. It made her feel like more of an insider. When she finally did go back to her teaching job at the local college, she would have even more to talk about related to the local art scene.

“And I can’t forget our newest offering. We just hung these today, in fact,” Bloom said, indicating a section near the center of the back wall. “You’ll be the first to see them and I’m excited to get your opinion. I think you’ll be just as amazed as I was when I first saw this stuff. Especially once I tell you who the artist is.”

As they came up to the grouping of three paintings, a charcoal drawing and a watercolor pastel, Lindsey found herself thoroughly enamored. There was so much depth to each. So much unbridled emotion. You could almost taste the pain and heartache in each one. Whoever the artist was, he or she was tremendously talented.

“These are AMAZING, Sidney,” Lindsey raved, turning to face the grinning gallery owner. “I haven’t seen anything like this outside a museum. They’re probably the best abstract impressionist pieces I’ve seen in years. Who is this artist and how did you manage to talk them into showing in Pittsburgh?” She looked around but didn’t see any placards listing the name of the artist or the titles of the works.

Bloom reached into his sport coat pocket and pulled out a stack of small foam board placards. He’d been on his way to put them up when Lindsey had arrived. He was glad, in a way, that she’d seen the artwork before he’d put up the exhibit labels, because that way he was sure that her reaction was genuine. And that reaction had been exactly what he’d been hoping for. If the enthusiasm this art teacher had shown was indicative of the reception the work would receive from the rest of the community, Bloom knew he had a hit on his hands.

With a little flourish, Bloom stepped forward, removed the adhesive backing on the first placard, and attached it to the wall next to the largest painting. Then he stepped back and waited while his guest read the sign that detailed not only the name of the artist but also his particular circumstances. If Bloom was hoping for more of the same eager, passionate praise as he’d first seen, though, his hopes were soon dampened. Instead, Lindsey stood there glaring at the sign, a definite frown on her face.

“Justin Kinney . . .” she questioned when she’d finally finished reading through the artist’s bio. “What the hell is this, Sidney?”

“Just what it says there on the sign. These pieces were created by a PC, if you can believe it,” Bloom gestured towards the placard, ignoring the hostile vibes he was getting from Lindsey. “Justin is an amazing young man too. So young, but with so much talent. I was totally blown away when I saw what he could do. I’m just thrilled that his owner was kind enough to let me show the boy’s work.”

“And his owner is . . .” she asked, although she already knew the answer and was only asking for confirmation.

“A local man by the name of Brian Kinney,” Bloom answered without pause. “Kinney happens to be the gallery’s new advertising man as well. I actually found out about Justin when I met with Brian to go over the marketing for our grand reopening. It turns out the PC has been helping out on the artwork for several ad campaigns as well. Once I saw that, I knew I just had to see the rest of his stuff. He’s really talented. And, not only is he a Personal Companion, but he’s only seventeen. Such talent at such a young age is truly remarkable. Can you imagine what he’ll be doing in ten years at this rate?”

“You can NOT display this shit!” Lindsey practically screamed as soon as Bloom paused long enough in his praise of the PC to let her get a word in. “This is a travesty, Sidney! It’s PC trash. No respectable gallery would let crap like this be shown!”

Sidney was taken aback by the woman’s vehemence, but wasn’t about to pull the display any time soon regardless. “I beg to differ. This artwork is brilliant and our gallery is proud to display it. You said yourself about two minutes ago that it was ‘amazing’. So, what exactly is your problem with it now, Lindsey?”

“My problem is that I don’t appreciate you shoving PC propaganda in my face. And I’m pretty sure the majority of your patrons won’t like it either,” Lindsey barked into the art dealer’s face.  “By showing this dross, you’re basically glorifying this little whore’s work and sanctioning his shameless lifestyle. It’s disgusting.”

“I disagree, Lindsey. I’ve met the kid and there’s nothing shameless or disgusting about him. Brian told me a little about the young man’s background and I can assure you that Justin’s a sweet boy who simply wound up in a bad situation. It’s not his fault he’s a PC. Apparently his father did this to him. So, whatever your problem is with PCs, it has nothing to do with Justin Kinney.”

“There is no ‘Justin Kinney’!” Lindsey snarled, even more angry now than before. “PCs aren’t allowed to have last names.”

“Technically, no, but it’s a longstanding convention to give them the last name of their owners,” Bloom maintained doggedly. “Why are you so upset by this, Lindsey? I don’t understand. I’ve known you for years. I never thought you of all people would be so closed-minded.”

“I’m NOT closed-minded. I just don’t approve of PCs. And I don’t know what the hell Brian was thinking when he bought that little slut, but I DO know that he would never condone the tramp using his name.” Lindsey turned away from Sidney and the offensive artwork, stomping back towards the stroller that had been left near the doorway. “I’ll be talking to both Brian and your new partner, Simon Craswell, about this, Sidney. If I have any say in the matter, you WILL be taking that offensive, tasteless excrement down before anyone else sees it. I will not have the father of my son being publicly associated with this kind of trash. As soon as Brian comes to his senses and gets rid of the stupid blond slut, he’ll thank me for making sure his name wasn’t dragged through the muck alongside the little bitch.”

With that, Lindsey angrily stormed out of the gallery, slamming the door behind her hard enough to rattle the glass. Bloom was left standing there in disbelief, his staff staring from their places around the gallery, everyone at a complete loss as to how to react to the vitriol from the departed woman. Sidney shook his head and sighed. He hoped that this wasn’t a portent of the reception Justin’s work was going to receive. He truly did think the artist was remarkably talented. Maybe he’d been mistaken about the response he could expect. He hoped, though, that Lindsey’s response was atypical.

Either way, he figured he better call Kinney and give him a head’s up about what had just happened. Maybe Brian could better explain what he’d just experienced? It made no sense at all to Bloom.

Sidney handed the rest of the display placards off to the gallery manager as he walked past her on the way to his office. He wasn’t going to pull the display just yet. Not until he’d figured out what the hell was going on.

********

Chapter 32 - Investigations and Manipulations.

“Good Morning, Cynthia!” Brian chirped as he approached his assistant’s desk. When he didn’t receive any response at all, he stopped and looked at the woman who was regarding him with a frown. “What?” he asked.

“Why are you so fucking cheerful?” Cynthia questioned suspiciously. “It’s Monday morning. You’re not allowed to be this insanely cheerful on Monday morning. I don’t care if you DO have a beautiful blond at home. It’s just wrong.”

Brian laughed out loud at the grumpy woman, which only earned him another disapproving glare. “Fine. How’s this . . . ‘Shut the fuck up and get me a latte already’,” he growled at her in a belligerent voice while trying to hold back a playful smile.

“That’s better,” Cynthia finally broke a smile.

“Good.” Brian turned and started to head for his office, but then paused and hollered over his shoulder. “By the way, I was serious about the latte.”

“I’ll get right on that, Boss,” Cynthia intoned and chuckled at the man’s back.

Ten minutes later a slightly less grumpy assistant entered Brian’s office laden down with a Starbucks cup, a stack of pink phone messages, her tablet computer and an armload of files. “Your coffee, oh Cheerful One.” She handed off the first item and then turned to address the rest. “Nothing really important here,” she commented as she went through the phone messages. “Mostly just follow ups on existing accounts. The only fun one is from the CEO of Bronian Motors. The initial numbers are already coming in on their new campaign and it’s over the top good. Way to go, Boss.”

“Way to go, Justin. He’s the one that picked that font color - that’s what really makes the ad pop,” Brian gloated as he accepted the stack of message slips, flipped through them briefly and then tossed the entire pile except for the Bronian one into the trash.

“Speaking of Justin . . .” Cynthia stepped backward and, with her one now-free hand, closed the office door. “I’ve got something for you on our mysterious Mr. Hutcherson.” Brian leaned forward eagerly to listen to whatever his able assistant had uncovered. “We both suspected this Ron Hutcherson must have some connection to Hobbs, right? Well I kept digging all weekend but was constantly knocking my head against a wall using all the usual search pathways. So, just for kicks, I decided to try something crazy and went onto one of those free online sites that promise to check your ancestry . . . and I put in James Stockwell’s name.” Cynthia looked so pleased with herself that Brian knew what was coming next would be good. “It really is amazing all the data out there on everyone. You can see every single marriage for all your ancestors back for generations. Or, in this case, the marriages of whomever else you’re researching.”

“Stop teasing me, Cyn. What the fuck did you find?” Brian pressed her for more.

“Well, it doesn’t show up in any ‘official’ records on our good Senator Stockwell but, on this website I checked, it shows that Anne Stockwell had been married once before.” Cynthia grinned and pulled a printout from one of the files she was holding on her lap. “And her previous husband’s name just happens to be . . . Randall Hutcherson.” She laid the printout on Brian’s desk and pointed to the highlighted entry.

“Shit! You did it, Cynthia,” Brian looked at the listing and then up at his friend.

“Yep. And, when I searched Randall’s ancestry, it turns out that he has an uncle named Ronald. Big surprise, huh?” She smiled gloatingly at Brian. “So, just to make sure that the info was reliable, as soon as I got in this morning, I called the residential care home where Hutcherson lives. I pretended to be calling from a doctor’s office - made up this bogus story about Dr. Vance needing to get ahold of Hutcherson’s guardian in order to get some paperwork signed for a new drug trial and asked for the contact number for Anne Stockwell. As expected, they refused to give me any contact info, but the VERY helpful woman I talked with did tell me one truly surprising thing . . .” Brian gestured with a ‘gimme’ motion to get Cynthia to continue. “She remarked that Anne wasn’t Hutcherson’s legal guardian anyway and that I’d need to talk to Anne’s husband, James.”

“Wow! You fucking did it, Cynthia. You found the fucking connection,” Brian rocked back in his chair, his hands raking through his hair agitatedly. “No wonder Hutcherson didn’t have a problem with any of the regs about new PC owners. Stockwell, as his legal guardian, could just sign all the paperwork and press through anything that was a problem using his senate contacts. It shouldn’t be hard to prove that Hutcherson wasn’t competent to contract for Justin on his own and get the PCRA records filed for him. That should be more than enough proof of Stockwell’s role in Justin’s case.”

“You’d think,” Cynthia replied but didn’t look nearly as relieved as Brian. “The only problem is, who do we take our suspicions and all this evidence to?”

“Good question,” Brian answered. “Anybody local is out. We already know for a fact that the DA had to have been in on this and probably the judge too. That means we can’t trust anyone in Pittsburgh. And, with Stockwell’s contacts throughout the rest of the state, it’s doubtful whether we can trust anyone at that level either.”

“Maybe the FBI?” Cynthia suggested.

“Maybe. But I’d feel better if we had the name of a specific agent that we could be reasonably sure was reliable, rather than just taking this shit to the bureau and dumping it on some random nobody,” Brian suggested. “Would your APC contacts have any ideas who we can trust?”

“I don’t know. I can ask. But it may take me a few days. I’ll have to be circumspect about the way I ask. I don’t want to tip anyone off about what we have too soon. You never know if something might get back to Stockwell or Craig Taylor.” Cynthia began to gather up her materials. “In the meantime, I’m going to make several copies of this file. We should both have complete copies of everything and also give a couple out to some other people we can trust, just for safe keeping.”

“I think you’ve been watching too many conspiracy television shows, Cyn,” Brian commented, although he didn’t try to dissuade her from her task.

“Maybe. But it can’t hurt.”

********

The perfect blackness of the isolation box cracked open suddenly, blinding Rex with the influx of light. He’d been locked up in the tiny, lightless space ever since they’d returned from the disastrous luncheon on Friday afternoon. Well, except for the hour or so they’d spent beating him right after they got back to Bellweather’s mansion. But Rex mostly tried to forget that time.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in the box. There was no time inside that blackness. It might have been only hours or it might have been weeks. He had no way of telling. But judging by the cramping in his legs and the kinks in his back caused by spending too many hours in a space too small for him to stretch out all the way, it had been long enough.

While he was still lying there, blinking as he adjusted to the light, someone grabbed one of his ankles and yanked until his body slid out of the solitary box into the room beyond. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to. Every single part of him hurt so bad that he didn’t think he could move on his own.

“Hose him down. He reeks.”

The words were harsh and cold but not as cold as the water that blasted into him a second later. The water did sluice away all the filth that had coated him though. And it felt rather good as it cooled the raw strips on his back where the lash he’d been beaten with had cut a little too deeply. He was mildly grateful for that small benefit. It didn’t matter that he was shaking from the chill afterwards. It was good to be clean and to have his injuries numbed.

“Get him up on his knees.”

