Chicago, Swissôtel, Brian's hotel room, 11:50 p.m.

Brian is lying on the couch in the lounge area of his suite, ten miniature bottles of Beam lined up on the coffee table in front of him. Only two still contain gold-brown liquid. He toys with his cell phone, keying in the same number for the seventh or eighth time - he's lost count. As he has done previously, he turns off the phone before he can press send. He deleted that contact from his phone months ago; he has often wished he could as easily remove it from his memory.

Grunting in frustration, Brian tosses the phone onto the coffee table and pours the last two bottles into a crystal tumbler. He then lights another Lucky Strike, inhaling the nicotine deep into his lungs. He's been trying to cut back on the cigarettes, but his musings about Justin have had him chain smoking from the moment he returned to the hotel. If the blond showed up right now, he's not sure whether he'd slam the door in his face or throw him onto the bed and fuck him. 

Brian stands up and pads over to the window, his feet and torso bare, his black jeans riding low on his hips, the top two buttons undone. As he gazes down on The Magnificent Mile, he decides he must be a masochist. He hasn't admitted to himself until this moment that the main reason he insisted on staying at the Swissôtel is because this is where he and Justin spent a few deliriously happy days nearly eighteen months earlier. "Thank fuck it's not the same suite," he mutters to himself. 

Although the interior is darkened at this time of night, he can still pinpoint the Armani store, which he dragged a reluctant Justin into. Brian's lips curve upward as he remembers shutting up the kvetching blond by feeding him his dick in the dressing room.

And there's the Art Institute of Chicago that Justin dragged him to, with Brian teasing afterward, "No such thing as too many dick pics, Sunshine! I expect to see a painting of mine the next time we visit." 

Knocking back the last of the bourbon, Brian broods some more. If only.

McDonald's, near the Auditorium Building, 12:03 a.m.

Justin can't believe that he has been stuck at this fast food ‘palace' with his family and friends for the last hour and a half. Cynthia supplied him with the name of Brian's hotel and his room number, so he purposely lagged behind as the chattering group left the theater, intending to head directly to the Swissôtel. Unfortunately, his plans were foiled as the group wandered along the sidewalk, looking for an open café or restaurant where they could continue their gabfest. Just as the blond raised his hand to hail a taxi, Gus latched onto his arm, jabbering, "Yay! It's open! Let's get a Big Mac, Justin!" and towed him into the fast food eatery.

The girls left with the over-excited seven-year-old an hour ago, but Justin still couldn't make his escape, first Michael and then Emmett insisting on telling him something or other. Ted and Blake are billing and cooing at a table in the corner, oblivious to everyone and everything, including the uncomfortable plastic chairs and the horrid, clashing, puke green and bilious yellow decor. 

"Em," Justin tries to halt the tale of how two drag queens got into a hair-pulling tug of war at a wedding Emmett catered, but his friend just keeps babbling. "Uh, I'll see you later," Justin finally declares, easing out of his seat.

"Good luck, Sweetheart," Jennifer encourages her son as he hastens past her on the way to the door.

Chicago, Swissôtel, outside Brian's room, 12:25 a.m.

Justin raps against the door firmly, forcing himself not to fidget as he waits. When Brian yanks open the door, growling, "What the fu-" the blond's throat closes up and he can't say anything. All he knows is that he needs skin-on-skin contact, stat.

His outerwear and ubiquitous messenger bag fall to the floor as want surges through him. He steps forward, and standing on tiptoe, grabs fistfuls of chestnut hair and mashes his lips against Brian's.

Brian groans deep in his chest and pulls him closer, slanting his mouth across Justin's and probing with his tongue.

Justin's tongue duels with the brunet's, before he sucks hard.

Drawing back slightly, heaving in air, Brian tears Justin's shirt open. The blond shrugs it off his shoulders while the brunet pushes it upward, till it lodges under his armpits. Enough skin exposed for now, their fingers meet and tangle as they simultaneously attack his belt and zipper. Justin leaves that task to Brian, bathing the brunet's areolas in saliva, alternately sucking and biting at the nipples.

Barely able to concentrate, Brian at last succeeds in unfastening Justin's trousers, pushing them and the underwear down in one go, before stepping on the crotch of the tighty whities. Justin hops in place until he tugs one shoe-clad foot free of the pant leg.

