A few days after the soccer practice with Gus, Brian was lunching at the diner, Sunshine trading the latest gossip with Ben, Ted, and Blake. Brian was feigning disinterest, although he was actually all ears about the latest tidbit - that one of the other clubs, the Gravel Pitt, was floundering. He'd been thinking about acquiring another property and turning it into either a primarily lesbian club or creating an atmosphere where both queers and straights would feel welcome. The Gravel Pitt was on the edge of the gayborhood and might be the ideal location for the latter option. He might even keep the name - it had a sort of edgy appeal.

As Brian was mulling it over, Michael arrived, tromping over to their booth with a big smile on his face. Michael didn't need to say anything, Blake and Ted obligingly scooting out of the booth so he could sit next to his hubby, Ben welcoming him with an outstretched arm.

"Can I have the window seat?" Michael asked, his brown eyes rounded in excitement. "There's loads of really neat costumes to look at. I thought I saw someone dressed up as Ice Tina; I don't wanna miss it if they come by."

While Ben also got up to accommodate his husband, an outraged Brian fumed, Ice Tina? Who the fuck cared about some drag queen villain? Any self-respecting fag would be costumed as Rage... or JT.

After sliding into the booth and thoroughly scanning the passersby, Michael turned away from the window. His mood perceptibly changed as he noticed the piece of paper he had clenched in one fist. Tossing the wadded-up sheet onto the table, he poked at it with his index finger and scowled at Brian. "That guy's scary... and creepy." He shuddered. "Why would you want him as the headliner for Babylon's Halloween show?"

Ted peered around Blake, who was now half perched on his lap, that side of the booth barely holding enough room for three men, much less the four who were now crammed in there. Extending a hand, he snagged the flyer and smoothed out the piece of paper. "Scary... and creepy," Theodore repeated. "Sounds about right for Halloween if you ask me."

"But he's, like..." Michael's mouth hung open as he searched for a way to describe the man whose costumed image was plastered across the flyer. "Creepy creepy," he finally settled on.

"Vocabulary fail," Justin whispered near Brian's ear, the blond's body shaking with repressed laughter.

The follicles on Brian's skin pebbled as Justin's breath ghosted across the fine hairs on his neck. Those hairs weren't the only thing to stand on end, a jolt of arousal coursing through Brian. Maybe a quickie in the bathroom would take the edge off, he mused. Plowing into his partner twice before he'd left the loft this morning obviously hadn't been enough. He disregarded the ‘all-nighter' they'd pulled before that, neither of them able to get enough of each other after Justin returned from a weeklong show in Philly. Brian hadn't been able to accompany him because Remsen Pharmaceuticals threw a last-minute hissy fit about their latest ad campaign, claiming it wasn't sexy enough. 

Remsen had switched from Kinnetik to Vangard a few years ago, but the ads they ended up with were so fucking unsexy that they experienced a dip in sales. After a year in which matters just got worse and worse for the pharmaceutical company, they'd returned to Kinnetik, hat in hand. Brian had only agreed to take them back as a client if they paid a big, fat retainer, regardless of their final decision on whether to move forward with a particular campaign. 

You'd think they would have learned that sex sells, but no. They'd just gone through the same rigmarole about wanting the latest campaign toned down, before flip-flopping and asking for the opposite. Jackasses.

Brian's musings about the moronic Remsen people ended when Ben spoke up. "Now, babe," the professor murmured, his voice calm and soothing as he smiled at Mikey.

Brian was annoyed to find himself relaxing too as Ben pulled Michael closer to him, patting his husband on the back. The bulky man's voice often had that effect on Brian - it must be because that professorial drone would put anyone to sleep, he'd finally decided. Kinda like the soporific effect the man's second book had had on Mikey.

Bizarrely, the disparity in education between him and Michael never seemed to bother the professor; in fact, Ben seemed to find it charming. Maybe because Michael's advice about that book had been spot-on. The book was boring - and dense - especially for someone who was anything but an academic.

Then again, the way Mikey adored those he loved was fucking addictive. Brian should know; he'd been on the receiving end ever since he rescued a geeky Michael from a group of high school bullies at age fourteen. Thankfully, Mikey's romantic longings had now been transferred to Ben, even if there'd probably always be a faint ‘what if' in the recesses of his childhood friend's imagination.

