Three weeks later, Justin was finally putting some of the supplies he'd acquired at ArTrove to good use. The sales clerk position was only part-time, but the pay was above minimum wage and he got a sizable employee discount. Best of all, Sue had agreed to display a few of his paintings in the shop, once he had something ready.

As he stepped back to take a critical look at the canvas he was working on, the Moby CD came to an end, and there was a light clicking noise as the stereo changed to the next disc. Justin had inserted five different CDs, all from artists he and Daphne had listened to - and crushed on - over the years, as well as the disc she'd burned for him and pressed into his hands the last time he saw her, two days before he left home. 

‘D & J's Music Mix,' which Daph had penned on the disc, had gone in last. While setting up to paint, Justin had determined that this was the right occasion to listen to the compilation for the first time. Second time now that he'd been painting for hours, but he hadn't felt like changing the discs, instead simply pressing ‘play' again. Although Justin never would have thought to arrange the eclectic mix of club music, oldies and popular songs the way Daph had, he was enjoying the results.

"When you're down and troubled, and you need a helping hand," sang James Taylor, making Justin smile to himself. It was so Daphne; she'd always been there for him, he mused fondly.

No wonder that while constantly sketching pictures of Brian in the last few weeks - nothing new there - he'd found himself missing his bestie almost as much as his lover and ended up sketching her with surprising frequency. There were drawings of other friends and family of course, especially Gus, but almost a third of the pictures focused on Daphne.

That was how he'd ended up deciding to paint a collage of him and Daphne, depicting some of the special moments in their lives. It was an ambitious project - the canvas that rested on his new easel was huge - but he was positive Daph would love it. She'd be blown away by the gift for her twenty-third birthday, he thought smugly. Nothing else she got would even come close.

Thank fuck that occasion was still months away. If Susan liked it, he wanted to display the painting at ArTrove before he transported it to Pittsburgh, a feat he'd have to figure out how to arrange later. 

Daph's present wouldn't be for sale. It wasn't in the abstract style that had been touted in the Artforum article, but that might prove to be a good thing. The painting would show some of what he could do - that he could manage a range of styles equally well - and he'd have other paintings available for purchase.

As he was visualizing the painting in his head and then outlining it on paper, he'd determined that he wouldn't - couldn't - shy away from the bittersweet memories. They were too entwined with the good ones. That meant Daphne's first time was there, with hints of the fight that followed. 

So was prom and the fun they'd had dancing and kidding around before Brian arrived. 

After You've Got a Friend, the next song had been Pete Townshend's Rough Boys. Now, his gaze shifting to the spot on the canvas where he'd tried to bring their prom to life, the strains of Save the Last Dance for Me filled the apartment as if he'd deliberately timed it.

Justin huffed out a mirthless laugh and swallowed down a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging as the oldie took him back to Brian and Daphne's efforts to recreate prom at the loft and help him regain his memories. Frustrated that he couldn't recall a single moment of the dance with Brian - and scared he never would - he'd lashed out, feigning disbelief that they'd danced to such a ‘corny, old song.' 

Hazel eyes glinting with hurt, Brian had retorted that he preferred to think of it as ‘ridiculously romantic,' but Justin, lost in his own misery, didn't pick up the cue. They'd been at opposite extremes, Justin wanting to remember and Brian wishing he could forget.

Now, humming along to the song, Justin let out a watery giggle. His lover had a not very well hidden penchant for old pop music; just look how often the man had watched Dirty Dancing, for fuck's sake.

He glanced to one side, his eyes landing on the photo of him and Daphne, which had apparently been taken when they entered the hotel ballroom together. He'd had to base the prom scene on photos along with hearsay, but he liked the way it had turned out, the elegance of Daphne's salmon pink dress and the black and white of his tux revealing where they were - if you knew what to look for. 

Some of the scenes were deliberately blurry, but Daphne shouldn't have any trouble recognizing them.

Another panel depicted the two of them stumbling around, giggling in a weed-induced haze, going right past 6 Fuller without even realizing it. 

He grinned at the representation of the pillow fight they'd gotten into in sixth grade, then frowned. The feathery wisps from the pillow that had burst open didn't look right. 

First, though, he had to fix the curl of Daphne's lip in the section he'd been working on. Justin could still visualize Daph's reaction and hear her flabbergasted wail, ‘But he's ugly!' when they walked in on Brian fucking the Zuke over his couch.

Although it hadn't been funny at the time, the Zucchini Man made him laugh now. God, Brian had such bad taste sometimes. 

