"I can't believe this is where you wanted to go for the weekend," Brian bitched as he'd been doing for the last thirty minutes. "We could be in New York or P-town." Lip curling, he jeered, "Hell, even the ‘City of Brotherly Love' would be better. We should've stopped there."

"Atlantic City's gay-friendly. We'll have a good time," Justin attempted to soothe his cranky lover.

Before he could further defend his choice, Brian groused, "So's P-town. The only thing Atlantic City has going for it is casinos. And I don't gamble."

Yeah, right. Justin rolled his eyes. Last summer, when Justin was in a show in Cleveland with another artist, Brian had insisted on tagging along. Then, bored with the subpar shopping - had he expected Cleveland to rival Pittsburgh? - Brian hit the casinos.

The amount Brian had dropped on baccarat and roulette still shocked him. Brian had tried to convince Justin that he came out ahead, but the measly number of chips left to cash in had said otherwise.

Granted, Atlantic City was kind of tacky, but the waterfront area wasn't without appeal. Pictures Justin had seen of the boardwalk at night reminded him of Liberty Avenue: tawdry and flashy and all tarted up.

"We've got a great view," Justin observed, nodding at the window through which they could see the boardwalk, the beach and the ocean.

The sun obliged Justin's efforts to curb Brian's pessimism, breaking through the marine layer and making everything sparkle.

Brian grunted, not yet willing to concede that Justin's choice of location might not be the worst.

Justin wasn't ready to disclose why they were in Atlantic City; that would ruin the surprise. Just a little longer though and Brian would have to admit Justin had chosen well. In the meantime, maybe a reminder of how they'd ended up here would serve to make Brian less cranky?

They'd been on their way into Woody's a month ago, Brian pausing to wait for the rest of the gang right as Justin opened the door. As he entered the pub, Justin's gaze had landed on two smoking hot guys from Mississippi, or so he assumed from the ‘Ole Miss, Harvard of the South' T-shirts the hotties were wearing.

When their eyes locked on his ass, Justin had made plans in an instant. He'd stepped up to the bar and ordered shots, and when Brian joined him, he'd suggested a wager: whichever of them succeeded in snagging the Ole Miss boys for a foursome would have control of planning their celebrations for the return to standard time.

Both Justin and Brian had ignored the plaintive, ‘Is sex all you can think about?' from Michael. 

His eyes undressing the potential tricks, Brian had arrogantly proclaimed that, before the night was out, he'd have secured Justin as his sex slave. It hadn't panned out as Brian intended, not that it would have been a hardship for Justin.

Now, looking across the king-size bed in their hotel room, Justin grinned. "I could still be your sex slave." Justin reached into the bag he'd filled with sundry items for both of them and pulled out his electric blue Speedo, twirling it on his index finger. "Your... pool boy?" he suggested.

Brian momentarily forgot his pique, eyeing the swimsuit with interest. But then he returned to his litany of complaints. "It's too cold to swim," he kvetched. "We should've gone to P-town."

"It'd be cold in P-town too," Justin remarked.

"Not for the White Party, it wouldn't," Brian countered.

Rolling his eyes again, Justin forbore from pointing out that the P-town party always took place over the Labor Day weekend, which was two months ago. It wasn't like Brian would go swimming anyway. He just went to the beach to tan and pick up guys.

"We could let the guys at the pool ogle us." Justin waggled his eyebrows. "Bring one or two back to the room if we want."

Brian's hazel eyes gleamed, but then he returned to griping. "Why'd you bring that?" He jerked his chin at Justin's duffel.

Cantankerous bastard, thought Justin, starting to get a little irritated with his drama queen lover. They shouldn't have closed down Babylon last night, but Justin hadn't been able to resist when Brian drew him toward the backroom. Not that he'd tried very hard, any of the times they stumbled back there.

Then they'd fucked themselves into a stupor at the loft. Unfortunately, that meant Brian had been less than receptive when Justin woke him so they could get underway.

Even sucking Brian's brains out through his cock and then fucking him silly in the shower hadn't been enough to put the older man in a good mood.

His mood had soured even more when, well into their journey, Justin didn't veer north to pick up I-78. He'd wondered if Justin needed glasses, no longer able to distinguish I-76 from I-78. Then Brian had mocked him for forgetting the way to the Big Apple, muttering about ‘direction-challenged blonds.'

