His eyebrows drawn together, Brian brooded over his beer at Woody's. He took another sip of the Yuengling lager in front of him and then rested the point of his chin on the lip of the bottle. What a for shit day, he thought as the strains of an old song by The Smiths filtered from the speakers.

A bitter laugh escaped him. Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want - like that was going to happen. He'd fucked it up but good this time, and now Justin was gone. 

Apparently taking his laugh for an invitation, a lanky redhead cruising by him for the third time paused to suggestively run one hand along the top of the bar, the tips of his fingers grazing Brian's arm.

"Get lost," Brian grunted. Fuck, couldn't he take a hint?

"Christ," the man voiced his own annoyance, "I heard you were always up for a fuck. Some stud you are." Turning on his heel, he stalked over to the pool tables, already eyeing another prospect.

The guy wasn't much to look at - kind of trollish really - so why he'd thought Brian would want anything to do with him was beyond the out-of-sorts brunet. Besides, it was crossing ‘swords' with the Zucchini Man, another borderline troll, that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

He snorted when he heard, "Get lost!" from over by the pool table and then a loud complaint, "You're fucking up my aim!" The sound of balls clacking against each other was followed by a thud and a whirring noise. Brian looked down, snorting again when he saw the white cue ball bang against his stool.

"Sorry, man," apologized a passable-looking, dark-haired guy who loped over to retrieve the ball.

Brian rolled his eyes; the moron shouldn't be playing pool if an importunate trick could distract him so badly that he managed to knock the cue ball off the table. Nudging the ball toward the idiot with the toe of one Prada-shod foot, he tuned out the other activity in the bar and returned to his beer bottle, picking at the paper label.  

Fucking Mikey and his big mouth, he grumbled mentally. He'd had to go and spill the beans. They'd been sitting next to each other at the counter in the diner when Justin cold-shouldered Brian and then stormed out of the eatery, refusing his offer to drive him to PIFA. Michael had charged off after the teen, doubtless wanting to know how Brian had fucked up. Then, in his effort to explain ‘Brian being Brian,' he'd stuck his foot in his mouth. 

Later, when Brian drove Michael to Carnegie Mellon to talk to some stuffy professor's class about comic book heroes, he'd mumbled something apologetic about not meaning it that way - ‘it' apparently being the reason Justin was living with Brian. 

Resting his chin on his fisted hand in Woody's, Brian morosely studied the bottle in front of him. He picked at the jagged edge of the label with his index finger, shredding it, and making little bits of paper float around. 

Even though Mikey's intercession had been less than helpful, there was no question that he was right. Brian had only moved Justin into the loft to help him recover from the bashing. It might've been okay, if only his friend hadn't spouted off to Justin - given a little time, the boy would've gotten over the Zucchini Man affair - but it was too late now. Caught off guard when his lover confronted him, Brian had fumbled badly, unable to utter a single word. He couldn't even tell Justin that he liked having him in the loft, despite his initial reservations about living together again. That he was beyond grateful that Justin had survived and that, for some unfathomable reason, he still wanted to be with Brian.

After Justin had shoved his homework into his backpack earlier that day and stormed out, Brian stayed in front of the computer where the teen had been working on a project, his fingers tracing over the figure on horseback again and again. Brian had begrudgingly laughed. The rider could be Don Quixote, tilting fruitlessly at windmills, kinda like Brian was doing with this relationship crap.

He'd finally gotten up and nabbed the Beam from the liquor cart, drinking directly from the bottle as he wandered listlessly around the loft. When his fingers trailed across the dented metal door, he'd thought of something he could do that would undoubtedly make his young lover happy. Justin well knew that actions were what counted with Brian, and this would be proof of how serious he was. 

He'd hesitated momentarily, conscious that Mikey wouldn't like him doing something like that. He couldn't help remembering the fallout from Michael's thirtieth birthday party, but this wasn't nearly as big of a deal. He'd do his best to explain everything to Mikey, but if that didn't work, so be it; it was high time that they stopped living in each other's pockets and became less dependent on one another. With a muttered, "Fuck it," he'd set down his bourbon, looked in the Yellow Pages, picked up his phone, and punched in the number, satisfied when he was told someone would be there within the hour.  

Now, though, much later in the day, he realized he had a problem. He knew Justin was probably either holed up with Daphne, the two teenagers stuffing their faces with fattening food while they commiserated about Big Bad Brian, or at Debbie's, doing the same thing with Deb and Vic. The problem was, Brian didn't want it to seem like he was chasing after Justin, and so far he hadn't come up with a good reason to call Daphne or drop by her apartment on a stormy weekday night. He'd look like a fool if Justin wasn't there, and like a desperate loser if he was. It would be even worse if he just ‘happened by' Debbie's house. His surrogate mom had a weird kind of spidey sense when it came to one of her boys; she'd know something was up and would nag him endlessly until he spilled.

He also wasn't one hundred percent sure how Justin would react to what he'd done. Regardless of his protestations to the contrary, the kid was obviously still pissed off about the ‘zucchini standoff,' so he wasn't only upset about the real reason Brian had invited him to live at the loft. Brian himself was a little embarrassed at how easily he'd been manipulated by Zuke. The man hadn't actually even been that good-looking and his ass was loose to boot, apparently having accommodated a few too many monster vegetables. 

For a loosey-goosey moment with an unmemorable trick, he'd endangered his ‘relationship' - Brian could use the R-word within the privacy of his own mind - with Justin. How stupid could he get? 

Placing the lip of the beer bottle against the bridge of his nose, Brian rubbed at the furrowed skin. He was no closer to coming up with a ‘logical' reason to contact Justin than when he'd entered the bar. Brian needed to intercept his lover before he returned to the loft, which would probably be tomorrow sometime since Justin hadn't even taken a change of clothes with him. He'd departed in high dudgeon, a backpack stuffed with schoolwork slung over one shoulder, wearing only a thin hoodie over his T-shirt and cargo pants. It would serve the little twat right if he got drenched in the rain and caught a cold, Brian thought uncharitably.

He blinked his watering eyes furiously as the music segued to another Smiths' song, Unloveable, and wondered if he was the one fighting off a cold. Fuck knew Jack and Joan had driven home the lesson that Brian was unloveable. Heck, they hadn't wanted him from the get-go, Jack trying to coerce Joan into aborting him. If she hadn't been more afraid of going to hell than giving birth to him, that was exactly what Joan would have done. He was certain that what little motherly feeling she had for him would dry up faster than the milk from her tits had done if Joan ever found out her son was gay. 