Brian tuned back into the conversation when Blake remarked, "The guy's pretty famous since he made it to the semi-finals of Britain's Got Talent. It makes sense Brian would want him for the club." 

"So what?" Michael's expression turned mulish. "It's not like he participated in something really big like the San Diego Comic-Con or America's Got Talent."

"AGT is a spin-off of BGT, you know, sweetie," Emmett helpfully supplied as he slid in next to Justin, nudging Brian and his partner closer to the window. "Right, Baby?" he asked, looping an arm around the blond's shoulders and giving him a wet smack on the temple.

"Hands off, Honeycutt," Brian growled for the umpteenth time. Christ, when was the swishy queen going to get the message?

"No can do," Em objected, bestowing one of his gap-toothed smiles on the older man. "Bri," he added a beat later.

Fucker, Brian thought. He hated being so predictable, but he fell for it every time. The annoying southerner knew how that nickname irritated him - except from Justin, and oddly, Theodore.

Debbie trotted over to the booth, slapped a pile of menus down on the table, snatched up the flyer, and jabbed an orange-taloned nail at the picture of the costumed contortionist.

Jesus, did the woman have to choose that garish shade of orange? Brian wondered. It reminded him of the hue of the T-shirt he'd gotten stuck wearing a few days ago. A basic black nail polish would be more tasteful and still allow the family matriarch to display her Halloween spirit.

"The boy's a real Yinzer!" Debbie exclaimed, jabbing the flyer again. "He's loyal to his roots to boot!"

"Stan could be on Broadway," the blonde in the next booth observed, a note of disapproval in her voice.

Fucking Linds, Brian thought irritably. It was sometimes a little difficult to believe his friend had Justin's best interests at heart, the way she kept pushing at him to go to New York. She just couldn't get it through her head that New York wasn't for everyone - and that it wasn't the only place an artist could make a name for himself. It still bugged the shit out of her that Justin hadn't left for the Big Apple two years ago, instead cashing in his airplane ticket and staying in the Pitts. That running away to Canada in ill-advised and poorly-planned haste had lasted only six months, the lesbians hemorrhaging money the whole time, bore any relation to what might have happened to Justin was irrelevant as far as Lindsay was concerned.

"Why do you care where the guy performs?" the she-wolf questioned. "You called it a ‘freak show' and gave away our tickets."

The bulldyke sounded royally pissed off, making it evident that all was not well at the Muncher Villa. Brian was also a little P.O.ed. The tickets were being sought after by everyone - gay, straight, and who the fuck knew - in the Burgh. He never would have set aside two for the girls if he'd known that Linds would just fucking hand them off to someone else. 

"He's even more agile than Mr. Muffet," Emmett noted absently, his ears almost visibly swiveling toward the lesbians' booth. He likely wanted to watch, should a hair-pulling argument eventuate.

"Who?" Blake wanted to know.

Brian groaned. Emmett dredged up tales about that thing every year, right as the holiday season was starting. It was enough to give any normal person nightmares. Except-

Right on cue, his blond piped up, "Right? I mean, he scuttles around just like a tarantula would."

"A what?" Ted's husband of less than a month squeaked, his face paling.

"I dated a traveling arachnologist for a while," Emmett began one of his favorite tales. "He had this absolutely gorgeous pet tarantula named Mr. Muffet-"

"Please," Ben choked out, looking like he was about to faint, "could we talk about something else? I've had my fill of spider chat." His eyes darted around the diner - he even looked up at the ceiling - as if he feared an imminent arachnid attack. The tension in his muscles eased slightly when he didn't spy anything hinting at the presence of even an itty-bitty spider.

Although he wasn't fond of the creepy-crawlies - the larger ones gave him the willies - Brian thought the All Hallows' decorations in the diner lacked some of their former pizzazz. Sure, there were whip-bearing witches in spiked heels, chain-rattling skeletons, ghosts in studded leather harnesses, gagged jack-o'-lanterns, and nipple-clamping bats. But-

Brian glanced around the diner - which looked like it'd been hit by a Friday the 13th explosion. Black cats arched their backs and hissed. In a framed picture - one Brian hadn't seen before - a black cat was even crossing underneath a ladder, the handyman on top of the ladder falling off and transforming into a ghost. Brian suspected that might be one of Justin's creations, painted at Debbie's behest. Besides the cats, there were rats scurrying about everywhere. More hissing came from vampires with their fangs exposed. The counter groaned beneath bowlfuls of tooth-rotting sweets, which the blond twat was fond of sticking his hands into. The candy corn was the worst of all - pure carbs, Brian mused in disdain while stirring sugar into his coffee. Natch, Justin had now gotten his other sonnyboy hooked on the stuff.

