Sunlight streaming through the canted slats of the window blind hit Brian's face. "Mmph," he groaned in protest, slitting one hazel eye open before hastily shutting it to block out the bright light.

What the fuck had he done last night? His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool and something disgusting must've died in his mouth. Had he gone on a bender?

"Don' move," came a muffled objection. A muscled thigh shifted against his own before the warm lump curled up against him went immobile again.

Brian tilted his chin down and nuzzled strands of fine blond hair, last night slowly coming back to him. No, he recalled, he hadn't done anything as pleasurable as getting drunk and stoned before falling into bed and fucking his partner into oblivion. 

Late yesterday afternoon, after the ER doctor had assured them that Gus would be okay, Brian and the hastily assembled, makeshift film crew had gone to the Penguins' practice rink and spent hours shooting stills and video. Then they'd reconvened at Kinnetik, where they worked for five more hours, splicing together a revised commercial. By the time he and Justin got to the loft, it had been after three a.m. - not, for a change, after a long night of sucking and fucking - and it took the last of their energy simply to shuck their clothes and fall into bed.

That couldn't have been all that long ago, could it? Brian wondered groggily. He knew the alarm hadn't gone off - there was no way to ignore the police siren sound, which whooped louder and louder until it was finally turned off. You couldn't just press a button on top of the clock to get it to shut up either; you had to reach around to the backside and slide a tiny switch to the ‘off' position.

The alarm clock had been a gag gift from Carl earlier this year, in honor of Brian's thirty-sixth birthday. The detective had feigned concern that Brian's hearing might start to go as he accelerated toward the big four-oh. Just in case he didn't hear the escalating noise, Hovath had informed him, his eyes twinkling, there was a secondary feature that could be engaged - a red light that flashed brighter and brighter until it was turned off.

Brian had never had any intention of using the fucking cop alarm - he'd planned to donate it to the dumpster behind his apartment building - but the stubborn blond twat insisted that they keep it. Justin had reminded him of the times, albeit rare, when his alarm clock failed to rouse Brian, causing him to be late for or miss an important meeting. Brian had a habit of slapping the off button on his alarm before it could properly get going, rolling over and wrapping himself around Justin. That usually led to the best possible start to the day... except for the rare occasions when Brian was so tuckered out that he simply fell back to sleep. Hence the need for a backup alarm.

The first time they'd tried out the siren had been after a late night at Babylon, dancing and sucking and fucking until the wee hours. His twenties sadly well behind him, Brian wouldn't normally have partied that hard midweek, but Kinnetik had just scored a major new account and he wanted to celebrate.

At Justin's urging, he'd set the noisemaker before they went out. When the whoop-de-whoop-whoop had started blaring at dark o'clock, Brian and Justin both bolted out of bed. Panicked and disoriented, thinking the building must be on fire, they'd run onto the landing, setting off the loft alarm, and started making their way down the stairs, stark naked.

They'd almost knocked over the spinster schoolteacher who lived one floor down, Brian screeching to a halt and throwing out an arm to block Justin's headlong flight.

Curlers in her graying hair, dressed in a fuzzy pink bathrobe and floppy bunny slippers, the woman had simply stood and stared at them, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

A loud shout from down below, demanding to know the source of all the fucking noise, had startled all three of them out of their frozen state. There was no smoke, no flames - no fucking fire - just a bunch of pissed-off neighbors. Apparently, the two alarms going off in tandem - the police siren and the loft alarm - had caused so much noise that residents on all four floors had been roused.

Brian had really wanted to lambaste Carl - fucking gag gift - but since the detective wasn't around, he'd blamed Justin.

Considering the old maid schoolteacher now ogled Brian every fucking time she saw him, undressing him with her eyes, he still held Justin responsible for the fiasco. The only upside was that the blond twat had agreed the cop alarm would only be used in the direst of situations.

Last night, so exhausted he was stumbling over his own feet, Brian had worried that he might sleep through his alarm and wouldn't make it to the office to give the revamped commercial a final run-through. Grumbling the whole time, he'd dug the siren out of the recesses of his closet and plugged it in.