Rex felt rough hands grab his arms and hoist him into a more or less upright position. He was still too unstable to maintain the stance on his own, so the men on either side of him had to stand there and hold him up. The shivering from the cold bath didn’t help matters much, but he tried his best to quell the shaking, instinctively knowing that any weakness he showed would be used against him.

“Oh, Rex. Look at you.” The voice was disappointed and dismissive. “Have you learned your lesson, Rex?”

“Y-y-y-yes, M-M-M-Mas-ter.” Rex hated that he couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering long enough to get his words out.

“Good boy, Rex. I’m sorry that I had to punish you, but if I hadn’t you would never learn your lessons. Would you?”

“N-n-n-no, M-M-Master.”

“Very well. But, in the future, make sure you’re less klutzy. Especially when I’m out in public. I refuse to have you make me look like a fool ever again. Do you hear me?”

“Y-y-yes, Master.”

“Fine. I’m just glad this is all over,” Bellweather stated, moving close enough so that his crotch was only a few inches in front of the shivering PC’s face. “You can make it up to me by blowing me. Get to it.”

Rex slowly lifted up his arms, struggling to get them to move and trying to ignore the pain even that tiny movement caused to his battered back. He didn’t dare refuse or even voice any of his pain. That would only result in more punishment. It was difficult, but he did manage it, eventually lifting his limbs high enough so that he could reach the Master’s belt buckle. But then he fumbled with the metal hasp, his fingers too stiff and cold to work the buckle.

*Grrrr* Bellweather growled at the slow pace, batted Rex’s hands away and undid his pants by himself before shoving his hips forward so that his dick was right in the boy’s face. “Go on. I don’t have all fucking day!”

Rex hated Bellweather’s ugly little dick. It was truly one of the saddest, least attractive dicks he’d ever seen. It was, at most, five inches even when it was fully erect. It was also an ugly, splotchy purple color. The shaft had a weird curve to it so that it always bent a little to the right. And to make matters even worse, the Master was uncut, and not very diligent with his personal hygiene at the best of times, so there was always a distasteful build up of smegma under the foreskin. Usually Rex would try and wipe the worst of it away surreptitiously whenever he was ordered to suck the man off. But today, with his hands barely functioning, he didn’t think he could manage that. He would just have to swallow the fucking dick, crust and all, and bear it the same way he bore the unpleasant odor. Luckily he’d long ago mastered his gag reflex, but today’s experience was a challenge even for him.

Rex opened his mouth, closed his eyes and just blanked out all his thoughts while Bellweather shoved the disgusting little cock into his mouth. After that he just did his thing on autopilot. He didn’t have to think about it. He just let the routine take over and in his mind he went off to some other place.

Unfortunately, the Master wasn’t all that aroused this afternoon. He wasn’t even fully hard when the blow job started, and Rex realized that this might take a while. Oh well. It’s not like he had anywhere else to be, he thought with an internalized laugh.

“Master . . .” Another voice interrupted the quiet in the training room and caused Bellweather to pause for a moment in his thrusting. Rex didn’t bother to move or even open his eyes. He’d be told if the Master was done with him. “You have a phone call, Master. I thought you would want to take it right away. It’s Senator Stockwell.”

“Of course. Bring me the phone, Spot.”

The new arrival dropped to his knees right next to Rex, offering up the telephone to Bellweather.

“Put the call on speaker, Spot. I’m not going to hold it while I talk. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Yes, Master,” Spot replied and immediately hit the correct button to make the call go to speaker.

“Jimmy. How are you? I thought you were off stumping for votes this week,” Bellweather exclaimed jovially while he shoved his cock extra deep into Rex’s throat.

“I AM out on the campaign trail, Howie. I’m calling from Harrisburg, actually,” Stockwell’s voice sounded tinny and distorted coming out of the phone’s speaker. “But I had a few minutes between meetings and I just wanted to check in to make sure you were doing okay. You left in such a hurry after our lunch the other day. Everything good now?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m fine, Jimmy. I’m sorry about that horrible luncheon. Rex was such an embarrassment.” Bellweather grabbed Rex’s ear with his right hand and yanked his head higher in a moment of renewed pique at the unpleasant memory, but didn’t otherwise deviate from his rhythm. “The boy has been assiduously punished - I can promise you that - and I’m hoping he’s going to be on his best behavior from here on out.”

“That’s good to hear. So, did you follow through on that other thing we discussed yet? The plan to get the little blond back?” Rex almost gagged hearing those words. He’d hoped that Bellweather had been too distracted with his own punishment to remember the sweet little blond boy. He hadn’t counted on Stockwell calling and reminding the Master, though. “You know I’m eagerly waiting for my invitation to that initiation party you were talking about. That one . . . well, let’s just say, J327 holds a certain pull on me. If you do get him back, Howie, I want to be the first one you call.”

“I hadn’t forgotten, James. I just got too busy to follow through,” Bellweather laughed deprecatingly. “But you’re right, I really SHOULD deal with that situation. I feel just as enamoured as you with that particular boy. Thanks for calling to remind me.”

“Glad to help, Howie. Glad to help. Make sure you get on it as soon as I hang up, though, or you’ll find something else to distract you,” Stockwell’s smarmy chuckle echoed out of the phone.

“Don’t worry, Jimmy. I won’t get distracted. I’m excellent at multi-tasking. Aren’t I, Rex, dear,” Bellweather commented as he shoved his ugly dick once more down the boy’s gullet, held it there for ten seconds and then finally shot his sticky load. “I promise to call Lapointe and Kinney’s boss - Gardner What’s-his-name - as soon as my Manager and I are done here with Rex.” Bellweather nodded to one of the men standing next to Rex, who promptly hauled the boy to his feet. “I’ll let you know how it goes the next time we get together.”

“Sounds good. Talk to you later, Howie.”

“Bye, Jim.” Bellweather flicked his hand dismissively at the PC holding the phone and ‘Spot’ - so called because of the birthmark the man had on his cheek - terminated the call and immediately retreated to the far side of the room.

“Now, Rex,” Bellweather pulled his pants up and tucked himself away as he turned his full attention to the PC. “That wasn’t exactly your best effort, was it? I could get a better blow job from a vacuum cleaner hose. What do you have to say for yourself, Rex?”

“I . . . I’m sorry, M-M-Master,” Rex pleaded, his shaking getting worse again, although this time it wasn’t completely because of the cold. “I’m so . . . so cold and thirsty . . . I can’t . . . can’t . . .”

“I HATE that word, Rex. ‘Can’t’ is ALWAYS the wrong answer in my opinion,” Bellweather glared at his terrified PC. “Why do you make things so difficult for me, Rex? Why do you make me have to punish you?” Rex knew not to bother responding - anything he said would only make things worse. “Well, you’re lucky I’m in such a good mood today. I’m not going to throw you back in the box. I think . . . ten more lashes, maybe, and then we’ll just call it done. Just make sure you do a better job next time.”

Bellweather waved to his Manager who started dragging Rex over to the wall where the shackles were waiting for him. Meanwhile the Master called Spot back over with the phone. “Get me Walter Lapointe from PC Clearinghouse on the phone immediately . . .”

After that, Rex didn’t hear much of the conversation. His own cries of pain drowned everything else out. But still, in a remote corner of his brain that was still capable of functioning, he harbored the hope that he might still be able to do something to help the poor blond boy that was about to be dragged unwittingly into hell alongside the rest of them.

********

Stockwell terminated the call with Bellweather and placed the phone back in it’s charging cradle. He was pleased with the way that call had gone. Hopefully Bellweather would follow through this time and not let himself get too distracted with his harem of PC boys. If not, Stockwell would have to take other, more risky, actions.

He pressed the intercom button to summon his assistant. “Keith, can you come in here and bring the checkbook for the Hutcherson account?”

A minute later the aide popped into Stockwell’s office with a large green corporate-style checkbook in hand.

“Thanks, Keith,” James responded as he accepted the book. He opened the cover, scribbled out a check for $500, signed it and then handed the whole thing back to his aide. “Send that, along with a short thank you note, to the head nurse at Anne’s uncle’s nursing home, please. I don’t recall the woman’s name, but we’ve sent her money before - it should be in the records somewhere. She’s been very helpful over the years.”

“Of course, Senator,” Keith answered. “What would you like the note to say?”

“Oh, just something along the lines of ‘Thanks for looking out for my uncle and keeping me advised of all the goings on at the center . . .’ She called this morning with some really important information and I want her to know how much I appreciate her attentive care for Uncle Ron.”

“I’ll get right on that, Senator,” the staffer promised as he backed out the door.

Stockwell sat at his desk for several more minutes after Keith left, his pencil tapping on the blotter and his mind spinning as he thought through his plans. He was getting worried. That damned Kinney was sniffing around in things that were none of his fucking business. Thankfully, the nurse he had spying on things for him at Hutcherson’s nursing home had alerted him right away when that call from VanGuard came in earlier. Which was what had prompted the reminder call to Bellweather. Stockwell just hoped that losing his job - and by extension his troublemaker of a PC - would keep Kinney too busy to fuck up his plans completely.

********

Chapter 33 - All That PC Plot Stuff.

Brian settled into his work after Cynthia departed, trying to plan out his day in his mind. He was glad to know he was actually ahead of his workload for a change. With Justin helping out on the artwork, and being so efficient at it as well, Brian found he could get a lot more done in a shorter time. Which meant he could concentrate on rounding up some new accounts instead of spinning his wheels on old ones. That was good news for his faltering finances.

Just when Brian was getting ready to start in on a new project, though, the intercom line buzzed. “Brian, I’ve got Sidney Bloom on line three for you,” Cynthia’s voice announced. “I asked if it was something I could help him with but he said it was ‘private’. Are you available?”

“Sure. I’ll take it, Cyn,”

Brian picked up the handset and pressed the button to connect the call. “Sidney. Don’t tell me you need more of Justin’s paintings already. He’s good but not that good,” Brian kidded.

“I wish I had that problem, Brian,” Sidney replied with a chuckle. “Actually we only got the pieces hung this morning and, since we just opened a little over an hour ago, we haven’t had that many visitors yet. But give it a day or two. I’ve already called a couple of art collectors I know who like the sort of thing Justin’s doing and they’re both excited to come over and check it out. I should have some news for you on that front by the end of the week. Maybe you and Justin should plan to attend our First Thursday open house as well. That way, anyone interested in the work could meet the artist at the same time. It’s always easier to sell art when you can give the patrons a bit of personal attention, you know.”

“I think we can make that happen, Sidney. Although, you do realize Justin’s not exactly the chatty type, right? I’m not sure he’ll have much to say to your art buyers.” Brian could just see the kid standing there like a shrinking violet, scared to death of the crowds while his admiring fans swarmed him. “Have I mentioned that he’s not really good with crowds either?” he warned.

“I’m sure he’ll do fine, Brian. All I really need Justin to do is show up and look pretty. Which shouldn’t be a problem - hell, I’m not gay and even I find him attractive.” Bloom’s surprised laughter had Brian joining in as well. "Justin won’t even need to say anything as long as he bats his eyelashes at all the rich old women . . . And maybe a few of the men too.”

“Then count us in, Sidney. Justin’s terrific at eyelash batting and long, soulful, blue-eyed looks,” Brian promised. “That’s how he got me, after all, isn’t it?”

“So that’s the secret, huh? And here I thought you were just a diehard do-good crusader.” That comment earned Bloom yet another outburst of laughter from Brian’s end of the call. “That’s not actually why I was calling, though, Brian,” Sidney segued back into serious things. “I figured I’d better give you a head’s up about a rather unpleasant confrontation I had this morning.”

“That sounds ominous . . .”

“Well, I’m not sure what it was all about, to tell you the truth. I hope you do,” Bloom continued. “First thing this morning a long-time patron by the name of Lindsey Peterson came into the gallery. From what she said, I take it you two know each other?”

“You could say that,” Brian answered, worried already just hearing his former friend’s name. “Or, at least, I thought I knew her until recently. So, what kind of shit is she saying about me these days?”

“It wasn’t so much about you, as about your PC,” Sidney explained. “I was showing her Justin’s work and, at first, she acted like she loved it. Which is what I expected. But then, as soon as I told her who the artist was, she went ballistic. It was like she became a completely different person. She was calling Justin all sorts of names and insisting that I take the pictures down. Then, when she saw that I had listed the artist’s name as ‘Justin KINNEY’, she totally lost it. I know that PCs technically don’t have a second name, but it’s not that unusual for people to refer to them by the last name of their owner. Lindsey seemed to think you would object to that, though. That is okay with you, isn’t it, Brian?”