Brian didn't believe in ‘love,' whatever the heck it actually was; he'd never heard a description of the useless emotion that made any sense to him. As far as he was concerned, that ‘crazy little thing called love' was only for straights and lesbians. They used it to get their way, to manipulate each other into doing things they otherwise wouldn't, all as a result of their selfish need not to be alone and the sense of security that only came with having someone you could blame your failings on. So why was he sitting here, hoping for something or other from the blond kid? He wasn't in the habit of lying to himself, so he could admit that it was pretty nice to have Justin around - for more than just a convenient fuck. Brian scoffed at the idea that it was love, though. 

Someone at Woody's must be into that lovey-dovey claptrap, however, considering the supposedly romantic mood music and the dimness in this part of the pub, where flickering candles on top of the bar and the tables currently provided most of the light. Brian had shoved the candle holder that was positioned in front of him down to the end of the bar, but the flame was reflected not only in his beer bottle but also all the bottles of liquor behind the bar. It multiplied the romantic atmosphere to a nightmarish degree.

He barked out a laugh, musing that whatever fuckwit had chosen the playlist for tonight must've gotten the wrong memo. Either that or they'd never listened to the lyrics. The Smiths and romance didn't go together; Morrissey and Marr had composed some of the most depressing music Brian ever heard.

Enough of sitting around like some kind of loser, listening to this shit, he decided. The thumpa thumpa at Babylon would cure his blues, as would getting his dick sucked in the backroom. If he didn't run into Justin there so he could take him home, the boy would just have to bang on the door for Brian to let him in if he decided to come home in the middle of the night.

As he went to slide off the stool, a familiar voice chastised from behind him, "Hasn't the kid been through enough without you causing him more pain?"

A wry smile flitted across Brian's lips as he turned his head to look at the feisty redhead, who was staring at him, lips pursed and hands fisted on her wide hips. "What, no ‘love tap'?" he asked sardonically. He knew it was just her way of showing how much she cared - no one who wasn't part of the family ever received one of Deb's love taps, usually accompanied by one of her ‘straighten up and fly right' lectures - but sometimes he wished she cared just a little bit less.

"Well, if that's what it takes." Debbie obligingly whacked him on the back of the head before parking herself on a neighboring stool. "Now, what about Sunshine?"

"Stay out of it!" Brian grunted, settling back down on his stool. Of course, there was zero chance of that, so there was no point in trying to leave until Debbie had her say.

"The fuck I will!" Deb predictably retorted, her red curls bouncing as she got in Brian's face, shaking her index finger at him.

His surrogate mom looked tired and old all of a sudden, Brian thought a little distantly, his eyes crossing as he followed her wagging finger. Of course that might just be the lighting in Woody's. Candlelight was supposed to be kind, but it wasn't working for either him or Deb. He'd discovered more candles flickering on the ledges above the sinks in the men's room - of all the ridiculous places to stick candles - when he visited it a little while ago, sans trick for a change, and was shocked by his own haggard appearance in the mirror. 

"I care about him," Debbie ranted. "All you care about-"

"-is getting my dick sucked," Brian finished for her, heaving a mental sigh. They'd spoken the same hackneyed lines way too many times over the years. "Look, consider me properly chastised. Now can we just move on from there?" he implored, rolling his beer bottle between his hands, the half-peeled label rasping against his skin.

"Look, all I want is to-"

"Interfere?" Brian glared at the nosy woman, lifting an interrogative eyebrow.

"For a guy who hates to have someone else complete his sentences, you're doing a damned good job of speaking for me," Debbie scolded him.

Brian shrugged indifferently, but he could feel his face coloring up. 

"You can call it interference or whatever you want," Deb resumed, her irritation plain, "but I don't want Sunshine hurt."

"Well, that's life, isn't it?" Brian shrugged again. "Surprise! People get hurt!"

"You think you got everybody fooled, dontcha?" the motherly redhead remonstrated, her voice softening. "Well not me, honey. I've known you too long... and regrettably too well."

Thanks a lot, Deb, Brian thought, smirking at her before returning his attention to the beer bottle and picking at the label some more. What the fuck did she have to ‘regret' about knowing him? There was always some kind of niggling qualifier to her love for him as far as he was aware, whether she meant it that way or not.

"And no matter how hard you try to deny it," Debbie continued, "I can tell you care as much about him as he cares about you." She placed a hand on Brian's arm, prompting him to look at her. "Only you haven't got the big hairy cojones to say it."

"Oh, well, maybe I could borrow yours," Brian sardonically quipped.

Debbie chuckled in appreciation before turning serious again. "I'll go with you if that's what it takes for you to admit that you love him."

Christ, Brian thought wearily. Did she have to spout off about love, along with everyone else? Despite her pragmatism, Deb was sometimes too idealistic for his liking. Love was a damned trap.

"And I know that you do," Debbie steamrolled over any comment he might have made. "Despite all your efforts to never let another heart touch yours." She paused. "That's assuming, of course, you have one."

And there she went with another of her little digs, Brian reflected, looking down at his hands and toying with his cowrie shell bracelet. Deb's playful tone had a sharp edge, leaving room for doubt as to whether or not he actually had a heart. He couldn't quite tell whether she was just needling him.

"That little persistent kid has somehow gotten in under the wire," Debbie remarked, her amazement - and satisfaction - evident. "And it happened, didn't it? Admit the truth."

Brian glanced over at the redhead, doing his best to reveal nothing.

"You love him, don't you?"

Rather than have his mom read the truth in his eyes, Brian turned his face away, drawing his lips into his mouth and running his tongue across the chapped skin. Resting his chin on his fisted right hand again, he blew out a frustrated, anxiety-laden breath.

Unsurprisingly, Debbie saw through him. "I thought so. Then tell him. Tell him what you could never say to Michael."

Fuck. Not this again. Brian sank his teeth into his lower lip so he wouldn't snap at Deb. Like always, she had to bring her son into the conversation, even though it wasn't about Mikey. One moment she wanted Brian to pair up with his best friend; the next she wanted him as far away from Michael as possible. She blew hot and cold, just like when it came to the party he threw for Michael's thirtieth birthday.

