Chapter 19 - Where or When.

Brian squinted as he looked at the tiny clock at the bottom of his computer screen and sighed heavily. Today was for shit, he was tired and cranky, and he wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of there and check in on his Blue Eyes, who he’d been up worrying about most of the night due to the most recent fucking air raid back in 1941.

It was almost 4:00pm and because of the dumbasses in the art department, it didn’t look as though he’d be leaving for at least another couple of hours. He didn’t care that there was a five hour time difference and that the folks back in Pennsylvania had only had a couple hours to work on the revisions he’d requested. Brian needed that shit yesterday. He’d have to have a little talk with Cynthia and see if she could help him scare some of those good for nothings into actually doing some work he could use.

He rubbed at his temples as he tried to relieve some of the pressure from the headache that had been slowly building all day, but had suddenly come on with a vengeance.

“Knock knock,” Cynthia grinned as she rapped lightly at Brian’s open door.

Brian fucking hated it when people did that - and Cynthia knew it too. But, after he practically begged her to come join him in London and help them get this project done, he couldn’t very well complain about her overly cheerful demeanor, could he? Especially not if he intended to have her play pitbull for him with the art department geeks.

“Okay. I think they got it this time, Brian. Take a look at this and see what you think,” Cynthia stated as she slid around Brian‘s desk and made her way to his laptop. “Ohh! Who is this cutie? I haven’t seen him before. This wouldn’t happen to be the reason you keep disappearing on the weekends, would it?”

Brian looked up from the file he’d been pouring over to see a picture of a sleeping - completely nude - Justin fleeting across the screen of his computer as the wallpaper function cycled through the pictures he’d uploaded the day before. He’d covertly snapped the picture the morning after their long debauched night while Justin was still sleeping. The young blond had looked so completely adorable in his thoroughly fucked out state, that Brian hadn’t been able to resist. The pic must have gotten mixed in somehow with the file of photos the Munchers had sent him of Gus.

Damn. Now he was going to have to somehow explain Justin to Cynthia. At least in part. Not that she’d ever believe him if he did try and tell her the truth. But he knew his dogged PA would never let up until he gave her something. She could be fucking relentless.

“Come on, Brian. Spill. You know I’ll get it out of you eventually, so you might as well make it easy on yourself and just tell me the bare deets now.”

“His name is Justin. He’s 20. He’s an RAF pilot. And he’s got one of the nicest asses I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” Brian explained, taking her at her word and only giving her the very minimum of details. “Satisfy you?”

“For now, I suppose,” Cynthia relented, hitting the spacebar on the laptop in order to bring the computer to life. “When I need more, I’ll find him myself, and ask directly.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that,” Brian chuckled at the thought of finally stymieing his assistant’s otherwise phenomenal research powers by letting her try to find Justin . . . seventy-five years in the past. “Now, as fascinating as my sex life is to you, how about we actually do some real work for a change? Show me what the art fuck-ups got wrong this time.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Cynthia teased him as she pulled up her email and downloaded the file in question. “I think they might’ve done it right this time, or at least mostly.”

They spent another fifteen minutes going over the artwork. Brian was happy to note that the mock ups were almost correct this time. With only a few minor adjustments, they’d be ready to present to Britcom the following day. Which meant he could finally get the fuck out of there for the night.

As they were tidying up the various files and piles of paperwork, Brian remembered one additional item he needed Cynthia to take care of for him. “Not tonight, but at least before the end of the week, I need you to find a small flat or a cheap long term hotel suite for Gus and his moms. I’ve talked them into coming over to visit starting the end of May. You’ll have to call Lindsey to coordinate the exact date and find out how long they’re going to stay but I think it will be at least three weeks, maybe longer.”

“That’s wonderful, Brian. I know you’ll enjoy having Gus here. And he’ll love having his daddy take him around to see all the sights in London.”