“Fucking Lindsey . . .” Brian sighed, once again confronted by blind bigotry that he couldn’t comprehend let alone combat. “Yes, Sidney, it’s fine with me for you to list the work under ‘Justin Kinney’. Don’t listen to anything Lindsey said to you about me or Justin. She doesn’t speak for me. To tell the truth, I really don’t understand Lindsey or why she’s so hot and bothered about Justin. She’s being a total shit about it though.”

“Yeah, I got that much,” Sidney commiserated. “But hey, she also let slip that congratulations are in order . . . Dad . . . unless I heard wrong too?”

“No, you heard right. I can’t quite wrap my head around it yet myself, but apparently my little swimmers did their job and now I’m the proud father of a gorgeous little boy . . . who I’m not able to see right now because of Lindsey’s unthinking hatred towards my other boy, Justin.” Brian huffed a little breath of annoyance.

“Well, congratulations anyway. I hope you and Lindsey can work things out so you get to see your son, Brian. I got a glimpse of the baby this morning. He’s adorable.”

“Thanks, Sidney.” Brian didn’t want to voice his own belief that the rift with Lindsey was probably permanent or that it didn’t bode well for his likelihood of getting to spend any more time with Gus. “In the meantime, please don’t let Lindsey’s issues cause you to pull Justin’s work. Like I said, she doesn’t speak for me or, hopefully, for most of your patrons. Whatever Lindsey’s problems are, they’re personal, and I really don’t want to see it bleed over onto Justin.”

“No worries, Brian. I don’t intend to pull Justin’s stuff based on Lindsey’s comments. I’d prefer to wait and see what the people who matter say,” Bloom promised. “The reception we get on Thursday will be the real test.”

“Thanks, Sidney. You don't know how much it means that you're willing to give Justin this chance.”

“For what it's worth, I think Justin's going to be a huge hit. I’m really not that worried at all,” Bloom reiterated with confidence. “Anyway, see you on Thursday night, Brian.”

“Thursday it is!”

Brian had barely hung up with Bloom when the intercom buzzed again. “Brian, your friend, Lindsey, is on the phone,” Cynthia announced. “It's the third time she's called in less than fifteen minutes. I told her you were on a call with a client and couldn't be interrupted but she's being a real bitch about it. She said if I didn't put her through immediately, she’d have you fire me. Please tell me I can just hang up and permanently block her number. Please?”

“I wish . . . But, I don’t think it would work. I'd better take the fucking call,” Brian answered with a heavy sigh.

“Damn! You're no fun,” Cynthia sounded seriously crestfallen that she wouldn't be allowed to be as rude to Lindsey as the woman had been to her. “Fine. She's on line two. But next time she calls and acts like this, I'm blocking her without asking your permission.”

Brian chuckled as the unrepentant assistant hung up, however his humor died away quickly when he contemplated the phone call waiting for him. He didn't know what good it would do to try and talk with Lindsey again. The woman had already proven to be completely intransigent. And, after hearing from Bloom about her actions that morning, Brian didn't think she'd be any more open to persuasion than before. But for the sake of his son, he thought he'd best give it one more try.

“Lindsey,” Brian said into the phone as soon as he'd picked up the line.

“Finally! You really need to talk with that snotty bitch you have answering your phones, Brian. She is the rudest person I've ever met,” Lindsey started in on her complaints without any preliminary greeting.

“Cynthia was doing her job - which includes telling personal callers I can't be disturbed when I'm already on the phone with a paying client,” Brian barked back, his resolve to try and remain calm already faltering. “Now, what is so hellfire important that it couldn't wait twenty minutes, huh?”

“Well excuse me for trying to protect you and your good name from getting dragged through the muck! I'm sure that's not as important as kissing some rich client’s ass . . .”

Brian cut her off before Lindsey could get a full head of steam on her ranting. “Okay, first of all, my clients pay me a lot of money and therefore deserve to get as much ass kissing as they want. And, secondly, where the fuck do you get this crap about ‘my good name’? You’ve met my parents. The name ‘Kinney’ has never meant anything other than ‘Ignorant Drunken Mick’. There’s not much good name there to bother with and, whatever it is you’re going on about, couldn’t possibly make it any worse.”

“Very funny, Brian. But I’m being serious here,” Lindsey chastised angrily. “I happened to stop into the Bloom Gallery this morning. Those idiots have put up crap by your little PC whore on their walls and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, they’re listing it under the name ‘Justin Kinney’. I told Bloom to take it down immediately but he wouldn’t listen to me. You have to do something about this immediately, before anyone we know see's it.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Lindsey was practically screaming over the phone line now. “You can’t do this, Brian. You’ve had your fun playing the unconventional rebel, or whatever it is you think you're doing by purchasing a PC, but this is going too far. Now you’re flaunting it all over the city? And letting the slutty piece of tail use YOUR name? Don't you care what people are going to think? Don’t you care about me or your son? You know I’ve told people that you’re Gus’ father, right? If you don’t do something about this, they’re going to associate not only you but me with that kind of filth! You may not care about yourself or your reputation, Brian, but I will NOT have you doing this to your son or to me!”

Brian huffed a huge sigh and sank back into his chair in frustration while he thought about how to answer this diatribe. “Lindz . . . I really don’t understand why you're so upset about the gallery displaying some of Justin’s art. Why would that offend you? The pictures are not sexually explicit. There’s nothing inherently offensive about the art at all. And how, exactly, is this going to affect YOU at all?”

“Sidney is touting the fact that the work is done by a PC!” Lindsey shouted back, as if that explained all, but Brian remained silent. “He’s got it listed right there on the placard on the wall. AND he’s let that whore use YOUR name? It’s like he’s throwing the slut and that entire offensive PC lifestyle in the faces of everyone who comes into the gallery. It’s unacceptable!”

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned quietly. Trying to get through to someone so blindly incensed about something that they couldn’t even think logically was a daunting prospect. Of course, that was the problem with prejudice of any kind - it wasn’t a rational response and the people subject to it generally weren’t open to hearing anything that didn’t already support their own opinions. But he’d never expected to see this reaction in his friend. There had to be some underlying reason for such over the top antipathy. Maybe he could still reach Lindsey if he could figure this out.

“Lindz, I get that you don’t like PCs. You’ve said that over and over. But I still don’t understand why,” Brian said, trying to keep his voice modulated and his tone nonjudgmental. “You grew up with the PC set, right? I would think, even if you didn’t approve of the practice, that you wouldn’t be so shocked just by being around a PC. So, please, explain to me what it is that makes you so set against ANYONE who’s a PC. I want to understand.”

“I don’t want to go into that right now, Brian. Besides, it has nothing to do with this gallery thing. You just need to fix this,” Lindsey insisted.

“I think it has everything to do with this discussion, Lindsey,” Brian pressed adamantly. “You’ve been going on and on about how much you despise Justin but you’ve never even said one single word to the kid. Which tells me that you must have some other reason to hate him and I really want to know what that could possibly be. Because the Justin I know is the sweetest fucking kid I’ve ever met and he doesn’t deserve all the shit you’re saying about him.”

“Well, you WOULD say that, wouldn’t you. I mean, you are fucking him, so of course you think he’s the hottest piece of ass you’ve ever seen and that he can do no wrong,” Lindsey’s voice over the phone line sounded absolutely disgusted. “You’re just like all the rest, aren’t you, Brian? You know, sometimes I have to agree with Mel and her more militant friends about their opinions on men: gay, straight or otherwise, anything with a dick simply can’t be trusted. The males of the species really will do anything their dicks tell them to do, won’t they?”

“Whoa! Back up there, Missy,” Brian yelled back at his friend, his cool totally blown by such a seemingly tangential attack. “How does who I'm fucking or what I do with my dick have any bearing on YOUR prejudice against PCs? You're the one with a problem here, Lindsey, not me.”

“You sound JUST like my FATHER!” howled the woman on the phone, the outburst so vitriolic that it gave Brian pause. “Accusing everyone else of being unreasonable while you just ignore your responsibilities, throw propriety out the window and continue rutting away with your whore! Well, I can tell you one thing, Brian Kinney, I’m not my mother. I won’t sit meekly by and watch without saying a word. She might have been content to do nothing, trying to maintain appearances at the Country Club even while my father ran off with his slutty little PC bitch, set her up in a fabulous townhouse, spent most of his inheritance on her and even sired a bastard on the whore, but I won’t. I will NOT let you make that mistake, Brian!” When a stunned Brian still didn’t respond, Lindsey must have recalled at least some of her self-control because the next words were a little less voluble. “I won’t let you ruin your reputation and waste your money, Brian. I’m your friend and the mother of your child. I care about you too much to let you fall into the same trap. My father didn’t see the mess he’d made of his life until it was too late. His bitch had already used him to set herself and her kid up in style before he discovered she’d had an illicit lover for more than a year, but by then it was too late to do much other than sell her ass off. And my parents’ relationship was never the same afterwards. I won’t let you get taken like that, Brian. I just won’t!”

Brian sank back into his chair and sighed. At least he now had his answer. He’d always known that Lindsey had unresolved Daddy Issues, but this . . . yeah, this. It really was no wonder she had problems with PCs considering her history. But that still didn’t mean she was right with regard to her attitude towards Justin. All it meant was that the woman needed some serious, long-term therapy. It also didn’t mean that Brian was going to change his mind about Justin any time soon.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Lindsey,” Brian responded, his voice once again calm and quiet. “I’m also sorry you had a bad experience with one PC, although, I suspect there was a lot more to it than your parents let on. But that still doesn’t excuse your generalized prejudice against all PCs, let alone your bias against Justin in particular.” Brian paused only long enough to take a breath but then hurried on before Lindsey could fully voice the objection she was already starting in on. “Nothing you could say is going to change my mind about Justin, Lindsey. I’m not going to tell Bloom to take down Justin’s pictures and I’m sure as hell not backing out of my promise to purchase his contract. I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks of me because of my association with him, so you might as well notch down the outrage.”

“Brian . . .” Lindsey tried again to voice her complaints but her friend was tired of listening.

“Brian, nothing. I’m done with this conversation, Lindsey,” Brian cut her off. “Don’t bother calling again unless and until you’re ready to apologize to both Justin and myself, because I’m giving Cynthia orders not to put through any more of your calls for the foreseeable future. Get some help, Lindz.”

Brian deliberately hung up the phone, thereby silencing the ongoing arguments he could still hear even as he dropped the phone into its cradle. He shook his head again, both to express his disgust with Lindsey’s behavior and to clear away the continuing thoughts of her confused neuroses. At least it was somewhat comforting to think that he wasn’t the only one who came from a totally fucked up family. Even the rich kids from the upper crust of society sometimes got to experience the joys of a dysfunctional home life. He just hoped that Lindsey and her own personal brand of dysfunction would stay the fuck out of his business for a while.

********

After Brian hung up on Lindsey, he finally got a chance to settle into the real work that had been waiting for him. He spent the rest of his Monday going over background information for the two or three APC companies that Cynthia had put him in contact with. He would be meeting with one of these guys - the contractor - on Wednesday and wanted to have a well-founded initial pitch ready to go for him. He had Cynthia email specs for some artwork off to Justin that afternoon. He hoped the boy wasn’t so caught up in his painting that he didn’t see the email, but even so, they could work on it together that evening. The boy seemed to enjoy working on stuff together with Brian, so that was something to look forward to.

Brian was also looking forward to the other enjoyable things he and the boy could do together, now that the kid seemed to have overcome his aversion to touching. Thinking back on the boy’s over-the-top enthusiasm the night before put a real smile on Brian's face. Not to mention the way the kid had clung to him when it was time for Brian to head off to work. He'd never really had much use for the sweet little twink type before, but even an Insensitive Stud like Brian had to admit that adulation on that scale was pleasing. He hadn't been kidding when he'd referred to the PC as ‘adorable’.

The only thing that gave him pause was the niggling worry that it might have been too soon to venture into a full-fledged sexual relationship. Brian didn’t want to reinforce Justin’s assumption that he wasn’t good for anything beyond sex. Something in the way the kid was trying to tempt him to stay, the way he’d seemed almost too eager to please, made the new PC Owner the tiniest bit uncomfortable. Even though he’d tried to put Justin in charge of the physical side of things, he still wasn’t sure that the boy had pushed himself to take on that role solely for the pleasure of it. Brian knew he had to be careful. Not that he didn’t want to explore more of that side with the kid, but he had to remind himself not to push. He already felt like he was walking a delicate tightrope where the kid’s consent was concerned and he didn’t want to fall off on the wrong side.