Daphne had later turned that same sneer on Ethan, his ex's butt-ugly, two-faced personality doubtless earning that reaction. Justin picked up the liner brush, dabbing it in the color he wanted, and reached out to adjust the flare to Daph's upper lip. 

Ethan's vows of love might have proven meaningless, but that wasn't what made Justin the angriest. It was his willingness to hide in the closet - and drag Justin in there with him - all for a recording contract.

Although he didn't know it, Justin's lips curved in the exact motion he wanted to show Daphne's forming the painting. 

He was most pissed off at himself, of course; he should have left Ethan the moment he denied his homosexuality. 

Shaking off the dark thoughts and relegating the fiddler to the past where he belonged, Justin stepped back again. He nodded in approval at the way his friend now looked in that corner of the painting.

Intentionally ignoring the not-feather problem, he considered which of the remaining blank portions on the canvas to tackle next: either the two of them ice skating at Schenley Park last year, Justin getting off balance and windmilling wildly before landing on his ass while his friend howled with laughter; or a white-faced Daph holding out the envelope from the ETS, shit scared to find out her SAT scores.

True Faith suited the SAT better, he decided, grinning impishly as a new song blasted through the speakers. After checking to make sure he had the colors he wanted, he extruded a bit more of the dark blue onto his palette, picked up the brush he wanted, dabbed it in the paint and got back to work.

He had a good rhythm going a few minutes later when someone pounded on the door. The pounding was even louder than this morning, the driving beat of the music not enough to drown it out. 

Justin scowled. This was how he'd ended up with white blobs instead of feathers - the pounding had interrupted his rhythm, and he'd lost control of the brush. This time, fortunately, he was able to lift the paintbrush away from the canvas without causing any unsightly splotches.

Fuck. "Keep your panties on!" he shouted. 

It was doubtless another one of Jon's girlfriends, so he saw no reason to rush over to the door. When Daphne had pointed him towards her friend who lived in the East Village, she'd failed to mention that Jon was a chick magnet who juggled dating several women at once.

Every single one of the women was blonde, whether naturally or from a bottle, and they were all either willfully blind or total airheads. They had to be, or they would've figured out that Jon was scoring on the side - multiple sides.

Justin couldn't help wondering if Daphne suspected that her friend might be gay and that was the reason she'd arranged for him to stay here, rather than with the cousin who was studying at NYU and had actually had a spare bedroom. Had being the operative word, someone snatching up the room right as Justin's plane was touching down at LaGuardia.

Since Jon was almost always banging a girl when he was home - and hadn't shown a scintilla of interest in him - Justin could confirm that the man didn't have a gay bone in his body. He just hoped Daphne didn't want to make a play for the guy. 

He'd really lucked out with Brian; the man fucked around, but he was honest about it and he'd never once broken their rules, not even during that dismal period when Justin fell for pretty words and left him. One night after he'd returned from Hollywood - when things were getting tense again - Brian had stumbled into the loft drunk and high. He'd clutched Justin fiercely after they fucked, mumbling about how if he kept to the rules, his boy would never leave.

Why the fuck hadn't he listened and accepted that for the declaration it was? Justin might've had good reasons for feeling resentful - the shitty way Brian announced he had syphilis, for instance - but he should never have moved back in if he wasn't willing to accept his lover for who he was.

Breathe, he told himself, staving off panic. He and Brian were okay. Since the first phone call - which Brian had initiated - they'd talked a couple times. Okay, he'd talked and Brian grunted - but, after a fashion, they were communicating. Justin would've gone home to Pittsburgh to tell Brian he was being an idiot about this ‘only time' business, but that wouldn't do any good. He had to let the stubborn asshole figure it out for himself.

Speaking of assholes... He scowled when another round of banging started up. Goddammit, it looked like they weren't going to let up until they were satisfied that their swinging dick of a boyfriend wasn't here.

He wondered if the bimbo at the door would also shove him out of the way like the one this morning, checking in the bedroom and bathroom to be sure Jon really wasn't here - and then talk his ear off for half an hour about how Jon was ‘the one' and ‘totally, like totally, right' for her.

Jon probably hadn't told any of the girls that he was going out of town for the weekend, he thought sourly. Or that he was ‘auditioning' someone new to add to his stable of girlfriends.

It figured that he'd keep getting interrupted by lovelorn blondes the first time he was able to paint. Justin'd had no luck finding affordable studio space, but Jon had been pretty understanding about letting Justin paint in the living room when he wasn't there. He'd just asked that Justin field any inquiries as to his whereabouts. The ‘family obligations' excuse always worked well, he'd informed Justin when he left for the weekend - girls always went gooey over family.