Now he was worried that the damned thing might've gone kaput. Cautiously cracking his eye open again, he checked the digital readout and groaned in frustration. Seven twenty-five. Too fuckin' early, just like he'd thought; he could sleep for another half hour. 

His cock, Brian noticed, didn't think it was too early for his favorite activity however. It was angled toward Justin - no surprise - and tenting the sheet. There, there, Brian sent mental reassurance to his cock, you'll get what you need once Justin wakes up. Just be good till then, okay?

The silliness of his thoughts had him chuckling, Justin's head rising and falling with the movement of Brian's chest. Leaning down, he took another whiff of Justin's hair. Mmm. A hint of sweat, a tinge of cigarette smoke and a scent that was solely Justin's: best aphrodisiac ever.

Brian cupped a hand around the back of Justin's neck, his fingers sinking into blond strands. Then, abruptly remembering last night's conversation, he clutched the younger man to him.

He'd expected to pass out, even a quick fuck beyond him, but just as Brian's eyes slid shut and he started drifting off, Justin spoke up. He divulged what had happened with Hobbs - how, when he was in the Pink Posse, he'd shoved a pistol into the fucker's mouth and made him suck on it.

Brian had figured Justin must've confronted the shithead at some point during his Posse stint, maybe even waved the pistol around, but this? Christ, Justin had admitted that the gun was actually loaded.

That had been the moment when Brian started shaking. What if the statute of limitations hadn't run out? What if Hobbs went to the police now? He didn't mind the homophobic jock getting some of his own, but how far Justin had gone was another matter.

Not that he could call Justin on it. First of all, it had happened years ago, and second of all, he could hardly talk. Justin knew Brian had slammed a locker door on the fingers of the fucker who'd given him a swirly back in high school. Justin hadn't gotten even that much satisfaction; community service at the AIDS hospice was just a slap on the wrist. Even then, Hobbs had found a way to bully Justin. Some of the hospice residents too, for all Brian knew. Brian had put a bug in the hospice director's ear back then, warning him to keep a close eye on Hobbs, but the damage had already been done where Justin was concerned.

Getting Justin to participate in the Pride parade had helped, and working on Rage with Michael also served as an outlet for Justin's anger and frustration. Brian had even thought it was enough... until the Pink Posse. With that crazy fucker Cody egging him on, Brian hadn't been able to reason with Justin, and truthfully, he hadn't really wanted to. Justin was entitled to be angry about what had happened to him and to deal with it as he saw fit.

He'd breathed a sigh of relief when Justin emerged from his association with Cody and the Posse seemingly unscathed. But now Brian couldn't stop thinking about losing Justin to a life in prison. What if that could still happen?

He'd have to talk to someone. Carl was out. Despite living with Debbie, he was a cop at heart and clung to the idea that the criminal justice system worked like it should.

The best option was the bulldyke. Just like Brian, Mel would want to protect Justin. She knew how skewed against gays the system was, and if it could be done, she'd know how to circumvent whatever statute of limitations might apply.

Justin had tried to soothe him by saying that Hobbs would never do anything. Chris wouldn't want to admit that a fag had gotten the better of him, that Justin had actually scared the shit out of him.

Possibly, Brian conceded to himself. Unlike that time outside Woody's, when he announced that he'd given Hobbs a handjob, Justin hadn't challenged him in front of his friends. It had been years since Justin confronted the former jock, and he didn't physically hurt Chris; he'd just terrified the closeted prick. 

But Brian wasn't sure that Justin was safe from retaliation. Hobbs was a vengeful bully. If he got over his fear, he might come after Justin again. Brian would never forget the moment when the bat had connected with Justin's head, the sound it made.

For long seconds, Brian was lost in that godawful memory, grasping Justin in his arms and crying out, "No, no, no," over and over again.

"Brian," Justin moaned in his arms.

Brian blinked, realizing he wasn't kneeling on the cement floor in a parking garage. He was in his bed, Justin draped over him. Willing his muscles to relax, he loosened his hold a little. Justin, who hadn't really come awake, snuffled and settled back to sleep.

One hand in Justin's hair, the other stroking across warm skin, Brian lay still and listened to Justin breathe.