But there was not a single, solitary spider.

A few years ago, out of consideration for her arachnophobic son-in-law's feelings, Deb had banned anything spider-related. No fake webbing with dangling rubber spiders was strung up anywhere in the eatery. Even the Spiderman standee that Michael used to haul over from Red Cape was banned - to voluble protests from the contributor. He hadn't shut up about it until Ben thanked him with what Mikey had ever since reverently referred to as ‘Holy Spider! sex.'

"Don't worry, professor." Ted leaned forward and shot a reassuring glance Ben's way. "I won't let any creepy-crawlies get you."

"Can I take you home with me?" Ben pled. 

"You don't need him." Michael glared at Ted while clutching Ben's arm possessively. "You have me."

"Big help you were a couple weeks ago," the professor muttered, "when that ginormous spider invaded our kitchen."

"It probably wanted the soy pancakes," Michael joked. In the face of a withering glare from his husband, he defended himself, "Besides, I took care of the spider."

"Yeah, you called the removal expert," Emmett informed everyone. "Little ole moi."

"I thought ‘Distorto' took the prize for the weirdest date ever" - Blake pointed at the flyer - "but Mr. Muffet's owner may have edged him out." Shaking his head, he concluded, "Though either one is even creepier than the mortician you told me about."

"You didn't!" Michael's mouth rounded in an O of horror as he gaped at his erstwhile roommate.

The nelly queen gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Gumby was technically just a fuck, even if it did last for three days. The way that boy could bend and twist..." He trailed off, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

Too bad ‘Gumby' was already taken, Brian mused. That would be a clever name for the world-famous contortionist, but it was under copyright and could cause problems with the animation franchise. 

His upper lip curled in disgust, Michael fixed his gaze on Brian and opined, "That wouldn't be enough for me to fuck him. None of the rest of you either, I bet."

In the neighboring booth, Lindsay stared in seeming fascination at the Formica table top, while Melanie raised her eyebrows at Brian, daring him to respond. Brian just smirked at her while snatching a couple fries off Justin's plate. 

Brian caught Ben glancing down at the flyer, the professor's brow furrowing as he studied the image on it.

"Even if you think it's creepy, it's hardly the grossest fuck," Justin commented with a sidelong glance at Brian.

Why was the brat looking at him? Brian wondered. Just because he had a wide variety of experience, that was no reason to accuse him of a ‘gross fuck.' Brian was incapable of a gross fuck, for fuck's sake.

Deb, somehow plucking out of his blond head the exact fuck that was grossing Justin out, averred, "The thing with the diapers was kinky, not gross."

"Diapers?" Blake snickered. His shoulders shook as he tried to get his amusement under control and look more like the sober abuse counselor he'd now been for years.

"You know it wasn't me," joked Emmett with a sly wink at Brian.

That wink was the same one a newcomer had once sported at Babylon and was one of the things that had attracted Brian's attention. Now it unnerved Brian, making him worry that Honeycutt might give away that they'd once had a fling, in the first month after he hit town. It shouldn't be a big deal anymore, but he knew Michael would have a hissy fit if he found out. Brian would just rather not have to deal with the conniption that would ensue because he'd fucked one of their friends - before Mikey had even met him, just like with Ben. His worry was probably needless - Honeycutt had kept his mouth closed for years - but the wink was a little incautious and had Ted glancing curiously at Em.

Since he couldn't discreetly warn off the gossipy queen, he settled for issuing a warning to the impertinent blond instead. "You'd better shut the fuck up, or you'll be the one I spank," Brian whispered into Justin's ear, not wanting to elaborate about that damned CFO who liked to be spanked while wearing diapers. Why the fuck had he ever told anybody about that anyway?

"Promise?" the sunshiny imp purred in return. The boy licked his plump lips, a naughty grin on his face.

Fuck, Brian thought, his slacks becoming uncomfortably tight through the crotch. 

