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Author's Chapter Notes:

Brian's strange night in London continues . . . Enjoy! TAG and Sally.



Chapter 2 - To Each His Own.


Brian was jostled out of his very strange dream by a pair of strong arms wrapping themselves around him and lifting his body up slightly. He mentally cursed himself for falling asleep without kicking his trick out first. He wished the fucker would just leave him alone so he could sleep. Judging by the lack of light hitting the outside of his eyelids, it couldn’t possibly be morning yet, so why was the guy so insistent that he wake up?


“Fuck off. I’m sleeping here,” Brian mumbled, turning his head away from the commotion of the trick barking something at him.


Then the trick did something really annoying - he slapped Brian’s face, not hard or anything, but it was enough to sting his cheek a little and it made Brian mad - so he was forced to open up his eyes and deal with the little fucker. Whereupon Brian found himself looking up into the most alluring, bright blue eyes, framed by the longest, dark blond eyelashes that he’d ever seen. At least he knew how to pick attractive tricks, Brian thought, even if they were annoying and loud and woke him up way too early in the morning. However, since he was awake now anyway, he figured he might as well make the most of the moment.


Reaching up, Brian hooked his right hand around the back of the blond trick’s neck and pulled the guy’s face down close enough so he could plant a nice, juicy lip lock on the plump, delicious-looking lips that came along with the pretty blue eyes. The trick at first gave in, kissing back before thinking about it, but then, half a minute later, he seemingly changed his mind. The body Brian had been enjoying jerked back and the lips disappeared. Brian groaned, not at all happy to have his kiss interrupted so rudely. What was with this annoying trick anyway? First he wakes Brian up, presumably to fuck again, because why else would you bother waking up the middle of the night, and then he changes his mind and pulls away? THIS was exactly why Brian rarely let his tricks stay over.


“Fine. Be that way, Blue Eyes. But if you don’t want to fuck again then you can get the hell out already. At least then I can get back to sleep,” Brian complained, trying to free himself from the arms that were preventing him from rolling over and going back to sleep.


“Ahem . . . He’s clearly not . . . I mean, I didn’t . . . He’s . . . He’s obviously hit his head really hard. Probably got a concussion. Doesn’t know what he’s saying,” the trick said, his voice a pleasant low tenor that Brian seemed to vaguely remember from somewhere, even if he didn’t understand why the trick was saying what he said.


“Must be if’n he’s trying to kiss ‘nother bloke,” a deeper, more accented voice said from somewhere behind Brian. “Least ways, he don’t seem like ya regular Nancy boy.”


That voice didn’t fit into the scenario though. Brian couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why there was a second trick involved here. He didn’t remember any threesomes, although, that was always a possibility. Hell, judging by how badly his head was throbbing, maybe he’d been too drunk to remember anything. But he really wasn’t in the mood for that much entertainment right then. His head really did hurt pretty badly. If the pretty blond had wanted to stay and play, he might have been agreeable, but otherwise, he decided he just wanted them both to go and leave him to sleep.


“Hey, Pal. Wake up already.” The trick was now shaking Brian’s shoulder and yelling at him loudly enough to prevent Brian from going back to sleep. “Come on, Buddy. Time to wake up. You can’t go back to sleep with a bump like that on your noggin.”


“Ya think he’s gonna be okay? We could try and make a run with him for the hospital, but I’d prefer to wait till after the raid is over,” said the deeper voice coming from the body Brian couldn’t quite see yet.


“No. I think it’s safer to just stay here for the time being,” Blue Eyes asserted calmly, looking down at Brian with a worried frown. “If I remember my training right, all we can do for a concussion is keep him awake, watch him to make sure he doesn’t get worse, and keep him calm. The hospital is bound to be full of people who need real help. I think I’ve got this for the time being. But I should bandage that cut and if anyone down here has any aspirin, that might help, too.”


“Good idea. I’ll ask around. Be right back,” Deep Voice stated and then, from the sounds of it, moved off.