Last night, Brian had almost feared that Justin would disappear out from under him and wouldn't be there when he woke up. It would all be a dream, Justin long gone, knifed while in prison.

Angry and afraid, he'd attacked Justin, pounding into him and placing savage, biting kisses everywhere. He'd needed to prove to himself that Justin was there and that he wasn't going anywhere.

Justin hadn't objected. He'd met every thrust, nails digging into Brian's back, heels drumming against his buttocks.

Brian couldn't keep up the intense pace as long as he would have liked - forever would barely be long enough - and had finally spent inside his lover, groaning, "I love you."

"I love you," Brian whispered now, pressing a kiss to the crown of Justin's head.

"Mmm," Justin responded. Rolling his head to the side, he looked at Brian out of half-mast, sleepy blue eyes. He pressed his morning hard-on into Brian and lifted his eyebrows.

Like there was any question, thought Brian, peering down the length of his body.

Following his gaze, Justin smiled and reached out a hand to cup heavy balls. He rolled them gently between his fingers, as always paying as much attention to the fake ball as to the real one.

Brian spread his legs wider, enjoying the sensation. After going through surgery and radiation, even once he could get it up again, he hadn't wanted anyone to fondle his balls. Suck him off, yes. Play with his balls, no. Except for Justin. The kid had stuck by him, wanting him even though his body was no longer perfect.

As time passed and his scar faded, Brian had become less skittish, but he still tended to feed tricks his cock or fuck them from behind. A trick examining his body too closely made him uneasy. The news that Brian fucking Kinney'd had testicular cancer and was a one-ball wonder had spread like wildfire, as Brian had known it would. It had been bound to get out eventually. All it would have taken was for someone with loose lips to be overheard talking about it.

"Hey," murmured Justin, drawing Brian's attention back to him.

Brian looked down at Justin, who was eyeing him a bit warily. He was likely worried about how Brian was dealing with his Posse revelations.

"You okay?" Justin asked.

"Yeah." It wasn't an entirely truthful response, but with a plan in place to talk to Melanie, Brian could shelve his concerns for now. Jesus, he thought with a mental shudder, he'd better. He and Mel might have reached a point where they mostly got along, but she didn't belong in his head now, while he was in bed with Justin.

"You sure?" Justin probed.

"Yeah," Brian repeated, this time with more conviction. "You just gonna play with those?"

Justin arched a blond eyebrow, looking mildly puzzled. "You like it when I play with your balls."

The little shit. He knew damned well what Brian wanted. "They're not the only thing you can play with." He arched upward, making sure Justin got the point.

"Hmm." Justin's eyes glinted with mischief and Brian groaned, wondering how long his cock would have to wait for attention.

To his surprise, Justin scooted down on the bed and angled his face toward his groin. A hiss of air escaped Brian, but he managed to hold back the ‘That's it' which hovered on the tip of his tongue. Justin was clearly feeling playful and was all too likely to draw things out if Brian pushed too hard.

C'mon, Brian silently urged as Justin's tongue peeked out from between his teeth.

Justin inhaled deeply as his nose ghosted along the length of Brian's cock, from his balls to the slit at the top.

Brian inhaled too and held his breath, waiting for the tip of Justin's tongue to touch his skin. But then Justin sat back on his haunches, and Brian's breath whooshed out in disappointment. 

What the fuck? He scowled at his lover, about to let loose with a scathing remark, when he heard the snap of a cap, a tube then landing on the bed next to Brian's thigh.

When in the heck had Justin had a chance to grab the lube off the night table? He'd suspect the kid of sleeping with it under his pillow, except that Brian had been his pillow.

Brian dismissed his speculations - it didn't really matter where the lube had come from - and watched avidly as Justin reached behind him, a look of intense concentration on his face. He wished Justin would turn around so Brian could watch him prepare himself, but then he wouldn't be able to see his face. Brian didn't want to miss the small signs of pleasure: the heavy-lidded eyes; his breathing speeding up; his lips parting as he inserted another finger.

All Brian could think about was getting some relief for his dick, which was hard enough to pound nails. 

He reached a hand down to stroke himself, but Justin slapped it away. Heated blue eyes met Brian's, Justin growling, "Mine!"