He loved Debbie; he really did, but she had never quite believed that he'd do what was best for Mikey, that in some ways he knew her son better than she did. Brian might've led Michael on at times because he needed him, but he'd never hurt his friend by leading him on too far.

Deb, he reminded himself in an effort to calm down, was the only one who'd protested - volubly - about betting against him and Sunshine after that meal at her house a couple days ago. The rest of the family had been quite vociferous about placing their wagers, and he and Justin heard them loud and clear when they stopped to pull on their jackets and ended up making out by the front door. Mikey, the self-proclaimed romantic, had given them all of five weeks. A stricken look had entered Justin's blue eyes as he listened to their friends, but Brian successfully distracted him - and himself too - by nibbling at the sensitive skin behind the boy's ear before dragging him out the door. 

Brian couldn't really blame the gang for their behavior; if it had been one of their ‘relationships' under scrutiny, he would have done the same thing. In any case, he wouldn't have been foolish enough to wager in favor of the whatever-the-fuck he had with Justin lasting long at all - maybe not even the seventy-two hours the she-wolf gave them.

Of course, he'd had to go and prove them right with the ‘zucchini incident.' Was his ego really that fragile? He'd had to prove his status, reestablishing that he was the stud of Liberty Avenue, able to fuck any man out of his gourd. Talk about pathetic.

Debbie really did want him and Justin to make a go of it; otherwise, she never would have tracked him down at Woody's when it was pissing down rain outside. It was just her natural instinct to insert Michael into the mix; she didn't mean any harm by it. Usually.

Brian stared into his beer for a few long seconds before finally replying, his voice level, "Not couldn't. Couldn't implies that I was incapable. It's that I won't say that to Mikey." The ‘always have, always will' that he and Michael traded regularly was simply an expression of their friendly affection, words they'd bandied back and forth since they were fourteen.

"Okay," Deb sighed, a wistful expression on her face. "I get that it's not like that with Michael."

Finally, Brian thought. Fucking finally. There might have been a lot of teasing, flirtatious kisses between them; ultimately, however, those kisses confirmed for him - and for Mikey too, if he could just get him to admit it - that they were meant to be best friends, brothers really, but never lovers.

Deb wasn't done badgering him, though, insisting, "But with Sunshine it's different. You don't just love him - you're in love with the kid."

Yet again, Brian didn't contradict her, his silence a form of assent. 

"Don't lose him, kiddo," Debbie pushed. "Go after him. He's at Babylon - you'd better catch up with him before he finds someone else." Advice dispensed, Debbie leaned over and bussed him on the cheek, rubbing at the red lipstick print she'd left behind before sashaying out of the pub.

Someone had finally gotten a clue, the music switching from the cheerless Smiths to Queen. He'd been about to head over to Babylon before Debbie interrupted him anyway, Brian told himself as he stood up; it wasn't like he was running after the blond brat. Swirling the dregs of his lager around, he briefly considered swallowing the last drops of his ‘Yuengling' before setting the bottle down on top of the bar. He'd rather wait for the real deal - his very own blond youngster.

As he exited Woody's, hotfooting it to his jeep, he absently hummed Someone to Love Me.

Ten minutes later, Brian surveyed Babylon from the catwalk, searching for the shock of golden hair that always gave away the boy's whereabouts. Well, that and the fact that he was usually surrounded by salivating, horny fags, who wanted to get into his pants.

His knuckles went white when he finally spotted Justin on the dance floor. The kid was grinding up against a hottie and kissing him passionately, moving rhythmically to the beat the whole time.

Releasing the banister, which he'd been clenching so hard that he probably left dents in the metal, Brian stalked down the stairs, shoving his way through the heaving, dancing throng, anxious to reach his boy and get rid of the interloper.

"Hey," Brian greeted the gyrating blond, staring directly at him.

"Hey," the trick responded.

Good looking but definitely not the brightest bulb, Brian mused, rolling his eyes at the nitwit. "Fuck-"

"I'm not usually into old guys," the trick interrupted him, "but I guess I could make an exception." He gestured at Justin. "Both of us could do you."

Asshole. Brian glared at the man. He wasn't old.

Justin shrugged dismissively. "Nah. I've had him. I don't do repeats."

The little shit, Brian thought, half-appalled by and half-admiring of Justin's chutzpah. As for the trick, how could he not know who Brian fucking Kinney was? Or at least have enough sense to recognize a total top? "Fuck off," Brian grunted.

"No way. I was here fir-"

"Unfinished business," Justin cut in, placing a placating hand on his arm. "Another time, okay?"

"Yeah, okay, blondie," the trick agreed. "But only if you ditch the old guy." With that he slithered away into the dancing horde, obviously on the lookout for another hookup.

Asshole, Brian mentally castigated the guy again. He was not fucking old. 

His jaw jutting forward, Justin recalled Brian's wandering attention when he challenged, "What do you want?"

He didn't look at all forgiving, Brian thought, trepidation coiling in his gut. He'd expected Justin to be pining after him, ready to fall into his arms at the smallest indication that Brian wanted him around.

"You were right," he blurted out, abrupt and sounding a little anxious. "The reason I took you in was because you took a bat to the head."

A muscle ticked in the boy's jaw and he started to turn away, stating in an eerily calm tone, "We've already covered that, Brian."

In desperation - the kid had to hear and listen - Brian reached out and captured Justin's right hand, tugging the kid toward him. "But that's not the reason I want you to stay," he shouted over the thumpa thumpa that was blasting through the speakers. Naturally, he was only three words in when there was a lull between songs, his voice carrying to the recesses of the dance floor.

Interested looks came from the men surrounding them. Fuck, this would have all the fags in Pittsburgh wagging their tongues for at least a month, Brian reflected ruefully.

"Don't get the idea we're some married couple, because we're not," he hastily tacked on, trying to do a bit of damage control.

"I don't recall proposing," Justin drily commented.

Brian narrowed his eyes at the brat. If there was ever a proposal to be made, like hell would it be the little shit that-

"Kinney's getting married?" Brian heard a nearby fag titter in a high-pitched voice.

Justin had the temerity to giggle, not at all quelled by Brian's glare.

That fucking giggle, as usual, sent a bolt of lust through Brian. Instead of grabbing the kid and dragging him to the backroom for a quickie - he didn't think Justin would respond well to that, not yet anyway - he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the auburn locks and disordering his coiffure. 

"Can we go somewhere the gossiping queens won't overhear us?" he pleaded. Fuck, he thought a moment too late; now the ninnies would probably have them running off to Canada to get hitched.