“What time is it?” Brian groaned. If these tricks weren’t going to leave him the fuck alone anytime soon, he might as well get up - it wasn’t like he didn’t have a shit load of work to do before his big meeting tomorrow . . . wait, he hadn’t missed his meeting with Britcom had he? Fuck, if he’d missed the meeting Gardner was gonna have his balls.


“It’s a little after one,” the blond replied.


Brian opened his eyes properly, or at least as well as he could with the headache from hell that was currently eating away at his brain. It was a good thing the light in here wasn’t too bright, because he didn’t think his head could handle it.


“How are you feeling?” Blue Eyes asked.


How was he feeling? What the fuck had happened? And more importantly, where the fuck was he?


“Like shit. What happened?”


The blue eyed adonis smiled softly. “You passed out.”


Passed out? How much had he had to drink last night?


The confusion must have shown on his face.


“You fell . . . sprained your ankle and knocked your head a good one,” Blue Eyes answered, which at least explained his head.


Brian nodded. He remembered that part now. And the fact that his gorgeous new suit was ruined. He was also starting to remember how he came to be in the presence of the man with the pretty blue eyes who, unfortunately, was not one of his tricks. At least not yet.


“What’s your name again?” Brian asked casually.


The blond’s face fell slightly. “Justin . . . Justin Taylor, First Officer, Eagle Squadron, Fourth Fighter Group.”


Brian rubbed tiredly at his face, closing his eyes and groaning quietly. He was exhausted. Maybe if he could just get a little rest, this splitting headache would ease up a bit.


Justin tapped his arm. “You can’t go back to sleep.”


“Why the hell not?” Brian grumbled at the annoyingly persistent little blond.


“Because, unless I’m wrong, you've got yourself a concussion there. Which means I’m not supposed to let you go back to sleep, or you might not ever wake up again,” the officious little do-gooder maintained. “So, work with me here, Buddy. To start with, let's get you sitting up a little bit more.”


Sighing heavily, Brian sat up slowly - taking advantage of Justin’s proffered hand. He figured Justin must be right in his diagnosis, since the entire room began spinning around him wildly even with that small amount of movement. The throbbing in his head was also amplified. However, looking on the bright side, at least with his head hurting this bad he no longer really felt the pain in his ankle. Since when had he become such an optimist?


“So far so good,” Brian's very own Florence Nightingale averred. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”


Brian squinted a bit, until the five or six hands full of fingers whirling around in front of his face coalesced into just one, and he was able to see more clearly.


“Three. I think. But if you really want to wiggle your fingers around, I can think of a lot funner places to do it than in my face like that,” Brian answered, trying for a sexy smirk at the end, but unfortunately only able to muster up a slightly lopsided frown.


“Uh . . . Um . . . Well, let’s just say your vision doesn’t appear to be blurred,” Justin responded, ignoring the innuendo, but with the beginnings of a rosy blush tinting his cheeks. “If you feel sick to your stomach, just let me know. Do you feel otherwise disoriented or confused?”


Brian thought about yelling out, ‘fuck, yeah. What the hell is going on here,’ but decided not to show his hand that much. He didn’t know who all these people were and he hated thinking that he was basically at their mercy. He preferred to take what little control he could, which meant there was no way he was letting on to Blue Eyes or anyone else how thoroughly confused he really was. Instead, Brian went with a bland, “a little, maybe.”


“Hmmm. That’s not a good sign,” Justin remarked, looking into Brian’s eyes again with concern. “Do you remember your name?”


“Kinney. Brian Kinney.” Of that much, at least, he was sure.


“Nice to meet you, Brian,” Justin nodded and smiled but then hurried on with his questioning. “So, what brings you here to London, Brian?”


“I’ve got an important business meeting here tomorrow,” Brian answered readily enough but without giving too many details.


“Two out of two, so far,” Justin seemed pleased with Brian’s answers. “Now, how about today’s date?”