"It's yours. Fuck yourself on it." Brian's demand came out as more of a plea than an order, but he was getting desperate.

"Yeah," Justin grunted. He tore open a condom, applied a smidgen of lube and sheathed Brian's dick with a speed that came from experience.

Brian was hazily wondering when he'd gotten the condom - it had appeared out of thin air like the lube - when Justin squirted more of the lube on his hand and began massaging Brian's cock with it.

Fuck, that felt good. Even better was having Justin sling a muscled thigh over him and position Brian's dick at his entrance. His gaze glued to where their bodies were about to be joined, Brian watched as his cock slowly disappeared inside Justin.

Justin steadily descended, welcoming Brian into his body. "You like that, huh?" he rasped throatily. 

Brian reluctantly tore his gaze away. His cock might no longer be visible but Justin's was bobbing temptingly in front of him. Looking up into heated blue eyes that also twinkled with mirth, he arched an eyebrow. "Like you don't."

Justin chuckled. "Never said I didn't." He swiveled his hips a little and squeezed his ass around Brian.

"Uh-" His brains scrambled, Brian was at a loss for a retort. 

Justin chuckled again and gave Brian's cock another delicious squeeze.

"You gonna just sit there?" Brian finally asked. Dumb question, he immediately castigated himself. They had plenty of time, and fuck knew, there was nowhere he'd rather be.

His lover just grinned down at him and ground his ass into Brian's pubes, Justin's hips moving in the smallest of circles and his muscles clamping down on Brian's dick.

Jesus Christ. Justin was hardly doing anything, and yet he had Brian on the verge of coming. Fuck. Brian reached out and gripped Justin's hips in an effort to hold him still.

Justin gave him a knowing look and giggled.

Dammit. Brian groaned. The little shit knew what that sound did to him. "Just... slow down," he gritted out. Christ, he was almost begging.

"Okay." Justin exhaled, relaxing around Brian. He didn't even laugh or tease Brian about it being ‘hard' to go slow, making Brian mentally shake his head. If their positions had been reversed, he wouldn't have been able to resist.

Brian drank in the sight of his young lover: mussed blond hair, the lightest of stubble, bright blue eyes and porcelain skin. Skin that was splotched with purplish-red bruises across his neck and chest.

He really had gone at Justin last night, Brian realized. He'd bitten down savagely, needing to claim Justin. To mark Justin as his. To warn him to never again do something so stupidly dangerous as confronting Hobbs with a gun - something that could have taken Justin away from Brian for good.

Now Brian winced at how thoroughly he'd marked Justin. He'd even broken the skin in a couple of spots from what he could see.

"It's okay." Focused on a large, colorful hickey, Brian vaguely registered Justin shrugging one shoulder. "They're just love bites."

Love bites. Christ, he made them sound like a couple of munchers.

"Besides, they won't last long."

Yeah, right. It took forever for bruises to fade from the kid's pale skin. Brian looked up at Justin and rolled his eyes, which only got him a brash giggle.

"You've got hickeys all over," Brian noted, suddenly rather proud of the thorough job he'd done. 

Justin's brows drew together and he looked down, scanning his torso. "It's not that bad." He smiled and gave Brian another lopsided shrug.

"Uh-huh." Brian smirked. "What're you gonna do about the ones on your neck? Wear a turtleneck to hide them?"

"On my neck?" Justin twisted his head from side to side as if that was going to help him spot the ‘love bites.'

Brian nodded, his smirk growing.

"Shit." Justin glared at his lover. "You know it's gonna be, like, a gazillion degrees at Debbie's house. I'll roast if I wear a turtleneck."

Never mind that he'd look like an overdressed blond Eskimo. Brian tapped a hickey that extended from beneath Justin's ear onto his face. "Wouldn't do the trick anyway," he helpfully observed.

"Why'd you bite me there?" Justin scowled. "You have a hissy fit if I go anywhere near your neck."

"You never asked me not to." When Justin opened his mouth, presumably to issue a request Brian had no intention of complying with, he hurriedly suggested, "You could always put a bandage over it." 

It was Justin's turn to roll his eyes. "I might as well wear a sign proclaiming, ‘Look! My boyfriend gave me a hickey!'"