"Emmett's not here," Justin joked, grinning brightly at him as he led the way off the dance floor and toward the coat check.

Maybe making a fool of himself was worth it, if it produced a smile like that. "Yeah, well," Brian observed as Justin pulled on his jacket and preceded him out of the club, "Honeycutt and the other two stooges will be banging down the door tomorrow morning at the latest, wanting to know if it's true or not."

"So what? Why should I care?" Justin asked, his smile fading as he climbed into the jeep. 

"Because," Brian paused after slipping behind the wheel, struggling to get the words out. Frustrated, he gunned the engine, squealing away from the curb, making a couple of dykes in motorcycle leathers jump out of the way.

Brian ignored the raised fists and ineffectual imprecations from the irate lesbians, who soon disappeared from view.

Justin remained silent as they turned onto Tremont, the former warehouse building looming in front of them.

Brian slotted the jeep into a space just big enough to accommodate it and turned off the car. Then, taking a deep breath, he looked directly into wide blue eyes and started over, "Because it's our door, okay? Our door to our loft."

"Aren't you taking a lot for granted?" Justin asked, his tone somewhere between pissed and hurt.

Brian wasn't sure he'd ever seen the blond boy look so wary, not wary of him anyhow. Justin's eyes showed a hard-earned wisdom that hadn't been there before, and Brian suspected it was from more than the bashing - his own bullshit had contributed.

He took it as a good sign, though, that the kid didn't hesitate to climb out of the jeep and follow him into the building. 

Normally, they would've been all over each other in the former freight elevator, but this time they stood on opposite sides of the compartment, Justin's arms folded defensively over his chest. Neither one of them said anything as the elevator creaked its way upward.

Brian tried to hash out what he was going to say in the seconds before the elevator lurched to a halt. "Look," he ground out, ramming up the wooden grate so hard that it came zooming back down before he could exit. Forgetting the lecture he'd been about to launch into, he scowled and kicked at the offending object.

A snicker came from his left.

His head whipping around, Brian transferred his scowl to Justin. 

"You should've done that the first night," the lad giggled, "and then I wouldn't have been so nervous."

Brian willed down his hardening manhood - fuck, but it was hard to focus on ‘talking' when he was around Justin. His lips twitching as he thought about that first night, he drawled, "Yeah, you could've complimented me with ‘I like your elevator' instead of-"

"-I like your kitchen," Justin chimed along with him, his face acquiring a rosy hue. "How could you remember that but not my name?"

"What makes you think I didn't remember it?" Brian smirked at the blond before lifting the grate with less force and stepping out of the elevator.

"But you said-" 

Brian could see the wheels turning as Justin sifted through his memories of that night.

"You, like, asked three times what my name was," the blond recollected. "The best you could come up with in the hospital was that it started with a ‘J'. And the next morning, you didn't even remember at first that you had a son - or what his name was!" Justin spat out triumphantly.

Brian smiled softly. "There's no way I'd forget holding my son for the first time. And no more," he added, "could I forget the other young'un who came into my life that night."

Justin blinked at him in confusion as he unlocked and slid open the battered metal door to his loft. 

Brian didn't bother to turn on the overhead light; the lamp he'd left on by the couch provided sufficient illumination. Stretching out his right hand, he ran his fingers through silky blond strands. "Just because I asked what your name was, doesn't mean I didn't know the answer." He leaned down and brushed his lips across the boy's. "Justin."

Another soft touch of lips to lips, moving back when Justin would've deepened it.

"You know, I had this whole speech prepared," Brian nonchalantly informed the stunned blond as he tossed his keys on the counter, shucked his leather jacket, and threw it over a bar stool. "About how we're not like fucking straight people. We're not like your parents. And we're not a pair of dykes marching down the aisle in matching Vera Wangs."

"Huh." Justin giggled, sliding off his own jacket and tossing it on top of Brian's.

Brian hid a wince, wishing for the umpteenth time that he could trash the ratty thing. It was almost as disreputable as the duffel bag that Justin used as a substitute backpack.

"Is ‘matching Vera Wangs' my only choice? I prefer Coco Chanel or Donna Karan."

Even as his cock plumped up again, Brian despaired about the kid's fashion sense. He had obviously been spending way too much time around the munchers, if he could rattle off the names of female designers but didn't know the first thing about men's couture.

"What else were you gonna say?" Justin asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.

The words sounded cocky and rather puerile to Brian as he spoke, and he could only hope he wouldn't piss off the blond all over again. "We're queers, and if we're together, it's because we wanna be, not because there's locks on our doors. So if I'm out late, just assume I'm doing exactly what I wanna be doing. I'm fucking. And when I come home, I'll also be doing exactly what I wanna do. Coming home to you."

Justin cocked his head inquisitively. "How was that supposed to work? Was I supposed to fall into your arms, grateful that you ‘wanted' me around - for a backup fuck or whatever?"

Brian flushed. That was more or less what he'd expected.

Justin waved a hand at the platform bed, which was visible through the open panels. "Better yet," he scoffed, his voice tinged with sarcasm, "maybe you thought I'd bargain for what I want, so that we end up with some kind of ridiculous list of fucking rules?"

What the fuck? Flabbergasted, Brian could only stare at the teen. Christ, but the kid could be such a drama princess.

"Don't worry." Justin dropped his hand. "Like you said, if we're together, it's because we want to be - not because of locks on doors or some dumb rules."

Brian quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

"I don't want monogamy, not really," Justin claimed, frowning in thought. "Not now anyhow. I need variety, especially since I like to top sometimes. I mean, you taught me how to top, right? So I need to practice my skills."

Cheeky little devil, Brian mused when Justin directed a hungry look at him. And fuck if he wasn't tempted. He longed to ask for a rim job, just like he had that night. Back then, however, Justin had been a clueless, virginal neophyte; now he'd know exactly what to do and that spelled danger. The person being rimmed wasn't really in control, which was the reason Brian rarely indulged.

He swallowed hard, temporarily setting aside fantasies of rim jobs, and other things, when Justin continued speaking.

"Um, I kinda lied before, though," he said sheepishly. "I know the thing with the Zucchini troll-"

Brian winced. He didn't want to get a reputation for fucking trolls. 

"-was just you being you. But when it's in my face, in my home... then I don't really feel like it's my home."