Brian looked around him at the oddly dressed people, all huddled together on the Tube station floor, then back to his questioner. This didn’t look like 2016 to him. Not unless these folks were all part of some elaborate hoax. Or maybe it was some kind of crazy theme party? Some kind of period dress up party where they locked you in the Tube station for the night? That didn’t sound like Brian’s kind of fun, but he supposed there might be some twisted losers out there that were into that kind of thing? If that was the case, though, they were all doing a smash up job at staying in character . . .


“I’m not exactly sure,” Brian finally answered truthfully.


“Hmmm. That’s not good,” Nurse Blue Eyes declared, reaching out to tip Brian’s head back so that he could look at the gash on his forehead in the light again. “Yeah, you definitely banged yourself up good there. But I don’t think it’s as bad as it seems. Head wounds always bleed like the Dickens. But maybe we should try and get you to a doctor after all if you can’t remember what day it is . . .”


Just then, their discussion was interrupted by a muffled thudding boom and the ground under them rocked slightly. Brian grabbed hold of the edge of the platform, worried he might fall off. Some of the children nearby began to whimper but were soon calmed by parents. Even then, though, Brian was surprised by how matter-of-fact everyone seemed to be. Unless he was wrong, that had been some kind of explosion up on the street. And, if it was big enough to rock them all the way down here, it must have been pretty serious. Why weren’t all these people freaking out? This couldn’t possibly be just a theme party, could it? And surely people weren’t crazy enough to get their kids involved in this messed up shit . . . What the FUCK was going on?


“So, um, what is the date?” Brian asked as soon as the minor commotion caused by the distant explosion had died down, almost afraid to get the answer.


Justin smiled at Brian. “It’s April 1st, of course.”


Well, at least he hadn’t missed his meeting yet, he thought. “Not exactly the kind of April Fool’s joke I wanted,” Brian mumbled. Then he asked the inevitable follow up question, the one he really didn’t want to know the answer to. “And, just for laughs, tell me . . . what year is it?”


Justin looked at him curiously, obviously surprised by Brian’s question. “It’s 1941, Buddy. What year did you think it was?”


1941? Seriously? Brian scanned the crowd of people around them again and shrugged. Well, that would explain the period costumes and the premise for why they were all hiding in this Tube station. 1941 London would have meant they were in the middle of World War II and the famous London Blitz - the time when Hitler’s air fleets had been regularly bombing the shit out of the English countryside. Brian vaguely remembered that the citizens of London had routinely used Underground stations as shelters from the almost nightly bombing. So, was that what this was? Some kind of Blitz recreation? Okay . . . whatever floated your boat.


“Well, it’s definitely NOT 2016,” Brian finally answered, getting a chuckle out of his new blue-eyed friend.


“Yeah, well, I’d hope that the war is finally over by then. If we’re still huddling here in the dark getting bombed every other night after another seventy five years, there won’t be much of London left,” Justin asserted.


There was another distant boom right then from above and a sifting of dust sprinkled down on them from the ceiling of the station tunnel.


Brian jumped a little.


“At this rate, I’m not sure much will be left by this time NEXT year if we don’t do something to stop Gerry sooner,” Justin added with a definite frown as he dusted a small accumulation of soot off the shoulder of his uniform jacket.


Brian didn’t comment. He was rather impressed with how well this guy stayed in character. And the special effects were pretty remarkable. The booming noises, the dustiness . . . all of it was so realistic. This had to be the most elaborate party Brian had ever seen. Whoever did their advertising must be a fucking genius. He’d have to look into it when it didn’t feel like his head was going to explode.


*Achoo!* Brian’s perusal of his neighbors’ costumes was interrupted by the violent sneezing of his Blue Eyes. “Sorry about that,” Justin apologized as he pulled an old-fashioned, personally initialled, starched linen handkerchief out of his pants pocket and swiped at his dripping nose. “Applesauce! This happens almost every night. All the dust down here gets my allergies going every time. It’s a good thing my mother sent over another two dozen hankies in that last care package I got, you can’t find them over here these days.”