Before he had time to get too bogged down in his worries though, Brian was pulled out of his musings by the vibration of his cell phone. He picked the device up off the desk and noted the caller, surprised to see the name ‘Emmy Lou’ appear on the screen. Brian didn’t think he’d ever got a call from Emmett before. He only had the number in his contact list because he - very rarely - employed his friend’s shopping expertise. But if Emmett was calling him, it must be important.

“Kinney,” he barked his usual, succinct, non-greeting.

“Hey, Brian! It’s me - the one and only Emmett Honeycutt - your favorite fashion maven! Bet you didn’t expect to get a call from me, did you? Although, I’m not sure why. We HAVE been friends for ages, but I don’t feel like we really talk enough. You know, we really should make it a point to have a little chat every now and then so we can catch up. We don’t HAVE to put it off until we meet up at Woody’s or Babylon . . .”

“Stop already!” Brian cut short the blathering before the loquacious queen could get any further. “Have I ever given you the impression that I’m the sort that actually enjoys ‘chatting’, Honeycutt? No. I’m pretty sure I haven’t. So, can you please get to the point already.”

“Don’t call me ‘Honeycutt’!” Em admonished in a disgusted tone. “And you shouldn’t be so mean to me, Brian. Not when I’m doing you a favor by calling in the first place. Or maybe you don’t want to hear the intel I have on that electronics store guy you’ve been asking about all around town?”

“Electronics guy? You mean, Craig Taylor?” Brian was suddenly very interested in hearing what his gossipy friend had to say.

“That’s the one! Although I’m not sure what I heard is gonna make you happy though . . .”

“Happy or not, tell me what you know, Emmy Lou,” Brian demanded.

“Weeeeellllll. You know how you said the other night when we were out at the club to ask around about the guy? So, I’ve been putting out feelers, you know, and it just so happened that one of my customers at Torso this afternoon knows someone who’s brother used to work for Taylor. And Gary - that’s the sweetheart who was looking for a new clubbing outfit for Friday night - gave me the name of his friend, who it turns out is an old workout buddy of Ben’s from Ript Gym. I recognized the guy’s name right away because I had the biggest crush on him about six months ago. Although, when I finally got the nerve up to ask him out, he turned me down, but that’s neither here nor there, right . . .”

“Emmett! Focus here!” Brian complained. “I do NOT need to know the entire life history of every fag you’ve ever talked to. I just want to know what the fuck all this has to do with Taylor.”

“I’m getting to that, Brian. Sheesh! Have a little patience, already . . . Anyway, Jorge - that’s the gorgeous, buff, gym guy - said his brother, Sami, was a Sales Associate at Taylor Electronics up until about two years ago. He was one of their top sales guys at the time, but he happened to make the mistake of speaking up when Taylor started putting up political posters opposing that bill to stop Gay Conversion Therapy. Sami isn’t even gay, himself, but he took exception to Taylor’s stance on behalf of his brother and confronted Taylor, asking that his boss take the posters down. Well, apparently Taylor just went totally apeshit crazy on the guy. He was ranting and raving, yelling, quoting fire and brimstone bible passages like some full-on Baptist preacher dude, and scaring the crap out of pretty much everyone in the place. And, when he was done, he fired Sami on the spot.”

Emmett stopped only long enough to take a quick breath before he hurried on with his story. “As if that wasn’t enough, though, Jorge says that there was this distributor’s rep in the store at time - a big wig from Bang & Olufsen, no less - who WAS gay. That guy got totally pissed off at Taylor and . . . the long and the short of it is that B&O pulled their entire line of products out of all the Taylor stores. According to Jorge, it’s been a major loss for Taylor because the guy sort of marketed himself as THE local seller of high end electronics and now he can’t offer his customers anything from B&O. But Taylor is adamant that he WON’T apologize and says he won’t sell any ‘Fairy Crap’ in his stores - apparently he insists that he didn’t want his stores or his name associated with the kind of faggots they have running B&O.”

Brian was silent as he mulled over this very telling piece of information. It all made sense now. This was the one piece of the puzzle they hadn’t yet figured out - why Taylor would agree to the outrageous deal that Hobbs and Stockwell had proposed. Because no father would voluntarily contract out his son to be a Personal Companion unless he had no other choice, right? Unless, of course, that father was an unthinking, homophobic bigot and had just found out his son was gay . . .

“Brian? You still there, Brian?” Emmett’s voice finally penetrated his friend’s haze of thought. “Is that the information you were looking for?”

“I’m here. And, yeah, that’s exactly what I was looking for. Thanks, Emmy Lou,” Brian replied gratefully. “Do you think you can get me your friend’s brother’s name and a phone number? I need to talk to him myself.”

“Sure. That shouldn’t be a problem.” After a delay of a few seconds, Emmett asked one more thing. “This isn’t about a client of yours, is it?” Brian didn’t respond at all, letting the dead air over the phone line speak for him instead. Em hesitatingly continued, “Jorge said something else that got me thinking . . . he mentioned that his brother thought it was funny that this Craig Taylor guy - the one that was such a total homophobe - had a son that was gay - and that pretty much everyone except Taylor knew it. Only, he said that the son later got bashed, and afterwards nobody knew what happened to him. The kid sort of dropped out of sight . . .”

Damn! Emmett was far smarter than that slow southern drawl would have one believe. If he could figure it all out, though, it wouldn’t be long before everyone else did too.

“Em . . .”

“I won’t say anything, Brian. I promise. Just, please, tell me that you’re going to take care of this and help our Baby. He really doesn’t deserve this, you know.” Emmett pleaded.

“No. He doesn’t deserve this,” Brian agreed, but without promising anything, because he didn’t yet know what he could promise.

“You’re doing a good thing, Brian Kinney. Keep up the good work,” Emmett added with a return of his usual optimism before adding, “well . . . okay. I know you’re doing what you can. Let me know if I can help in ANY way. Talk to you later, Bri,” and then hanging up.

Chapter 34 - Nobody & Nothing.

*Knock, knock*

Brian looked up from his computer to find Cynthia standing in his doorway. He quickly looked at the time and realized it was after three. No wonder she was hovering. If he didn’t get a move on he’d be late for his appointment at the bank.

“I take it you’re here serving as my wake up call?” Brian said as he quickly saved his work and exited out of the program he’d been working with.

“You got it, Boss,” Cynthia came in with a big smile on her face and her ubiquitous tablet in her hand. “Don’t forget that you have another appointment with Dr Ruby tomorrow morning,” she reminded her boss as she skimmed through his calendar. “How’s that going, by the way? Is she helping at all?”

“It’s . . . Surprisingly not horrible,” Brian responded with an almost bashful half-smile, which for Brian Kinney was pretty fucking remarkable praise as far as Cynthia was concerned.

“Good. I’m glad she’s helping. I gotta say that Justin seems to be loosening up just a bit already. When I sent him those specs for the Allegheny Building Coalition account this morning, he actually replied with two full words: ‘Got it’,” Cynthia laughed quietly at the happy surprise she saw on Brian’s face. “It’s the first time he’s responded with actual words, so I’m going to consider that progress. Hell, at this rate he might actually talk to us by Christmas or so.” When Brian just smiled some more, his uncharacteristic grin waxing even brighter than before, Cynthia gasped. “He’s talking to you already, isn’t he? That’s wonderful, Brian!”

“Yep. The kid’s a regular little chatterbox when he wants to be,” Brian joked but was still proud of his boy’s progress nonetheless. Cynthia looked dubious. “Well, okay, he may never become the president of Toastmasters, but he IS talking. A little.”

Cynthia watched the sheen of happy pride wash over her boss’ face and felt so captivated by this altruistic yet self-effacing man. She couldn’t resist. She immediately walked around the desk, reached down with both hands to tilt Brian’s face upwards and then planted a huge kiss on the man’s unsuspecting lips right then and there.

“You, Brian Kinney, are the kindest and most astounding man I’ve ever known,” she announced without letting go of the man’s face while Brian sputtered and tried to push her away.

“I mean this in the nicest way, Cynthia, but fuck off,” the embarrassed man protested as he peeled her fingers away from his chin.

“I’m serious, Brian. You are being so wonderful to that boy. I don’t think anyone else could have done what you’re doing - even assuming they would have tried. The way he was at the beginning, I seriously doubted that he’d ever recover enough to break through that scared, hurt shell. And I definitely didn’t think it would happen this quickly. But you’re going above and beyond trying to help Justin and you deserve to have someone tell you how truly unselfish and amazing that really is. So I’m going to tell you, and you’re going to listen,” Cynthia insisted. Brian didn’t say anything in response, he just looked away, not meeting the woman’s eyes.

“Okay. Enough said,” Cyn relented, realizing she’d reached the end of her unassuming boss’ tolerance for praise, and turning back to the calendar on her tablet. “Let Justin know we’ll need his work on the Allegheny Builders’ presentation by noon tomorrow so I can get everything finalized before your meeting on Wednesday morning. Knowing how thorough he is, though, it shouldn’t take long to get it all ready for you.” She tapped on a couple more items on the computer and recited the list off to the Bossman, who nodded or commented as needed on each. “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she added at the end of the discussion. “I finally got Justin an appointment with that physical therapist. He can see you on Wednesday afternoon. I set up a tentative appointment for you guys for 4:30. If that’s not good, just let me know and I can change it.”

“I think that’s doable,” Brian assured her. “Good job on that, Cyn. I want Justin to get started on therapy as soon as possible. As much as I’m using him for my ad work, not to mention all the drawing and painting he’s been doing lately, his hand has got to be bothering him. The sooner we get started with that PT, the better.”

They spoke for about two more minutes, going over a few more instructions and sorting through a couple more calendar conflicts before Brian stood up and grabbed his briefcase. “Okay, I’m off to the bank. Time to sign away my life, or at least my home . . .”

“Like I said, before,” Cynthia smiled as she helped Brian on with his jacket, “above and beyond.”

“I’m just glad to get this part of the whole mess over with. With the money from the refi of my loft, and the quarterly bonuses that Vance owes me for PC Clearinghouse and the other accounts I closed over the past three months, I should just about be able to pay off Justin’s contract. And the sooner I’ve got that done, the sooner I can finally relax and maybe get my life back to some semblance of normality.” Brian tipped his head at his Assistant in lieu of goodbye and strode purposefully down the hall towards the elevators.

********

Cynthia went back to her desk and spent most of the next hour doing some more research on Craig Taylor, following up on the info Emmett had given Brian earlier in the day. She was able to track down Emmett’s friend’s brother and talked to him for quite a while. He was able to give her the name of the B&O rep who'd taken offense at Taylor's words. The rep, who's name was Carter Lawrence, and who had since been promoted to a regional VP position in his company, was more than happy to relay to Cynthia his version of what had happened. He REALLY was not fond of Taylor. Mr. Lawrence told her that B&O wasn't the only company that had blackballed Taylor Electronics. Lawrence also relayed some intel on the various conservative political groups and charities he knew of that Taylor supported - all of which pursued rampantly anti-LGBTQ agendas. Cynthia was able to confirm all the allegations by accessing the various organizations’ donations records. It was pretty clear that Taylor was the worst kind of homophobe.

Cynthia added copies of her new research to the file she'd already compiled. It seemed pretty clear to her what had happened to poor Justin. Between the Hobbs kid, Stockwell and his monster of a father, the boy hadn’t really had a chance once the fact he was gay had come out. But now that they had all this proof, hopefully she and Brian could fix things and get Justin’s contract nullified. They just had to find someone in authority that would listen to their story and take the appropriate action. She’d work on finding that someone the following day, after she had a chance to talk to her APC contacts.

Gathering together all her materials, Cynthia headed to the copy room, intending to make several additional complete copies. Maybe she was being overly paranoid, but this was too important to leave any details to chance. Brian could make fun of her if he wanted. She was still going to take whatever precautions necessary to make sure nothing happened to this info.

When Cynthia saw the line at the main copier, though, she quickly walked on by. Not only did she not want to wait in line, the copy project she had in hand wasn’t precisely agency business, which meant she didn’t really need any of the other office busibodies looking over her shoulder. Instead, she decided to sneak into Vance’s private copy room and borrow his copier. She didn’t think that Sandy, Vance’s Assistant, would mind even if she did catch her. Sandy almost never made her own copies anyway - she always farmed those types of jobs off on an intern - meaning that Vance’s small yet efficient copier usually just sat there idle.

The wily Office Maven was in luck, though. Right as she rounded the corner of the executive offices wing, Sandy’s phone rang. The CEO’s assistant swiveled her desk chair around towards the apparatus, conveniently presenting her back to the door into the small satellite copy room, allowing Cyn to easily slip in without being observed. Just as Cynthia was about to pull the door closed behind her, though, she caught a very interesting piece of Sandy’s phone conversation.