Brian propels Justin against the door, which slams shut behind him. Producing a condom and a packet of lube from his pocket, he pops open two more buttons on his jeans and lowers them just enough to free his dick. 

Frantic to reconnect with the blond in the best way he knows, Brian tears open the condom with his teeth and unrolls it onto his dick. He fumbles with the lube, the package almost squirting out of his hand as he coats his cock and his fingers. Quickly, he pushes one finger and then another into Justin's hole. He can't wait to feel the warm passage clamp down on his cock.

As Brian rubs against that bundle of nerves, Justin nearly goes ballistic, squirming and moaning for more. He wraps his legs around Brian's waist, his pants dangling from one foot, clawing at the brunet's shoulders with his hands, the heels of his dress shoes drumming against Brian's spine.

Bracing his palms against the door next to Justin's head, Brian pauses, his quadriceps straining, wordlessly asking the blond if he is ready.

Justin squeezes Brian's waist more tightly with his thighs, assenting.

Moans, grunts, and growls fill the air as Brian slides home.

Mine, Brian snarls inside his head. He has never felt such need with anyone other than Justin.

Justin's head falls back, banging against the door, but he doesn't notice. He's lost in sensation as Brian fills him, completes him.

Brian rocks in and out in small movements; he can't shift more than that with Justin's legs clenched around him. His face tilts down, nuzzling into the spot behind the blond's ear, and he inhales deeply, before wetly swiping his way down that delectable, pale neck.

Reveling in the sting of the brunet's stubble against his skin, Justin arches his body. So fucking good.

Already feeling his orgasm building, Brian knows he won't last long. Back and forth. And again. He moans, "Fuuuck," into the blond's ear, wishing this moment would never end as he unloads into the condom.

Justin comes mere seconds later, a breathy whine escaping as he spurts between their bodies.

Justin's legs slide off Brian's hips, only the brunet's body sandwiching him against the door keeping him upright. But then Brian teeters, and they tumble to the floor in a sated, sweaty heap, Brian slipping out of Justin's ass. He removes the condom, ties it off, and tosses it over his shoulder. Taking in each other's dishevelment, the two men begin chuckling. Whitish streaks decorate their chests; their hair is sticking up in unruly tufts; Justin's pants are dangling from one leg, a black sock and scuffed shoe on the other; and Brian's jeans are scrunched up beneath his bare buttocks.

As his semi-hysterical laughter tapers into sporadic hiccups, Justin sobers quickly. He doesn't regret what just happened; it was inevitable that his apprehension and anger would instantly transform to lust when the sexy, half-naked brunet opened the door. "Brian," he husks, propping himself up on his elbow and staring directly into wary hazels, "it's beyond fucked up that you banished me from your life."

Brian's eyes drop, causing Justin to heatedly demand, "Look at me, dammit." When the brunet's gaze locks back onto his, he declares, "I know why you fled to fucking Ibiza."

His eyes skittering away from that icy blue gaze, Brian thinks that whatever Justin heard through the Mikey grapevine, he can't possibly know how he feels. Justin's always the one who leaves, the one who breaks the rules. Half-shrugging, as if indifferent, he intones evenly, "It's done, Justin. We can't go back and change it now."

Frustrated, Justin thumps the back of his hand against Brian's chest. "You don't get to simply quit our relationship," he hisses.

"Goddammit," Brian retorts, his faux calm vanishing, "I'd gone two months without fucking you, without even touching you, and I couldn't wait any longer..."

Justin grunts in agreement, remembering his own sexual frustration.

"...and there you were, outside your apartment building, kissing another guy."

"It didn't mean anything!" Justin shouts, leaping to his feet. He irritably kicks off his shoes and slacks, pacing across the room before returning.

Brian glowers up at the blond in disbelief.

Kneeling down next to the brunet, Justin concedes, "Okay, I shouldn't have kissed him, but he was no one. We met at The Stonewall Inn. This pathetic guy had never kissed a man and was lonely. So, I took pity on him. I mean, thirty-one and no sexual experience? Not even a kiss? There was no way I would have fucked him, but... he looked so miserable. I was half drunk, and I made a stupid decision. I closed my eyes, pretended he was you, and demonstrated how to kiss like you really mean it."