He still thought it was strange that a ‘straight Brian' had chosen to live in one of the city's gayborhoods. Not that there weren't other straight people in the Village, but it was predominantly gay - and that was the clientele businesses catered to.

Jon's reasoning didn't make much sense to Justin, but living in the East Village apparently gave Jon cachet - and having a gay artist for a roommate just added to his appeal with straight girls. 

Unfortunately, contributing to Jon's coolness didn't do much for Justin beyond providing him with a place to sleep. The location might be great, but it was way too small for two people. Unless they were a couple, and even then, Justin mused sourly, it would probably be the reason they broke up; you just couldn't get away from each other.

The living room, with the sofa on which he was couch-surfing, was the only room of any size in the apartment. Jon had barely been able to squeeze a queen-size mattress into the small bedroom, which meant that except for sleeping, fucking and showering - in the claustrophobically tiny bathroom - Jon spent all his time in the living room.

Like Daphne's cousin, with whom Justin would rather be rooming, Jon was a student and had books piled on the desk that was sandwiched into one corner of the room, but Justin had never seen him sit at the desk or crack any of the books. The books were apparently just for show since as far as Justin knew, the guy still hadn't declared a major.

Justin couldn't help being a little jealous that Jon's mom and dad were funding his aimless studies; a year older than Justin, he'd been pursuing the undetermined major for almost five years. That support included paying not only his tuition but also his rent, along with a generous allowance for groceries and other necessities.

Even with its deficiencies - the kitchenette was tiny and not designed for cooking - the apartment was a find. It was in a decent area and close to the trains, and Jon didn't have to cough up a penny for it.

Not only that, but if Jon burned through his allowance too quickly, he now had Justin to supplement his income. That, as Justin had learned, was the main reason he'd been welcomed with open arms. He used the money Justin paid him for budget-conscious seductions: takeout meals eaten by candlelight, cheap wine and sickeningly romantic movies.

If wooing was needed, then painting was out. 

Justin perforce either played third wheel or went for a walk. A really long walk since listening to the headboard of Jon's bed bang against the wall, counterpointed by squeals and groans, was otherwise inescapable. 

If only Jon would pick up girls during the day - even just once in a while - it wouldn't be so bad. Then Justin might be able to escape to ArTrove. The other part-time job he'd found at a local diner wouldn't start till next week. He had to laugh; who knew the main reason he'd want a job wouldn't be to make ends meet?

More banging on the door intruded, and a loud, irate female voice calling his name penetrated past the music. It was definitely one of the girlfriends Jon had introduced him to, and they clearly weren't going away until he answered the door.

Sighing, Justin set down the palette and paintbrush. The timing could be worse, he supposed; it was getting late in the afternoon, so he was about to lose the natural light anyway. He'd clean up for the day after he got rid of the latest visitor.

Even though, irrespective of the interruption, he'd have had to stop soon, Justin couldn't help but feel a little annoyed. He stomped over to the door and wrenched it open, ready to give the blonde bimbo a piece of his mind. What he got wasn't what he expected.

Brian extended his arms to the side and gave him a cheesy grin. "Hey, Sunshine."

Shocked half witless, Justin blurted out, "What're you doing here?"

Brian arched an eyebrow. "Someone once said, ‘It's only time.'"

Justin was torn between grabbing onto his lover and never letting go - and kicking the smug bastard. 

Before he could make a move, he heard a familiar voice say, "Someone really dumb."

Justin started giggling at the outraged look on Brian's face.

"Fuck," muttered Brian, hauling Justin over to him until they were plastered together. He buried his nose in Justin's hair and inhaled deeply, seemingly content to do no more than that.

Justin threw his arms around Brian's neck and held on tight. Three weeks was way too fucking long to be without his partner.

Brian lifted his head, and his gaze devouring Justin, admitted, "Okay, okay. It was a weirdly philosophical and dumb thing to say."

"But also ridiculously romantic," Justin murmured as Stand By Me started playing.

"Don't you mean corny, Sunshine?" Brian teased.

"And it's an oldie," Daphne threw in, peering around from behind Brian.

"This song could be about us," Justin observed, pinkening a little at being so mawkish. "All three of us." It was true though; they were always there for each other when the chips were down.

"You know," Brian deadpanned, "Ben E. King was one of the lead singers for the Drifters, once upon a time."

Daphne saved Justin from having to say anything. "He's way cool," she chirped.