“Hello, Mr. Lapointe. How can I help you this afternoon . . . I’m so sorry, but Mr. Vance is out of the office for about an hour or so. Is there anything at all that I can do for you? . . . I don’t know if he’s available to meet with you tonight. This is rather short notice . . . I see. Well, if it’s that important . . . That does sound serious . . . Alright, I’ll call Mr. Vance right away and advise him about what’s going on. If it’s as important as you say, I think he’ll make time to meet with you . . . What time should he plan to be at your house? . . . Yes, I think 7:00 pm would be fine . . . Okay. I’ll call you right back to confirm everything . . . Of course, Mr. Lapointe. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

From her vantage point looking through the ajar copy room door, Cynthia could see Sandy hang up the phone, pick up the message book she’d been using to jot down notes from her call, and then trot off in the direction of Vance’s office. She was probably off to pull the PC Clearinghouse files before she called Vance. Cynthia couldn’t tell what the call from Lapointe was all about, but she’d heard enough to know that whatever it was was NOT good.

She quickly darted back out of Vance’s copy room and ran down the hallway to the main copy center where she proceeded to pull rank and pushed her way to the front of the line. No longer bothering to try and be surreptitious about what she was copying, she just went for it, and quickly ran off five full copies of everything. There would be one she would keep for herself, one for Brian of course, one for Justin since he was the one with the most to gain or lose from this endeavor, one that they could give to some outside source as their backup and the last for whomever they planned to send the evidence to. That should be plenty, Cynthia hoped.

As soon as the copying was finished, she rushed back to her office, put each copy in it’s own manilla file and secreted them all in her bag. Then she looked around the office as she leaned back in her chair and tried to think about what she’d heard a few minutes earlier. Something about the conversation gave her an uneasy feeling in her gut.

Lapointe shouldn’t be calling Vance behind Brian’s back. Brian was the exec in charge of the PC Clearinghouse account. If Lapointe had any problems with the account, he should be calling Brian, not Vance. And since Brian had only just started working on the client’s ad campaign - meaning that there wouldn’t be anything ready to present to the client for weeks yet - there really was no reason at all for Lapointe to be calling. It was all very suspicious and very disturbing.

Cynthia wasn’t a fool, though. She wasn’t going to just sit back, do nothing and hope it was all nothing to worry about. She wasn’t the type to just wait and see. She had always been the proactive type. She wasn’t going to change now, either. So, just in case there was something untoward going down, Cynthia decided to hedge her bets - and Brian’s too. With a nod of her head, she vaulted to her feet, and started to gather together the most important files and documents she had. Using the camscanner app on her phone, she quickly scanned everything possible and emailed copies to her private gmail account. She made sure to get copies of the current client contact lists and the contracts for all of Brian’s accounts. Then she gathered up all of Brian’s personal papers and files and added those to the other docs waiting in her bag. If she was wrong, and it turned out that nothing came of Vance’s clandestine meeting with Lapointe, she could just delete all the files she’d scanned and put Brian’s stuff back. But, if anything did happen, at least Brian’s private documents and all the data he’d need on his clients would be safe.

As soon as she had everything she could think of, Cynthia shut down her computer, picked up her bag and headed out for the day. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice how overloaded her shoulder bag was that evening. She hoped she was wrong and she’d just walk back in the next morning without any drama . . .

********

‘Stop your fucking sniveling, boy!’ the Handler snarled at him.

The next lash with the hollow plastic tubing landed squarely across the boy’s shoulder blades causing him to cry out even though he'd promised himself not to. His back stung from the seemingly endless beating and each additional stroke hurt just a little bit more when added on top of those that had already come before. He supposed it could have been worse. At least the hosing they used for these ‘discipline’ sessions didn’t leave any lasting marks or break the skin. Unlike the metal cuffs that secured his wrists above his head to the chain link fencing - they were digging into his flesh from where he’d unconsciously been tugging at them as he tried to avoid the worst of the lashing. He'd most likely get yelled at for that too. The Handler didn’t like his stock getting damaged in any way. Not unless HE was the one in charge of the damaging.

‘You're nobody. You hear me? NOBODY!’ The lash that punctuated that statement struck across his lower back, adding to the bruising over his kidneys and causing him to groan again. ‘You’re a PC now, boy. You don’t have a name. You don’t have a life. You don’t matter at all. All that does matter is that pretty face and that exceptionally plump ass - those are the only attributes your owner is going to care about. Well, that and how he can use them to give himself pleasure. Hahahaha!’

Another slash to the backs of his thighs, a spot which seemed to be particularly sensitive, and therefore particularly painful, was followed by a series of additional strokes pelting his back. The boy gave up trying to avoid the pain. It was too much. He let his head droop until it was resting against the fence and just gave up. It was easier than fighting. He would just accept the pain and hope that it would end soon. Maybe this time the Handler would go too far and kill him. He really hoped so. It was the only way this nightmare would ever end.

‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you, boy? Well, fuck you! You know nothing!’ Another bruising lash to his shoulders. ‘You don't deserve to have thoughts or opinions of your own anymore. Now that you're a PC you don’t get the privilege of thinking for yourself. I’ll tell you what you can think. What you can believe. What you can fucking FEEL! And until you finally get that fact of life through your thick skull, boy, we’re going to keep having these fun little teaching sessions.’

The boy barely even heard the last sentence. The world around him was begining to get fuzzy around the edges and the light seemed to dim. Even the whipping of the hose against his back seemed to hurt less. He felt his knees giving out, which caused a momentary jolt of pain through his abused wrists, but then that too started to fade away.

‘Oh no you don’t!’ This time the words were accompanied by a shocking splash of icy cold water hitting his face. The boy jerked back to full consciousness, panting through the waves of renewed pain that came with the revived awareness. ‘That’s better. We’re not through. Not even close. Because you haven’t yet learned your lesson, have you boy? HAVE YOU?’ The handler screamed in his ear, his face so close that the youth could feel the man’s acrid breath tickling against his skin, causing him to jerk away more violently than any of the whipping had so far.

Of course, that only made the Handler chuckle. ‘Awww, Cupcake, why do you have to be like this? Why do you fight me? You know you only make things harder on yourself, right?’ A meaty paw reached up to roughly caress the boy’s cheek, the fingers trailing over his temple and then sifting through the sweat-matted hair in an almost intimate gesture. However the caressing fingers ended up knotted in the blond tresses, the gesture turning sadistic as the hand gripped a handful of hair and used it to yank the boy’s head backward angrily. ‘You’re so fucking stubborn, aren’t you? Well, that’s not going to help you in the end. Fight me all you want, boy, but you aren’t going to win. I WILL break you. I break everyone eventually. the sooner you realize that, the sooner this will be over.’

The handler released his grip on the boy’s hair with a shove hard enough to send the young man’s face crashing into the metal mesh of the fencing in front of him. This new pain caused little flashes of light across his vision. He could feel a trickle of blood dripping down from his throbbing nose over his top lip. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth as he licked the drops away.

‘Are you ready for this to end, boy?’ The Handler whispered in his ear. ‘All you have to do to make the pain stop, is say it. Just say, Yes, Master, and I’ll let you go back to your cell. That’s not so hard, is it?’ The Handler ran his hand gently over the boy’s back, petting him as he offered up this simple and oh-so-reasonable way to end all the pain.

The boy was so tired. He really did want this to end. Giving in would be so easy. It made perfect sense, too. All he had to do was say the words and this would be over. Right? So, why was he being so intransigent? This stubborn refusal to speak was completely illogical. It just caused him more pain. More suffering. More anguish. Why couldn't he just give in and accept his fate? His father had contracted him out. He was a PC now. This was his life. It wouldn’t do any good to fight. He knew he couldn’t win. He would do it. He would say the words and end this . . .

‘SAY IT!’ the Handler demanded, his patience giving out a split second before the boy would have complied.

The man’s hand, the one that a moment before had been softly rubbing his sore shoulders, now moved to a particularly bruised patch of tissue just at the nape of the boy’s neck and pressed into the spot. Hard. The surge of pain was like an electric shock to the boy’s system. The words that he’d been about to utter died on his lips. Instead of speaking, his jaws clamped tightly shut, smothering even the groan that the pain was trying to force out.

Fuck it! He wasn’t going to give in. Not ever. They could take everything away from him. His life. His hopes. His body. But he would never give in. The boy would never give this monster the satisfaction of HEARING him admit to his subjugation. He knew it wasn’t much of a rebellion. It wouldn’t change anything. But it was all he had left and he wasn’t going to give that to these men too. They could do what they wanted with his body, since there was no way he could stop them, but he’d keep his words, his mind, and his soul for himself.

And he would never, ever, trust anyone with those again.

*Click, click, rattle, clank*

The sound of the loft door being unlocked and then rolling open along the metal track that held it in place tore the boy out of his memories.

He didn’t remember when he’d found his way to the couch or how long he’d been sitting there lost in the pain of his past. He’d felt unsettled all day. After the Master had left him that morning, he’d tried to be productive. He’d painted for a few hours, but wasn’t really feeling inspired. Then, when the email had come through from Cynthia, he’d worked on the ads that the Master needed for a few more hours. But nothing seemed to relieve the jittery feeling in his gut. By three in the afternoon he’d finally given himself over to pacing the loft and worrying. Apparently, at some point, he’d transitioned from pacing to huddling on the couch as the flashbacks overwhelmed him completely.

“Hey, Sunshine!” The Master’s voice echoed loudly off the open beams of the loft’s ceiling as he strode through the door, hung up his coat on the wall hook, and then walked over to the desk to deposit his briefcase in it’s usual spot. Then he approached the boy with a big smile on his handsome face. ”What are you doing over here all curled up on the couch again? I thought we’d gotten past that stage, Sunshine. I was hoping to come home and find you doing something all artsy.”

The boy realized how self-indulgent and unproductive he’d been all afternoon and immediately slid to his knees on the floor at the Master’s feet with his head bowed so low that his forehead touched the coolness of the wooden floorboards.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s this all about, Sunshine?” The Master sounded angry, but the boy couldn’t move so he just huddled there, trembling, waiting for his punishment. “Justin? Justin, get up from there. You know I hate the whole kneeling at my feet thing. Get up, already,” he demanded, so the boy gathered his resolve and climbed to his feet. “That’s a little better,” the Master said, reaching out to lift up the boy’s submissively bent head and causing the boy to flinch at his touch. “Shit! I’m gone for just over nine hours and we’re back to the no-touching thing again already? What’s wrong, Sunshine? Why won’t you even look at me?”

The gentle fingers traced along the boy’s jawline then over and around the shell-like ear. The boy tried to remain still, to not give in to the seductive touches, to keep himself separate, but his body betrayed him and he found himself leaning into the warmth of the man’s caress. He knew he shouldn’t let himself surrender to this man. He couldn’t believe how weak he’d been the night before. He couldn’t believe that he’d let the man talk him into giving up so much control. But it was only a momentary setback. The boy was sure he could regather the shreds of his defenses and retreat to a safe emotional distance again. He just had to be strong. He had to resist. He couldn’t let anyone get that far under his walls. It would kill him if he let someone in only to be betrayed yet again. He wouldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear it.

It took everything he had, but the boy managed to pull away from the Master’s touch, wrenching his head to the side.

“Stop it, Sunshine,” the Master ordered, his hand dropping down to firmly grip the boy’s shoulder. “It's just me. You know I won't hurt you.” The Master took that last half a step closer and then slid both his arms around the thin shoulders with a slow but determined motion. “See? You're fine. It's just me.” The boy stiffened at the touch, his spine rigid and unyielding as he fought the urge to melt into the comforting embrace. But the Master held on, slowly tightening his arms, pulling the smaller body closer with every breath. “That's it, Sunshine. Just relax. Let me take care of you.” Against his will the boy felt his body following directions. “You're like a little wild animal, aren't you, Sunshine? I have to keep reminding you that you're safe with me. Don't worry, though, I won't give up on you. We’ll keep working on this till we figure it out. You'll see. It's gonna be okay. Shhh. You're fine, Sunshine. You're just fine.”

The boy hadn't realized he was crying until he heard the Master’s consolatory words and recognized the sobbing sounds for what they were. That's when he finally let himself collapse against the expansive warmth of the larger man’s chest. He knew he was a pathetic, weak, little faggot - just like his father had said - but he couldn't help it. It felt so good to be held like that. To be comforted when he was scared. To listen to the soothing nonsense words. To imagine that someone might actually care about him. He wrapped his own arms around the Master’s waist and squeezed for all he was worth, trying to reassure himself that this moment wasn't going to slip away and leave him lost and alone again.