"The Huggies thing isn't that weird," Michael claimed. "Ma's right. That's just a kink some guys have."

Ben raised an inquiring eyebrow, which Michael didn't notice because he was staring intently at his best friend. "That means you beat out Brian," Michael stated, a strangely triumphant glint in his brown eyes as he glanced from Brian to Emmett and then back at Brian.

"Really?" Em lifted his hands above his head, shaking them to one side and then the other as if he'd won a prize fight.

"Fetch for the win," Debbie cackled in congratulations.

"Wait a second," Emmett muttered, dropping his hands to his lap. He shot a quizzical glance at Brian. "Didn't you-"

Maneuvering a toothpick between his teeth, Brian arched a brow and hmmed non-committally. Damned French fry. He should have known better than to steal some of the carb-laden grease sticks from the twat's plate.

Michael's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Nuh-uh," he tried to deny the obvious. "You didn't."

Brian lifted his left shoulder and then let it fall back down. Michael was bound to be disappointed. Brian had not only fucked the same undertaker as Em - not that he'd ever told Mikey it was the same guy - but the same contortionist too. If Michael preferred to think there were numberless fags in those specializations in the Pitts, so be it; he could live in the land of delusion.

Justin giggled, causing Brian to pull him closer. Looking into his partner's eyes, he attempted to telepathically convey that Justin should use his left hand to do something about the woody the blond had caused with his laughter.

The boy didn't cooperate, gazing back at Brian in feigned innocence. Little shit, Brian thought fondly. That blue-eyed, blond angel look might fool everyone else, but not him. It was doubly annoying because Brian could never carry off that kind of innocent look.

Michael cried out, "Do you and Em have some kind of sicko competition going? First the undertaker and now the creeper?"

"He's bendy... like a pretzel," Emmett countered dreamily, kissing the tips of his fingers. "The way he wraps his arms and legs around you and squeezes everywhere..."

Brian concurred with that assessment even if he wasn't about to say so. "What does it matter?" he asked. "It was ages ago, before Distorto became a household name. He was doing every rinky-dink pop stand around. Even Popperz," Brian sneered, Babylon's ongoing competition with that club niggling at him as always. "Then again" - he shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth - "maybe you should look him up, Sunshine. You could take lessons."

"Please. Like I need lessons," Justin boasted. "Besides" - he smirked at Brian - "I know from personal experience how good Stan is. I've had him too."

What the fuck? Brian looked at Justin through narrowed eyes. When did that happen? Brian thought the blond had shared all his exploits with him.

"Bullshit." Michael pretty much outright accused Justin of lying, easily transferring his ire from Brian to Justin.

With an apologetic glance at Brian, Justin confessed, "It was after the fiddler."

Brian could feel himself tensing up at the allusion to Ian, but Justin's next words surprised a chuckle out of him.

"He fell off the roof when he cheated." Justin shrugged, looking both abashed and proud. "I was so over his bullshit that I went a little wild, kinda fucking everyone in sight."

Jesus Christ. Didn't the boy know Brian would've been glad to provide the sexual relief he needed? Then again, he had helped. He'd watched Justin in the backroom at Babylon a few different times, encouraging the boy to greater heights. The blond washed in the blue light of the backroom, plunging into someone's ass while engaged in a staredown with Brian was fucking hot - and memorable. Most memorable of all, though, was waltzing into the men's room at Woody's with a companion, only to discover Justin ushering in his own trick. Brian had guided his fuck of the hour into the stall next to the one Justin entered. Then there'd come the delicious sounds of zippers being lowered, the squelch of lube, and the noise of their tricks banging their knees into the thin metal divider that separated the two ‘couples.' The deep, low groans from Brian and Justin were counterpointed by pleas from their flavors of the moment to ‘give it to me harder' and ‘fuck, yeah.' When he'd sensed his climax nearing, Brian had held his trick in place with one hand and stretched his other hand up to the top of the divider. A couple beats later, from the other side of the wall, long, slender fingers met his. Each of them had gripped the other's hand tightly, their grunts becoming louder as they fucked, the tricks largely forgotten. They were just receptacles for the two former lovers to spill into, both wishing it was someone else receiving their thrusts. 