He kind of was, thought Justin, resolving to do some research on the Internet. Maybe he still toured?

"How'd you get here?" he asked, not wanting to give away the idea he'd just had.

"There's this thing called a car..."

Justin rolled his eyes at his lover. Brian never could resist an opportunity to get snarky. "In this weather? Are you crazy?"

His bestie giggled. "We were weed inspired."

"You drove high?" Now Justin was shocked. Brian rarely drove after he'd imbibed or done drugs of any kind anymore. He was even cautious about one or two beers.

"Nah," Brian drawled. "That was yesterday. Your little girlfriend stopped by last night, just as I was testing my latest eighth of Chronic." He shrugged. "So I invited her to join me."

"I thought I'd finally get to take him up on his offer," Daph said in a dead-serious tone.

Offer? What did that mean?

Daphne succinctly elucidated, "To fuck me."

Huh? Justin looked back and forth between Brian and Daphne, totally baffled. Maybe the weed was having lingering effects.

"You had to be there, Sunshine," Brian told him.

"You should see the look on your face," Daphne giggled. "Don't worry. Nothing happened." 

He hadn't been worried and he wasn't now, Justin assured himself, darting a glance at Brian, who just raised an eyebrow at him in an infuriatingly uninformative manner.

Daph volunteered, "All we did was talk about you, and since we missed you, we decided we might as well come for a visit."

He flicked another glance at Brian, who didn't deny anything, leaving Justin smiling giddily. 

"So, you gonna invite us in?" Daphne asked, tapping the toe of one shoe against the floor. "It took forever to get here. Brian drove like a little old lady."

"I didn't want to ding the Vette," Brian huffed, shooting a dark look at the girl.

"Yeah, yeah." Daphne waved off the excuse, squeezing between Justin and the door frame to get into the apartment.

Brian's lips descended toward Justin's, his intent clear.

His mind clouded with desire, Justin remembered a moment too late what he'd been working on. His shout of "Wait!" was overridden by a piercing squeal from Daphne.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" his bestie squealed, running over to hug him from behind. "I love it!" she shrieked, jumping up and down and bouncing Justin along with her. "I love it!" she repeated enthusiastically.

"Don't go all Valley Girl on me," Justin joked.

"Valley Girl!" Daphne echoed, punching him in the arm. "Valley Girl?"

Brian nudged Justin out of the way and peered into the apartment. "Christ, Sunshine. Does whatshisname have a pet parrot?"

Justin, who'd just been wondering if there was such a thing as ‘parrot disease,' cracked up.

"Ha ha." This time Daphne punched Brian in the arm. "Ha ha," she reiterated. Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she looked at Brian from under her eyelashes. "Seriously, Jus," she relented a couple beats later, "it's incredible." She waved a hand toward the easel. "You, like, captured every second of the pillow fight." Her brow creasing, she dropped her voice. "You, uh, know those white blobs don't look like feathers, right?"

Sighing, Justin muttered, "Fucking blonde bimbo."

Brian lifted an eyebrow. "Blond bimbo?"

"That would be ‘himbo' and I'm not one," Justin huffed.

"Hmm, you're half of one." Brian leered at him and licked his lips, leaving Justin in no doubt as to which ‘half' he meant. "Now, why don't you show me what's got Daphy's feathers all ruffled."

Justin raised a mental eyebrow at that one, especially when his bestie didn't retaliate with a jab of her elbow to Brian's ribs for using the despised childhood nickname.

"You weren't supposed to see it yet," he told Daphne, leading the way over to the painting. "It's for your birthday, but when it's done, I want to show it at ArTrove for a while. If Sue likes it."

Wrapping his arms around Justin from behind, Brian scoffed. "It's genius. Susie Q's not gonna want to let it go."

Was Brian thinking of the Creedence version, the original oldie or one of the other remakes? Knowing his lover, it could be any of those. Regardless, he suspected Susan would like the nickname. She'd let slip that she wasn't originally from New York, and he'd caught a hint of a southern accent in her voice a couple of times.

"It's mine," Daphne stated fiercely, a possessive glint in her eyes. "Susie Q" - she readily adopted Brian's nickname - "better not try to keep it."

Justin smiled, pleased and secretly a little relieved that his friend liked the collage so much. 

"How'd you get us so right at prom?" Daphne asked wonderingly. "That's exactly how we looked. Even your goofy smile, Jus," she quipped.

Brian's arms tightened around Justin, his pointy chin digging into the crown of Justin's head and a fine tremor running through his body.