“Let’s hope so. I’m actually looking forward to spending a little time here with Gus. I’ve got some fun ideas of places to take him. As long as the munchers are busy doing their own thing, it’ll be fine.” Brian closed up his laptop and shoved it into his briefcase, then remembered one other stipulation for Cynthia. “Oh, and whatever you do, I do NOT want them in this same hotel. If Lindsay gets that much access to me, she’ll never leave me alone. In fact, maybe you could find some spa in the countryside to send the girls to for at least a week? They’d enjoy that.”

“And you'd get more time alone with Gus,” Cynthia caught on right away. “Consider it done, boss.”

Brian scanned over the office area one last time, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, and then followed Cynthia out, turning the light off as he left. The hotel’s office facilities were quite convenient, and he didn’t mind working there, although it was a bit of a pain to have to clear all of his paperwork out every single night when he left. It was cheaper than hiring offices of his own while he was in London, though. At least now that Cynthia was there she could take on some of the administrative duties.

“So, I’ll get the final mock ups done, and have VanGuard overnight the originals to us for delivery tomorrow by ten. Anything else you need before I head out tonight?” Cynthia asked as they stepped into the elevator together.

“No. That’s all I need. If they can just get that one thing right, we’ll be sitting pretty.” Brian hit the button for the sixth floor.

“I’ll text you later if there are any problems, but I think it’ll be fine.”

“Um . . . I’m going to be away again tonight, Cyn,” Brian warned. “You won’t be able to reach me by phone. Just get it done and have it ready by tomorrow. I trust you. You’ll know what to do.”

“Hmmm. So, I take it, it’s not just his ass that has you coming back for more? Otherwise you wouldn’t be looking for a rerun, would you, Stud?” Cynthia questioned as Brian left her at the door to her room without answering and continued down the hall to his own suite.

Once inside his room, Brian quickly pulled off the Varvatos suit he’d been wearing that day, grabbed a quick shower and then got out one of his more classic Savile Row suits. He packed an overnight bag, making sure to add in a few surprises he thought his Blue Eyes might enjoy, and then hurried to dress. He couldn’t wait to get back to 1941 and reassure himself all was well there.

As he was loading his pockets with wallet, keys, lighter and phone, Brian’s fingers found the slightly crumpled note he’d shoved in the inside jacket pocket two days - and seventy-five years - before, detailing the contact information for one Vera Hastings. He’d totally forgotten about little Harry and his mother. Brian hoped they’d be okay and make it through the war in one piece, although their situation had seemed a bit tenuous. It might be interesting to look them up here in 2016 and see if he could find out what happened to them.

‘One more thing,’ Brian texted to Cynthia. ‘Not a priority, but I need you to research what happened to a boy named Harry Hastings. He was three in 1941. Mother’s name was Vera. Father killed in the war. Their address at the time was . . .’ Brian finished typing out all the information he remembered about the boy and asked Cynthia to see if she could locate him today, then he put his phone back in his pocket and headed out the door, on his way to Duckett’s Passage.

After making it safely through the portal, the first thing Brian noticed when exiting the alleyway was the extent of the destruction that surrounded him. There was debris strewn throughout the streets, buildings teetering in danger of falling over and craters everywhere. Heavy smoke still filled the air hours after the raid had ended. Brian watched as firemen and members of the National Fire Service worked to contain some of the burning buildings that were threatening to crumble around them. He had to carefully pick his way around some of the more damaged areas, and even detour around one block altogether.

This was far worse than Brian had expected, despite the fact that his research had told him that the April 19th bombing was going to be bad. Just reading that the raid would be the second biggest of the Blitz - not counting the inception of the Battle of Britain at the start of the war - and that Germany had sent over seven hundred bombers to London that night dropping over one thousand tons of high explosives, hadn’t impressed him as much as seeing the effects in person. He supposed matters had been exacerbated by the back to back bombings, but still, the situation appeared dire. The devastation was huge and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest the closer he got to The White Lion pub.

Making his way through the rubble, Brian laughed bitterly as he thought about how he really wasn’t built for this 1940’s bullshit. Back in 2016 he’d always considered himself brave enough; he never took shit from anyone and, while he tried to be smart about picking his battles, he didn’t back down from a fight once he knew it was inevitable. But here in 1941, he felt completely out of his league. This was somehow more REAL than his real life back in his own time. And compared to what these people were living through day in and day out, he felt like a coward.