Shifting uncomfortably as he relived the last few moments of that encounter, Brian found himself grateful that he'd worn a loose-fitting Rubinacci suit today, even though the slacks weren't truly roomy enough to contain him. It was also a good thing that the suit was so deep a blue as to be almost black, Brian certain that pre-come must've leaked through his briefs and into the fine wool material. He could've just gone with baggy jeans and a long-sleeved tee - like Theodore - since nothing important was going on at Kinnetik today. Unless you considered a Halloween party important, which Brian did not. 

"You know," Justin reflected, "the guy really does bend like a pretzel. He'd make a really cool side character in Rage. We could call him Pretzel Man or something like that. He could be evil or good - whatever we want, although I like the idea of him being supportive of Rage, JT, Zephyr, and Professor Kirchner. Pretzel Man gets out of tight spots like no one else can."

"No fucking way!" Michael huffed, folding his arms and glaring at Justin, appearing completely unwilling to entertain the notion. "No way," he reiterated, his expression mulish and his knuckles turning white where his hands clenched his elbows.

Justin didn't allow himself to become ruffled, returning Michael's stare with equanimity. "It's not like I can't write dialogue," he stated evenly. "Maybe I'll create a spin-off about..."

Brian watched in amusement when the blond broke off, his brow furrowing. He was searching for the right name for his bendy character, Brian reckoned. If the lad decided to follow through on his spur-of-the moment notion for a spin-off, Brian couldn't help wondering whether there would be a large enough audience to support the endeavor. There probably weren't all that many contortion aficionados out there; it was rather a niche taste, after all. Then again, a lot of people liked to flirt with BDSM, so the way the contortionist could kink his body might have a fairly broad appeal.

"I'd read it," Ted offered, drawing Michael's attention away from Justin.

Michael huffed again, beginning to sound like a steam engine getting ready to blow.

"I've had him too," Brian's CFO revealed, a salacious smile on his face. "Stan is very flexible."

Clearly pissed off that another of his friends had fucked the ‘creeper,' Michael mockingly inquired, "What, was he your fellow slave or something? For whatshisname, that leather master?"

"I wish. That sounds hot," Ted replied, popping the T.

"We had a threesome," Blake disclosed. "I just wish I could move like Stan does."

Ted leered at his younger lover. "Practice makes perfect," he intoned gravely. "We've almost got the handstand fuck down pat."

Well, well, well, Brian thought, nodding in approval at the man who'd become both a good friend and something of a protégé. Theodore had come a long way in the last couple of years, no longer the timid, insecure individual he was before Brian hired him, discovering that he had a calling not just as an accountant but also as an adman.

"It works just fine," Blake insinuated, "as long as all you have to do is stand there, Ted, while I do the handstand."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Melanie challenged from the neighboring booth. 

Her tone wasn't jeering; in Brian's estimation, she seemed genuinely interested in whether the two men could simulate a handstand fuck. It startled him until he remembered how agile Mel was. The bulldyke danced like no one's business, employing incredibly acrobatic moves. The only other members of their ‘family' who came close to displaying a similar talent on the dance floor were Honeycutt and Brian's blond boy.

Debbie stepped back from the table and motioned at the floor. "Have at it, boys. Show us what you can do."

"On the diner floor?" Ted looked appalled, his voice rising to a high pitch, as if he were just now nearing puberty.

Brian couldn't blame him for being revolted. Asking Blake to put his hands on such a filthy surface went beyond the pale.

Chomping on a stick of gum, Debbie dismissed his concern. "There's more cooties on the wall in the backroom than on the diner floor. Besides, it's just been mopped."

"That's true," Emmett attested. "The idiot wielding the mop almost pushed it across my new Chucks." He stuck out a foot, raising it above the table and wiggling it back and forth so everyone could admire his footwear.

The Converse high-tops would've looked perfectly ordinary if they weren't a vivid, orangey shade.

"What a gorgeous coquelicot!" Justin gasped, eyeing the shoes acquisitively.

The last word caught Brian's attention since part of it sounded like one of his favorite things - cock. He could only hope, though, that it was the color and not the shoes that had Justin so enraptured. Emmett could get away with that look, but the blond kid would look ridiculous - like he was wearing flowers on his feet or something.

Emmett flapped a hand at Justin. "Finally! Someone with a proper appreciation for color. You wouldn't believe how many clueless fags there are in this city, calling this a plain, old orangey-red." He sniffed disdainfully.