They had, Justin silently acknowledged as he searched the duffel for their toiletries, recently talked about making another trip to the city. The Cock had been closed due to a pest problem the last time they were there, and both of them had been a little bummed not to be able to hit its backroom again.

"Christ." Sneering, Brian came around the bed to the luggage rack to inspect the duffel more closely, flicking the vinyl with his fingers. A piece flaked off, riding the forced air until it landed on the carpet.

The bag was in a sad state, but Justin hadn't been able to resist using it. The duffel had traveled everywhere with him, and there were a lot of memories associated with that bag, both good and bad.

"We can shampoo it," Justin joked, removing Brian's all-in-one Guerlain shampoo and conditioner from the duffel.

"You'll give the shampoo dandruff," Brian countered, making Justin laugh.

Leaving the duffel alone for now, Justin walked over to the closet and unzipped the garment bag the bellboy had hung up. He wanted to check that nothing was wrinkled; Brian didn't need anything else to be pissy about. Although first, he'd-

As Justin had anticipated, Brian gave him the third degree. "What'd you bring those for? You planning a stroll down the beach in our tuxes?" he snarked.

"I thought we'd get married in the casino," Justin deadpanned. "That would be the biggest gamble of all."

"When we get married-"

Astounded that Brian had so casually said ‘when' in regard to them getting married, Justin's hearing short-circuited. 

He lost track of what Brian was saying, only tuning back in when Brian declared, "-and your mother. It's more than my life is worth to get married without Mother Taylor."

Justin hmmed, not wanting to risk anything more complex. Who knew what he might be agreeing to?

"So what's with the tuxes?" Brian prodded.

"You like dressing up. What's the big deal?" Justin sidestepped a direct answer.

Brian wandered over to join him, studying himself in the mirrored closet. "I'd fuck me," he greeted his mirror image. "In my tux... or wearing nothing at all."

Grinning slyly at Justin, he hooked a couple fingers in the waistband of his jeans and pulled him closer. "Which would you prefer?" Brian asked.

Distracted by a round of fucking, which segued into a nap and then a much-needed shower - they both smelled rank - Justin forgot all about checking their tuxes for wrinkles.

Fortunately, he thought, eyeing his and Brian's reflections in the curtained windows as they walked down the hallway, their tuxes had come out of the garment bag wrinkle-free.

Brian abruptly halted, staring at the A-frame announcement board outside the Hilton's ballroom. "How-" was all he got out as his eyes skimmed the board.

‘Ben E. King in concert, limited engagement, November 3rd through November 9th,' gilt lettering read. 

He'd really pulled it off, thought Justin, enjoying his lover's stunned reaction. He felt especially smug about the ‘sold out' banner that had been placed diagonally across November 3rd, tonight's date.

It had been more than two years since Justin first searched the Internet for information on Ben E. King, fingers crossed that King was alive - he had to be getting up there in years - and still performing.

Justin had been encouraged to discover King had participated in a major jazz festival in Japan in 2004, but he was also bummed that he hadn't known about it.

Not that they could have gone that summer. Brian was still getting Kinnetik off the ground while recovering from cancer, and Justin's finances wouldn't have stretched far enough.

Justin had continued digging for information on King, thinking that his prospects looked much brighter a year later. His paintings had started to sell, and those sales, combined with his salary from ArTrove, had his bank account looking healthier.

His hopes had been dashed when he found zilch for 2005 and 2006. No concerts. Not a mention of what King had been up to. He worried that King might be ill, but then he found a reference to two albums. Soul Masters had just recently been released, and another album was planned for 2006.

King was bound to schedule concerts to promote his new albums, right? Yet, exhaustively as Justin had searched, he didn't find any upcoming concerts. He'd just have to keep checking, he reckoned.

It wasn't until spring of 2006 that something finally popped up. His finger hovering over ‘buy,' Justin had been all set to purchase tickets for the concert in Prospect Park in July 2007. It would be easy to convince Brian that they should take a trip to NYC without giving anything away.

But then he'd seen the dates for Atlantic City. King would be performing for almost an entire week in November 2007.