Under his breath, Brian grumbled, "I'm your partner, not your boyfriend." He had a love-hate relationship with the term ‘boyfriend.' On one hand, it was juvenile, but on the other it made him sound young. Right?

"I guess I could try makeup," Justin said doubtfully. "If it's not too bad." He again canted his head to the side in a futile effort to see his neck.

Fuck. What if he asked their southern friend for help? Not only would he have his hands all over Justin, Emmett wouldn't be able to resist gossiping about the hickeys that his ‘baby' was covered in.

"A gazillion degrees, remember? Makeup would just run." Determined to distract Justin - he didn't want Honeycutt invading the loft - Brian freed his right hand from his lover's hip. Reaching up, he smoothed it across the planes of Justin's chest, gently brushing his thumb over the metal hoop that stood out from Justin's nipple, in the middle of a large, colorful hickey.

"Yep," Justin observed playfully. "I knew you liked the new bell for my bicycle."

"Huh?" Ignoring the nonsensical comment, Brian flicked a finger at the nipple ring that Justin had recently reinserted. Damned thing drove him wild.

"‘Every piece of trash has something stuck through their ear or their nose or their belly button,'" Justin stated in a mocking falsetto. 

Oh shit. His face heating at the reminder of Justin prancing up to him in Woody's years ago, Brian shifted uncomfortably beneath Justin. The kid had tongues hanging out when he'd pulled up his shirt, exposing his newly acquired piercing.

"‘Or their cock,'" Justin went on, remorselessly quoting Brian. "‘What makes you think I'm even remotely interested that you have a ring through your tit?'"

Leave it to Justin to remember exactly what he'd said. "I lied," Brian admitted, looking up at Justin.

"I knooow," Justin crowed in a saucy, know-it-all voice, sounding exactly like he had at seventeen. He grinned down at Brian.

Fucking brat. Brian reached up and pinched Justin's nipple.

Justin moaned, his nipple hardening.

Brian tugged on the nipple ring, pulling Justin closer. Their lips met in a deep, sloppy, tongue-filled kiss. After coming up for breath, Brian almost dove in for another kiss, but then he was distracted by the hickey he'd placed under Justin's ear.

Justin wouldn't be able to hide the hickey, so why not make it last a little longer? Decision made - this would warn handsy homos to keep their hands off for days to come - Brian nuzzled the spot beneath Justin's ear and blew warm, moist air across the skin.

"Mmm." Justin pressed himself closer to Brian.

Latching onto the skin, Brian started sucking at the hickey he'd already imprinted on Justin's skin.

"Nngh," his lover moaned, writhing against Brian.

Brian placed his hands on Justin's back and head, holding him firmly in place. He didn't want the kid to jerk and tear his skin.

He wasn't sure how long he labored over the love bite, wanting to get it just right, but Justin's ass clamping down on him eventually had him drawing away.

"Jesus, Bri," Justin gasped as he sat up. "I'm gonna look like I was attacked by a bear."

Offended, Brian glared at him. 

"Yeah, yeah, you're not a bear," Justin dismissed the protest forming on Brian's lips.

Christ, he hadn't gotten out a single word; this was worse than having the little twat finish his sentences - he was outright reading his mind!

Right as he was thinking that, Justin reached back, braced his hands on Brian's thighs and lifted up before lowering himself back down. He swiveled his hips, rocking against Brian before rising up again.

Brian immediately forgot all about everything else. "Fuck," he grunted.

"That's... the... idea," Justin rasped as he descended.

Brian clenched the sheets in his hands, fighting the urge to buck up into Justin.

Up and down. Up and down with the occasional twist of his hips.

When Justin clamped his ass around him with just the head of his dick inside him, Brian almost came. Where had Justin picked up that trick? he wondered dazedly.

"Juuus," he pleaded, his control shredding.

He got an inarticulate groan in reply.

Justin slid back down his length, his ass forming a vise that squeezed tighter and tighter as he came down. His eyes slitted in concentration, like they always did when Brian hit his prostate.

Bending over, Justin claimed his mouth. One hand grasped Brian's on the sheet and the other flew to his dick, which he began frantically stroking. Brian placed his free hand atop Justin's to help him.