He could fix that, Brian thought. Inserting both hands into the side pockets of his jeans, he fished around and retrieved a small object from one of them. Making fists with his fingers, he placed his hands behind his back. Then, he arched an eyebrow, daring the boy to choose. "Which one?"

"Huh?"

"Which hand?" Brian clarified, jiggling his arms to draw the kid's attention. He'd transfer the item from one hand to the other, if need be, but - even though it was doubtless ridiculously superstitious - he didn't think it would bode well for the future if Justin chose the wrong hand. Unfortunately, it was too late for him to simply give the damned thing to the brat without looking foolish.

The blond eyeballed him, obviously baffled as to why Brian wanted to play 'which hand has it.'

"This too tough for you?" Brian snarked. "It's fifty-fifty, Justin."

Justin rolled his eyes. "My 'prize' had better be something better than the spare condom you always stick in your pocket."

Considering what pulling a condom out of his pocket inevitably led to, Brian doubted there was a ‘better' prize, but this might run a close second.

"That one," Justin guessed, tapping him on the left arm.

Brian blew out a breath, his tension easing - the boy had chosen correctly - and brought his arm around to the front. Smiling a little shyly, he opened his hand, placed the object in Justin's palm, and wrapped his fingers around it.

"A key?" the blond asked, perplexed.

"I had the locks changed," Brian informed him, "with keys just for you and me."

Justin uncurled his fingers, looking down at the silver key gleaming in the lamplight. "Just for you and me," he repeated. "Is this because of Mr. Zucchini?"

Like he'd go through this much trouble for that idiot. "Kind of," he acknowledged; the fugly ‘squash' had been the catalyst after all. "But not really."

The kid looked up, blue eyes spearing into him, a smile dawning on his face.

"Think about it. No one unexpectedly barging in," Brian elucidated, "and no tricks in the loft unless we both want a threesome, foursome, or a moresome."

"Yeah?" Justin was now beaming a nearly blinding smile at him.

Brian nodded. He smiled inwardly, proud of himself. He hadn't really needed his mom's prodding to take action, although he'd never tell Deb that. Besides, she did deserve some credit for sending him after Justin tonight, before he managed to talk himself out of going after the brat. Fuck knew how long it would've taken him to confront the boy then, or whether he'd have been able to win him back.

Justin edged closer to him, reaching up to wrap his arms around Brian's neck.

Brian inclined his head toward his lover, more than ready to seal the deal. 

Their lips touched but then Justin hesitated, withdrawing slightly.

"What now?" Brian groaned. Christ, this relationship stuff was killing him. 

"I, uh-" 

Brian was sure he'd never been this sexually frustrated - his cock didn't know whether it was coming or going. But then, looking down into the big, imploring blue eyes, he made himself take a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, he rested his forehead against Justin's, murmuring, "It's okay. Just tell me."

"I, uh-"

Brian grinned wryly. "Needle stuck in the groove, Sunshine?"

Blue eyes narrowed, glaring at him, before those same eyes suddenly sparkled with laughter, an impish smile stealing across Justin's lips. "No one puts Ba-by" - he paused between the two syllables, repeating ‘Ba-by' four times - "in the corner."

Brian's eyes narrowed in return. How dare the twat make fun of him and Dirty Dancing? So what if a couple weeks ago, after a late shift at the diner, Justin had walked in on him and Mikey - maybe just a tad drunk and stoned - goofing around and demolishing a pizza while they watched the classic film? Brian might've hiccupped just a little and repeated ‘Ba-by' while spouting the iconic line along with Swayze, but there was no way he'd sounded like some kind of demented broken record.

The kid had even had the audacity to mumble something about ‘old gay dudes and chick flicks' so, of course, Brian had to tackle him and tickle him into submission, which led to an entirely different activity. He'd barely heard Mikey's indignant protest about not wanting to be subjected to that again, before his best friend stomped out of the loft to catch a taxi back to his apartment.

Thinking that he wouldn't mind a repeat of that evening's activities, Brian snaked a hand under the hem of the boy's red T-shirt, planning to brush the tips of his fingers along the tender skin beneath Justin's belly button and then up along his sides to his armpits.

The teenager obligingly squirmed against him, squealing half in protest, half in entreaty, "Briaaan."

He'd barely touched the soft skin above the waistband of Justin's cargo pants, goosebumps springing up beneath the pads of his fingers, when he realized the lad hadn't finished whatever he was about to say. Goddammit. 

"Nuh-uh, Sunshine." He took a step back, lowering his arms. "You were gonna tell me something. C'mon, spit it out."

"Huh?" Justin looked at him coyly through long, blond eyelashes. "I don't remem-"

"Can the chickenshit," Brian demanded. 

"There is one thing I'd like, but-"

Brian made a gimme motion with the fingers of his right hand. Fuck. When had he become the one who had to coax his partner to talk?

Justin bit his lower lip and then sucked in a deep breath. Looking into Brian's eyes, his voice wavering only a little, he got out, "I'd really like it if we didn't kiss anyone else on the lips. Period."

The kid braced himself, obviously expecting his request to be cavalierly dismissed.

Brian blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that. He'd vaguely assumed Justin would want something like a curfew for both of them, or maybe that they'd check in with each other by phone if one of them was out really late. He could easily accommodate either of those, after a brief negotiation as to what ‘late' meant.

This, however, was more difficult. Brian's first inclination was to reject the boy's plea; he'd always kissed his tricks. Even when they initially resisted having Brian's mouth on theirs, his tongue soon swept inside. As he mulled it over, though, it registered that he mostly used kissing as a way to dominate and control other men, rather than sharing something pleasurable with them. Except Justin. That was pure, fucking, carnal pleasure. And more, he admitted to himself; sometimes, he just plain liked to kiss the boy, to press their lips together for a fleeting instant. To touch him, to reassure himself that Justin was there - with him.

So really, he reasoned, it would be no great loss not to kiss tricks; it would even be a boon when it came to the ones who slobbered, like the overeager zucchini. Michael, though - he wasn't sure what to do about his best friend. They kissed each other on the lips all the time; he was the only one besides Justin with whom a kiss meant something - a confirmation of the connection that had been there since they were fourteen.