Shit. Justin had deflated. One lousy Sunday. All King had to do was schedule his gigs a week earlier, and Justin would've had the perfect way to celebrate the return to standard time.

Dejected, Justin had absently scrolled through the list, hoping something would pop out at him. He might've considered waiting till 2008 if there'd been something close to Brian's birthday. No such luck, despite a ton of concert dates that year.

Dates in early December 2008, yes. Close to Christmas, no. Just as well; Deb would have a fit if he and Brian skipped Christmas dinner.

Justin had sighed, punching the up arrow to return to the first listing. Prospect Park wouldn't be so bad. Really, he tried to convince himself.

Suddenly, his eyes had widened, and he sat up straight in his chair. Backtracking to the first week in November, he paused to read the fine print under the third and fourth of November.

‘Come celebrate the extra hour in style, with the one and only Ben E. King,' he'd read.

Baffled, Justin frowned. Didn't they know when daylight savings ended?

That was when it had clicked. Quickly opening another window, Justin searched for confirmation of something he remembered hearing.

Yes! Justin pumped a fist in the air. Starting in 2007, the US would go off daylight savings a week later: the first Sunday in November rather than the last Sunday in October.

Justin thought the Energy Policy Act of 2005, which forced the change, sounded dumb. People would just burn more energy in the morning, instead of in the evening. 

Not that Justin had really cared one way or the other. Back in 2006, he'd wanted to kiss the mastermind who'd come up with it.

Should he go for Saturday, November 3rd, or Sunday, November 3rd? Justin had wavered since they'd fall back at two o'clock in the morning. 

Reminding himself that he and Brian always started celebrating the night before and fucked their way through the time change, Justin clicked on November 3rd. He winced when he saw the price, but selected ‘2' for the number of tickets, entered his credit card details and pressed ‘finish transaction.'

Then, while he had the screen with his confirmation number open, Justin had called the Atlantic City Hilton and made a reservation for an ocean-view suite. 

Thank fuck he'd booked everything right away, thought Justin, returning to the present and the sold-out sign for tonight's event. When he'd checked the website a few months after acquiring tickets, November 2nd had already been sold out.

"Jesus, Sunshine." Brian tugged him closer, slanted his mouth over Justin's and kissed him.

Justin threaded his fingers through silky brunet hair and slid his tongue into Brian's mouth, devouring him.

"Excuse me," a polite voice impinged on Justin's consciousness. "If we could just get past-"

"Better yet," someone else chuckled, "just move inside. You can keep us entertained until the concert starts."

Atlantic City might be gay-friendly, thought Justin, but the Hilton wasn't a gay B&B. They probably shouldn't be making out in the center of the hotel.

He tried to draw back but didn't get anywhere, Brian just clasping him tighter.

Justin blinked, surprised. It wasn't like Brian to want to give straights a show. Not that the couple trying to get into the ballroom seemed offended, but still. Justin twisted his head around, an apology on his lips, but then he stopped dead, snapping his mouth shut.

He'd expected a hetero couple - maybe because one of them had a bit of a high-pitched voice - but instead he saw two hot older guys.

Kinda like with Brian. Although Justin had never said as much, in the privacy of his own mind, he admitted to having a preference: tall, leanly muscled and brunet. Both these guys fit the mold. The graying temples of the man on the left really revved him up, maybe because Brian religiously removed every gray hair he found.

Justin got Brian not wanting to age out of the club scene. What was the point of owning Babylon if he couldn't enjoy it? The stupid bet with that Brandon guy had dented his confidence more than Brian liked to let on, even if he had won.

Brian might be approaching forty, but he could pull pretty much anyone he wanted. Justin didn't doubt it would still be that way ten years from now. Sure, there'd be the occasional guy who turned Brian down, but that had always been true.

"You here long?" Gray Temples asked, appreciatively eyeing Justin, while his companion's eyes traveled down Brian's lean, tuxedoed frame.

"A couple nights." Justin returned the perusal, mentally licking his lips.

"We were thinking of going to the Rainbow Room after the concert," the other man said.

Justin was right. The guy did speak at an unusually high register, verging on soprano. Not that Justin minded; he was total eye candy - a smidge taller than Brian with a swimmer's build.

"You want to join us?" Soprano invited them, his eyes flicking from Justin back to Brian.

"No thanks," Brian brusquely declined the invitation.