Planting his feet flat on the bed, Brian thrust up as Justin ground down on him. Once, twice, and Brian was spilling into the condom.

A beat later, sticky fluid splashed across their hands and chests.

He'd never get enough of this, Brian thought as Justin collapsed against him. Never.

"It's a wrap," Brian announced hours later, guzzling a lukewarm cup of coffee as he watched the footage of an underwear-clad Distorto sliding upside down between Boyd's splayed-open legs. The contortionist's hockey stick missed Boyd's groin, covered in the newest Brown Athletics briefs, by a hair's breadth. Still bent backward, hair sweeping across the ice, Distorto caressed the puck with his stick and sent it into the net.

"All you need is a pair of these underoos," drawled Ted from his spot next to Brian, "and you, too, can be bent."

Laughter came from the small crowd gathered on the far side of the room, near the backdrop where they'd shot a couple last-minute stills.

"Nope, there's only one me," objected Stan with a saucy grin at Ted.

Rubbing his backside, Boyd cast a sour glance at the contortionist. "Ice skating's not as easy as you make it look," he muttered.

Brian sympathized with Drew's predicament. The one time he'd gone to the rink with Justin, his lover had skated rings around him. At least he'd been able to maintain a wobbly sort of balance on the thin metal blades, unlike Boyd, who'd fallen over repeatedly.

They'd quickly realized they'd have to go with a stunt double for most of the shots and then edit it to look like Drew. Brian had been resigned to doing the same for the final sequence, but then Cynthia had the idea of placing two rubber mats under Drew's feet. That had worked, Boyd managing to stay upright while Distorto slid between his legs. They'd had to erase the mats from the video but that was easy enough to do.

"Good job," Leo Brown, who'd videoconferenced in to view the final product, said warmly. "Thanks, Brian. You too, Stan. Boyd."

Brian didn't miss the chill in Leo's voice when he thanked Drew or how he addressed the quarterback by his last name. When Brian had called yesterday evening to share his brainstorm about using both Stan and Drew in the commercial, Brown balked. Brian might've thought Leo didn't want a ‘gay' face on his newest products, but the Brown Athletics CFO had been enthusiastic about Distorto, waxing on about how the grandkids loved him.

Theodore, who'd been sitting right next to Brian when he placed the call, had been the one to persuade Leo that it would be a smart move to include Drew, proving Brown Athletics was ‘gay friendly' as well as ‘family friendly' and that the contretemps between them and Boyd was in the past - for both sides. Listening to Ted, Brian had been a little bit in awe of his CFO and a little bit annoyed. Since when did Theodore outsell him?

Brown had been further mollified when Ted promised that Boyd and Marchenko would each receive the same amount. Drew was arguably more famous than Stan, but given Boyd's past behavior, Leo hadn't been keen on paying him more. Once Ted explained that Drew had already agreed to the fee, Brown had calmed down. They all knew Boyd didn't need the million dollars; it was the television exposure that counted. 

When Brown had expressed concern that sales might suffer, Brian finally got a word in edgewise. He'd explained that while some straight males might be offended and opt out, it wouldn't really matter - their wives and girlfriends would buy the athletic wear for them. A lot of women were still swooning over the ‘romantic' way Boyd came out on TV.

As for Distorto, Brian had gone on, it was just like Leo had said: kids loved him. They all wanted to be him when they grew up. Distorto was cool.

"It's on the way, boss," Cynthia announced, coming back into the room with a container of coffee drinks, which she began distributing.

"Sugar?" Brian mouthed when she handed him a nonfat latte, sans the sugar packets that should've come with it.

Cynthia tapped a polished nail against the sugar bowl she'd placed on the conference table hours ago, an obnoxious fuchsia Post-it note with Brian's in all caps affixed to it.

Brian did his best to maintain a bland expression, but it was hard to ignore the titters from his minions. It wasn't like he'd use an entire bowl of sugar for a few cups of coffee, for fuck's sake.

"The film should be there within an hour," Cynthia continued as she moved around the table. "Our guy at NBC will let us know when it arrives and will make sure the local NBC affiliates are set to air it during the big game." In response to Brian's lifted eyebrow, she added, "Don't worry, a copy is on its way over to the Liberty Media office here in Pittsburgh too. It'll be ready for the Penguins' match against the Senators."