Justin's thumb stroked soothingly across the underside of Brian's wrist. "You've talked about it often enough. It's almost like I was there," he joked feebly.

The tension in his body perceptibly easing, Brian vowed, "No one else could've made me want to relive my youth. Fucking teenagers."

Justin grinned at the double entendre. "How about a twenty-something?" he asked.

Brian grinned. "I'm all for equal opportunity."

"Really," Daphne pressed. "How? I mean, that's the dress I had on."

"Remember George?"

Daphne frowned. "The geeky chess guy?" she asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Justin verified. "He was at prom with his beard-"

"He's gay?" Daphne's jaw dropped. "I mean, he was a geek but, like, totally built."

Justin looked from Daphne to Brian, who smirked, and then back at his friend.

"Geez." Daphne held a forefinger against her temple and mimed shooting herself. "I should've known. The hottest guys are always gay."

"Anyway, George tracked down my mom and left a couple photos" - Justin gestured at the wall near his easel where he'd pinned them up - "in a sealed envelope for me. Mom mailed it here."

Justin swallowed down a lump in his throat, and his voice cracking, noted, "You were right, Daph. We did look amazing."

It was Brian's turn to soothe him. "We always look amazing," he husked into Justin's ear.

Huffing out a laugh, Justin tilted his head up so he could see the older man's expression. "In the morning? With bedhead?"

"It's the hottest bedhead ever," Brian averred, his lips twitching.

Daphne sighed. "It's true. Justin could roll off the couch and already be, like, ready for the day."

As if. Justin rolled his eyes affectionately at his friend. "Yeah? Then why were you always yelling at me to stop primping and get out of the bathroom?"

Daph waved an airily dismissive hand. "I don't get how George managed to take those photos without anyone noticing."

"Mm-mm." Justin shook his head. "He put a note in with the photos. It was his beard." Tilting his head back again, he rested his head on Brian's shoulder and looked up at his lover. "According to George, once we started dancing, no one was looking anywhere but at us anyway."

"Yeah," Daph confirmed, smiling broadly. "It was so romantic."

For once, the allusion to ‘romance' didn't give Brian hives. "Ridiculously," he murmured, bending his head down to press a kiss to Justin's lips.

"Guys!" Daphne remonstrated after fuck knew how long. "I want the rest of the story."

"Uh." It took Justin a moment to gather his scattered wits. "Uh, she could've videoed the whole thing, and I bet no one would have noticed. I wish she had."

Daphne sighed in sympathy. "I've asked everyone I could think of who might've had a video camera there, and they've asked their friends, but no luck." She sighed again. "Sorry, Jus."

"It's okay," said Justin. He didn't mind as much as he used to, back when visual proof of the prom dance would've made him feel more secure in his relationship with Brian. Although he'd rather have remembered dancing with Brian, the only moment he'd gotten back was of Hobbs hitting him with the bat. 

He figured that was a big part of why even the rules he and Brian had come up with hadn't been enough to stem his insecurity. Brian had been just as scared to lose him, even if he refused to put it into words, and that had fed into Justin's lack of confidence in their relationship.

Now he could finally move past that uncertainty. Just three weeks! - that was all it took, Justin mentally crowed - to make it evident how much Brian had missed him. He wasn't calling it quits after they'd canceled the wedding; instead, Brian had shown up here, confirming his commitment to them.

Brian lifted an eyebrow as if he could guess what Justin was thinking - he probably could - so he restrained himself to a soft smile. The eyebrow hiked up farther, but Justin didn't take the bait; if he said something about them being a ‘couple,' it would just make Brian skittish.

Glancing at the pictures, Justin smiled, thinking how the classmate he barely recalled was now one of his favorite people. 

"George, uh, kinda went overboard in his note," he mumbled, unsure if he should reveal what the other boy had said. 

"What did he say?" Daphne asked, her curiosity piqued.

Justin hesitated, not wanting to sound boastful or like he bought into what George had written.

"What?" Brian echoed Daphne, his tone teasing. "The chess player discovered you're a twat?"

Laughing, Justin swatted Brian on the chest with the back of his hand. "George, uh, thanked me for coming out during our senior year," he divulged. "He said I'd inspired him to do the same, even though he didn't have the guts to do it until he was in college. He even apologized for not visiting me in the hospital. He didn't dare in case anyone figured out he was a fag and went after him too." An embarrassed flush suffusing his face, he finished, "George made me out to be some kind of hero. I'm not. Getting bash-"

Before he could completely disavow any claim to heroism, Daphne interjected, "Isn't JT modeled after you?"