Startled - what was up with Brian? - Justin searched for something to say to lessen the sting.

"Private party," Brian preempted him. "We already have plans for the extra hour." He smiled down at Justin. "Just the two of us."

Only Brian could make a fuckfest sound like the most romantic night ever, thought Justin, returning the smile.

Gray Temples shrugged in easy acceptance. "We'll be there till the lounge closes, if you change your mind."

"Or you could look us up at the pool tomorrow." Soprano winked flirtatiously at Brian. "I plan to get in some... laps."

Ugh, thought Justin, couldn't Soprano come up with anything better than that?

Brian shrugged, declining to answer. He released Justin from his embrace only to take his hand. "Let's find our seats."

Justin showed the tickets to the doorman and was directed to an area near the bandstand.

"Christ," Brian muttered as he led the way, "that idiot needs to work on his pickup lines. ‘I plan to get in some laps,'" he imitated Soprano's falsetto.

Justin might've just been thinking the same thing, but who was Brian to make fun of lame pickups? 

"How's it goin'? You had a busy night?" Justin teased.

Brian bumped Justin's shoulder with his as they found their front-row seats. "It worked, didn't it?"

He had him there, Justin acknowledged, grinning at his lover.

Brian waggled his eyebrows. "And what did I get for my efforts? ‘Just, uh, checking out the bars. You know, Boytoy, Meathook.'"

Justin's mouth dropped open. "You're unbelievable! That's, like, verbatim. But you couldn't remember my name?" The question came out a bit plaintive, but fuck.

Brian smirked. "Who says I didn't?"

Perplexed, Justin stared at his lover.

"Besides." Brian shrugged. "You made sure I learned it."

"Hmm," Justin hummed, busy trying to parse out whether or not Brian had only been pretending. Brian hadn't been high when they took off in his jeep, and he'd been lucid enough when Melanie called, making sure she knew who'd just come all over his new duvet.

Which was total BS, thought Justin. It was just Brian being a drama queen. Brian had been stroking him, Justin's dick angled toward the brunet, when he came. He had geysered up into the air - what did Brian expect? - but maybe one whole drop landed on the duvet. The bulk of it splattered Brian, with some of his spunk falling on Justin's stomach.

Thinking back had Justin blushing all over again at the memory of how Brian had reinforced the tidbit about Justin's ‘lack of control' in front of the all lesbians surrounding Lindsay's hospital bed.

"What's that for?" Brian chuckled darkly, running a finger down Justin's fiery cheek. "Justin."

The way Brian rolled the two syllables across his tongue made Justin's name sound obscene... and hot as fuck.

Brian leaned closer, lips red and swollen from the kiss they'd shared a scant few minutes ago.

Magnetized by the hungry gleam in Brian eyes, Justin's heart started beating more rapidly. They shouldn't do this here, he thought distantly; not everyone would appreciate a PDA.

He couldn't make himself pull back though.

Brian's lips ghosted over his, his breath stealing into Justin's mouth. And then he stopped.

Leaning back in his chair, Brian casually crossed one leg over the other and draped an arm over Justin's shoulders. "What made you get tickets for us to see Ben King? Wait, don't tell me," he teased. "It must've been the trip I made to New York with your fag hag-"

Justin grinned at the fondness in Brian's voice. Daphne might be the one person Brian'd never said a mean thing about.

"-whisking you away from that grody bedsit and taking you clubbing."

Technically accurate, thought Justin, shaking his head in amusement. He hadn't been pining away for Brian - well, not completely - and he had visited a couple clubs before Mr. It's Only Time showed up on his doorstep, Daphne in tow.

"That might've had something to do with it," Justin allowed. "You two showing up while I was painting us at prom and listening to the CD Daph made for me."

"Mostly it was me fucking your brains out," Brian asserted smugly.

Again, essentially correct even if a few details were missing. Justin knew damned well that his lover remembered every moment. That was why Brian had been jonesing to get back to the Cock for another visit to the backroom there.

"Uh-huh." Justin grinned, delighted when Brian flushed. "I figured the oldies gave you a hard-on," he teased. "You know every word of every song from Dirty Dancing."

"Those songs aren't old."

Justin raised a blond eyebrow.