Stunned by this revelation, Brian stares at the blond mutely.

Justin eyes Brian earnestly, willing him to believe him, but is unable to tell what he's thinking. He finishes, "It had nothing to do with wanting him. He didn't taste right, smell right, or feel right. If you'd waited ten seconds longer you'd have heard me tell him to get lost when he asked for more."

Brian opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Agitated, Justin babbles, "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have kissed him. I'd never intentionally hurt you like that. Do you have any idea how much I love you? How devastated I was when you shut me out? How devastated I felt when I realized it was because of that stupid kiss?"

Brian closes his eyes and sighs. "You shouldn't have kissed him," he concurs. 

As Justin studies him, he understands his lover is just trying to make sense of it all, trying to figure out how he could have been so stupid as to react like a betrayed wife. Because that's exactly what he has done, endorsing such ridiculous behavior. He has acted like those heteros he despises. 

But even though Justin is now certain Brian has finally accepted his explanation and knows he overreacted, the blond feels the need to agree with him. He should never have kissed that guy, since the only person he wants to kiss is Brian. "I know," he confirms.

Brian rubs his face, muttering, "Fuck. I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet." 

"I hope you do. You've earned the title hands-down with that queen-out." 

Brian offers, "When I saw you with him, I... something inside me snapped. I was so fucking angry at you." He hesitates, and Justin senses that he wants to say more, but the brunet curses instead, "Fuck, I..." 

From his expression, Justin surmises that Brian is upset with himself but can't admit it. He proposes, "What if we start with a clean slate?"

"I'd like that," Brian allows, glancing at him. "I can't believe you're here."

"I am," Justin murmurs as he scoots closer to Brian. "And I'm not leaving. I told you. I love you. You don't know how tough it has been without you."

"I think I have a pretty good idea," Brian confesses, wrapping his arms around the blond. "Promise me something..."

"What?" Justin leans back, gazing at the brunet questioningly.

"If I ever act like a Stepford fag again, stop me. Chase me down. Tie me up. Even gag me to force me to listen to you. Just never give up on me."

"I never have," Justin asserts, poking the brunet in the ribs. "I called you repeatedly, getting shunted to voicemail every single time, you big lummox! I tried emailing. I even searched the Pitts for you."

Brian snorts, "‘Big lummox?' That's the best you can come up with?"

"You prefer ‘flaming idiot'?" Justin teases, cradling Brian's jaw and tracing his lips with his thumb, his joy at touching Brian again evident in his gaze. 

"How about ‘the face of God'?" Brian quips mock-seriously.

He's gonna kill Daphne tomorrow for disclosing that tidbit to Brian, Justin decides. He forgets all about that, however, the moment Brian's lips touch his. "Mmm," he hums, thinking maybe he has missed their kisses most of all.

How could he have been such a dolt for so long? Brian wonders. Deepening the contact, he reflects that kissing Justin is one of the greatest pleasures he has ever experienced. He bites at the plump lower lip, before soothing it with his tongue.

When they take a much-needed break to heave in air, Justin thinks about another thing he's missed. He pushes the brunet backward, leaving a trail of kisses behind as he navigates his way toward that straining cock.

Long minutes pass before, mesmerized, he watches his lover come undone, Brian's ass clamping down on his fingers.

As he recovers, Brian notices that Justin's dick is still rigid. He reaches out to stroke it, but Justin shakes his head. He looks down at the fingers he's just removed from Brian's body and wordlessly asks for something else.

Brian hooks a hand behind the blond's neck and pulls him in for another kiss. When their lips part, he nods in assent...

Later, after another round of carpet sex, followed by a shower fuck, they finally make it to the bed. Justin relishes Brian's light, wheezing snore as he falls asleep, the brunet's body spooning his.

Chicago, Soldier Field, Sunday, 27 January, 11:23 a.m.

"Christ," Carl states reverently, "I can't believe I'm standing on the field where the Chicago Bears play." His eyes are shining as he takes everything in, oblivious to the cutting wind.