Justin exchanged a long-suffering, commiserating look with his friend.

"‘Cock-I-caught' shouldn't be hard for a fag to remember!" Debbie cackled, deliberately changing the pronunciation.

That caused the gang to break out in laughter. As their hilarity tapered off, someone toward the back of the diner could be heard saying, "Cock-I-caught, Cock-I-caught, Cock-I-caught." That precipitated more chuckles.

Brian arched an eyebrow at Theodore and Bake. "So, are you gonna show us the handstand that ‘catches a cock'?"

Ted gave his husband a look conveying ‘I'm game if you are.'

Blake shrugged and got off the older man's lap.

"So how are we gonna do this?"

"Just stand there," Blake muttered as he squatted down.

"I can do that," Theodore deadpanned, making everyone laugh.

Blake looked at the scummy pail that the mop-wielding moron must've abandoned in the middle of the floor after running over Honeycutt's Chucks. That didn't seem to put him off giving the fuckstand a try, but then as he lowered his denim-clad ass to the floor, he paused. He reached up to his neck, fishing around with his fingers, frowning when he didn't find anything.

Was Blake looking for a lucky charm or something - unable to do a simple handstand without it? Hell, even though he had a good eight or nine years on Theodore's blond, Brian could do a better job. Not that Brian was gonna demonstrate; he would never let on that he bottomed or be stupid enough to chance humiliating himself with a wobbly effort. Besides, although he'd taken off his suit jacket and Davidoff tie - a casualness he'd indulged in only because he had no client meetings this afternoon - there was no way he would desecrate his Rubinacci trousers, mopped floor or not. 

"Nope, can't do it without my diamonds," Blake objected.

Diamonds? What the fuck? Brian didn't pay Theodore that much.

Ted frowned, apparently commiserating with the younger man's plight. "Too bad I had to give them back to Liz."

"Ooh!" Emmett clapped his hands like a trained seal. "Are you channeling Elizabeth Taylor?"

Ted and Blake both burst out laughing. 

"I knew if anyone would get the joke, it would be you, Em," Theodore commented fondly, leaning over and bussing his friend on the cheek. He then extended a hand and pulled Blake up off the floor, the two men giving up on the fuckstand and reseating themselves.

Honeycutt flushed a delicate pink and touched a hand to his cheek, obviously pleased by the affectionate gesture.

"What's the big deal?" Michael griped, ending what even Brian had to admit was a sweet moment. "I want to know why I haven't fucked the Creeper. I bet you haven't either, Emmett! Not really anyway. You're too proud of a nelly bottom for that."

Honeycutt stared blankly at Michael for a few seconds. "What does being a nelly bottom have to do with whether or not I fucked Stan?"

Good question, Brian thought. He'd like to know the answer too. The professor, he noted from the corner of his eye, also looked puzzled.

Emmett waited a couple of beats, during which Mikey didn't respond - other than to let out another huff and cross his arms.

"Not that it's any of your business," the campy southerner resumed, flapping a hand at Michael, "but I like to switch things up at Halloween. It suits the holiday, you know?"

A pointy elbow to his side made Brian give a mental eye-roll. Like they only mixed things up once a year. Not that the idea of doing so tonight was unappealing...

"Anywho, Gumby was just irresistible when he brought his act to the Pitts for the first time. I gave him a taste of toppy Honeycutt, and then-"

"But why not me?" Michael interrupted, stretching out ‘me' so much that the two-letter word sounded like it had five syllables.

Next to Brian, Justin succumbed to a coughing attack. The blond shot a quick glance at him and then Brian started coughing too. He'd bet they were both thinking the same thing: The way he'd phrased the question made it seem like Mikey wanted Emmett to top him.

Ben rubbed Michael's back soothingly. "I didn't fuck him either, honey."

A customer who'd just tapped Debbie on the shoulder and was holding out a menu, pointing to what he wanted - his efforts to flag her down so he could order apparently having been in vain - corrected him. "Yes, you did. At the White Party a while back. I remember watching your muscles ripple as you held him up and plunged into him. Contortion Boy was wrapped around you like a limpet, his ankles around that thick neck of yours. I was dying to get a piece of you, but I couldn't find you after that."

A blush rose up Ben's neck and across his countenance, until his entire face was stained crimson. "Oh my God. That was a lifetime ago."