Worrying over what he was willing to do, Brian recalled his earlier thoughts at Woody's. This could be good for him, he reckoned, and for Michael too. It was time to let go. He knew the kisses they'd exchanged, many of which were anything but chaste, led Michael to expect more, as well as assuring Brian that someone would always be there for him, no matter what. Both of them needed to move on, to become less dependent on each other; otherwise, their friendship might not survive, and neither of them would be able to build a successful relationship.

Brian really wanted Mikey to find someone. Maybe the professor whose class Michael was so nervous about talking to? Regardless of whether or not that developed into more than a casual acquaintance, he wasn't going to interfere this time. It was up to Mikey, not Brian, to figure out who was right for him. He'd step in, of course, if the guy hurt Michael, but other than that, Brian had his own whatchamacallit to concentrate on since, incredible as it seemed, he had found someone.

"Just forget it," his 'someone' sighed.

Brian, who'd been staring at the brickwork in the kitchen while he puzzled things out, returned his gaze to Justin. The boy's shoulders were slumped and he was looking dejectedly at the floor, scuffing one sneaker-clad foot against the wood.

Reaching out with his right hand, Brian tilted Justin's chin up. He ignored the tears that were swimming in azure eyes, and bending down, he bestowed a soft kiss on the delectable ruby lips.

He thumbed at the center of the plump lower lip, smiling down at his lover, before bestowing another quick kiss on him. No big deal whatsoever, he happily confirmed to himself, as long as he could taste Justin whenever he wanted.

"Was that supposed to be some kind of consolation prize?" The blond pouted at him, wrenching his head away.

Only Justin could make a pout look sexy, Brian mused; he'd have to be careful that the kid never found out how much he liked it, or he'd have a bratty teenager on his hands forever. Shrugging nonchalantly, he ignored the nonsensical question - no kiss from him could ever be considered a mere ‘consolation prize' - and tossed out, "Just figuring out how best to tell Mikey."

He could tell he'd floored the boy for a second time that evening when his eyes widened in shock. 

"I didn't mean..." Justin spluttered.

"Am I gonna have to worry about you smooching with Daphne?" Brian teased the bewildered lad.

"Wha-"

"Well, you have slept with her," Brian noted reasonably, struggling to hold in his hilarity at the dumbfounded expression on Justin's face. 

His brow furrowed, Justin puzzled it out, a bright grin quickly replacing his frown.

My little genius, Brian thought fondly. He knew Justin had sometimes doubted whether or not he'd fucked Michael... or even Ted or Emmett. Fortunately, he had no clue about the semi-orgy and sorta sex with Theodore. He had, however, heard on more than one occasion about the aborted handjob; it was an essential element in the Brian and Mikey story, and doubtless part of the reason Justin wasn't keen on Dirty Dancing. And fuck knew, the kid had been subjected to Brian and Michael sucking face way too many times. 

Justin whacked him in the chest with the back of his hand, intoning playfully, "I won't kiss my bestie if you don't kiss yours."

"Deal," Brian agreed, this time refraining from immediately planting one on his lover. Even if dealing with this relationship stuff wasn't exactly in his wheelhouse, maybe he should make sure that Justin knew he was welcome in the loft, that Brian wanted him there. In case agreeing to the kissing moratorium, and changing the locks and giving him the only spare key weren't clear enough indications.

Not that he was going to get stupidly sentimental about it. With a one-shouldered shrug, he casually remarked, "I don't particularly mind having you around. In fact, I might be persuaded to give up part of my closet for your clothes, despite their deplorable, second-rate quality. At least then I wouldn't be in danger of tripping over your sneakers."

"You say the most romantic things."

Given the way Justin was grinning at him, so widely his face might split in two, he actually did think it was romantic. Figured.

Brian looped his arms around the younger man's waist and tugged him closer, until he was resting against his own body. Tilting his head down, he nudged his nose against Justin's. "Ridiculously romantic," he husked, swallowing around a lump in his throat. "That's me."

Justin's smile broadened infinitesimally.

He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that his sunshiny boy could recall his first genuine attempt at romance, but maybe he could try again. As long as Justin was here, alive, with him, he was ready to take another chance.

Rising on tiptoe, Justin pressed his mouth against Brian's, his tongue probing for entrance as one hand curved around his neck and the fingers of his other hand twined in brunet strands. 

This was more like it, Brian thought, slanting his mouth over Justin's, their tongues dueling. 

"Missed you," Justin moaned, his words barely understandable as he spoke into Brian's mouth.

Despite being apart for all of what - half a day? - Brian had no urge to laugh. The kid was so fucking gutsy, he reflected for the zillionth time, just laying out how he felt, persisting in going after him no matter how many times he got shot down. Not that Brian was going to shoot him down this time; he had something altogether different in mind.

The kiss lasted for what seemed like forever, the two lovers exploring each other's mouths. Justin's tongue skated along the edge of Brian's crooked tooth, making the brunet's toes curl. How could that possibly be so erotic? Brian wondered dazedly.

His right leg moved between Justin's, a thick erection pressing against his thigh through layers of denim and twill. Exactly what he needed, Brian thought, his excitement growing. One more swipe of his tongue through the moist heat of Justin's mouth, and he stepped back, a strand of saliva breaking as their lips parted and decorating the blond's chin. He couldn't let that go to waste, so Brian leaned down and slid his tongue across the damp skin, sucking it into his mouth. "Mmm," he hmmed appreciatively.

Swaying slightly, Justin reached out for him, but Brian eluded his grasp. His eyes hooded, he looked into equally lust-blown pupils before turning and sauntering up the steps, shedding his boots and clothes as he went. Flicking on the light array above the bed - he knew the blue tubes displayed his lean, toned body to its best advantage - he lay face down on the duvet, buried his face in a pillow, and waited for Justin. If his lover couldn't read this clue, he wasn't the genius Brian took him for.

The squeak of sneakers against floor, and then a sharp inhale, told him that Justin was right behind him. Shoes thudded against the floor, and then a ripping noise was followed by the flicker of a red T-shirt sailing to the floor. Good, Brian mused absently; now he had the perfect excuse to replace the boy's Gap-wear with something decent.

While he was thinking about which designer would suit Justin's build best, the lad was clambering onto the bed, taking a seat astride Brian, a sizeable erection pressing against his buttocks. Nerves suddenly attacked, his body tensing up, and Brian worried that this might not have been such a good idea after all, especially if it was gonna be some kind of ‘wham, bam, thank you man' deal. It had been a good long while since anything except a toy ventured in there, after all, and that didn't come near to matching Justin's girth.