"I guess it's a big deal, huh?" Debbie questions, her teeth chattering as she looks around the gigantic stadium and the tiers of empty seats.

"That it is, Red," Carl responds distractedly, before turning to Leo Brown and vigorously pumping the man's hand. "Thanks, Leo," he effuses, "I grew up in Pittsburgh, but my family hails from Chicago. I've always been a Bears fan."

Before Leo can reply, Emmett interjects playfully, "Oh, Carl, no! You're supposed to support the Ironmen."

"I do," Carl intones gravely, "...as long as they're not playing the Bears."

From the sidelines, Blake chuckles, before turning to his husband and teasing, "I'm not sure about this part of my anniversary surprise." He swipes at his nose, which is reddened and dripping in the cold air.

Fumbling with the football Austin has just thrown to him, Ted professes hopefully, "We'll warm up once-"

Their conversation is interrupted by the catcalls which greet Brian and Justin, who saunter onto the field, not quite holding hands.

"We're fucking freezing our titties off!" Debbie complains vociferously. "It's about time you boys got here." The fond expression on her face as she gazes at the miscreants belies her chiding.

Michael cringes and protests, "Ma!"

"Fine," Debbie cackles, "you boys can freeze your nuts off."

"We will." Drew nods good-humoredly. "This place may be famous in the annals of football history, but it's a fuckin' nightmare to play on in winter."

Brian ignores the byplay, casually looping an arm around the drowsy-looking blond's shoulders.

"Hard night, boys?" Emmett speculates, his blue-green eyes sparkling mischievously. "You look like limp noodles."

At the outraged expression on Brian's face, Michael hastily interposes, "Everywhere but there, of course!" averting a crisis.

Even though his face has gone scarlet, Justin announces seriously, "We couldn't rush the most historic reunification since Germany."

Ted, Em, and Michael crack up, recalling when Ben used that very phrase, while they all looked down on Brian and Justin dancing at Babylon, their bodies constantly touching.

Over the next couple of hours, everyone runs around at the behest of Leo and the film crew, slipping and sliding on the wet grass, often tackling each other with the football nowhere in sight.

Pittsburgh, Debbie's house, Sunday, 3 February, 6:10 p.m.

The din in Debbie's living room is so loud when Brian arrives that he's tempted to turn around and walk out. The television is blaring, and it seems everyone is bellering their opinions of the two teams who are about to play, although the only ones who actually know the game and the teams are Drew, Leo, Austin, Carl, and Cynthia. Everyone else is just spouting smack talk, most of them having no clue how to actually hold a pigskin, much less throw or catch it.

Fucking Theodore and his bright ideas.

The brunet decides he can tolerate family mayhem for a couple hours, however, when he looks down at the blond next to him. Justin dazzles him with one of his radiant smiles, and Brian bends down to claim a lingering kiss. "Play nice," Justin chides teasingly.

"As long as you play with me," Brian concedes. 

"If I have to..." Justin's eyes laugh happily up at him.

6:48 p.m.

Kickoff happened at 6:32 p.m., and most of the crowd is watching half-heartedly as they wait for the first airing of the ad. It's slated to be shown a total of three times, including once during halftime.

"Fuck, I'm on tenterhooks waiting for the commercial," Ted confesses. "I'm still worried that NBC will renege and air something else instead."

"Those stodgy bastards didn't think a live football game was the right place for a ‘gay' commercial," Brian reminisces. "They listened, though, when we appealed to their ‘bottom line'."

"Hey," Leo objects, "I used to be one of those stodgy bastards."

"That's why they listened to you," Blake theorizes.

"Maybe," Leo replies. "But like Brian said, it came down to their bottom line. When I pointed out how many states have homosexual marriage initiatives on their ballots, with a number of them likely to pass..."

"...And the increasing calls nationwide for same sex marriage to become the law of the land," Ted relates, "they suddenly decided that a queer-friendly ad, depicting a friendly pickup football game, would leave a positive impression on most of their viewers."

"With said viewers ultimately spending some of their disposable income in ways which benefit the NBC conglomerate," Brian drily concludes.

7:03 p.m.

"Oh, there we are!" Debbie shrieks, as the first frame of the commercial appears - Justin falling on his ass as the ball whizzes past him.

