Knee-High, Black, Patent-Leather Boots

Brian leaned against the bar, sipping on his Beam, with Michael at his side, prattling on about something he couldn't give two fucks about, and wondering where the fuck Justin was now. The last time he'd seen Justin, he'd run off with Emmett and Blake, supposedly to dance; but that had been over an hour ago, with no Justin anywhere to be seen, and he'd come to recognize the gleam that had been in his husband's eyes far too well over the years.

Justin was definitely up to something; but he couldn't quite figure out just what that something was. Or at least, he hoped he hadn't; because if the little twat was doing what he thought he was doing, he was going to pull him over his knee and spank that pretty, little ass until it was glowing.

Knocking back his drink, Brian turned towards the bartender and signaled for another. He figured if he was going to be stuck on the Michael-sitting detail, (and where the fuck was Ben anyways), and watching the Christmas Jingle Balls Extravaganza to make sure things didn't get too out of hand, he wasn't doing it completely sober. Really, what had he been thinking when he agreed to allow Emmett to host this charity strip show at Babylon? Although, it likely had something to do with Justin's puppy-dog eyes and the fact that all of the proceeds were going to the Vic Grassi House.

And that they both knew him well enough to prey on his weaknesses meant he was seriously fucked when it came to like endeavors in the future. Somehow, he'd find a way to make Justin pay for this.

Speaking of his whininess.

"Brian…" Michael whined, making Brian want to roll his eyes and beat himself against something thick and dense -  like Mikey's head - but he refrained. Barely. He knew it would only lead to more grief than satisfaction if he did so. "Are you listening to me?"

"No," Brian said, not bothering to sugar coat it; he'd given up placating Mikey's need for attention years ago. Not that he'd ever noticed.

"But…" Michael spluttered, as if this weren't a typical answer.

There were definitely days, that had it been anyone other than Mikey, Brian would have appreciated his tenacity. But since it was Michael, it was just annoying.

"Mikey," Brian said, cutting him off before he could work himself into another snit. "Go whine to your husband; I have far more important things to do than to listen to you whine about something that only you perceive to be an issue."

"Like what?" Michael asked sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout, as if he thought that would work in his favor.

Someone really had to tell him that pouting stopped being cute once a person had grown out of adolescence. And even then, it might have been overlooked if you were say, Justin; but on a nearly forty-three-year-old man, it was fucking ridiculous.

"Like finding my husband before he does something that will likely have me killing every single asshole in this bar." Brian said, his eyes still scanning the room as he nursed his drink.

"Too late," Emmett snickered as he and Blake sidled up to the bar, their gleeful expressions sending a chill down his spine. That didn't bode well for him; or for the horny assholes salivating and watching the stage.

"What has he done now?" Brian asked, dreading the answer when they both just giggled. Fuck, he'd known agreeing to host this event would be a mistake.

"You'll see," Emmett said, a knowing smile on his face as he gave the latest contestant a quick look over; and then, obviously finding him lacking, turned back to Brian. "Trust me; you'll love it."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Brian muttered, taking a healthy swig of his drink, just knowing that he was going to need the fortification for whatever was to come.

He just knew Justin was up to something; it was a tingling in the back of his neck, like Peter Parker's Spidey sense. And fuck, he'd definitely been hanging around Mikey for far too long if he was making comic book references.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Brian watched as the current dancer made a rather, uninspiring finish and then reached down to grab the money on the stage to add to the growing pot in the back. And that, at the very least, was something he was glad he'd instituted. The audience could look; they could smolder; they could drool; and they could wish all they wanted, but they couldn't touch the dancers.

Now, if the dancers hooked up with someone afterwards, and it was between consenting adults, he didn't give a fuck. But it was strictly hands off throughout their routine. Something for which he was supremely grateful for if Justin did, indeed, do what he'd so expressly forbidden him to do when the topic of a strip show for charity came up.

Because if even just one of these horny assholes touched his husband, he wouldn't be held accountable for his actions, and would likely be unable to enjoy all those lovely hours of sex he'd been planning for later that evening. He'd either be in jail or he'd have a body to hide. And that was so not on.