Brian noticed even in the dim light how red and sore The blond’s eyes were beginning to look. ‘Every night’? Brian thought that was an odd thing for the guy to say. Did they do this party that often? Or was Blue Eyes just trying to stay in character? And why didn’t the kid just take some allergy meds before coming to the party? He didn’t need to adhere to the period atmosphere that strictly that he couldn’t take advantage of modern medicine while attending, did he?


“‘Ere ya go, Sir.” The baritone voice Brian remembered hearing before returned right then, along with the person it belonged to, which turned out to be their friend, Alfie, the ticket taker. “The station warden sent me along with his First Aid Kit. He’s a might busy right now or he’d a come his own self,” Alfie explained. “Gerry dropped a whole mess of dem incendiaries o’er our heads t’night, and it’s keepin’ em all busy topside, you know. Fire brigades are hoppin’ all o’er da place. So’s it’s best you stay here nice and cozy like for now, Sir. Hopefully you kin find whatever you need in that there kit. I think it’s even got some of them new-fangled sticking plasters in it, ya know.”


“Thank you, Mr. Smith. This should be fine. I’ll take it from here so you can get back to your duties,” Justin advised, accepting the tin box from the helpful ticket taker and immediately beginning to rifle through its contents.



Before Brian knew what was going on, his Blue Eyes had dug out a small yellow box labelled ‘Iodine Swabs’ from the kit. Justin pulled a small white tube of something out of the box, snapped it open and began daubing at Brian’s head with it. The solution in the tube stung a bit, but in a good, medicinal way, so Brian resisted the urge to flinch away. Once the wound was disinfected, Justin pulled a small, white metal cylinder out of the kit, removed the cap from that, and pulled out a self-adhesive bandage, which he promptly administered to Brian’s forehead.


“There you go. I know I’m not a bedpan commando, but that should hold you,” Justin smiled at his tidy work. “You’ll be good as new in no time.”


“Thanks.” Brian offered his nurse a sexy smile of gratitude, and got another of those blushes in return. “So what’s next?” Brian looked around him and noted that almost all of their fellow Underground denizens were bunked down and snoozing by this point. “This has got to be the lamest party I’ve ever been to. When does the fun start?”


Justin raised his eyebrows. “I’m afraid this is about as fun as it gets around here. Sometimes Harry brings his accordion and plays us a song or two, but I don’t see him around tonight. I hope he didn’t get caught up in the ruckus upstairs,” Blue Eyes stated, looking worried for a moment. “This shelter has mostly families, anyways, so it’s pretty tame. Nothing like the rowdier places downtown or out by the barracks. I wouldn’t think you’d be up for that much fun, though, considering your state. But I might have a pack a cards on me if you’re feeling well enough for a game or two,” Justin said as he patted his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cards that had seen better days. “Aha, we’re in luck. I usually carry a deck on me. It helps pass the time when we’re sitting around HQ waiting for orders. My squadron isn’t completely up to numbers yet, you know, so there’s a lot of sitting around waiting on stuff going on these days. I’ve flown a few training runs with the first squadron already, but that’s about it. I can’t wait to get the okay for our first official mission.” While he’d been telling Brian all this, the young blond had already begun shuffling the deck of cards. “Gin Rummy?” He asked and Brian nodded, thinking, ‘what the hell’.


“So, what’s an American doing here in London in a military uniform?” Brian asked, thinking he might as well play along since he had nothing better to do for the moment. “If I remember correctly, the Americans won’t be entering the war until December and won’t be stationing troops in England until at least 1942. Aren't you getting a bit ahead of yourself?”


Brian looked up when the blond paused in the act of dealing his cards, staring at Brian like he’d just said something absolutely ludicrous. Then Justin looked around himself with a worried expression. As soon as he noted that everyone else within ear shot seemed to be sound asleep, he relaxed a little, but remained a little bit more on guard than he’d previously been.


“I'm not sure what kind of ‘business’ you’re here about, Mister, but whatever it is, you better keep information like that to yourself. Loose lips and all that, right? We definitely don’t want Gerry getting advance word about America coming into the war - not that I believe it, mind you, although there have been some rumblings about that up at HQ - and you never know who’s listening these days, so best keep anything you do know to yourself,” Justin advised with a serious glare in Brian’s direction.