"Did you think I was just gonna stick it in?" Justin giggled, accurately surmising his thoughts.

Brian grunted. Like he was going to admit to that and sound like a Nervous Nellie.

Justin giggled again, scooting down Brian's body until he reached his feet.

Now Brian was tense for a different reason. That giggle should be illegal. 

Justin began to massage his feet, starting with the toes, paying attention to every single digit, first on one foot and then the other, making him groan. When he applied gentle pressure to a spot centered on the arch of his left foot, not far from his middle toe, desire coursed through Brian's body, his dick perking up even more. Leave it to his insatiable protégé to find a heretofore unknown sweet spot, Brian mused dimly.

Another bolt of arousal shot through him when his lover found the same spot on his right foot - although, curiously, that one was about half an inch higher - before working his way along the sole of one foot and then the other. Digging his thumbs into flesh, he elicited more moans and groans from Brian, until he was rumbling a steady stream of approval. 

"You're purring like a big ole pussy cat," Justin murmured, his voice filled with glee.

Too blissed out to bother objecting - even if the little twat did sound like he was channeling his inner Emmett - Brian just moaned again as the boy's fingers worked their magic on his heels and ankles.

Justin slowly made his way up Brian's legs, alternating between right and left, kneading at muscles he hadn't even realized were tight. When he reached the back of his right knee, he paused, leaning in to lave it with flicks of his tongue before blowing moist air on the spot.

"Nngh," Brian groaned, writhing against the duvet, his cock hardening. He was afraid he might come - like an uncontrolled teenager - if Justin paid much more attention to the nerve-rich skin, so he protested, "Kneepit. Tickles." 

"Knee wha?" the blond giggled into the sensitive flesh, inadvertently blowing a raspberry.

Now it did tickle. A weird gasp-giggle escaped Brian's mouth, his leg twitching, and he had to wait a moment before repeating, "Kneepit."

"You're joking, right?" Justin queried, lifting his head, his tone incredulous. "Kneepit is not a word."

"Yeah, it is," Brian insisted, smug about - for once - being the one in possession of a useless piece of trivia. "Look it up."

The mattress shifted as Justin swung his right leg away from Brian and started to slide off the bed. 

Only Justin, Brian reflected wryly, would think he should check right this moment. "Get back here, you twat," he complained, an exasperated fondness tingeing his voice. "'s not gonna be in tomorrow's crossword." 

"It better not be."

Brian grinned to himself. He didn't need to slit an eye open to know his Sunshine was pouting. He jiggled his left leg, drawing the blond's attention to the kneepit he hadn't yet touched.

Now Justin sounded smug. "Tickled, my ass," he teased.

Brian stopped the childish retort of ‘did so' from escaping his lips and was rewarded by the blond resuming his worship of his body.

Moments later, Justin reached his glutes, his thumbs brushing against his cleft but not dipping inside. Brian moaned, wondering how he was gonna survive without coming right now. Wait a second; why the fuck was he waiting? His refractory period was extraordinarily short, after all - it almost matched his teen lover's. He'd be ‘up' again in no time. With that in mind, he humped the bed, moaning loudly.

"Stop that," Justin admonished, swatting him lightly on his right cheek.

Brian jolted, shocked by the pleasurable tingle that ran through him - no one had ever spanked Brian fucking Kinney - and involuntarily pushed his ass closer to the blond twink. Crap, he hoped the boy wouldn't notice his reaction.

Of course, it didn't escape Justin. The teenager stretched out over him, pressing his torso against Brian's back, and tongued his earlobe, sending another bolt of lust through him. He could've predicted his reaction to having his lobe fondled, but that didn't make it any less erotic or effective.

"I saw that," Justin whispered in his ear while rutting against Brian's backside. "We should play around sometime."

Fuck. He knew the kid wouldn't forget - not when it came to a new sexual adventure. Well, they could always trade off, he mused, already considering ways he could experiment with Justin: securing him to the bed frame with some of his neckties - heck, he'd even sacrifice a couple of his Davidoff ones for that - and turning the boy's bottom a delightful shade of pink; standard spanking over his lap on the couch; standing the boy up with his back against one of the pillars in the living room and looping rope around his torso Shibari style, then working his way up and down the boy's thighs and groin-

His train of thought derailed when Justin, who'd stayed splayed out across his back, began sucking on the back of his neck while simultaneously running the fingers of both hands through the hair under his arms, lightly massaging the skin beneath the hair. Brian almost levitated off the bed, overstimulated and again on the verge of coming. It took all his formidable willpower to hold still and not rub against the duvet.

"Good boy," Justin husked.

Little fucker. Brian was so gonna get him for this. Let him see how he liked it when he had to stave off an orgasm for hours. 

Another nip at the nape of his neck, which sent more blood rushing to Brian's nether regions, and the blond sat up again. He balanced on his knees, kneading Brian's upper arms, shoulders, and back.

His arousal easing, Brian relaxed, enjoying the massage and the release of tension from his muscles. He drifted, not really thinking about anything at all.

The sexual tension returned full force, though, when he felt Justin's tongue against his skin. The kneading motions never stopped, so Brian hadn't noticed when his lover slithered down his body. Justin was now slowly drawing a path down his back with his tongue, while simultaneously massaging the flesh on either side of his spine.

Every so often, Justin would bite gently at one of the knobby protrusions and then blow on the spot, before flattening his tongue against Brian's spine and proceeding southward, at a torturously slow pace.

Could the spine be an erogenous zone? Brian wondered distantly. The nape of the neck, sure - pretty much everywhere on the neck for that matter - and that triangular bone at the small of his back. Everything in between, though, until someone got close to his ass? Pretty much meh in Brian's opinion, till now anyway. Leave it to his sexually voracious, inventive partner to turn his entire spine into a hot spot. At this rate, there wouldn't be an inch of his body that didn't make his dick sit up and take heed the instant Justin touched it. Not that that would be a huge change. The boy had been cataloging everything he did from their very first time together, turning it around and trying it out on Brian at the first opportunity. The only thing Brian hadn't allowed was anal penetration, other than Justin's fingers grazing his opening while sucking him off. The moment his lover tried to press inside, even just a millimeter, Brian would clench his buttocks, signaling that was a no-go. This time, however, Brian wasn't going to shortchange himself - he was going to see how much Justin had learned.