"Yeah, but I'm not JT."

Brian huffed out a laugh, his breath stirring Justin's hair. "You're as close as it gets, Sunshine."

Twisting around in Brian's arms, Justin stared at him in challenge. "Does that mean you're Rage?"

Brian shrugged, one corner of his mouth curving into a wry smile. "Maybe. Sometimes. When JT won't stop nagging at me."

Jesus. Justin's cock jumped in his pants and started to thicken as he stared into Brian's eyes. 

Brian's eyes darkened in response, the pupils expanding, and he tugged Justin even closer.

The moment was broken by Daphne asking, "What're you gonna put here - and here?"

Justin, who'd just been stretching up on his tiptoes to kiss Brian, went flat footed with a soft thump.

"Hold that thought," Brian muttered.

Justin pressed his forehead against Brian's chin. Like the surge of lust was just gonna disappear with Brian anywhere in the vicinity.

Turning back around - Brian loosened his grip just enough for that - he inquiringly lifted an eyebrow.

Daph pointed at one blank spot on the canvas and then another.

Justin's nonchalant expression didn't change.

"C'mon, Jus," his bestie wheedled. "It's for my birthday. Gimme."

"Nope." Justin refused to give in to her pleading look. "You weren't supposed to know about the painting till then. At least part of it will be a surprise."

Daphne pouted for a moment but then smiled at Brian over Justin's head. "You'll be coming back again soon, right?" She didn't give Brian a chance to answer, simply noting in satisfaction, "I'll come with you and check out the finished painting."

"You'll have to wait," Brian replied, sidestepping the question about whether he'd be dropping in again or not. 

A little disappointed, Justin let out the breath he'd been holding before chiding himself. He hadn't known Brian was coming for a visit this time; knowing Brian, he'd also want it to be a surprise the next time. Justin couldn't control that, but he could pack this visit full of memories to pull out when he was homesick for Brian.

"I'll arrange for FedEx to pack and ship the painting so it gets to you for your birthday," Brian provided some consolation for Daphne.

For Justin too, who until now hadn't thought about how he was going to transport the painting. Shipping it would have cost a mint.

Daphne squealed and ran over to hug Brian, and perforce, Justin. "Thanks, Bri!"

Justin giggled at the pained look on Brian's face. His lover hadn't been able to stop Daphne from calling Justin ‘Jus,' so he probably figured there wasn't much point in trying to stop her from calling him ‘Bri.' The girl was now part of an elite trio: him, Ted and Daph. Linds too, albeit rarely.

"Why don't you take a hike, Daphy?" Brian growled.

That was one way to get even, thought Justin, giggling harder. It wasn't like Brian hated having his name shortened, as long as it was Justin, or occasionally Ted. As another giggle escaped, he wondered who'd started the name-calling, which knowing his lover and his bestie, might never end.

A hurt look flitted across Daphne's face at the unusually gruff tone, but it quickly changed to a look of understanding when Brian's hands slid from Justin's waist to his ass.

"You could pretend you're in the backroom at Babylon?" she suggested hopefully. "I've seen both your bits-"

Bits? Justin was torn between outrage and laughter.

"-so I can be your audience."

Brian chuckled, a fond note in his voice as he informed the girl, "That's not the way it works."

Rather than give Daphne a chance to quiz them about how it did work - he didn't want to hear about her getting off while she watched them - Justin piped up, "How about you go for a walk?"

That earned him a glare.

"You could check out ArTrove," he hastily tacked on before she decided to punch, kick or pinch him. "See where your painting will be hung. Just turn right when you leave the building, go down three blocks and you'll see the shop across the street. You can't miss it."

Daph hmmed in consideration.

Justin sweetened the offer a little. "I'll, uh, call Susan - she should be there this afternoon - and ask her to show you the wall where it will go."

"I guess." Daphne cast a dubious look out the window, at the fat snowflakes that were swirling down.

"Get me a double nonfat latte on your way back," Brian ordered, extracting his wallet from his jeans. "A cappuccino for Justin." He handed over the twenty he'd just pulled out. "And whatever you want."

"Gee, thanks." Apparently resigned to her fate, Daphne did up the coat buttons she must've unbuttoned while waiting for Justin to answer the door. "We're going clubbing tonight, right? All of us?" she stressed.

"Sure," Justin agreed with a shrug.

Brian raised an eyebrow but then nodded. "Don't go thinking you're gonna get a glimpse into a backroom in the Big Apple. Women are persona non grata here too."