As he approached James Street, the road where the pub was located, Brian’s panic increased. He took in the rubble and debris that used to be the local Butchers with a worried glance before noticing the Chemists on the corner was gone too. The neighborhood was a total shambles.

What if he’d been wrong? What if he’d misread the interactive map he’d found online that showed him the White Lion would be safe? What if reality was different for some reason this time around in some way he couldn’t have predicted? What if Daphne hadn’t listened to him and had stayed behind at the bar amid all this chaos? Damn it to fucking hell!

Brian sprinted the rest of the way to the pub, jumping over fuck knows what whenever his path was blocked, and didn’t stop until he pushed through the doors to the bar. He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he saw Daphne standing behind the counter. From all appearances she seemed her usual unflappable self, smiling and joking with one of her customers, not a hair on her pretty head out of place. Brian let himself relax just a tiny bit.

But the next moment, his eyes were darting around, desperately looking for the one other person he needed to see; the one other person he needed to know was safe. Brian wouldn’t feel completely relaxed until he found his Blue Eyed Boy. And for a brief second he was hopeful when he spotted a group in the corner that included a couple of RAF officers, some of whom he’d seen Justin talking to previously. He immediately turned towards the group, only to stop in his tracks before he’d taken a step. Even from this distance, Brian could already see that his Blue Eyes wasn’t with them.

“Allo, ‘Andsome,” Daphne greeted from her spot at the bar behind him, grinning as she took in the puffing and panting man in front of her. “Run all the way ‘ere did yer?” she teased.

Brian nodded and took the pint of best that she pushed towards him.

He gulped down the warm drink and wiped at his mouth. “Blue Eyes . . . you seen him?” he asked, still panting a bit.

Daphne shook her head. “Nah, not since b’fore the raid I'm ‘fraid. ‘E musta ‘ad a busy night, what wiv all them Gerries flyin’ ev’ry which way all night.”

“Wouldn’t he have been back by now? The raid was supposed to have ended by dawn and you still haven’t seen him?” There was a sinking feeling in Brian’s gut.

“Eh, mate! You wouldna be lookin’ fer our Sunshine, would ya now?” one of the RAF guys who had come up to the bar to get a refill asked as he handed his glass off to Daphne.

“Yes. Do you know where he’s at?” Brian asked, annoyed not only by the fact that his blond was missing but also because of the telltale hint of panic he could hear in his own voice.

“Aye. I seen him just this morning after our mission,” the RAF bloke responded in a broad scottish accent that Brian found difficult to follow. “He was blethering about like a braw wee bampot at first but then he went all peely-wally and says as how he was a goin’ to have to stop in hospital.”

“The hospital?” Brian felt the lump of dread in his stomach growing. “What happened? Was he injured during the mission? What hospital?”

“Sorry, Mate, but I do nae rightly know. He just skedaddled aff with nae another word. But he’s a braw lad. I’m sure he’ll be tidy in no time.” The scotsman raised his pint to Brian, as if to toast the health of his comrade. “Slainte!”

Even though Brian wasn’t one hundred percent sure what the guy had just said, the man’s flippant attitude wasn’t reassuring. The bottom line was that his Blue Eyes was in the fucking hospital and that couldn’t be good. And the worst part was Brian didn’t even know WHICH hospital to go to. Fucking hard-headed, stubborn, too-fucking-brave-for-his-own-good blond . . .

All Brian could think of would be to go to the boarding house where Justin roomed and see if anyone there would have more information on where to find him. He knew that there were several other members of Justin’s squadron rooming there. At least one of them would have to know something concrete about what had happened to his blond, right?

Without even a word of goodbye to Daphne, Brian dashed out the door and down the street, back through the destruction of the West End.

It didn’t take Brian long to reach the small boarding house where Justin was staying. Thankfully, this neighborhood didn’t seem to have taken as heavy a hit from the bombing as the more commercial streets closer to the river. He knocked loudly on the door and, before anyone even had the chance to answer, he knocked again.