As Michael screeched, "What!" Brian realized that must've been the White party where he met a nameless, hunky guy and fucked him for twenty-four hours straight.

"Babe, that was years before I met you," the professor tried to calm his irate husband.

Not about to be pacified, Michael argued, "You've used that one before."

"Can I place my order now?" the hungry customer asked, uninterested in the furor he'd caused.

Her fists on her hips, her brow furrowing, it looked like Debbie was about to give the customer the sharp side of her tongue. A harried Kiki, beads of sweat streaming down her face, forestalled her, bustling over to gasp, "Give a gal a hand, Deb? I can't handle the Halloween horde by myself."

The redhead glanced around, taking in the full tables and the growing line of customers - there were people waiting outside the eatery - and allowed herself to be towed away.

A few seconds after Debbie left, a couple of really hot guys came up to the booth. The taller, beefier one had dirty blond hair, a slightly receding hairline, and looked considerably older than his companion, a slender man with gorgeous, café au lait skin and springy ringlets of dark hair. 

Both looked vaguely familiar to Brian, but he couldn't place how he knew them. Weird, since he normally didn't have trouble remembering fuckable guys, even if he had no intention of doing them again.

"Dale?" Ted asked, his astonishment plain. 

Theodore looked rather flustered, Brian thought, wondering why. Maybe Don was an old flame? In his opinion, Ted had aged far more gracefully, and given how he now carried himself with confidence, was hotter than Hale.

"Hey, Ted." The mystery man addressed Ted with a note of fondness to his tone. 

"What're you doing here?" Theodore asked. "I thought you'd moved on to Clarksburg and then, um" - he snapped his fingers - "Syracuse after you finished setting up and staffing your Pittsburgh office."

Dale confirmed, "I did. But after meeting Stan, hitting it off and getting married, I decided to move my headquarters here." He shrugged, smiling down at his companion. "It's home for both of us. You still with Wertshafter?" he posed a question of his own.

"No, I work for Kinnetik now." 

"Yeah? Good for you. I've heard good things about them; they're making big waves for a small agency. I'm gonna be in the market for some advertising; maybe you can put me in contact with the head honcho."

Brian had preened at the compliment to his agency, but he didn't introduce himself. He'd have Theodore fill him in on the guy first, and he'd make sure his CFO got a sizable bonus for landing a client - even if he didn't have to do much to reel him in. Brian suspected Dale had deep pockets, with plenty of money to splurge on top-notch advertising.

"I think I can manage that," Ted agreed.

Michael interjected himself into the conversation. "I can tell you-"

"No need," Dale cut him off, dismissing him with a quick glance. "Ted'll do just fine. You have my cell phone number?" he asked Ted.

"If it hasn't changed, it's in my Rolodex."

Dale confirmed, "It's still the same."

"By the way" - Kinnetik's newest prospect glanced around at everyone else, lingering for a moment on Michael's pouting mug - "just so you know, Stanislaus is off the market."

"Huh?" Michael asked.

"You may know him better as Distorto."

Brian blinked. That was the name on the crinkled flyer that Michael had dropped on the table, but that wasn't how he knew the guy; costumed and made up, the man was unrecognizable. Dammit, it was on the tip of his tongue... With that thought, the memory snapped into place. "You could lick your own balls!" he exclaimed.

Bendy Boy smiled proudly. "Still can."

"You give lessons?" Brian looked meaningfully at Justin.

"It's a cool trick" - Justin shared a grin with the contortionist before returning his gaze to Brian - "but why would I want that? I've got you to lick them for me."

Dale chuckled. "He's got you there, Kinney." He paused, and Brian could almost see the lightbulb going off. "Wait a minute. Kinney... Kinne-"

Before he could complete the connection, Justin excitedly addressed the slender, sinewy contortionist. "You're Bent!"

"Uh... yeah," Distorto agreed hesitantly. "Aren't most of us?" He glanced around the diner - Dale also looking around - as if checking to be sure they were in the Liberty Avenue Diner, not somewhere in Straightville.

Justin flushed. "Er, I meant Bent would be a great name for a character based on you."

Bendy Boy's look of confusion didn't lessen. 

Dale, however, looked pleased. "You're one of the creators of Rage, aren't you?"

Michael sat up straight, a smile forming, and started to extend his hand, obviously expecting to be recognized next.