“Hey! Where'd my brave little Sunshine go, huh?” the Master teased him a few minutes later, once his sobs had finally died down to sniffles. “Did something bad happen today? Something scare you?” The boy shook his head, no, but then shrugged too, because he had been scared - then again, he was always scared, so it wasn't really anything new. “Alright. Maybe you'll tell me what brought all this on later. But you do know you can call me if you need to, right? You don't have to sit here all day, all alone, worrying your little blond noggin off till you can’t think straight. The next time this happens, please, just pick up the phone and call me, okay?”

The boy inhaled deeply, taking in the comfort of the man’s warm, musky aroma, the scent making something in his stomach do a little contented flip-flop. He loved the way Brian smelled right then; warm, clearly masculine, and slightly sweaty after a long day at work. Something about that aroma seemed to allay all his previous fears, defying logical analysis and making all the boy’s doubts and fears seem ephemeral. Right at that precise moment, he wanted to believe that everything was going to be alright. He wanted to trust in Brian's words. He wanted, so much, to BE Sunshine. But he was self-aware enough to realize that the small, frightened, nameless boy who was too hurt to trust would probably always return. And when that happened, his first instinct, just like a wounded beast, would be to hide, withdraw into himself, and lick his wounds in silence.

Brian must have sensed the boy’s indecision. He squeezed the young man in his arms again and sighed deeply. “Do you need me to make this an order, Sunshine?” he asked. Without looking up the boy nodded his head, causing the Master to chuckle quietly. “Fine. Consider this Standing Order Number Three. Anytime - ANYtime- you're alone and start feeling scared or freaked out for ANY reason, you WILL call me. Do you hear? You don't have to speak if you don't want - like Debbie told you before, I'll know it's you even if you don't say anything - but you need to call. Okay?” Brian released his tight embrace enough so he could tilt the boy’s face up and see into the gemstone-bright blue eyes. The boy managed a tiny, insecure smile, and nodded. “Good. Because I don’t like seeing you this upset, Sunshine,” Brian whispered, offering his own smile in return.

The boy could hear the overwhelming sincerity in the man’s words. Between that, the reassuring feel of the big warm body enveloping him, and the kind look on Brian's handsome face, the boy felt the last vestiges of his panic and fear evaporating.

Sunshine reached up boldly, hooked his hand around the back of Brian's neck and pulled the tall man down until their lips met. Brian kissed his boy back enthusiastically. Sunshine sighed and let himself enjoy the sensation, reveling in the sense of acceptance he got just from knowing that Brian was there and that he DID care. He felt so much stronger when Brian was with him. He felt like Sunshine.

Maybe he wasn't ‘Nobody’ after all, Sunshine thought fleetingly before Brian cradled his head with one large hand and deepened the kiss, causing all other thoughts to momentarily disappear.

********

Chapter 35 - PC Tricking and Jealousy.

Brian was just getting into the kissing, enjoying the feel of the pliant boy in his arms and the firm, warm lips pressing against his own, when they were interrupted by the annoying sound of the loft’s phone ringing. He was tempted to ignore it. Judging by the timing alone, the caller was more likely than not one Michael Novotny, calling to importune Brian to come out with him for the evening. Needless to say, that call didn’t seem nearly as important as letting his boy kiss the heck out him, but he also knew that Mikey wouldn’t give up calling until someone answered the phone. So, rather than have to ignore this call and the four others that were likely to follow, Brian reluctantly broke the kiss and trotted over to pick up the phone.

“You better not be calling to ask me to go out with you on a Monday, Mikey,” Brian answered without even bothering to look at the caller ID. Of course, he was absolutely correct about the identity of this caller, which was proven very quickly by the rampant whining he received in response. “No, Mikey . . . No . . . Because, I’ve told you a hundred times I refuse to go to Woody’s on Karaoke Night. Why the fuck would you think that I would have suddenly changed my mind tonight? . . .  Mikey . . . Fuck, Mikey! . . . Fine . . . I SAID fine . . . Yes, I’ll be there, but I don’t plan to be in a good mood and I WILL heckle every single karaoke singer that I have to listen to, so you better be prepared to be totally embarrassed by me and utterly regret making me do this . . . Whatever.”

Brian pressed the button to end the call and tossed the phone disgustedly onto the sofa cushion as he made his way back to where Justin was standing, silently waiting for him.

“Guess what, Sunshine?” Brian resumed his position and promptly rewrapped his arms around the yielding younger man. “We’re being forced to go out and listen to karaoke - AGAIN,” Brian deposited a propitiating kiss to Justin’s forehead as a sort of pseudo-apology on Mikey’s behalf. “Well, to be precise, I’M being forced to go out but, since I’m not about to leave you here all alone to brood all night, you’re going to have to come with me. Sound good?” The boy didn't say anything or even look up from where his face was pressed into the crook of Brian's neck. “I'll take that as your enthusiastic agreement with my plan, Sunshine.” Brian pulled back a little, leaving yet another kiss to the boy’s head - because Brian just couldn't seem to stop himself from always kissing him no matter how stupidly lesbianic the gesture seemed - and then grabbed hold of the youth’s hand so he could lead the docile blond towards the bedroom. “Okay, let's go make ourselves pretty for our public, Sunshine, and then we’ll hit the Diner on our way to Woody’s, so I can feed my houseplant.”

********

“By the way, I hear that congratulations are in order,” Ted commented to Brian in a confidential voice as the gang was leaving the Diner on the way to Woody’s. “I got an email from Tim at the bank just before I headed out tonight. It looks like all the paperwork on the loft refi is complete. The loan proceeds will hit your account first thing tomorrow morning. Did you want me to go ahead and send out a partial payment to PC Clearinghouse or would you rather wait till you've got the entire balance owed on Justin's contract together?”

“You might as well send out a payment now,” Brian confirmed, with a smile directed towards the young blond trotting along obediently at his side. “I hate feeling like there’s this huge obligation hanging over my head. The sooner I can get that fucking thing paid and be sure that Justin is safe, the better.”

“Will do, Bri,” Ted affirmed. “I’ll wire them the money first thing in the morning. With the loan proceeds and the other money I pulled out of your savings and such, you’ll be at least two-thirds of the way there. Maybe more.”

“Yep. And as soon as I can pry my quarterly bonus out of Vance’s greedy paws, I can pay the rest off and be done with that shit.” Brian draped an arm casually over Justin’s shoulders - his protective manner clearer than day to the accountant that was walking next to the pair.

“Hey, hurry up, guys,” Michael yelled from halfway up the block where he was waiting for them on the stairs going up to the bar’s entrance. “If we don’t get in there soon, all the good seats in the back will be taken and Brian will kill me because we’ll have to sit right by the stage.”

“Fucking Karaoke Night . . .” Brian mumbled with a little growl that raised a grin from the usually subdued PC next to him as well as from his old friend.

Ten minutes later, the entire crew was seated at an extra large booth as far away from the wailing amateur performers on the stage as possible. Brian had been placated with a glass of Beam while the rest of the group made due with a pitcher of semi-warm pilsner. Michael was beaming with anticipation over whatever the BIG news was that he had dragged everyone out that night to hear, but he wouldn’t say anything until Dr. Dave finally showed up to join them. Brian had already rolled his eyes so many times at his old friend’s ridiculously enthusiastic behavior that he was starting to get a headache. He hoped that the doc would get there soon or else Michael was going to pee his pants.

Meanwhile, Brian was surreptitiously watching the boy sitting as quietly as a church mouse next to him. Justin seemed even more subdued than usual this evening. He wondered what the fuck had the kid so squicked. After the night they’d spent together, and all the amazing progress that Justin had made over the weekend, he’d expected his PC to be all happy and smiles when he got home. Instead, he’d found a withdrawn, scared, downcast shadow of the boy he’d left that morning. Brian hated seeing the boy so cowed. He hated thinking about all the horrors the boy had suffered through and how those experiences would no doubt haunt him for the rest of his life. Even worse, Brian hated knowing that there was little or nothing he could do to help the PC, other than just being there when Justin needed to tap into his strength. If only Mikey and the Doc would hurry up with whatever fuckery they had planned for the night, he could take his PC back home and try to relieve some of the boy’s insecurities.

“David!” Brian was roused from his musing by Michael’s boisterous greeting as he jumped up from his seat and waved his arms energetically in the direction of the front door. “Over here, David!”

“Shit, Mikey! Sit down and stop waving your arms around like a love-sick chimpanzee. I’m sure the good doctor can find us without you bellowing at him like that,” Brian complained, throwing the plastic stir-stick from his drink at his friend to emphasize his point.

Michael shook his head at his disparaging friend but didn’t bother saying anything, and before anyone else could chime in, David was at the table and taking the empty seat left for him next to Michael. Brian still had to sit through a nauseating round of lovey-dovey greetings between the pair, as well as even more hellos from the rest of the group, before everyone settled down again. Brian didn't bother extending his own greeting - he really didn't like David enough to bother with polite public greetings. And, of course, Justin merely sat mutely at Brian’s side, clinging self-effacingly to his owner’s arm and not making eye contact with anyone.

For a while the chatter at the table almost completely drowned out the karaoke coming from the other side of the bar. Everyone traded stories about their weekend and shared their plans for the upcoming week. After all other possible topics of conversation were exhausted, Michael finally got around to making the big announcement that he’d insisted Brian had to be there to witness.

“So, David and I have some big news,” Michael began, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter in his chair as he spoke.

“You and David have finally consummated your relationship, turned into total lesbians and, since this is your fifth date, are now moving in together,” Brian butted in and announced, to the laugher of all except David and Michael.

“Brian!” Mikey complained.

“No? You haven’t yet consummated things? Shit, Mikey, if you don’t use it soon, it’s gonna fall off,” Brian teased even more, earning himself a barrage of cocktail fruit being thrown at his head from various points around the table amid a roar of laughter.

“Of course we’ve consummated . . . Shit! Brian, you ass, shut the fuck up and listen already,” Michael returned good-naturedly, catching himself from taking the bait at the last minute. “If you’d let me finish, I was going to tell you that David and I are going out of town this weekend. He’s taking me to his cabin in the country. And it does NOT mean we are turning into lesbians . . .”

There was a lot more joking around and teasing, and not all of it came from Brian. Michael was so happy about his budding romance and their getaway plans that he didn’t even care about the ribbing he was getting. Brian finally got tired of rolling his eyes at the icky, over-the-top melodrama of it all and offered to go get everyone another round of drinks just so he could escape. He peeled Justin’s fingers off his biceps, left the boy with a smile and a kiss to the top of his mop of blond, and then sauntered off towards the bar.

Considering the fairly small crowd at Woody’s that evening, Brian would have expected to get served a lot quicker. However there seemed to be a minor run on the bar right at the same time he arrived, which meant that he was left standing there cooling his heels. Luckily, standing right next to Brian, there was something to keep his attention - a tall drink of water with dark brown eyes shooting him that ‘I’d LOVE to suck you off’ look.

A quick look back at the table showed Brian that the group still had enough in their glasses to keep them busy for a few more minutes. Nobody would miss him just yet. He did feel a very brief twinge at the idea of leaving Justin alone after the day the boy had suffered through, but then he immediately shook it off. The kid was just fine sitting there with the gang. Brian was just being silly. And Mr. Suck-Face wouldn’t take too long . . .

Brian raised an eyebrow at Mr. Suck-Face and tilted his head towards the back hallway. Mr. Suck-Face’s pretty lips turned upwards in a happy grin and he nodded enthusiastically. Brian gestured that the man should lead the way. And, before you knew it, the two of them were in the handicap stall of the bathroom, with Mr. Suck-Face on his knees, Brian’s jeans around his ankles, and his dick inserted into the man’s willing and hungry mouth.

And it was good.

Well, mostly good. He did have to tell Mr. Suck-Face to ‘cover his teeth’ one time. And the guy’s work was satisfactory, but not by any means exceptional. Brian had definitely had better. In fact, he’d had better just the night before with Justin. Justin’s blow jobs were truly phenomenal. Brian suspected that even without the training he’d received as a PC, his little Sunshine would have excelled at cock sucking. That kid was a natural. He was also an incredibly good fuck. The night before had been pretty amazing. The young blond was so fucking sweet. So sensitive. So solicitous of Brian’s every need. So timid and yet exuberant at the same time. Taking Justin’s cherry had been one of the most memorable fucks of Brian’s life, hands down.