Before long he could hear someone stomping down the stairs on their way to answer the front door. “Alright, alright, I’m comin’, keep your bleedin’ ‘air on, would yer.”

An older lady, her blue-tinged, white hair gathered up in a paisley-print kerchief, answered the door, an apron tied around her waist and a feather duster clutched in her hand. “Can I ‘elp yer?” she snapped, causing Brian to hesitate. “Well, get on with yer, sonny. Yer caught me at a bad time. I was in the middle of dustin’ me mantle piece.”

“I’m . . . uh . . . I’m looking for Justin Taylor.”

“‘E ain’t here. ‘E ain’t returned aft’r last night’s shenanigans,” she replied belligerently. “Now, if yer will excuse me, the ‘ouse ain’t gonna clean itself, is it? Blasted Gerries, causin’ such a ruckus an’ always makin’ a mess. I been cleanin’ night and day to keep up wiv all the dust they keeps raisin’.”

“Wait,” Brian said, more desperately than he would have liked, as he held his hand out to stop her from closing the door on him. “One of the other RAF pilots told me he was hurt and was off to the hospital, but I don’t know anything else. I just wanted to see if any of your other boarders might know something or tell me where to find him. Doesn’t Justin have a roommate? Is he here? Maybe he knows something?”

Mrs. McCready shook her head and tutted loudly. “‘Old on, let me see if ‘es ‘ere,” she told Brian. “Christopher!!!!” she shouted loudly up the stairs. “Are yer upstairs?”

“Is everything okay down there, Mrs. McCready?” Chris called as he jogged down the stairs, a look of concern on his face as he met his landlady in the hall.

“Everythin’ is fine an’ dandy wiv me, but this bloke, ‘ere,” she pointed to Brian, “‘e’s askin’ about Justin. Somethin’ ‘bout ‘im bein’ take’ to ‘ospital, or sommit?”

Chris's face turned to stone when he saw who was standing right behind Mrs. McCready. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?” he grumbled.

Brian gritted his teeth but, since he needed information from the cretin, he had no choice but to play nice with Hobbs. “Someone at the pub told me that Justin was in the Hospital. I was trying to find out what happened and if he’s okay.”

“I’ve got this, Mrs. McCready,” Hobbs said to the older woman who was standing there looking impatient to get back to her dusting. “Why don’t you go back inside and when I’m done out here, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Both men watched as the older lady went inside and continued on with her dusting as she made her way through the front room. The slimy little snake may be able to fool this sweet little old lady into thinking he was the perfect gentleman, but Brian wasn’t fooled. He saw right through Hobbs’ bullshit. As soon as Mrs. McCready was out of sight, though, the beefy bully boy turned back to Brian with a sneer on his face.

Hobbs said nothing and waited with his arms crossed in front of him for Brian to make the first move.

“I was at the White Lion earlier looking for Justin, and Curly mentioned something about Justin having to go to the hospital . . . I was wondering if you’d heard anything?”

“In hospital you say,” Hobbs snickered. “What happened, Nancy Boy break a fingernail or something?

Brian’s fists clenched tightly and he had to physically stop himself from lunging at the little piece of shit standing in front of him; Hobbs wanted a reaction from him and he’d be damned if he was going to give him one.

“Listen, you don’t like him, I get it,” Brian spat out bitterly. “But just tell me what you fucking know, and you’ll save us both a lot of trouble, okay?”

Hobbs pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up, leaning back heavily against the now closed front door and puffing away like he had all the time in the fucking world.

“Well?” Brian asked bitingly, as he waited for Hobbs to say something . . . anything.

This guy was a fucking tool. And Brian wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off of that prick’s face, but he couldn’t. They weren’t in 2016 - they were in 1941 - and things were different here. No matter how much he wanted to teach this little shit a lesson, he had to have some sort of self control. He had to think about Justin and the young man’s desire to safeguard his career.