Sighing, Brian took another drink as the music died, and Sheba walked onto the stage in one of her over-the-top costumes. Dressed as a Snow Queen, her hair and make-up was reminiscent of the White Witch's in the Chronicles of Narnia movie. The costume was made of snow-white tulle and chiffon that was knee-length in the front, exposing crystal-encrusted heels, and flowed down in the back, with the bodice an elaborate snow crystal design. And she held an elaborate silver scepter with a blue ball on top in her hand as she stepped up to the mic.

"Boys and Boys," Sheba announced, gesturing dramatically with one hand, before diving into a spiel that was far too familiar for Brian's comfort. "Our next contestant loves the Powerpuff Girls, margaritas, and has single-handedly tamed the former Stud of Liberty Avenue. Put your hands together for our very own King of Babylon, his royal highness, Justy!"

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose as he husband stepped out onto the stage to a slow, sultry beat with a shit-eating grin.

"Oh, fuck no! Not again!" Brian groused as he stared intently up at his husband, his fingers curling into fists. Justin flicked a glance in his direction, just as he did during the King of Babylon contest; the one that all but screamed, 'You see me? Now, just what are you going to do about it?'

"Just remember it's for charity, honey," Emmett chortled, obviously enjoying his discomfort; one that turned into a full-fledged belly laugh as Brian shot him a disgruntled glare.

But he said nothing as he turned towards his husband, who strutted onto the stage with a sensual roll of his hips that had all the horny queers hooting and wolf-whistling. That is, if they weren't simply struck dumb and drooling by Justin's pale, blond beauty. Scowling, Brian watched as Justin began to rock his hips in a hypnotic, slow motion, adding a little thrust to them as he ran his hands over his body, as if enticing the masses to come and touch him if they so dared.

Which, they'd better damned well not if they knew what was good for them.

Leveling his death glare onto a patron that had gotten far too close to the stage for his liking, Brian pursed his lips until the guy backed off and then turned back to Justin. He was still dressed in what he'd been wearing to Christmas dinner at Jen's – a crimson, long-sleeved, button-down shirt, a pair of black, well-fitted slacks and those damned knee-high, black, patent-leather boots that had so distracted him, he hadn't paid attention to much else as they were leaving home.

Those fuck me boots had him hard in half a second, and he'd spent the entire evening imagining fucking Justin with nothing but them on. Licking his lips, he watched as his husband turned and dipped and swiveled, his hips in constant motion, even as he'd only had eyes for Brian. Groaning as Justin shimmied and then bent from the waist, putting his rather spectacular ass on display for all to see; Brian cupped his dick and swore violently as the guys went wild and the tips just kept mounting at Justin's far too sexy feet.

He was, however, a little surprised at the song choice – Attitude by Suede. It was a lot slower, and much more sensual, than his choice for the King of Babylon contest; but then he rethought it and realized that it made sense all things considering. Justin was obviously going for more of a sensual dance than his high-energy romp from before; likely due to making sure he didn't slip and hurt Sunbeam.

"That doesn't make me feel any better, Honeycutt," Brian spat, still keeping a wary eye on the crowd, ignoring his friend as he muttered, "don't call me, Honeycutt." It was an old argument that Emmett would never win; especially when Brian had bigger fish to fry. "I'm going to spank his ass when we get home."

"I doubt that's much of a threat anymore," Blake snickered, watching appreciatively as Justin slowly unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a crimson, tightly-fitted mesh shirt that had the masses drooling as he pulled it free and tossed it to the side. "He seems to enjoy it."

"Fuck this," Brian growled, and then slammed the rest of his drink as Justin did an obscene body roll, his hands following in its wake until he was cupping his dick.

"Oh, there goes Big Bad," Emmett cooed, smirking when Brain flashed him a heated glare. "Baby's in trouble again."

"Somehow I think he'll be fine with that," Blake said with a grin.

Blake whistled as Justin teased his fingers over the waistband of his slacks, sending every fucking homo into a tailspin, before pulling away to grasp the pole. Justin spun expertly around it before landing on his feet into a backbend that, while not quite as deep as the one he performed in the Babylon contest, was deep enough to show off his amazing flexibility. Brian was so going to kill him when they got home.

"He seems to take far too much joy in riling Brian up," Blake continued, snickering at Brian's outraged expression.