"They aren't!" Brian insisted. "Most of the songs are from the late eighties."

Justin could've argued that half the songs, at best, were from the eighties. He should know; he'd checked.

Last year, he'd picked up a copy of the original CD for himself, mixing it in with the other CDs he listened to when he painted. He'd been thinking of getting More Dirty Dancing for his studio - Brian would notice if it was missing from their music collection at the loft - when he discovered a Twentieth Anniversary Edition would be coming out soon.

Twenty years! Justin couldn't help giggling; no way would Brian be able to deny here and now in 2007 that it was an old movie.

When he found out there was going to be a special event at Tower Records in New York to celebrate the release, Justin had immediately gotten on the horn to Jon, who'd really come through for him.

Jon had stood for hours in what he described as ‘the line from hell' to get signed copies. Justin still wasn't sure what all Jon's grumbling was about. He'd forked over more than enough for Jon to get extra signed copies, one of which would apparently get him back in his parents' good graces and keep them funding his less than stellar college career. According to Jon, his folks were crazy about Swayze and loved ‘the oldies.'

They weren't the only ones, thought Justin, smirking at Brian.

Neither Brian nor Michael had mentioned the remastered compilation; Justin didn't think they were even aware of it. That meant Michael was gonna be blown away to get a copy, signed by Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Gray, for his thirty-seventh birthday.

Justin planned to give Brian his copy at the same time; there was no point in holding on to it until Christmas. The DVD, with promotional material and stills was bound to end up in the nearest video player, and he wouldn't be surprised if they ended up watching the movie afterwards. Again.

You'd think Brian and Michael had never seen Dirty Dancing before, the way their eyes stayed glued to the TV. Except, of course, for them reciting the dialogue and singing along in a pot-induced, off-key haze.

"Not old," Brian repeated, drilling a finger into Justin's side.

Justin barely felt Brian's finger through his tuxedo jacket and shirt, but it did serve to recall his attention. 

"Twenty years," he commented portentously. 

Brian's eyes rounded in horror.

Had he never done the math? Probably not; Brian avoided anything that smacked of age.

Justin smiled mischievously at his partner. "Like I said. Oldies." 

"Twat."

Justin's grin broadened.

"I didn't realize King was still touring," Brian changed the subject as some of the musicians who'd be backing up King appeared on stage to check their equipment. "He has to be pushing seventy."

"Almost," Justin corroborated. "He's sixty-nine."

"You been digging around on the Internet?"

Justin shrugged. When he first looked King up, it had been on a whim, to find out whether the singer was still around, and if so, whether he still gave concerts. The more he read, the more fascinated he became. 

"King's amazing," Justin blurted out. "Did you know he's still composing and producing albums?" 

Brian lifted an eyebrow.

"Almost fifty years after his first hit," Justin gushed, having trouble reining in his enthusiasm.

It wasn't like King had actually sung at his prom, but it felt like there was a personal connection. It hadn't been there at first; how could it when Justin didn't remember a single moment of prom? The connection had come later, beginning with the attempted reenactment of their dance, and strengthening when Brian and Daph visited him in New York.

Now here he and Brian were at a Ben E. King concert in Atlantic City.

"I know how much you like King and the Drifters," Justin commented more calmly. He waited a beat before adding, "You must've convinced the deejay to play that oldie at prom."

Brian gave him a bland look, feigning innocence.

Did he really think Justin wouldn't figure it out? He'd sussed it out years ago - Ben E. King's music was hardly standard teenage fare - but never mentioned it because prom was a sore spot.

His heart clenching - he desperately wanted to remember - Justin summoned a laugh. "Otherwise they never would have played something like that. Not for a bunch of teenagers."

Brian raised his arm and ran his hand through blond strands, his fingers drifting to the scar at Justin's temple.

Justin doubted Brian was even aware of what he was doing. 

"Thanks," Brian said, giving him a sweet smile.

That smile made all Justin's planning worthwhile.

For close to two hours, with just one short intermission, King had treated the audience to a mix of his new songs and the oldies everyone loved. Stand By Me and Spanish Harlem had a lot of people joining in, as did a few of the other songs.

Justin eyed the roped-off area in front of the bandstand, anxiety curling in his stomach. King wouldn't forget, he tried to reassure himself, although that didn't calm him down much. 