“What the hell business is it of yours where Taylor’s at? You seem to be spending an awful lot of time together if all you wanted was an interview for some stupid newspaper.” Chris looked Brian over from head to toe with a wary, apprising gaze as he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. “I'm thinking you're more interested in Taylor’s backside . . . Oops, I meant back STORY.” The puerile little snicker Hobbs gave to punctuate his sentence did nothing to alleviate Brian’s growing annoyance with the man. “Either way, you’re out of luck, because we’re under strict orders not to give out any information about troop casualties without prior written authorization from HQ. So, it looks like it’s time for you to hit the road, Jack.”

“Damm it, Hobbs. Quit being an ass. Just tell me where I can find Justin already, and I’ll leave you the fuck alone.” Brian growled, reaching up to rest a hand against the door which Hobbs seemed ready to slam in his face.

Hobbs apparently misinterpreted the motion as Brian about to take a swing at him and he reacted by grabbing Brian's wrist with his right hand and a handful of Brian’s lapel with his left. “You want a piece of me, Buddy Boy? Huh? I’m not afraid of a big old poof like you. So, if you want to dust it up, go right ahead,” the stocky airman snarled, the smoldering cigarette clamped in his spittle-flecked lips about two inches from Brian’s face.

“Get your fucking hands off me before you only have stubbs left to jerk off with, Hobbs,” Brian snapped back, and then used his free right hand to reach down and take a steel-fingered grip on Hobbs’ undefended package. “Assuming, that is, that you have anything left to jerk off afterwards,” he added with a nasty grin and a vicious squeeze as the bully boy’s face went instantly pale.

“Brian? What the haystacks is going on here?” The confrontation between the two was interrupted as a curious blond boy stepped up next to them, looking at them both like they’d gone round the bend.

“Blue Eyes? Are you okay?” Brian almost immediately forgot about Hobbs, dropping his grip on the other man’s genitals and shrugging off Hobbs’ hands as he turned to greet his boy. He barely even noticed the way Hobbs sank to his knees, panting. “That guy, Curly, said you were in the hospital. I thought maybe something happened on your mission last night.”

“Pfft. It was no big deal, Brian. I just popped a couple of the stitches in my shoulder,” Justin shook his head with a deprecating gesture. Then he added, with a twinkle in his eye, “I think I probably overdid it the night before, and then, when I did a sharp barrel turn to avoid a wing of Gerries trying to dive bomb me last night, I hit it against the canopy of my plane and that was all it took. But it’s fine, really.”

“Damn, Justin, you had me worried. I stopped in at the White Lion and nobody had seen you yet, so I . . .”

Justin waved off Brian’s worries. “The infirmary was packed - they’re helping out with the civilian casualties from the raid last night, so I had to sit there and wait my turn for over four hours. It was incredibly boring. I actually fell asleep at one point.”

“If your tearful reunion is about over,” Hobbs interrupted them, back on his feet and seemingly recovered from the struggle with Brian, although still a bit pale, “can I close the damned door already or not?”

“Fuck off, Hobbs,” Brian sniped distractedly, already dismissing the man and their prior battle of wills.

“You need to watch yourself, Kinney,” Hobbs replied snidely, pulling Brian’s attention away from Justin for a moment. “You might think you’re a big deal or something, but as far as I can see, you’re just another sick-minded rump rider. I don’t like your kind. And if you EVER touch me again - especially there - me and my boys will track you down and break every single one of your fairy fingers. You hear me?”

“You know what, Hobbs? You’re not going to do that,” Justin intervened moving around so he was standing between Brian and Hobbs. “And you know why you’re not?” There was no answer other than the bully boy glaring down at the shorter blond as he casually tossed aside the stub of his cigarette. “Because Brian is attached to the US War Department and you and I both know we’re under standing orders not to engage in any contact with foreign governments in any capacity. So, if I hear about you going after Brian again - of if he even gets mysteriously injured - I’ll have no choice but to report you and this conversation to HQ.” Hobbs’ face changed from glaring to a look of veiled fear. “And you know how much Britain is hoping to entice the US to join the war effort, so I don’t think they’ll be very happy with you if antagonize one of their operatives. I believe the penalty for disregarding that particular order is immediate discharge . . . If you don’t get hit with a treason charge first, that is.”