"Well, wouldn't you too, if you had that to go home to, honey," Emmett said, fanning himself as Justin walked up until he was less than a foot away from the crowd, and writhed, all but wagging his dick in their faces. "I swear that smoldering look alone would give me the vapors if I didn't have my Drewsie."

Blake flicked a look in Brian's direction, cocked his head to the side as if evaluating him, and then shrugged. "I think I'll stick to Ted; I prefer them with much less drama."

"You two are just so hilarious," Brian spat sarcastically, his eyes only for Justin as he continued to tease and whip the audience into a frenzy. Enough was enough. "Excuse me; I have a troublesome brat to discipline. Again."

Brian stalked over to the stage, the crowd parting automatically in his wake and was thankful that the song was nearing its end. If he'd had to endure much more of this, he might do something stupid; like jump on the stage and haul the brat off, killing any shred of reputation he had left. He stood at the edge of the stage, one brow arched and gave his husband the look.

Not that Justin was, in any way, shape or form, intimidated by it. Evident by the way he just sashayed up to him, dipped down and pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek. He grabbed Brian's hands and placed them on either side of his hips, latching them onto a couple of tags he hadn't seen as they'd blended so well into the fabric. Grinning, Justin swiftly rose and pulled away, his pants tearing away in an instant in Brian's hands.

Looking at the pants in hands with a perplexed expression, he had to wonder when the hell Justin had had the time to have these made. Because it was obvious that they were a special order as they were far too well-made for them to be an off the rack purchase. Looking up at his husband, Brian froze, and then swore violently under his breath, when he caught sight of what Justin had been wearing under the innocuous-looking slacks.

Glowering at his husband, Brian balled the pants up and tossed them to the side of the stage; he placed his hands on his hips and just stared as Justin continued dance in a pair of black, leather hot pants that clung to his glorious ass like a second skin. Winking at Brian, Justin slowly lowered the zip, his eyes half-mast and bottom lip firmly clenched between his teeth, making the horny homos go wild once again.

Fuckers.

Spinning around, Justin flung a challenging look over his shoulder and then slid his hands into the back of his shorts and pushed down a bit on the waistband as if he were going to remove them. And while Brian realized, from the brief glimpse he got as Justin had lowered his zip, that he was wearing a jockstrap, and wasn't nude underneath, that was the last straw for Brian.

Fuck his reputation; no one, but no one got to see that, but him!

Climbing onto the stage, Brian stalked over to his fucking, little tease of a husband, dipped down and gently hauled him over his shoulder, so that he didn't jolt Sunbeam. Stalking off the stage to the last strains of the song, Brian gritted his teeth against the hoots and hollers and general laughter surrounding them; although, a few of the patrons made some excellent suggestions for punishing the twat. He'd have to think on that later.

"Something wrong, honey," Justin asked in a syrupy sweet voice, and Brian could just see him fluttering his lashes like some fucking Southern belle.

"If you don't want me to push you up against the wall and fuck you right here and now," Brian growled, smacking the impertinent brat on the ass and reveling in his startled yelp. "You will hold your tongue until we get to the loft."

"Oh, decisions, decisions," Justin brazenly quipped, squirming to get more comfortable as Brian strode towards the door; he really did miss the days when his threats actually made the brat pause for a moment before he mouthed off.

"Oh, you are so asking for it, little boy," Brian said through clenched teeth as they'd finally made it out the door. "I'd quit while I was ahead."

Justin just giggled, showing absolutely no remorse whatsoever.

"But mark my words," Brian said as he opened the door of their SUV and shoved the sniggering brat inside. He leaned over and pressed a hard kiss on his mouth, promising against his smiling lips. "Once we get home, you are so going to pay for that stunt."

"Do your worst," Justin boldly stated, his eyes gleaming with lust.

Brian just shook his head at Justin's continued taunting; not that he was complaining, really. He loved when Justin got this way.

"Oh, I plan on it, little boy," Brian vowed, pinning Justin to the seat with another hard kiss. "And if you think your ass was sore the other day, you haven't seen anything yet.

And with that, Brian slammed the door closed on a moan and circled the car to climb into the opposite side; he so couldn't wait to get home.