King had been receptive when Justin contacted him, once he got past King's agent. He hadn't blamed the agent - that was part of his job - but if there was one thing Justin knew how to do, it was to persist until he got what he wanted. He'd worn down the agent to the point where he passed on Justin's request to Ben E. King. 

King had shocked Justin by actually calling him, instead of just passing a message through his agent. Justin had stammered a bit to start, but then he collected his wits and explained what he wanted. They'd talked for a good fifteen minutes, with King saying he didn't see any reason he couldn't honor Justin's request and asking him to send the details to his personal email.

But now it had to be getting close to the end of the concert, and there was still no hint of what Justin was hoping for. 

King segued from I'm Gonna Be the One into This Magic Moment with barely a pause.

Despite being schmaltzy as all get-out, This Magic Moment was one of Justin's favorites, if not the song he most wanted to hear. He couldn't help wondering whether Brian was also waiting for Save the Last Dance. 

He glanced at Brian as King sang, "This magic moment while your lips are close to mine, Will last forever, forever 'till the end of time."

When Brian waggled his eyebrows and blew him a kiss, Justin almost fell off his chair. An actual kiss wouldn't have surprised him, but blowing him a kiss? That was weirdly intimate and completely unexpected.

A soft smile on his lips, Brian looked into Justin's eyes as King sang the final note.

"To wrap up the night, one last song," King said into the microphone moments later, two staff coming out and removing the cords connecting the stanchions around the roped-off area.

Justin's attention was riveted on King. "This is for the King of Liberty Avenue from the King of Babylon."

"You twat," Brian rasped, his right hand clutching Justin's left so tightly that he momentarily lost all feeling in that hand.

"Please welcome Mr. Kinney and Mr. Taylor," King requested. "They'll be dancing to a tune that was played at Mr. Taylor's high school prom."

King's mien turned somber as he looked directly at Justin. "Mr. Taylor can't remember his prom; he was the victim of a bashing immediately afterward."

Shocked gasps came from the audience.

"But now we have a chance to give Mr. Taylor and Mr. Kinney better memories."

"Jesus," muttered Brian.

Had this part of the surprise been a bad idea? Justin worried. Maybe he should've warned Brian? This was different from Brian and Daphne trying to recreate prom at the loft; there were a whole bunch of people looking around the ballroom, trying to spot ‘Mr. Taylor and Mr. Kinney.'

"From one king to two others." Ben E. King smiled warmly at Justin and Brian. "Why don't you show us how it's done?" he invited, gesturing at the dance floor.

"You okay?" Justin gazed into the hazel eyes that were studying him. If Brian didn't want to dance, they'd skip it; the effort Justin had made to set this up didn't matter.

"Twat," Brian choked out again, never letting go of Justin's hand as he stood and moved toward the dance floor.

Brian looked anxious for a moment, but then he started smiling as they faced each other. They began moving side to side, a simple box step, as King crooned,

Now you can dance every dance 

With the guy

Who gives you the eye 

Let him hold you tight

One last thing, thought Justin, fingering the soft white scarf he was wearing underneath his tux, where Brian couldn't see it. Justin held his breath as he pulled it out, his eyes fixed on Brian. Justin wasn't sure how this would go over - he could still clearly see the scarf encrusted with his blood that Brian had worn for the longest time, unable to forgive himself for what had happened to Justin.

If they were going to make a new memory of that dance, he wanted to do it right, and that included the new Armani scarf Justin had purchased.

Brian's eyes widened, but he didn't object when Justin looped the scarf around his neck.

Justin smiled, feeling giddy as he placed one hand in Brian's, his other resting on Brian's shoulder, and subtly guided him around the dance floor. In the dance class their mothers had insisted on enrolling him and Daphne in ages ago, there'd been more boys than girls. Daph had loved it at first, but then, with most of the boys unwilling to take the girl's part, or just plain inept at dancing, she'd gotten annoyed, complaining vociferously to Justin that they never got to dance together.

The one thing the class had given Justin was plenty of practice in appearing to follow while actually leading. He'd never expected to get any use out of those lessons, but then Brian came along.