All of a sudden, Brian realized that he’d spent pretty much the entire time he’d been standing there being sucked off thinking of the adorable little PC instead of savoring the actual blow job he was getting. He mentally cursed himself for being totally pathetic and tried to focus on the here and now. But, once he realized what he’d done, he was too aware of the differences between Justin and Mr. Suck-Face to NOT think about it. And the more he thought about it, the less favorably Mr. Suck-Face came off, with the result being that Brian was rapidly becoming less and less engaged and more and more itchy to get back to the boy he couldn’t get out of his brain.

“You know what . . . Fuck this,” Brian murmured unhappily when he just couldn’t deal with the situation any more. He shoved Mr. Suck-Face’s head away from his dick, pulled up his pants and zipped up before the trick even realized what was happening.

“What the fuck? Where are you going? I’m not finished,” the sputtering trick yelled after the back that was already halfway through the bathroom door.

“But I AM,” Brian threw over his shoulder as the door clanked closed behind him. “Fucking pushy tricks . . .” He muttered to himself, sliding past two or three clusters of bar patrons blocking his path back to the table.

Before Brian had made it even a third of the way there, however, his ears were assaulted by a horribly familiar caterwauling. Cringing, he looked over at the stage and was dismayed to see his three closest friends attempting to imitate Gladys Knight and The Pips. The synchronized dance steps weren’t bad, but the singing . . . It sounded like they were trying to mangle an off-key version of ‘If I Were Your Woman’. Either that, or maybe Emmett was pretending to be a cat that was being strangled while Mikey and Ted yelled on encouragement to the murderer.

Brian tried to slink away quietly before anyone saw him and realized he knew the tipsy troubadours.

This distraction was probably why Brian didn’t notice what was going on back at the table until he was almost on top of the remaining occupants. Since the two men sitting there had their backs to the bar, they didn’t see him either. Which also allowed Brian to get close enough to hear what was being said.

“Come on, Sweetheart. Don’t be like that. I’m sure Brian won’t mind if we get to know one another a little better,” Brian overheard David crooning as he leaned closer to a struggling Justin. The boy was trying to dislodge the arm that David had draped over his shoulders and also fighting the other hand that was attempting to turn his jaw so the boy would be looking at him. “Shit, I bet you're a fucking tiger in bed. I’ve had PCs before, you know, and I’ve never been disappointed, but none of them drove me as crazy as you, Tiger. You’re so fucking tempting.” Justin was still squirming in his seat, trying to get free of the hands that were now roaming further over his body. “Don't fight it, boy. I won’t hurt you. I just want to feel that sweet, tight little ass around my cock. Come on now, be a good boy. You know you want this just as much as I do, don’t you, Tiger?”

Before Brian had covered the three meters of space between himself and the table, he was so overwhelmed with a cold red rage that he could barely breathe. A red-tinted mist seemed to edge across his vision. He couldn’t even think in words, let alone get something comprehensible to come out of his mouth, He just wanted to rip David’s arm right out of it’s socket and then use it to beat the man to death with. He’d never felt this angry before in his entire life - not even when he’d been an abused child and thought that there was no way he’d ever hate anyone as much as he’d hated Jack. Right at this instant, though, he could literally kill the slimy scumbag who’s arm was still draped over a struggling Justin’s shoulders.

Brian must have made some noise as he approached, even though it might not have been understandable as words, because just before he would have been close enough to rend David limb from limb, the man turned around. The motion caused him to release his grip on the cowering boy, which temporarily left Brian confused as to which of David’s limbs he should now remove first. While Brian stood there paralyzed by his rage and still indecisive as to exactly how he should proceed to murder Dr. Cameron, the condemned smiled up at him.

“Oh, Brian, good. I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” the dead man addressed him conversationally, apparently oblivious to his impending doom. Before proceeding, David glanced over his shoulder at the stage where the tone-deaf trio was still warbling away at their song, but once he was reassured that they weren’t returning anytime soon, he plowed on with his request. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to let me use your PC on occasion. You know, you really are a lucky dog, Kinney. This one is fucking gorgeous,” David nodded dismissively at Justin’s corner. “Now, I know you’ve only recently acquired him, and I’m not pushing or anything, but whenever you’ve had enough of him and are ready to loan him out, I would really like to have a turn.”

Brian was so overcome by a fresh wave of fury that he was rendered speechless. He could feel himself shaking with wave after wave of rage. How dare this boorish buffoon touch his Sunshine, let alone ask to fucking ‘use’ him when Brian was done with him? Justin wasn’t some party favor to be handed around after Brian got bored with him. He was Brian’s . . . He was . . . Brian’s frenzy-addled brain couldn’t think clearly enough to come up with exactly what Justin was, but it wasn’t something that the slimy David Cameron would EVER be allowed to have. Not even over Brian’s dead body.

Brian’s silence must have finally tipped Cameron off that something wasn't right. The man smiled smarmily and raised both hands in front of him in a placating gesture before he continued. “Look, if it’s compensation you want, I’m fine with that. I’ve got other friends who own PCs so I know how this works. I’d be happy to pay you for his time.” Brian merely blinked at him with a disapproving frown, prompting David to hurry on. “I know that it’s technically not legal for you to accept compensation, at least not outside a regulated sex club set up, but I’m sure we can come to some agreement. We both know it’s done all the time, right? Whatever it is you want, I’m sure we can work something out.”                           

Right then the music that the gang had been singing along to ended and the crowd began clapping for the performers, causing David to shoot one more look towards the stage. “One thing, though - I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about this to Michael yet? We’re still new, you understand, and we haven’t really talked about this type of thing. So, if you could please just not say anything about this to him, that’d be great. I’ll talk to him about it later.” Brian still didn’t say a word, and David apparently took that as a sign of agreement. “Thanks, Kinney. We’ll talk later, right?” David turned from Brian and held his arms up for the conquering karaokeist and then wrapped Michael in a great big congratulatory hug. “That was great, you guys. You did Gladys proud!”

Brian stood there, completely gobsmacked by the gall of the man who was now hugging up to his oldest friend as if nothing he’d said was at all offensive or demeaning to either Justin or Michael. Brian was so fucking shocked that he just had no idea WHAT to say. If he did open his mouth, it was pretty much a given that he’d go off on David so hard and so loud that nobody in the Pittsburgh metropolitan area would miss out on the tongue lashing.

Before he could start in though, Brian’s eyes fell on the boy cringing in the corner of their booth. Justin looked so scared and small, his body shaking uncontrollably as he huddled as far away from the crowd of people as he could possibly get. Brian shot one last, hate-fueled look Cameron’s way, but quickly decided that he wasn’t as important as getting Justin out of there as soon as possible. Brian could kill David some other day. Right then he needed to get his Sunshine away from the danger and make sure he was safe.

Brian reached over and placed his hand gently on the trembling boy’s shoulder. Justin shied away from the touch, but Brian didn't let go. After the span of a dozen heartbeats, the frightened PC finally looked up at the owner of the hand. Brian nodded, still too angry to trust himself to talk, but hoping the boy would understand anyway. Justin looked at him with pleading eyes. Brian tilted his head towards the exit. Justin huffed out a relieved sigh and nodded back. Brian moved his hand so that it was waiting, palm up in front of the boy’s face, ready to help him up. Justin grabbed hold and let Brian heft him to his feet, the big man taking the slight framed boy into his arms and then turning them as one towards the door without a word.

“Hey, where did Brian go?” Michael asked several minutes later when he finally noticed that neither his best friend nor the little PC were at the table any longer.

********

The angry red haze clouding his vision and distorting his perception of time lasted until Brian had been sitting on the couch in the loft - with Justin held safely in his protective arms - for quite a while. Nobody had spoken on the drive home. Or afterwards for that matter. It had taken a long while for both of them to stop shaking and Brian just didn’t trust his voice until he was sure he had a grip on himself.

“Did he hurt you?” Brian finally asked, his voice hushed and low, the edge of anger still there even though he’d tried to conceal it so as not to further scare the boy.

Justin shook his head in the negative. Brian could feel the gesture even though he couldn’t see it, seeing as the kid’s head was currently snugged up under his chin. Brian blew out a relieved breath of air, letting go of at least that one item of worry. Maybe he wouldn't have to actually kill David. He’d just hurt him really, really badly.

Just when Brian was finally starting to feel a little better, though, he felt a drop of wetness land on the bare skin at the spot where his slightly unbuttoned collar left a little gap.

“What is it, Justin,” Brian asked, trying to pry the boy’s arms away from him far enough so he could look into his face. “Are you okay? You said he didn’t hurt you.” Brian could feel the head shaking again. “Then what’s wrong, Sunshine?” The only answer was a muted sob as the boy’s shoulders started to shake even harder. “Please tell me what’s wrong, Justin.” The longer the silence went on, the more worried Brian got. “Justin, you need to tell me what’s wrong. You haven’t forgotten Standing order Number Three already, have you? If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you, Sunshine.”

“Don’t . . .” The boy’s voice was barely audible to start with but the rest of the sentence died off even more.

“Don’t what, Sunshine?”

Brian could feel the boy swallowing and taking a deeper breath. “I . . . I know . . . It’s not my place to say . . . Nothing I say . . . I don’t really matter, but . . . I just can’t . . . Don’t . . . Don’t make me . . . please, Master,” the PC finally whispered, stumbling over his words fearfully.

Brian was perplexed by the mumbled non-explanation. He knew it was difficult for the boy to voice any of his own needs - he’d been trained, well tortured, really, until he was too scared to speak up about that kind of shit - but this felt like something Brian really needed to know. He gripped the boy’s shoulders with both hands and pushed the smaller body far enough away from him that he could finally see the tear streaked face.

“I don’t understand, Sunshine. I’ve told you before that I would never make you do anything you didn’t want to, but why don’t you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” Brian asked, watching the teary blue eyes carefully to try and decipher what was going through the boy’s head. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is. Please try, okay?”

“Don’t make me go with your friend, Master,” the whispered words finally emerged, sounding like they were torn out of his chest against his will.

“My friend? You mean that asshole, David? . . .” Brian was momentarily stunned by the seeming miscommunication between them. “Look at me, Sunshine,” he finally managed to corral his thoughts and quell his newly revived rage enough to explain. “First of all, Justin, that asshole, David Cameron, is NOT my friend. He’s a total berk. I can’t stand the loser and I desperately wish that he’d get a life and leave Mikey - and the rest of us - alone.” Brian smiled reassuringly at his boy, eliciting the barest hint of a tentative return smile. “Secondly, as I’ve told you before, I would NEVER make you do anything you didn’t want to do. You get to control YOU, Sunshine. ALWAYS. I promise. Why would you think that I would ever force you to go with someone against your will?

“You . . . You didn’t tell him ‘no’,” the boy explained haltingly.

“Shit, Sunshine! I didn’t tell him anything. I was actually too shocked that the slimeball would have the temerity to ask such a thing, to get any words out. But that doesn’t mean I was agreeing with him,” Brian reassured the boy, reaching out to run his fingers through the thick blond hair in a comforting gesture at the same time. “You have to trust me on this, Sunshine. I swear I wouldn't ever do that to you. Especially not with a slimy git like Cameron. Fuck, the thought of him even touching you again makes me want to puke.” Brian cupped the boy’s cheek with his palm. “You have to believe me on this, Sunshine. I won’t ever let him touch you again. So, please, don’t worry about him anymore. Okay?”

Justin nodded with another sigh, looking relieved and exhausted but much calmer than before.

Then, for several timeless moments, the two of them just sat there, staring at each other, seemingly frozen in place. Brian still had one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of Justin’s neck, the warmth of his skin and the softness of his blond hair filling the palm of his hand. Justin meekly blinked up at him, the unshed tears caught on his lashes sparkling in the light. With his creamy, pale skin, bright blond hair and innocent, now-trusting, blue eyes, the boy looked fucking angelic. Brian could almost literally feel his heart melting as they continued to sit there.

A much stronger man than Brian wouldn’t have been able to resist at that point. Brian didn’t even attempt to hold himself back. He simply pulled the boy to him and claimed the soft, pink lips with his own in a long, slow, tender kiss. Brian only broke it off after several dozen more, tinier and even more gentle, barely-there kisslets were distributed randomly over the breadth of the boy’s sweet, responsive mouth. Then, with a moan, Brian forced himself to stop, pulling back sufficiently so that he could see his Sunshine.

“Shit, Sunshine, you really are too fucking tempting,” Brian heard himself saying, and then paused as he heard his own words echoing what Cameron had said earlier in the evening.