 

“Shit. You really take this crap seriously, I guess,” Brian grumbled, amused that his new friend was so serious about playing his part. “Okay. I’ll play along. Still, what’s an American doing here in 1941?”


Justin resumed dealing out the cards, although he was still frowning at Brian’s flippancy. “That’s simple. I’ve always wanted to be a pilot, but it’s tough to get into the training program back in the States. I got . . . I didn’t make the cut back home,” Justin looked sideways at Brian as he said this, obviously holding something back from his story. As he arranged the cards in his hand, he continued, “lucky for me, though, the R.A.F. is desperate for recruits, so I hopped over the pond and signed up over here. There’s a lot of us Yanks doing the same thing. No. 71 Squadron went operational back in February - the lucky dogs - but our squadron is almost ready to join them. We’re not quite up to numbers yet. We should be flying by the end of the month, though. I can’t wait. The training has been great - really interesting, you know - but I’m looking forward to putting it all to the test for real . . .”


Brian looked over his hand with an amused smile while listening to the kid go on about his imaginary flight training. He discarded a red ten and drew a replacement card from the deck. Justin threw down a black four and drew as well, talking all the time. And before you knew it, they were both so absorbed in their card game while they chatted that Brian didn’t even realize how far into the conversation he’d been drawn. He hadn’t felt this relaxed around a stranger in a long time. Maybe in forever, now that he thought about it. Which was strange because Brian rarely let his guard down, even with his friends. But here he was, having been pulled into this strange evening’s entertainment against his will, not really even understanding what was going on, and he somehow found himself enjoying the whole thing immensely. Without alcohol being involved. And without having even fucked anyone here yet. But he WAS actually enjoying himself. Go figure, right?


“Gin,” Brian declared, laying down all his cards and getting a groan from his opponent who still had a lot of cards in his own hand.


They quickly totaled up the points and then Brian began to deal the next hand.


“Anyway, I do miss my family an awful lot, but I don’t regret volunteering. There wasn’t much for me if I’d stayed back home. At least here I get to fly. There’s nothing like it, you know. You feel so free up there. Like no one can drag you down. No one can judge you . . . Have you ever been in an airplane?” Justin asked Brian, his face betraying absolutely no hint of disingenuousness at the ridiculous question.


Brian laughed. This kid was really good. “Uh, yeah, I fly all the time,” he answered honestly, not as concerned about playing the game as the kid.


“Really? You must must be a real high roller. Back in Pittsburgh, where I come from, nobody has much call to fly anywhere, even if they could afford it. But I got to hear Lucky Lindy speak at the local YMCA a couple of years back. He said that air travel is gonna be the next big thing. He predicted that within a decade, we’ll all be flying all around the world, and that being a pilot is gonna be where all the big money jobs are. And I knew then and there, that’s what I wanted to do. No matter what I had to do to make it happen,” Justin rhapsodized on about his supposed profession, causing Brian to chuckle at the kid’s pretended innocence.


“Sorry. I guess I tend to talk too much, especially when it’s about flying,” Justin apologized with another adorable blush when he saw Brian smiling indulgently at him. “Gin,” he announced, laying down his cards, and effectively changing the subject. “But enough about me. I’ve already talked your ear off. What brings YOU here to London. You’re clearly not here to volunteer to join the British Gravel Agitators, so what’s this business that’s got you flying all over the place - if you can safely say, that is?”


Normally Brian would have happily launched into an explanation of his latest target client - he not only got off on bragging about his prowess in the marketing world but he rarely passed up any opportunity to network, even in out of the way situations like this - but for some reason, he just didn’t feel like talking shop right then. Discussions of modern marketing techniques just didn’t feel like the proper topic for this venue. For one thing, it would be completely out of character at this kind of period party. And, while he wasn’t exactly as into the game as his Blue Eyes was, he didn’t want to ruin the vibe either. Plus, he was actually enjoying listening to the enthusiastic kid rambling on, and didn’t want to bring in a discordant note. So, rather than talking about his work, Brian did something completely out of character, and instead starting telling a little about himself.