"You want to model a character in Rage after me?" Now that he got what Justin was talking about, the contortionist was practically vibrating with excitement, as if that would be more of an honor than performing live on some of the biggest stages in the world.

Justin replied, "Yeah, if I can talk my business partner into it." Because he wasn't looking at Michael, he missed the frantic jerking motions Mikey was making with his head, indicating he wanted to be introduced.

Brian made the mistake of glancing at Ted, whose lips were twitching as he eyed the head-spasming Michael.

Brian coughed, disguising the laughter that wanted to well up. 

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to make that happen." Distorto took out his wallet, extracted a card, and handed it to Justin. "Call me anytime; that's got my cell number on it." He looked around at Dale as if checking on something and then returned his gaze to Justin. "I'd love to chat, even though we can't hook up again."

With that, Bendy Boy turned, took Dale by the hand, and led his husband toward the exit. He bent his fingers backward at an unnatural angle, fluttering them in a farewell wave and making Brian wince. 

Michael's gaze followed the two men as they navigated their way toward the door of the crowded diner. "I don't get it," he mumbled. "How can he look so normal?"

"Distorto is only an alter-ego," Justin explained a bit patronizingly. "Just like Bent."

The kid wasn't doing himself any favors if he wanted Mikey to warm up to the idea of a new Rage character, Brian mused wryly. Justin should know by now that he needed to stroke Michael's ego if he wanted the man's cooperation. He'd have to suggest blatant flattery later, though, since he had a stack of paperwork at the office waiting for his signature. He nudged Justin in a signal to get up, the blond in turn elbowing Emmett.

Emmett didn't help matters with Michael, not sounding very consoling as he stood up to let Justin and then Brian slide out of the booth. "Honey, Gumby's not normal. He's hot. Normal is, like, average."

Michael's brow knitted even more, his lips pursing in another pout.

Christ. He had to get out of here before this devolved into a one-man pity party. "You coming, Theodore?" Brian snarked. His CFO didn't need to know about his upcoming bonus just yet. "Or do you want me to dock your pay?"

"Later," Brian muttered to Justin, giving the lad a long, steamy, tongue-filled kiss before reluctantly pulling away. 

Ted took the opportunity for a toe-curling liplock of his own with Blake, looking equally reluctant as he pushed his blond off his lap and stood.

Brian felt a pang of envy. The two newlyweds positively reeked of happiness. It wasn't like he and Justin weren't happy, but there was just an aura about Ted these days that Brian wouldn't mind having. Since the aura didn't appear until after Ted and Blake got married, he figured it must be connected to their wedding ceremony. The whole thing had been nagging at him lately, making him wonder all over again why he and Justin hadn't gone through with their own wedding. Maybe it was time to ask again? The rings were waiting, hidden under the socks in his wardrobe.

A shrill complaint interrupted his thoughts. "I'm, like, the co-creator of Rage, but the Creeper didn't even recognize me!"

Michael was hanging around tweens and teens too much in that comic book store of his. He wasn't ‘like' a co-creator; he was a co-creator. Brian caught a pained look on the professor's face, and was certain he'd had the same thought.

"It's not fair," Michael bleated. "I'm the only one who hasn't had him."

"I haven't either," Melanie interposed from the next booth as Brian and Ted made their way to the door. "The difference is that I don't want him."

The two men burst out laughing as soon as they were outside, the bell jingling as the door closed behind them.

"It's not faaair," Ted elongated the word, mimicking Michael.

Why his childhood friend was complaining about a might-have-been, one-time fuck was beyond Brian. For Christ's sake, Michael was shacked up with the man of his dreams. "Only Mikey," he said, his voice tinged with exasperated fondness.

"Yeah," Ted agreed, looking equally flummoxed. 

"So who the fuck's this Dale guy anyway?" Brian asked, changing the subject. "I know I've seen him before, but I can't remember where."

"His last name's Wexler," Ted told him as if that should clue Brian in.

Brian raised an eyebrow in a request for more information.

"Whipping Wexler."

Christ. Now Brian recalled the man. The last time he'd seen Dale, the man had been dressed in a leather harness, wielding a whip at that fucking disaster of a Leather Ball. He hadn't realized Ted knew him, however...

"Just how well are you and Whipping Wexler acquainted, Theodore?"