"Why did I have to be the klutzy one?" Justin groans as his alter-ego stands up, rubbing his posterior.

"Because you have so much padding to fall on, Jus," Daphne twits her friend.

A few seconds later, an uncharacteristically shy Hunter mumbles, "Thanks, Leo," as he watches himself catch a pass from Ben. 

Tilting his head, Brown inquires, "For?"

Hunter sweeps a hand toward the television. "For showing everyone that being HIV positive isn't the end. That people with AIDS can have fulfilling lives. For including me in your commercial," he finishes with a boyish smile.

The commercial cuts from the game to a discussion of HIV status between Michael, Hunter, and Ben. Michael vehemently declares, "Even though my husband is positive and I'm negative, we still have a vigorous, fulfilling sex life!" He turns crimson when he remembers he's on camera.

Austin seconds, "Yeah, thanks, granddad," placing a kiss on Leo's brow and making the older man beam in pleasure.

The poignant moment quickly changes to hilarity, as Emmett jumps up and down, screaming, "Touchdown!" slightly in advance of the actual occurrence. 

In the archway to the kitchen, Ted stands with his arms looped around Blake from behind, grinning at his friend's antics.

On the TV, Drew drops the ball into Emmett's hands. 

Em awkwardly wraps his arms around the football and lopes toward the end zone, Drew right behind him. When he halts too soon, shooting an infectious, gap-toothed smile at his lover, Drew pushes him across the goal line.

The camera pans to a panting, out-of-breath Brian, who is leaning over with his hands on his thighs, apparently unable to chase down the flamboyant queen.

Deb, who's standing beside the chair where Brian is sitting with Justin in his lap, ruffles Brian's hair affectionately, murmuring, "Well done, Brian, letting Em have the spotlight."

Brian gives her a tongue-in-cheek grin and doesn't say anything.

"Wow, huffing and puffing like that," Ted shakes his head in fake concern. "You're getting old and out of shape, Bri. You'd better visit the gym."

"Theodore, you're fi-" the brunet predictably growls, but the CFO's imminent career suicide is delayed when Justin fills Brian's mouth with his tongue.

After their lips separate, a slightly breathless Brian briefly worries that Ted is right... He must be getting old. He relaxes, though, when he notices Justin is also gasping for air. Hah! He bets Ted couldn't match that performance.

Noticing Brian's smug grin, Justin jests, "Good boy, playing nice with others."

Halftime, 7:52 p.m.

Everyone applauds as Emmett's touchdown is televised for the second time.

A few minutes later, Drew pulls out his phone which has buzzed to signal an incoming text. His mouth drops open as he reads aloud, "We'd like to talk to you about a coaching job. Call me ASAP. Mike Tomlin, head coach for the Ironmen."

"Oh, Drewsie! Touchdown!" Em yells, flinging his arms around his man and latching onto his mouth for a congratulatory kiss.

Brian glances at the blond on his lap and thinks he's made the touchdown that matters. Not that he'll ever spout such romantic drivel, of course; he'd rather cut out his tongue. Well, in a moment of weakness, he might tell his lover one day.

Justin smiles at Brian. He can guess what the man is thinking since he feels the same way. Softly, so that only Brian can hear, he says, "I'm onto you."

Pittsburgh, the loft, four months later

It's been a month since Justin moved back, and he couldn't be happier. Truthfully, since he and Brian reconnected, Justin sometimes wonders what he's done to deserve such happiness. Living in New York for almost three years allowed him to establish a reputation as an up-and-coming artist; now he no longer needs to be in the city, chasing down opportunities to exhibit his work.

Brian is more open and relaxed than ever before. It has been a year since their falling out, but Justin is now confident they will never grow apart again. It's a dream come true.

Right now, Justin is waiting for his lover to come home. They are supposed to meet up with the boys at Woody's later, so when his partner calls him to cancel their plans without providing an explanation, Justin is rather puzzled. He nonetheless phones Michael and Emmett to let them know they won't be at the bar, before lying down on the bed and relaxing. 