“You . . . You wouldn’t,” Hobbs spluttered disbelievingly.

“Oh, believe me. I would. And I’d enjoy doing it too.”

“Damned poofs . . . Ganging up . . . Disgusting fairies,” Hobbs muttered, turning around without another word to Brian or Justin and slamming the door of the house in their faces.

“You think that was wise, Blue Eyes?” Brian asked, his eyes betraying how worried he was. “I don’t give a flying fuck what Hobbs thinks of me, but you need to make sure you don’t get on his bad side. He can hurt your career if you make him into a real enemy, Sunshine.”

“You let me worry about Hobbs and my career, Brian. I can take care of myself. I’ve been dealing with knuckleheads like Hobbs all my life. They’re mostly bluster. Besides, I couldn’t let him threaten my man, now could I?”

Brian smiled. “No, we couldn’t have that now, could we.”

Brian wasn’t going to tell the kid how adorable he was, calling him ‘his man’, or anything like that, but secretly, it gave Brian a little bit of a thrill. He’d never been anyone’s anything before and, surprisingly, he found he didn’t mind it one little bit. So, as they walked together back towards Brian’s hotel, he didn’t say much. He was too busy enjoying the company and the knowledge that, for a change, someone was standing up for HIM.

Justin sighed tiredly as he plopped down on the sofa in Brian’s suite back at the hotel. “Are you sure you don’t mind not going out?”

“I told you it’s fine,” Brian assured him as he loosened his tie and threw his suit jacket lazily over the back of the sofa, sinking down onto the cushion next to Justin. “Why do you think I suggested we just come back here.”

Justin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I, uh . . . Well, I know you probably want to . . . to do what we did the other night . . . But, well, it’s just that I’m feeling rather . . . sore, is all.”

Justin looked away, seemingly unable to meet Brian’s eyes, his blushing so fierce that it looked almost like his cheeks were on fire.

“Justin . . . Blue Eyes, that’s not . . . that’s not why I brought you here,” Brian struggled to express himself. “Not that I would mind a little of that, but if you’re tired, then we can just hang out. Besides, I feel . . . well, I feel a little bad about the fact that I . . . I shouldn’t have worked you so hard, you know. Seeing as you’re new at all this and all . . .” Brian felt just as awkward talking about this as Justin seemed to feel. “In fact, I actually have something for you.”

Brian reached over and grabbed his overnight bag, which he'd dropped just beside the sofa. He rifled through the contents for a moment, eventually pulling out his toiletries kit and then unzipped that to extract a small tin he’d put in there before he left 2016. With a little flourish, he presented the gift to Justin.

“Here you go, Blue Eyes. This stuff is great. It should fix you right up in no time.”

“What is it?” he asked as he popped open the lid and took a sniff. “Mmm, whatever it is, it smells wonderful.”

“It’s cream for your ass,” Brian grinned cheekily. “It’s really soothing and will help bring down any swelling.”

Justin laughed softly and his cheeks flushed again, turning a delicious pink as he read the name on the front. “Butt Butter . . . I can’t believe they can get away with calling it that. Where the heck do you find this sort of stuff anyway?”

“Ah, that would be telling now, wouldn’t it?” Brian tapped his nose teasingly. “Come on, get those pants down and I’ll help you put some of this stuff on.”

“You wanna . . .you wanna help me put it on . . . down there,” Justin asked embarrassedly.

Brian wrapped his arms around his blushing blond and kissed his cheek. “Justin, It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

“I know, but this is different.”

‘He’s just too fucking adorable,’ Brian thought to himself, wondering vaguely just how many times he’d used that lesbianic word to describe the boy, and then deciding not to care about it because as long as he didn’t say it out loud, nobody would know, right?

“Blue Eyes, I would hope you remembered this very important fact, but I very recently had my tongue up your ass, so putting a little cream on there is really no big deal.”