"What about on dyke night?"

Justin and Brian exchanged looks of horror. "They go home," Brian flatly declared. "They're not allowed to contaminate the backroom."

"Or they find a lesbian bar," Justin threw in. There had to be some of those, although he had no idea where. "You could use your Melissa Etheridge obsession to get in," he joked.

Daph gave him the finger as she slammed the door behind her.

Sometime later, knuckles rapped against the bedroom door, Daphne's voice easily penetrating through the plywood. "Thanks a lot for calling Susan, Jus. She didn't know who the fuck I was."

Brian chuckled, making Justin's head rise and fall where it rested on his chest. "Oopsie," he teased, sounding a lot like Emmett.

Justin growled inarticulately. Like he was gonna remember to call when Brian had his hands all over him. Slitting an eye open, he tilted his head and looked up at the ceiling, where the clock one of the girlfriends had gotten Jon projected the time for easy viewing. She'd had it custom-made, and it displayed her name, with hearts on each side, above the numbers. Incredibly, the other girls weren't disturbed by it; they bought Jon's story that his sister had given it to him.

Focusing on the readout, he silently thanked his bestie. She'd left them alone for a little over two hours. 

He summoned the energy to get up, groaning, "Ugh," as his cheek separated painfully from Brian's skin. "We're glued together."

"Nothing a shower won't fix," Brian returned. "How about another round first though?" The erection digging into Justin's hip underlined his readiness. 

His own dick barely twitching, Justin shook his head in amazement. With a little encouragement, he could probably get it up again, but, sheesh, they'd just finished the third round a few minutes ago.

"Later, at the club," Justin promised, extricating himself from Brian's clasp, skin unsticking with popping noises.

He slowly stood up, wobbling a little as he sought for secure footing in the narrow space between the mattress and the wall. His glutes protested the vigorous ride he'd taken atop Brian, and the outside of his hole twinged, letting him know it was sore from the unaccustomed exercise.

The heel of his right foot landed on a used condom, and his nose scrunched up in disgust. It was one of Brian's, but still. Looking down, he saw the edge of one of the sheets he'd stripped off Jon's bed stuck under his right foot. That was way worse; talk about icky.

He frowned, a stray thought nagging at him. There was something he should've-

"How about a shower fuck?" Brian proposed, drawing Justin's attention to his naked body, which was splayed out on the mattress, his shaft sticking up proudly.

Justin's gaze drifted from his lover's body to the bare mattress. "Shit," he groaned. "Jon's gonna kill me."

"What for?"

Gesturing at the mattress, Justin expostulated, "You didn't give me a chance to put down a clean sheet, Brian."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Just throw the mattress pad in the washer, princess."

"What mattress pad?" Justin asked with an evil smirk.

Brian rolled off the bed, crashing into Justin and driving him against the wall. "Christ!" he exclaimed, warily eyeing the mattress. "That thing must be soaked in- in-"

Justin refused to think about that substance. "You go take the first shower," he urged. "I'll double-sheet the bed for later; that'll help."

"I could get us a hotel room."

"Don't be ridiculous." Justin was reassuring himself that the mattress couldn't possibly be that bad, but then he remembered the amount of female traffic in and out of the bedroom. "I'll just, um, put down a blanket."

"A duvet would be better," Brian slyly remarked. "You've got a track record with those."

Justin shook his head in fond exasperation. "You're such a drama queen. You're never going to forget that, are you?

"It was brand new!" Brian objected. "Straight from Lisbon."

"You just wanted someone to blame," Justin teased. "Besides yourself, when you jerked off all over it... imagining you were fucking some hot guy."

An irresistibly sweet smile curved Brian's lips, making Justin's heart thump.

"There was a hot guy." Brian paused, his smile turning into a grin. "Who came all over my new duvet."

Only Brian could do this to him, Justin thought, his face warming in embarrassment - more at the confirmation that Brian had thought he was hot way back then than for any other reason.

"Twat," Brian chided, reading his mind. "I don't do trolls."

Justin could've debated that point - some of the guys he'd seen Brian fuck were borderline at best - but he let it go. 

"You want the first shower?" he asked.

With a one-shouldered shrug, Brian opined, "We might as well save water and time - like always."

"I wish." Justin sighed. "There's not enough space."

Brian waggled his eyebrows. "I'm sure we can manage." Stepping into his briefs, he pulled them up and then left the bedroom to check out the bathroom.

An appreciative "That boy is fine!" floated into the bedroom, making Justin laugh.