He must've done this at prom too, although he didn't know for certain. Even if Brian had practiced beforehand, as Justin guessed he must have, Brian would have needed his help to make it look smooth and effortless. Brian could get away with an arrhythmic two-step and swaying sexily at Babylon, but that wouldn't have been nearly enough for a ballroom dance.

For the first time, thoughts of his prom didn't make Justin sad or angry or frustrated. He might not remember it, but it was clearer than ever before how much effort Brian must have gone to, in order to make his prom special.

"'Neath the pale moonlight," Justin heard King sing as he waltzed Brian around. Justin grinned, certain prom couldn't have been better than this.

"Save the last dance for me," King crooned as Justin spun around, one arm behind his back, the other raised and loosely clasped in Brian's hand. Easy-breezy, making it look like Brian was turning him.

Gazing into each other's eyes, they practically floated across the dance floor, the white scarf scintillating in the light from the chandeliers.

"But don't forget," Justin heard King sing.

Not this time, Justin promised himself, his forehead resting against Brian's before he pulled back slightly. He wanted to remember every moment.

Justin twirled in place, again and again, while Brian circled around him.

"Baby, don't you know I love you so," King crooned. "Can't you feel it when we touch?"

Back to a more traditional box step, Justin grinned at Brian, who smiled just as brightly back at him.

Justin wasn't sure what compelled him, but he undid one button on Brian's tuxedo jacket and then the other, slipping around behind him to slide the jacket off his lover's shoulders. For a long beat, he rested his chin on Brian's shoulder, inhaling the brunet's scent.

Then Justin took a step back and hesitated, wondering what to do with the garment, before throwing it at the chairs where they'd been sitting.

Justin glanced at his lover when it landed in a heap - the expensive jacket was gonna be wrinkled - but Brian just shrugged like it was no big deal.

As he went to place his hand back in Brian's, Brian took the opportunity to remove the scarf and loop it around Justin's neck, tugging him closer. Brian smiled hugely, his crooked tooth winking into view.

Justin's vision doubled, two Brians smiling at him with the same joy. He shook his head, stumbling as he started into another sequence of spins.

Brian's hazel eyes narrowed in concern and his grip on Justin's hand tightened. Justin smiled in reassurance, quickly righting himself, and started spinning. He made it seem as though he was following Brian as they crossed the dance floor diagonally, Brian circling him again once they reached the other side.

This was so much better than when Brian and Daph had tried to recreate prom at the loft. Justin had felt so out of sync, unable to find the rhythm.

It wasn't the song, which he secretly loved even if he'd disparaged it, that had been the problem. It was Justin: defective and awkward and out of step.

Now, dancing with Brian felt like it should: natural and as easy as could be. They fit together.

When Brian gathered him in close, Justin was sure he planned to dip him. Forestalling Brian, he placed an arm around Brian's back and dipped him instead.

Brian laughed out loud and raised his foot, resting a Prada dress shoe against Justin's ass.

After lowering his foot, Brian wrapped an arm around Justin and lifted him, spinning around. His head level with Brian's, his feet clear off the floor, it was Justin's turn to laugh as he imagined trying to lift Brian. Even if he managed the lift, it wouldn't have ended well, Justin thought, giggling.

Brian stopped his giggles by placing his mouth over Justin's and kissing him thoroughly. All while Justin was up in the air.

Justin wasn't sure when his feet touched back down.

The kiss went on and on, Brian slanting his mouth over Justin's, Justin returning the favor and nipping lightly at Brian's lower lip.

He was barely aware of King crooning, "Save the last dance for me," a final time and the audience bursting into applause.

Something he'd long thought irretrievable was finally his, thought Justin, smiling dazedly at Brian as their lips parted. Brian felt the same way, given the soft smile on his face.

His smile growing, Brian picked Justin up and spun him around once more, outright laughing as he set him back down, pressing another kiss to his lips. 

The concertgoers clapped harder, cheering and whistling in appreciation.

"I think that went well," King commented dryly, to laughs and more cheering. Moving away from the mike, he made his way off the bandstand and toward Justin and Brian.

A few of the concertgoers clamored for autographs and pictures, but they didn't try to push past the staffers who appeared, buffering King.

"Mr. Taylor, I take it?" King held out a hand to Justin.

Struck dumb - he hadn't expected to actually meet King - Justin could only nod as he shook the singer's hand.

"Big fan," said Brian when King shook his hand.

