"You want more, Sunshine?" Debbie held up a decimated platter of turkey.

"Basta cosi, grazie," Justin moaned, pushing back from the table. "I shouldn't have had that last serving of turkey. But I just can't resist your homemade gravy, Deb."

Deb beamed at the lad, clearly tickled pink.

Justin eyed the turkey wistfully, as if, despite the discomfort he was in, he was contemplating eating more.

Even Justin couldn't possibly fit in another bite. "What about the third helping of stuffing and the extra piece of cornbread?" Brian snarked. "Could those have contributed to your expanding waistline?" In contrast to Justin, Brian'd had the good sense to stop eating seventeen minutes ago when the waistband of his jeans got too tight. 

Justin arched a blond eyebrow, looking from Brian's plate, where only the smallest of crumbs remained, to the button Brian had undone on his Diesel jeans and back again to his nearly spotless plate.

Brian narrowed his eyes in response. Was the brat insinuating that Brian had been the one to consume that piece of cornbread? 

While Brian was searching for the best way to retort - the tryptophan was making his brain sluggish - Lindsay spoke up, her voice saccharine sweet. "You know, Justin, I only want the best for you." 

Fuck. It looked like Linds hadn't given up after all. If Brian was correct, everyone at the dinner table was gonna be treated to Lindsay rehashing the reasons Justin needed to be in New York.

"I know you want to be with your muse," Lindsay trotted out a trite argument, which she hadn't phrased quite like that before. "But New York is the center of the art world; it's where you need to be to make it big."

"Maybe for you." Justin's voice sliced through the air with the same precision the carving knife had cut into the turkey when they first sat down.

Shit. Justin must be totally fed up to be addressing Lindsay like that. Normally, he blew off the blonde's well-meaning interference, never forgetting how she'd encouraged him in his career, especially during the bleak post-bashing period.

"I, however-" Justin continued, voice cold, when Lindsay was saved by the bell. Literally.

‘I'm just waiting on a friend,' the doorbell chimed. Emmett and Daphne picked up from where the chimes left off, modifying the Rolling Stones' tune slightly. 

Watching boys go passing by

It ain't the latest thing

I'm just standing in a doorway

I'm just trying to make some sense

Out of these boys go passing by

The tales they tell

I'm not waiting on a man

I'm just waiting on a friend

"We expecting anyone else?" Carl asked Deb, speaking loudly to be heard over the slightly off-key harmonizing.

"Nope. I reckon it's just one of the neighbors wanting to borrow something." Debbie cackled, "If they want a chair, they're plumb out of luck!"

No shit, thought Brian. Outside of the recliners, every chair in the house had been pressed into service, including Deb's sewing chair and the office chair Em kept at his computer. Brian grinned to himself, wondering if Mikey, who was sitting in the computer chair, had considered what Emmett used it for. Pitts9x6 had probably jerked off in it this morning.

"Honeybun, could you get that?" Debbie looked down the table at Michael.

"Ma!" Mikey groaned. 

Brian grinned. He found it funny that Deb had resurrected that cutesy endearment. He could remember Deb addressing her son as ‘honeybun' when he introduced Brian to his mom back in ninth grade, completely mortifying Mikey.

Even when JR inevitably rebelled against the nickname, Deb would keep calling Mikey ‘honeybun.' Brian would bet on it.

Michael went to stand but slumped back into his chair, groaning again, albeit for a different reason. "I don't think I can get up. I ate too much."

Murmurs from around the table indicated Michael wasn't the only one in dire straits.

"I can get it," Stan offered. He glanced at Debbie. "As long as it's okay with you. I've got a show Saturday, so I had to be careful not to overeat."

"If it means I don't have to get up, I'm all for it." Deb made a shooing motion with one hand.

"Just don't give away any chairs," Carl added a caveat.

A cheeky grin on his face, Stan covered the short distance to the door. Swinging it open, he announced, "No chairs for... hire," his voice trailing off on the last word.

"Not even for a mil?" came the dry reply.

Christ, Brian knew that voice. He pushed his chair back, but because he'd had it angled toward Justin, he crashed into Hunter.

"Gerroff," Hunter complained. "You're too heavy for a lap dance."  

Justin, who at one time could have been counted on to take umbrage if Hunter so much as touched Brian, started giggling.

"Twats," Brian muttered, rolling his eyes as he got his chair out of the way and stood up.

To no purpose, Brian discovered. While he was stuck at the table, Ted had gotten up and ushered their visitor inside. Along with-

Brian sank back down and stared, dumbfounded. What the fuck was going on?

"Um," said Ted, an abashed look on his face, "This is, uh-"

"I'm a friend of Theodore's," one of the visitors interjected smoothly.

"Come on in." Debbie greeted the newcomers with a broad grin. "Any friend of Ted's is welcome at my table. "Especially if they're offering a million for a chair."

The older of the two men chuckled. "I might be persuaded to add another mil for the rehab. Mind, it had better be a darned comfortable chair I get to use for the rest of the afternoon."

Debbie looked perplexed by the reference to rehab but shrugged it off. "Michael," she demanded, "get your ass out of that chair and give to to Mr. uh-"

"Leo Brown," the head of Brown Athletics introduced himself. 

"Ah." Debbie smiled knowingly. She should recognize the name of one of Brian's biggest clients, if only because Brian had a surfeit of Brown Athletics gear, which he passed on to his family.

"I'm afraid I've taken shameless advantage of Theodore's invitation to join you for Thanksgiving." 