“Oh, like I said, just business. Nothing you’d be interested in hearing about,” he evaded the direct question. “I almost don’t care if I get the account - except that my boss will kill me if I don’t - mostly, I was just happy to get the opportunity to come back to London. I love this city. Every time I come here I find something interesting that I never expected to find. Or some ONE,” Brian offered with a suggestive wink that seemed to surprise the young man again.


Justin seemed genuinely startled by Brian’s flirting. He reacted so oddly. It was almost like he felt guilty or something. The way Justin would glance around furtively whenever Brian came onto him, as if he was truly afraid somebody might notice, seemed inexplicable. Brian was pretty sure his gaydar wasn’t wrong - this kid had to be gay - but if so, why was he acting so off? He couldn’t still be in the closet, could he? As beautiful as this guy was, it would be a total shame. Something was certainly not copacetic though.


Since his efforts to flirt didn’t seem to be going anywhere, though, Brian hurried on. “I especially love the museums here. I don’t think any other city in the world has as many, or as varied, museums as London. If I get through with my meeting early enough tomorrow, I’m hoping to get to the National Gallery for a few hours. Have you been there yet?”


“Sorry to burst your bubble, Brian,” Justin replied, looking truly saddened. “But the National Gallery is closed. Pretty much all the museums in London are closed. I heard that the government’s shipped as much of the art as possible out of the city to keep it safe from the Blitz and the rest is hidden in vaults somewhere. Shame, too. I’m a bit of an artist myself, on the side and all, and I’d have liked to see some of the Masters. Maybe after the war though, right?”


“Oh. Right. I forgot,” Brian replied, a little aggravated by how adamant the kid was about staying in character. “So, you’re an artist too?” He asked, hoping to move to a safer topic.


“I dabble,” Justin explained self-effacingly. “You can’t make a living as an artist though. And I don’t want to be a poor starving artist all my life. Not me. My plan is to get through this war, then get my commercial pilot's license and make buckets of moolah flying all around the world for the next ten years or so. After which I should have enough to go back home, buy a nice little place and settle down. By then my mother will be ready for me to find a wife, get married and give her a grandkid or two.”


That comment struck Brian as extremely odd. Maybe hitting his head had thrown his gaydar off? Did he really just hear Blue Eyes saying his plan was to get married and pop out a couple kids? Brian could have sworn this guy was gay, but maybe he was wrong . . . Or maybe the kid was just playing his part a little too well.


Either way, Brian was starting to get annoyed by all the pretence. His head was also throbbing again. He set his current hand of cards aside and rubbed gingerly at his temples. He was desperately tired. Would it really be that big a deal if he caught an hour or so of shut eye? He wasn’t a doctor or anything, but he didn’t think they really enforced that no sleeping thing for concussions these days, did they? Hell, even the cold tile floor of the Tube station was looking awfully inviting right then.


Just as Brian was about to give in and curl up on the floor, though, his personal medical attendant was there propping him up. “Whoa there, Pal. No sleeping remember,” Justin insisted. “Not for at least twenty-four hours. After that, if you aren’t showing any further signs of concussion, you can sleep. But for now, you’ve got to stay with me. Okay?”


“. . . so tired,”


“I know you’re tired. That’s the bump on the head talking, though. Come on. Sit up again. You can do this. I wish there was room to walk around a bit, but you’d probably step on somebody in your condition.” That roused Brian enough to get a small laugh out of him. “Just stay with me. Talk to me. Tell me . . . Tell me about your family.”


“I don’t want to talk about my fucking family. I hate my family,” Brian grumbled uncooperatively.


Justin laughed. “Fine. Tell me about your friends, then. What do you do for fun back home? Where is home, by the way?”


“Pittsburgh.”


“Really? Me too. It’s a small world, huh?” Brian grunted, still eyeing the comfy-looking floor with intention. “So, tell me what you and your friends do for fun in Pittsburgh.”