Justin bit his lip nervously, not looking Brian in the eyes.

“Okay,” he mumbled quietly. “How do you want me?”

There were so many fucking answers to that question, but none that Brian could say out loud - not right then anyway - so instead, he helped Justin take his pants down and kneel on the sofa with his arms resting against the back and his rear end poking out at eye level once Brian had kneeled on the floor.

“Are you comfortable?”

Justin had his head buried in his arms so his response was muffled. “Yeah . . .”

Brian thought the boy didn’t sound very convinced, but he wasn’t going to make it worse for the kid by saying anything. Instead, he just set to work. Unscrewing the top off the Butt Butter, Brian inhaled deeply and scooped some onto his fingers.

“Mmm, you were right, this stuff does smell good.”

“I don’t recognize the smell . . . what is it?” Justin asked, as he lifted his head slightly to look at Brian over his shoulder, smiling shyly when he saw Brian positioned at his ass.

“Coconut and . . .” Brian turned the tub in his clean hand and read through the ingredients. “Lavender and apricot oil.”

“Holy smokes, no wonder it smells so good. I don’t think I’ve smelt anything so exotic in my life,” Justin explained honestly. “It smells good enough to eat.”

Brian had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying anything, because he was thinking that very same thing himself . . . except not about the cream, but the rather pale, yet deliciously perky bubble butt in front of him. With one hand placed on Justin’s lower back, he used the other to gently spread the cream around Justin’s tender hole, watching in fascination as the little pucker quivered at the cold intrusion.

Justin hissed.

Brian instantly slowed down his movements. “Does it sting?”

“No.”

“You telling me the truth?”

“Yeah . . . it feels really nice, actually. It’s just a little sore.”

“It will be for a day or two more,” Brian told him as he bent down to get a closer look. “It’s red and a little swollen, but nothing bad. I think you’ll live to fuck again, Blue Eyes. At least you didn’t tear.”

Justin’s head spun around. “That can happen?”

“Only if you’re not careful,” Brian assured him as he gave his butt cheek a nice little kiss. “I tried to make sure I prepared you well and we used lots and lots of lube, which helps. And, even though we went at it a little hard, I would never do that to you. I promise.”

“I know. I trust you, Brian.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Blue Eyes.”

“But I think the cream is all rubbed in now,” Justin laughed as Brian continued to stroke and caress his butt lovingly.

Brian sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid you’re right about that,” he said as he gave both cheeks a nice squeeze before helping Justin pull his hideous boxers back up so as not to get any cream on the cushions.

“Thank you, Brían,” Justin grinned. “It feels better already. You’re taking very good care of me. Or of my ass at least.”

“Well, seeing as I was partly to blame . . .”

“Partly?”

“Okay, seeing as I was completely to blame,” they both laughed, “it was the least I could do.”

Justin let out a wide yawn and stretched, groaning in pain as he raised his sore shoulder. “Ahh, Applesauce, I’d forgotten about this darn thing.”

Brian made his way towards the bed, stripping his clothes as he went, leaving himself decked out in only his black Armani boxer briefs.

“I have an idea. Clothes off, Sunshine . . . although you can leave those ugly ass boxers of yours on if you like . . . and then climb in.”

“Huh?”

“We’re taking a nap, Blue Eyes. I didn’t sleep well last night and I know you got no rest, either, so come on and get your ass in here.”

“You know you’re kind of pushy, right?” Justin teased as he slowly got up off the sofa and made his way over to the bed where Brian was patiently holding up the covers for him.

“Hush. Get in,” Brian ordered.

Justin giggled but followed directions, making himself comfortable as soon as Brian joined him by curling up along the bigger man’s side and snuggling up against him so that he could use Brian’s shoulder as a pillow. Brian didn’t say anything; he just wrapped an arm around the blond’s shoulders and pulled him in even tighter against his side. And then, assured that his Blue Eyes was there, safe and mostly sound, he finally relaxed sufficiently to follow the already snoring younger man into greatly needed slumber.