An eon later - well, it was at least five minutes - Justin finally reached his sacrum. He rubbed the bone lightly with his thumbs, and then he provided Brian with another new experience. He massaged him with light, chopping, karate-style movements along the bone.

Holy fuck! Brian had never felt anything like this before, the nerves in his sacrum sending messages of ‘more, more, more' to his genitals, even as he writhed on the bed, his fingers clutching the duvet, almost too stimulated. How the hell was he supposed to keep from coming with Justin doing that?

"Thought you'd like this," the blond massage demon noted smugly.

"Gah," was Brian's less than eloquent rejoinder.

Justin finally moved his hands lower, kneading Brian's taut ass cheeks, but his lips and tongue took over with tormenting his lower back, pressing sloppy kisses to the sacrum and bathing the area with saliva. He then sucked the skin into his mouth, biting at it, before letting go with an audible pop.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Please, Shunshine," Brian begged, his voice slurring, even though he was unsure what he wanted his lover to do. Drowning in sensation, he felt even better than he did after smoking two joints rolled from his best Chronic. 

Justin kissed the midpoint of his sacrum one more time and then, tongue first, followed the path to the spot between Brian's checks. He separated the mounds with his hands, his fingers still kneading at them. Then he stopped, inhaling deeply.

"Smell so good," he murmured reverently. After taking another deep breath, he ran his tongue around the edge of Brian's hole, once, twice, and then a third time.

"Fuck," Brian panted, bucking upward and pressing closer to Justin's face.

The boy hummed, undisturbed, and stabbed the point of his tongue into Brian's hole.

"Nngh!" Brian groaned, half delirious, bucking harder.

Justin nipped at the skin protecting Brian's opening, swirled his tongue around the rim again, and then probed a little deeper with his tongue. Holding his cheeks apart with his hands, the boy lapped at the edge of his hole before inserting his tongue, over and over again for long minutes.

"Jus-tin," Brian pled, anxious for more, his voice breaking in the middle of the boy's name.

He looked over his shoulder at his lover as the boy lifted his head, Justin's mouth a shiny, rosy red from rimming him for fuck knew how long.

It was one of the sexiest, most erotic things Brian had ever seen.

Justin smiled at him, licking at his lips, and then stretched up to kiss Brian, sharing his own musky flavor with him.

"Justin," Brian growled when their lips parted, both pleading and demanding.

Reaching over to the nightstand, Justin squirted lube onto his hand from the dispenser, a glob shooting over to land in Brian's hair when he pressed too hard on the pump.

"Oops," Justin giggled, "runaway lube."

Brian couldn't help laughing too.

It didn't take long, though, before an intent look replaced the merriment in Justin's eyes. He quickly snagged one of the packets from the bowl on the nightstand, tore it open, and unrolled the condom onto his erection. Greasing it up, he urged, "Get up on your knees."

Brian hastened to comply, his blood thrumming through his veins and pooling in his cock. He was so fucking ready to get off.

His fingers thoroughly coated, Justin positioned himself between Brian's legs, gradually inserting his index finger into Brian's opening until it was all the way in, the tip brushing against his prostate.

The finger burned going in, but only a little. "More," grunted Brian.

Justin added a second finger and then, after a while, a third, scissoring them a little to work him open.

This was nothing, Brian told himself. Three slender fingers didn't come close to the width of Justin's member, or even Brian's favorite glass dildo.

"Brian?" Justin questioned, voice quavering a bit as he removed his fingers and placed the tip of his dick against Brian's entrance.

"Fucking do it," Brian commanded, his voice guttural. As Justin pushed in, he forced himself to breathe evenly, to accept the intrusion. Christ, but the boy was big. Somehow or other, he'd ended up with a cock that was within an inch of Brian's in length, and even wider. Genetics were weird like that, sometimes.

Once he was all the way in, the blond halted, waiting for Brian to adjust.

The initial pain dissipating, he slapped at Justin's thigh, indicating he could proceed.

His lover pulled out and then eased back in. "Okay?"

In response, Brian tightened his anal muscles around Justin's turgid cock, relaxed them, and then clamped down again.

Justin got the message. He retreated and then slid back in, soon establishing a smooth rhythm. His hips snapping forward, he pegged Brian's prostate on almost every pass.

Drops of sweat landed on his back, trickling down his spine, and he wished he could lick them up as he was wont to do when he topped Justin, their combined flavors bursting on his tongue before he shared the salty-sweet tang with a kiss. 

While he was licking his lips, imagining the taste, his lover leaned down and lapped up the moisture. Justin must have read his mind, Brian thought, turning to meet the lips that were now hovering next to his. The kiss sent sparks racing through his body, the hardness embedded inside him adding to his pleasure. 

He'd done a really good job of teaching the boy, Brian congratulated himself. In fact, Sunshine had learned his lessons so well that they were gonna have to switch it up more often. 

"Fuck," Justin rasped, his reluctance at having to break the liplock evident. 

Brian grunted in agreement. Another reason to fuck missionary style - it was much easier to kiss and fuck at the same time.

Planting his hands on either side of Brian and digging his toes into the bedding, Justin began to thrust in earnest.

Now, now, now! Brian's body clamored. 

Unable to wait any longer, he reached down and began to stroke himself in time with Justin's thrusts. Mere seconds later, he erupted, come shooting out of him as Justin stabbed at his prostate over and over until he was empty. He clenched around his lover's dick, Justin groaning as he filled the condom deep inside Brian.

A fourth, short spurt dribbled out of Brian's slit as he collapsed onto the duvet, Justin landing on top of him.

As the blond gradually softened and slid out of him, Brian wanted to keen his loss. For the first time, he understood why Justin always seemed so devastated when he pulled out.

Justin removed the rubber, tied it off, and carelessly tossed it over his shoulder.

It landed with a splat.

"If it's stuck to the window, Sunshine, you're gonna have to pry it off," Brian grumbled.

Justin giggled, and Brian's flaccid penis jerked a little in response. Like one of Pavlov's dogs, he thought, amused.

The blond rolled over onto his back, and Brian turned over too. Propped up on his elbows, he exchanged a lingering kiss with his lover before lying down, body sprawled out across the bed, his head pillowed on Justin's chest.

"I love you," Justin murmured, wrapping his arms around Brian, his fingers combing through his hair before stilling, his breathing evening out.

A soft smile on his lips, Brian contentedly drifted off to sleep, cradled in Justin's arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He wasn't unloveable after all.