He pulled on his paint-splotched cargo pants and followed after Brian.

He was expecting a scathing assessment but not a pale-faced Brian, who backpedaled out of the dinky space and crashed into him.

"What was that?" Brian shrieked at an abnormally high pitch, pointing into the bathroom with a shaky finger.

Justin looked through the open door and wrinkled his nose at the large cockroach that was perched on the mirror above the sink, its antenna waving a cheeky greeting at him. He'd try to squash it, but he knew from experience it wouldn't work; the roach would skitter away just before he made contact - and laugh its fucking beetly head off at him.

"What's the big deal?" Daphne asked, sidling up next to Justin and peering into the bathroom.

Brian gave the girl a look that indicated she must be blind. "Look at the mirror."

"Yeah?" Daphne turned a puzzled glance on Brian. "We have roaches in the Burgh too." She looked back at the oversized insect. "Granted, the New York variety may be bigger-"

"The ones in the Pitts don't fly!" Brian insisted in a voice that wavered between squeaky and its normal tenor. "And they fucking well aren't in my loft. Unless they're all that's left of a doobie."

"It's the air shaft." Justin pointed at the partially enclosed vent that took up as much space as the shower cubicle. "They love it in there. I've tried Raid strips, but the cockroaches just ignore them."

"Maybe it's the humid air?" Daphne posited. "It might make the strips ineffective."

Justin shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe they've built up resistance. You've just gotta ignore them, you know?" He didn't like the roaches - it grossed him out when one landed on his bare skin, but there wasn't much he could do about the problem. 

His bestie nodded in understanding, doubtless recalling the periodic insect infestations in her apartment building. At least there the landlord had been proactive about pest control treatments. Jon said the super for the brownstone had making noises for years about having the whole building ‘bombed' by a pest control service, but it had yet to happen.

Brian took a step back as another creepy-crawly fluttered out of the shaft. "Ignore them?" he asked, his voice rising again. "How am I supposed to take a shower with those crawling all over me?" He planted his hands on his hips. "Where's my cell? I'm going to get us a room at-"

Justin shut Brian up with the simple expedient of pressing a kiss to his lips. The brunet was such a queen, he thought, swallowing back a laugh. He could out-Emmett their southern friend at times - almost always over something Em wouldn't bat an eyelash at.

"I'll shower with you," he assured Brian, who was rather chalky white under the color acquired in a tanning bed. Valuing his hide, he left unsaid that it was to keep Brian safe from the New York cockroaches. 

He eyed askance the ill-fitting shower curtain, around which water always leaked onto the floor. There was no point in closing it with two of them trying to cram into the shower; it would be more useless than usual. "We can put Jon's sheets on the floor to soak up the excess water," he came up with a solution. "They need washing anyway."

"You got your Guerlain with you?" he asked in a further attempt to distract his fidgety lover. "Jon buys Irish Spring."

Brian gave him an appalled look. "You're not using that, are you? It'll dry your skin out." His brow knitting, he strode over to the front door before Justin could respond and yanked it open.

A wolf whistle and, "Nice legs, sugar," came from the drag queen who lived down the hall as she sauntered past in a black turtleneck, red and black buffalo plaid miniskirt, and knee-high, patent-leather boots with four-inch heels.

"You didn't happen to see a Tumi suitcase, did you?" he addressed the queen in a not-very-hopeful tone after glancing to the left and the right of the door. "It's matte-"

"Brian," Daphne cut in before he could describe the case, "it's over here."

"Thank fuck." Brian whirled around and let out a sigh of relief. "My toiletries are in there." He shut the door on the drag queen, whose gaze was fixed on his posterior, and charged over to the suitcase.

Thank God, thought Justin, grinning as he watched Brian root around in the case before triumphantly holding up the bag with his toiletries. Brian without his Guerlain body wash and shampoo, anti-wrinkle cream and hair products didn't bear thinking about. 

Besides, Brian was right. The Irish Spring did dry his skin out. He was already planning to nick the bottle Brian had with him.

"C'mon." Toiletry bag in hand, Brian took Justin by the hand and tugged him toward the bathroom.

"Just a sec." Justin quickly scooped up the dirty sheets from the bedroom floor and snagged the spray bottle in which he'd mixed vinegar with water before hurrying into the bathroom.

He wasn't quite fast enough to prevent a screech of "Justin!"

So much for the roaches staying quiescent and forgotten, he thought on a sigh. Maybe he could restrict them to the air shaft though, if he sprayed them enough.