Justin stared. That was worse than saying nothing; Justin couldn't believe Brian had uttered something so trite. From the way Brian's eyes widened, neither could he.

"Glad to hear it," said King genially.

Someone as famous as King was probably used to people making fools out of themselves, Justin reckoned.

King gestured at a man standing to one side of the bandstand. "I had one of my people film the concert. Make sure Randy Irwin, my agent, has your address, and he'll send you the footage."

If King coming over to greet them had been unexpected, this was even more so.

"Thanks, Mr. King," Justin choked out.

"My pleasure," King replied. "Just no bootleg copies, okay?" He chuckled, "I want people to come to my concerts, not watch a videotape."

Justin didn't think King had any reason to worry - videos couldn't replace the feeling of seeing someone live in concert - but all he could get out was another tepid, "Thanks, Mr. King."

"I couldn't say no when you told me what happened at your prom," King observed. "I'm honored to play a part, however small, in fixing that for the two of you."

Justin smiled in appreciation. He didn't want to sound like even more of an idiot, repeating, ‘Thank you, Mr. King,' for the third time.

"It was nice meeting you." King smiled at Justin and Brian.

Brian opened his mouth but then clamped it shut, apparently not trusting himself to reply.

Falling back on his WASP training, Justin smiled and forced out, "The honor is ours, Mr. King." Another "Thank you" tumbled from his mouth.

Smiling in farewell, King headed for a door next to the bandstand, disappearing from sight.

"Thank God you spoke up," Brian muttered, grabbing his jacket and slipping it back on before they ambled over to speak with Randy Irwin. "You'd think I was fourteen, meeting Patrick Swayze or something. I almost said, ‘You too,' there at the end." He shook his head in disbelief. "Like ‘big fan' wasn't bad enough."

"‘Thanks, Mr. King,' wasn't much better," Justin rolled his eyes. "I sounded like a one-line parrot."

Irwin must've overhead them because he chuckled. "Don't worry," he said. "Ben's heard worse. He talks to star-struck fans all the time."

Justin giggled at how offended Brian now looked.

"Here's the address," Brian commented tersely, pulling a business card out of his jacket and slapping it into Irwin's hand.

Only Brian would carry business cards in his tuxedo jacket, thought Justin, smiling fondly.

"C'mon, Sunshine. We're outta here." Brian tugged Justin's hand, leading him out of the ballroom.

Out in the hallway, Brian's ire with King's agent vanished. Grinning at Justin, he asked, "Where to? You wanna get a drink at the bar?"

"Mmm," Justin hummed, running a finger along the lapel of Brian's jacket. "We could have that drink in our room."

"Good thinking," Brian agreed. He began waltzing Justin down the corridor, and Justin obligingly spun his way toward the elevator.

Inside the mirrored elevator, Justin was again confronted with multiple Brians smiling joyfully down at him. "You smiled just like that at prom," he said softly, reaching up with his hand to trace Brian's lips.

"You remember?" Hope burned in Brian's eyes as he took Justin's hand, kissing his fingers.

"Not really," Justin replied as the elevator came to a stop on their floor. "But while we were dancing tonight, I got a flash of you smiling at me. I could feel how happy we were."

Brian guided him out of the elevator, the soft, slightly crooked smile still on his face. "We were ridiculously romantic."

"We still are," Justin said, making a vow out of the words. "I love you, Brian."

"I know." Brian shrugged.

Bastard. Justin slapped Brian's chest with the back of his hand.

A wicked glint in his eyes, Brian teased, "Good thing I love you too, huh?"

Justin had to laugh. It was just like Brian to pretend Justin still had to pull those words out of him.

"How about another first time?" Brian suggested.

Puzzled, Justin cocked his head.

"We can... romance in the time change," Brian muttered, his voice hitching and a blush rising up his face. "You know, make love instead of just-" He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.

"Fucking?" Justin asked, taking Brian's face in his hands.

Brian nodded.

"I'm all for it," Justin agreed. "As long as there's fucking too."

"That goes without saying," Brian assured him, the dull red color in his cheeks starting to recede.

Smoothly stepping behind Brian to take off his tuxedo jacket, just like he had a little while ago, Justin grinned. They were going to need that extra hour. They had a lot to celebrate.