What was he doing? Brian wondered. He’d just finished saying that he wouldn't subject the boy to scum like David, and then Brian himself goes and practically throws himself on the kid? It wasn’t Justin’s fault he was beautifully tempting and it didn’t mean that anybody had the right to force themselves on the boy. Not even the little PC’s ‘Master’.

Brian was well aware of the ingrained deference the boy felt he owed to his ‘Master’ and he didn’t want the young man to feel that he had no choice other than to allow Brian’s advances. Justin needed to understand that he had the right to choose who he wanted to be with, no matter what. It was irrelevant that Brian’s intentions were relatively pure. Yes, he wanted to be with this enticing young man, but he only wanted it if that was truly what Justin wanted as well. If Justin felt like he HAD to accept the Master’s overtures just because Brian owned him, then it was basically the same as forcing himself on the boy. There was a very fine line between those two scenarios and Brian needed to be sure that Justin understood the difference before they went any further.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he spoke up, prompting the boy to open his eyes and look directly at him. “What I said earlier goes for me too, you know. You can say ‘no’ to me as well. You don’t have to go with me just because I bought your contract. If you don’t want me to touch you, I’ll back off and leave you alone, okay?”

Brian watched as the boy’s chin dropped and his head bowed submissively, unable to look Brian in the eye any longer. The older man felt his heart plummeting into his stomach. He supposed he had his answer though. Justin was simply being a good, submissive PC who was too afraid to speak up and say ‘no’. But, by looking away from Brian in this manner, he still managed to convey his rejection.

“Fine. I won’t bother you any more, Justin,” Brian muttered, trying to shift Justin off his lap so he could stand up and get away from there.

All of a sudden, though, a smaller hand reached out and grabbed Brian’s wrist. “No,” the reserved voice intoned.

“I understand, Justin,” Brian was the one looking away now. “I promise, I’ll leave you alone.” Brian pursed his lips and fought down another flash of regret.

“No . . . I mean, yes . . . I . . . I mean . . .” Brian wished the boy would just get out whatever it was he was trying to say so he could finally get away from him and this humiliation. The kid’s grip on his wrist, however, was unrelenting, so Brian had no choice but to wait and listen. “I d-d-don't want you to . . .” Brian felt like he couldn’t get a full breath. “. . . To leave me alone, Master. I-I-I want you to t-t-touch me. I want . . . You.”

Brian’s head whipped around. The boy hadn't moved out of his meekly deferential position. He was still sitting there, his head bowed and his eyes focused on the floor, but there was a shy little smile curling up the corners of that perfect mouth and a rosy blush was now staining the pale cheeks an even more attractive pink. And the thumb of the hand that was still around Brian’s wrist was now slowly stroking over his pulse point in a gentle caress.

“Are you sure, Sunshine?”

“Yes. I’m sure,” the boy answered, his voice sounding a little louder and a tiny bit more convinced. “Please.”

“You really are a hella brave little fucker, aren’t you, Sunshine?” Brian couldn’t help but smile proudly at the boy.

At these words of praise, the young man finally looked up and beamed a sunshine bright smile at him. “Yes, I am,” Sunshine assured him and then leaned in to initiate the next kiss all on his own.

********

********

Chapter 36 - It’s All About Trust.

Sunshine really didn’t want to get up. He was so comfortable. He had awakened sprawled across the body of the man who’d made love to him the night before, his head resting on the big, solid chest and his arms and legs tangled with those of the other man. He felt so unbelievably warm and safe, wrapped around that large, sheltering body. Plus, Brian really did make a very nice mattress.

*Hehehe*

The boy giggled quietly to himself at the outrageousness of that thought. He just could not get used to how relaxed and at ease he felt around this man. He really shouldn’t let his guard down like this. Not with the man who was his Master. But, more and more, he was thinking of the man as ‘Brian’ rather than ‘The Master’. And Brian felt like someone he didn’t need to be quite so wary about. Someone that wouldn’t hurt him. Someone that maybe he could even eventually trust.

The boy sighed contentedly. He felt so good right then. He was cozy and warm and, for at least this one moment in time, untroubled by anything. He was also feeling pleasantly sore in some very strategic places. That thought made him smile yet again. He really didn’t mind that soreness. Much.  

He tried to shift around a bit on his man-mattress to alleviate the minor discomfort, intending to go back to sleep. However his squirming seemed to rouse the mattress. Two strong arms circled around him and squeezed lightly. The boy buried his face even deeper into the crook of the Brian Body Pillow’s neck and breathed in deep of the male musk there.

*Mmmmmm*

That scent was intoxicating. It made the boy want to squirm even more. And because he felt so at ease, he let himself go, wiggling his hips from side to side until the warmth growing up around his nether regions bloomed and spread. It was soon matched by a reciprocating warmth in the same area on his big Brian Pillow.

“Good morning, Sunshine. I see you’re already UP,” the Brian Body Pillow hummed, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to the top of the boy’s messy blond mop of hair.

The boy smiled to himself. He loved the way Brian was always kissing him or touching him. He also loved it when Brian called him ‘Sunshine’. He really felt like Sunshine this morning too. He felt bright and bold and happy and shiny.

Bold enough, even, to assert himself a little more maybe.

Swallowing any residual misgivings, Sunshine gave another wiggle or two, enjoying the resultant moan of approval his actions elicited. Brian was starting to wiggle a little bit underneath him now too. Feeling braver, the boy wiggled himself higher up his man-mattress till he was basically straddling the larger man’s waist. Then, without sitting up - because Brian really was a comfy bed and even though the boy was feeling frisky he didn't want to move THAT much - he reached over to the nightstand and felt around until his fingers found one of the ever present condoms that were waiting there. But, no matter how bold or Sunshine-y he was feeling, he couldn't quite bring himself to look Brian in the eye when he shyly handed the little packet to his mattress.

“You sure, Sunshine?” Brian asked, his voice low and rumbly, the words vibrating across the skin of the boy’s cheek where it was now pressed against the side of the other man's face.

“Mmmmhmmm,” the boy purred with an emphatic nod.

Brian laughed at that. An exuberant, joyful, unrestrained laugh that the boy thought suited him, even though Brian didn't seem the sort to laugh often. And the laugh came along with another kiss to the boy’s cheek, making him feel even warmer than before.

“You gonna move so I can put this on?” Brian asked as he used the foil-wrapped condom package to tickle along the boy’s flank.

*Uh un* The boy shook his head ‘no’ and then added a muffled, “too comfy”.

“Twat!” was Brian’s only response, even as he struggled to reach around the armful of boy that was draped over him in order to roll the condom down his already hard dick. “So, how exactly do you plan on doing this if you’re not going to move off me?”

*Giggle*

Planting his knees in place where they were resting on either side of Brian’s torso, the boy slid back on his haunches until his ass was butting up against Brian’s waiting dick. Then, by arching upwards, his back bowing and his pelvis tilting to the perfect angle even while his head was still resting on Brian’s chest, the boy was able to rock backwards the slight distance it took to envelop the condom-encased cock that was perfectly aligned to slide right inside him.

Brian gasped at the sudden sensation and then assisted by bending his own knees and using the better leverage to thrust up even higher. The boy was still open from their nighttime activities so there was no pain at all. Only sheer, unadulterated pleasure as Brian’s perfect dick glided over his sweet spot even on the first thrust, sending electric ripples of euphoria coursing through his body right from the start. Sunshine felt like he was on fire. Like he was lit up from the inside by thousands of sparkling flashes of color. He imagined he was probably glowing with happiness.

Their coupling was lazy and peaceful, but no less passionate than any of their previous encounters. The position they were in didn't allow for hard or heated. There was only gentle, deep, constant stimulus - slow and steady and intense. Somehow it was even more tender than before, with Brian seemingly more than willing to let his tentative little tyro lead the way.  

And so they rocked together, the boy sliding up and down across Brian’s now sweat-soaked chest and leaving kisses everywhere he could whenever his mouth wasn’t too filled with moans of ecstasy. Brian’s warm hands glided over the boy’s arms, legs, and back, touching him everywhere, his fingers leaving invisible tracings of electricity wherever they went. The intensity level built slowly, steadily, unhurriedly. Sunshine scrambled to find something to hold onto, some anchor to hold him in place, finally grappling hold of two handsfull of Brian’s soft, fine, auburn hair and hanging on for dear life while he continued to ride the cresting waves of pleasure that were rippling through his body.

Just when the surges of rapture started to become too much, Brian reached up and framed the boy’s face with his hands, allowing their lust-hazed eyes to meet for one long moment. “Kiss me, Sunshine,” Brian implored, sounding as if that one kiss was all he wanted in the world.

This time when their lips met, it was the final spark that set off the conflagration. Sunshine pressed his mouth against the warmth of Brian’s lips, tasting the cherry red of the bruised flesh, and then bit down lightly on the supple lower lip while the passion of his climax ripped through his body. As he shuddered and convulsed, his body seemingly out of control, he cried out, letting Brian swallow his moans of delight, before returning them tenfold as his own orgasm shook their joined bodies for a second time.

When it was all over and even the little jolts of aftershocks had died away, the boy sagged languidly over the top of his Brian Body Pillow. His face was buried deeply in the crook of Brian’s shoulder - a space that seemed to have been made specifically to fit his head - enjoying the aroma of sweaty, sex-drenched maleness. The boy didn’t think he’d ever, in his entire life, been as happy as he was at that very moment. If only he could stay right there and never have to move again.

Unfortunately, that was right when the alarm went off, signaling the start of another weekday. Brian blindly reached over and bashed the button that turned off the noise then returned his arm to its comfortable resting place around the boy’s waist. He gave the boy a familiar squeeze and added a sideways kiss to the boy’s forehead.

“Time to get up, Sunshine,” Brian intoned, his voice conveying his reluctance to move even though the words denoted action.

“Can’t,” Sunshine murmured without even lifting his head. “Bones all melted. Never moving again.”

That elicited another jovial burst of laughter from the big guy, along with a happy goose to the boy’s backside. “Fine. You just stay all melty then, brat. But we’ve got another appointment with Dr. Ruby in an hour and a half, so somehow I’ll still have to get you up and wash off all this cum.”

And, despite the boy’s grumble of discontent at that prospect, Brian wiggled his butt over to the edge of the bed, swung his legs out to use as a fulcrum, and then flipped their conjoined bodies up into a sitting position. The boy wrapped his arms tightly around Brian’s neck and hung on but didn’t otherwise help out. Brian shook his head indulgently at the stubborn little twat. The boy pretended not to notice and hid his own smile in Brian’s neck.

Not be be deterred, though, Brian hitched the boy’s legs up more firmly around his hips, snaked his hands around and under the bounteous bubble butt and, with a prodigious grunt, he lifted them both up out of bed. Sunshine clung to the big guy’s frame like a baby monkey to it’s mother. Brian had a good hold of the boy by his backside, though, and didn’t let him drop. He just carried the unprotesting bundle of boy with melted bones into the bathroom and then deposited his melty ass on the bathroom counter.

Sunshine watched with a grin on his face as Brian bustled around the bathroom, peed, and then started the water in the shower. Once all was ready, the man returned to his charge, ran his hands through the thick blond mop in order to bend the boy's head back far enough for another kiss, and then scooped him back into his big, strong arms. After toting his armload of boy into the shower, he dropped his arms and the boy slithered down his body, landing on his feet under the warm pelting water. Brian beamed happily down at his boy and chuckled. Sunshine giggled at all the playfulness. The boy didn’t think that this man let his playful side out very often, which meant that the Master must be feeling just as relaxed and comfortable as he was. It felt so good. So right. And he never wanted that feeling to end.

Despite Sunshine being less than helpful, they were both eventually clean, dressed and fed some toast in lieu of breakfast. Then, before he really wanted to be, the boy found himself waiting with Brian in the reception area outside Dr. Ruby’s office. He really didn’t want to be there. He hated delving into all the bad things that Dr. Ruby forced him to think about. He really just wanted to hold onto the happy feelings from that morning, but it wasn’t easy. He could already feel the tendrils of anxiety creeping up on him, insinuating themselves in his brain and trying to suck out all the happiness. He quickly flipped open his sketchbook and frantically started drawing, desperately trying to fight off the negative feelings by concentrating on recreating the image of their morning together in bed.

“Good morning, Brian. Justin. Please come in,” the doctor interrupted a few minutes later.

The boy wanted to just sink into the cushions of the couch where he was sitting with his feet tucked up under him. He wished he could make himself so small he would become invisible and she would simply overlook him. He didn't want to delve into the misery of his past. Not today. Not when he had been feeling so good for once in his pathetic lonely life.

“Come on, Sunshine. It’s okay. I’ll be right here beside you,” Brian offered, extending his hand to help the boy up off the couch.