He hears the door open but doesn't move, as Brian enters the loft and shuts the door behind him. Justin hears him walking around, probably taking off his suit jacket and tie and draping them across a barstool, maybe chugging some guava juice from the carton. He is surprised when the brunet doesn't join him immediately, but he's too comfortable on the bed to make the effort to get up.

He doesn't realize that he has dozed off until he feels the mattress dip as Brian sits down next to him, leaning over to cover the blond's lips with his own. When the brunet deepens the kiss, Justin shivers in delight, then whimpers a little when his lover straightens up. 

"Hey," Brian greets him with a smile that makes Justin's heart thump.

"Hey," Justin responds, caressing Brian's neck with his hand.

He's surprised when Brian stands, breaking their connection and demanding, "Get up. I have something to show you."

"I don't want to get up," Justin complains.

"Believe me, you won't regret it," Brian drawls enticingly, before walking down the steps and disappearing from Justin's sight.

Justin grumbles in protest, but when Brian doesn't return, he forces himself to get off the bed. Rubbing his eyes, he shuffles toward the living room. He stops dead in his tracks, however, when he notices the table, bedecked with flickering candles, plates, silverware, a tossed salad, and a basket with freshly sliced French bread.

"Uh, Brian?" he calls out to his lover, who is heating something on the stove. 

"Yeah?" the brunet replies absently, stirring the contents. 

Whatever it is, it smells fantastic, Justin realizes, inhaling deeply. 

"It's Thai coconut soup," Brian reveals. "I know you love it."

"I..." Justin stammers, astounded that Brian would cook for him. Well, his lover is probably just warming it after picking it up from their favorite Thai restaurant, but still.

Brian turns off the burner and dishes the food into shallow bowls, before carrying them and two bottles of Singha beer over to the dinner table. Once he is seated, he peers over at Justin, visibly amused. "You plan on watching me eat?"

"Sure," Justin answers, "but I can do that while I eat."

He slides into the chair opposite Brian, still wondering what's going on. As they spoon up the tasty concoction of shrimp, shitake mushrooms, and coconut milk broth, Brian looks relaxed at first. Soon, however, the blond figures out that his lover is nervous about something since he keeps fidgeting in his chair.

As if to validate his thoughts, Brian stands up as soon as he has finished his meal, retrieving a joint from their private stash before returning to the table. He waves the doobie under Justin's nose, proclaiming, "This is dessert," before clarifying, "but we'll save it for later. Would you stand up?"

Justin's brow furrows, but he shrugs and complies.

Brian doesn't say anything else, just steps closer to the blond, kissing him passionately. Justin is surprised that Brian wanted him to stand just so they could kiss, but as usually happens when Brian claims him, his limbs turn to jello and all rational thought disappears. He no longer cares that his partner is behaving oddly. Getting really turned on, he reaches for the buttons on Brian's shirt, but the brunet pulls away.

Justin opens his mouth to protest when he notices the enigmatic expression on Brian's face. "What is it?" he asks.

"I've been waiting a year to give you this," Brian declares, retrieving something from his jacket pocket. Justin can't see what Brian is staring at so intently, since his hand hides it. His curiosity is growing as he waits for the brunet to divulge more information.

Brian finally gazes up at Justin as he opens his fingers, revealing a small, black box. "Well, technically, I've waited three years. I was going to give it back to you that day when we... when I snapped. But obviously, I didn't go through with it."

"Brian..." Justin utters his lover's name in wonder. The box is the one with their wedding rings, the ones he last saw in the loft three years ago, before departing for New York.

"Marry me," Brian asks as he stares at his lover, before taking him in his arms. "I want you to marry me," he whispers in his ear.

Justin feels his heart pounding. He hugs Brian tightly, before pulling back, inquiring, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Brian says simply. 

Justin's eyes are shining as he responds, "Yes. Yes!" making his partner smile. "Of course, I will marry you. On one condition..."

Brian raises an eyebrow, inquiring, "What?"

"Promise me that we're really getting married this time. That nothing and no one will prevent it from happening."

Brian answers Justin's plea with another mind-blowing kiss. 

Later that night, Brian rests on the bed, his arms around Justin. As the platinum bands sparkle at him from their box on the nightstand, the brunet envisions himself placing a note on Ted's desk that states, "Ted, you're hired." Not that he'd ever actually do that, of course...