"They better get their shit together," muttered Tattoo, who had proven invaluable behind the camera. "They're on a four match losing streak."

"Thanks, Cynthia," Leo Brown thanked the blonde woman, his voice again warm and friendly.

No surprise there, thought Brian wryly. It was a rare straight guy who didn't flirt with his COO, and even though he was happily married, Leo was still susceptible.

"Oh, and be sure to thank your young man for me, Brian," Leo continued. "His suggestion for a PSA about drinking and driving at the end of the commercial was genius."

Ted chuckled. "Not that anyone would normally make a connection between underwear and drinking. But it does show Brown Athletics and Kinnetik are socially conscious. And when the newsies find out we had to retool the commercial because of Murphy-"

Which they inevitably would, Brian knew. After his informal ‘focus group' at the diner yesterday, Brian was just surprised some enterprising reporter hadn't already tracked him down for a comment.

"-we'll look even better for not sweeping it under the rug," Theodore concluded.

Brian exchanged a shark-like grin with his CFO. At the end of the reworked commercial, underwear-clad hockey players - otherwise known as Kinnetik employees - swarmed the ice, joining Stan and Drew for a friendly hockey match. A few beats later, the players were bowled down by a yellow blur that flew across the ice, knocking them left and right. 

The camera immediately shifted away, and condolences from Brown Athletics and Kinnetik for those killed and injured in the Strip District scrolled across the screen. Beneath that, in smaller print, was a message asking viewers not to get behind the wheel if they'd been drinking.

Ted's voice brought Brian back to the present. "My husband agrees," he informed Leo, a silly, infatuated smile on his face. "A PSA that stops just one idiot from driving drunk or high is worth it."

The weird pang that afflicted him whenever Theodore talked about his husband struck Brian again. It was amazing how Ted managed to fit references to his marital status into conversations five to ten times a day. Everyone but Brian excused it, saying Ted and Blake were still in the honeymoon period. Three months later? Really? 

Brian would've mocked his friend, but he doubted Ted would care. Why would he? Theodore and Blake were all over each other. All the time. Blake had even enticed Ted into Babylon's backroom for what Brian would bet was the first time ever. The newly buff Theodore had garnered a lot of attention and wolf whistles, putting on quite the show with his husband. Marriage couldn't be all bad if that was the result.

Gathering his obviously scattered wits, Ted started over. "Blake said the PSA is honest and in your face. He thinks it'll make an impact."

Brian smirked, remembering the ad he'd created for Vangard and then completely revamped, stealing Remsen Pharmaceuticals from right under Gardner's nose. If this commercial had that kind of impact, it was gonna send sales of Brown Athletics gear through the roof.

"You know," Stan interjected, "I really don't need to be paid for doing this. Like I told Justin, I'd have been glad to do it for free. I mean, it's gonna put my name out there even more than it already is, which means more gigs for Distorto" - he grinned impishly - "and maybe an ongoing role for Bent."

A ripple of laughter greeted that announcement.

Brian would have to explain the Bent reference to Leo, who was clearly confused, but he'd give his straight client a break and and not do it in front of a bunch of fags.

"Plus his sidekick, of course," Stan added, his grin getting bigger. "Whacker."

Ted spit his coffee out all over the floor, the liquid lapping at Drew's shoes.

A snort escaped Brian. ‘Bent Whacker.' Only Justin could have come up with that.

"Young man," Brown sternly addressed Stan, "you're getting paid. You and Mr. Boyd came through for me when I was desperate. I would've paid twi-"

Stan interrupted before Leo could finish. "I want to donate what I earned." He gestured at the large screen, which was frozen on the PSA and the carnage behind it. "Maybe keep somebody from fucking up like that. How about the rehab where Blake works?" he asked, looking at Ted.

Patently floored, Theodore stared at Stan. "Uh- I, uh-"

Brian seized the opportunity. "You can do that," he agreed. "But what about putting a condition on it?" When Stan looked at him inquiringly, he disclosed, "With your backing, Blake could become one of the directors." According to Ted, there was an opening at the rehab, and Blake was qualified, so why not make it happen?