“We go out. Go to bars. Drink. Dance. The usual,” Brian replied grudgingly.


“Yeah? What’s your favorite bar?” Justin asked, simply to keep Brian talking.


“Woody’s. Or, if we want to dance, Babylon.”


“Hmm. I don’t know those joints. And I thought I knew Pittsburgh,” Justin commented.


“You must have been hiding under a rock then,” Brian teased. “They’re the two hottest venues on Liberty Avenue. When I’m home I’m out at one or the other maybe five nights a week. Although I haven’t been going out as much as I used to. My best friend, Michael, recently got himself into a serious relationship and now I hardly see him. And hanging out with Loser Ted and Flaming Emmett isn’t the same, you know . . .”


And just like that, Brian was launched into a complete and detailed biopic of his life. Justin adroitly kept him taking, asking leading questions here and there, any time it seemed like Brian was at risk of drifting off. Maybe it was the knock on the head, or maybe it was just the strangeness of the night overall, but Brian found himself talking like he’d never done before. While they sat there on the floor of the overcrowded Underground station playing Gin Rummy, Brian basically told this kid all about his life back home. And not the stuff he usually bragged about to strangers - the stuff he felt comfortable telling about his more public persona, his nightly conquests, his reputation as a Stud - nope, he found himself telling this guy he’d just met about his less than happy childhood, his dissatisfaction with his currently lonely life, the way all his friends seemed to be finding partners and settling down while leaving him behind, and even about his son, Gus, who he rarely talked about to anyone. In exchange, Justin told Brian more about his own life, his hopes and his dreams.


And, before they knew it, the night was over.


“Right-O, Ladies and Gents. That’s the All Clear sounding now,” Alfie announced in his clear, booming baritone. “Time to rise and shine and head on home. Good luck to you all. Here’s hoping Gerry missed your ‘ouses last night. It were a bad ‘un I’m afeared.”


“Well, you made it through the night. That’s a good sign. How are you feeling now?” Justin asked Brian, leaning so he could look into Brian’s eyes more closely. “Your pupils aren’t dilated or anything, so I think you’re probably on the mend.”


Brian pushed himself to his knees and then climbed stiffly to his feet. His head felt heavy but he thought that was mostly just the lack of sleep. When he bent over to pick up his jacket, he did feel a momentary wash of dizziness, though, and quickly reached out a hand to steady himself. Justin grabbed hold right away.


“Okay, maybe I spoke too soon.” Justin moved closer and wrapped his arm around Brian’s waist supportively. “If you’re still feeling dizzy, I think we’d better get you checked out by a doctor, Brian.”


“I’ll be fine.” Brian hated being fussed over. He took a deep breath and was glad to note that the dizziness was already passing. “If I can just get back to my hotel, I'm sure they can call a doctor for me. Besides, I’ve got to get ready for my meeting. My boss won’t care about any concussion. If I don't close this deal, he’ll take my head off the rest of the way.”


“Well, If you’re sure,” Justin seemed reluctant to let Brian go. “But I’ll feel better if you let me walk you to your hotel. Just to ensure you make it okay.”


“Awww. Walking me back to my room with my virtue still intact even after spending a whole night together. You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you, Blue Eyes?” Brian teased, enjoying that he could raise another blush with his joking. Just one step on his still sore ankle though told Brian he’d be foolish not to take Justin up on his offer. “Fine. I guess you win. It seems I could use some help. But I’m warning you now - once we get to the hotel, I’m not inviting you upstairs. We wouldn’t want the neighbors to talk, now would we?” He snarked with another blush inducing wink, that had him laughing to himself even through the pain of negotiating the stairs back up to the real world.



 

Chapter End Notes:

11/4/17 - To Each His Own by the Ink Spots. So, Brian’s not quite sure what’s going on with his new friend, but he’s about to get a wake up call . . . Thanks for reading and remember to come by the online doc and help us out with any suggestions you might have. Off to write more. Sally & TAG

 

Slang:

Bedpan Commando - Medical corpsman/army medic

 

Gravel Agitators - Army infantrymen

 

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