"I can do that," Stan agreed.

"I'll match your donation," Leo spoke up. "That should assure Blake's directorship."

Since his CFO had been stupefied into imitating a goldfish, Brian took charge. "We can handle the transfer of funds after we get the details worked out." He'd put Melanie on it; she could draw up a contract, and the fee for handling the legalese would give Mel some extra cash for the holidays.

Right now, if he and Ted didn't want an irate Deb on their tails, they needed to get the heck out of here. The only reason Brian hadn't asked Justin to help wrap things up at Kinnetik was because Justin, Emmett and Deb had been planning Thanksgiving dinner for weeks. He didn't want his surrogate mom to come after him with a ladle, like she had last year, not accepting Brian's excuse of something came up. 

What was even the big deal? Every holiday, Debbie intentionally fudged the time she wanted Justin, and Brian took that into account. He still got Justin there when Deb actually needed him, so she should be happy.

"As I'm sure I'm not the only one who's about to be sent into a carbohydrate stupor," Brian announced, not bothering to hide a grimace at the thought of the ‘feast' that awaited him. "Let's all wrap up and get out of here."

Leo Brown chuckled. "There's nothing like a good Thanksgiving spread. If I want to enjoy the one I've been invited to, I'd better get going as well. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone." His image disappeared to a return chorus of Thanksgiving wishes.

Glancing at the wall clock behind Brian, Ted jumped as if he'd been goosed, swearing, "Shit. I need to pick up Blake; the group session he was leading ended twenty minutes ago."

He hurried out of the room, and the others started to file out behind him, throwing unwanted ‘Happy Thanksgivings' at Brian as they trooped out

"You sure Debbie doesn't mind me coming over?" asked Cynthia, looking up from collecting paperwork and stuffing it into an accordion file.

"Deb?" asked Brian disbelievingly. "She'd have all of Kinnetik over if she could."

Cynthia grinned. "Okay, I'll see you over there. I'm just gonna stop at home to get the stuffing I made."

Fattening no doubt, but unlike anything the munchers or Ben contributed, Brian at least shouldn't have to worry about some unpalatable, meatless monstrosity.

As Cynthia headed out, the last person in the room ambled over to stand right next to Brian. Brian unobtrusively backed up half a step, irritated at the way the six foot two quarterback loomed over him. Drew was only half an inch taller, but his bulk made it seem like he had a good three inches on Brian.

Boyd scowled as he looked around the empty conference room, making Brian wonder what his problem was. Not only had he squeezed a mil out of Brown Athletics for an easy gig - inability to stand up on ice skates aside - he'd also gotten an apology from Leo Brown for ending his previous contract. Even though Leo had been within his rights to terminate the contract, he'd agreed with Brian that the best way to handle the situation was to apologize.

Maybe Drew was upset that Stan had earned the same fee, Brian speculated. Or that Stan had decided to donate the entire amount. Who the fuck knew?

"Where's Emmett?" Drew blurted out. He scanned the room again, even peering under the conference table, like Honeycutt was gonna pop out from beneath it.

"It's Thanksgiving," Brian said, shrugging as he guided Boyd out of the conference room, heading for the exit.

"So?" Boyd retorted. "I thought we'd hook up. You know, give each other a boost before my game."

Unable to keep his mouth shut, Brian observed, "Maybe he wants more than a quickie in a cheap hotel room." Brian had been shocked when he found out that Drew never sprang for anything better than a Holiday Inn for his trysts with Emmett.

"Like you put your tricks up at a five-star hotel," Drew sneered as they walked out of the building together.

"Is that what Emmett is? A trick?" It was all Brian could do not to punch the arrogant asshole's lights out.

"Me and Emmett have an understanding," Drew countered belligerently, following Brian to his Corvette. "He knows I'm not ready for a relationship."

Thank fuck he himself wasn't as dumb as Boyd. Brian knew what he wanted and went after it.

"I don't think Emmett is ready for one either." After getting into the Vette and starting the engine, Brian smirked at Drew, adding, "With you anyway."

Emmett, he thought as he drove off, could do way better.