"I, uh-" Ted stuttered.

Brown smiled wryly. "I know Ted didn't expect me to show up, but I realized I didn't feel like putting up with my brother-in-law this year. Man's a jackass."

The person standing next to Brown nodded vehemently in agreement. "Dad's a blowhard. And a raving homophobe."

"So when Ted mentioned there was nothing to match a Thanksgiving dinner put on by his surrogate mother, Deborah Novotny, I had to check it out."

Christ. Leo Brown knew how to lay it on thick. Debbie was smiling fit to burst. Little did Leo suspect that by inviting himself to Thanksgiving dinner he'd be expected at every fucking family event from now till doomsday. He'd be in deep shit if he didn't show up. Brian would let Theodore, who was smiling like he'd done something brilliant, impart that tidbit. Right before Christmas.

"I had my assistant look you up in the White Pages online while I booked us a flight," Leo finished up.

"I'm surprised you could get seats," Dale commented. "My dad wanted to fly in, but he couldn't find anything."

"We ended up flying economy." Leo looked pained, like that was something he'd never experienced. "According to the Liberty Air ticket agent, tourist class isn't as packed during the early to midafternoon window on Thanksgiving Day. For some unknown reason - the agent couldn't provide a satisfactory explanation - that doesn't apply to business class travelers; none of those seats were vacant."

"Uncle Leo just about had a fit," the younger man confided, throwing an arm around Brown's shoulders.

Leo stiffened - maybe, Brian surmised, because he didn't like having anyone tower over him. Which when you were all of five inches over five feet was bound to happen.

Brian usually didn't pay attention to how height-challenged Leo was. Brown not only had an imposing demeanor, he also had the sense to stay seated during in-person meetings.

"Like you were any happier," Leo huffed. "You kept complaining about having your legs under your chin."

Brian sympathized; he hated flying economy for the same reason. That was an advantage to being short, he supposed. He smirked, lifting an eyebrow at Justin.

Likely guessing the reason for his amusement, Justin elbowed him in the side in retaliation.

"Ow," Brian muttered under his breath. Preferring to avoid another jab - Justin had pointy elbows - Brian returned his gaze to the new arrivals.

Brian caught Leo's companion looking down at his uncle with an impish grin, gray eyes twinkling.

It struck Brian that the two men had the same eyes: pale gray with a hint of blue. He hadn't noticed before - why would he? - but, height aside, there was a definite similarity between them. It wasn't just their eyes; Brian could see it in the shape of their noses too.

"Michael, you must be done eating by now." Debbie disregarded the way her son was using his own spoon to scoop more of the stuffing from the serving dish and shovel it into his mouth.

Brian sighed, hoping neither of the visitors would notice; he doubted they wanted to share Mikey's genetic material.

"Get your ass out of that chair, Michael Charles Novotny," Deb demanded when Mikey showed no sign of moving, "and offer it to Mr. Brown."

"Leo," the Brown Athletics CEO said affably. "Call me Leo."

"In that case, I'm Debbie," Deb introduced herself. "My son Michael is the one scowling at me from the foot of the table. He's already eaten enough for three, and since male pregnancy isn't real-"

"Humanity would expire if it was," Jennifer noted acerbically.

"Hear, hear." Emmett raised his martini glass in a salute, the rest of the men quickly echoing him.

Michael slowly stood, scooping up one more bite from the turkey platter before pushing his chair back and moving away from the table. Ben also stood, smiling affably at the newcomers, and gestured at his own chair before following Michael.

"And this is Carl." Blushing, Deb gave her detective a quick smooch.

"Next to Carl is Jennifer," Ted picked up when Debbie didn't go on, apparently lost in Horvath's eyes. "Justin's mom," Ted elaborated.

Leo and Jennifer exchanged polite, WASPy nods.

Brian only vaguely registered the rest of the introductions, his attention on Leo's companion as he slid into the seat that Ben had just vacated.

The man smiled flirtatiously at Brian.

Comfortably situating himself at the end of the table, Leo patted him on the arm. "This is my nephew, Willy."  

"Will," Willy corrected his uncle. "Or William." He flashed a smile at everyone, his gaze turning coy as he zeroed in on Brian again.

Fucker, thought Brian. What did Billy boy think he was doing? Didn't he have any gay etiquette? A family dinner was hardly an appropriate place to hit on him.

A hitherto foreign urge - the desire to flee from a trick, although this guy didn't really qualify; he'd just been an expedient fuck - struck Brian. He'd actually inched away from the table when the perfect way to deflect Willy's interest dawned on Brian. He wrapped an arm around Justin, drawing him closer.

The proximity to his lover had Brian's cock twitching in interest. Down, boy, Brian directed a warning at his dick. It wasn't like he could drag Justin off to the bathroom right now. He didn't even want to, given how bloated he was from all the rich food.

Justin snuggled a little closer, murmuring, "You fucked him, didn't you?"

Shit. The little twat knew him too well. Brian darted a glance at Justin, worried that he'd be upset. Justin might not have figured out when Brian had fucked Phil, but his trip to Chicago to woo Brown Athletics hadn't done their relationship any good.

He breathed out a sigh of relief when he noticed that Justin didn't seem upset, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

His relief came too soon. Emmett, batlike ears swiveling and nose aquiver, scented gossip. He leaned over Justin, hissing, "You did!" Em colored up when that came out loud enough for everyone to hear, but with a speculative look at Willy, he still asked, "Was he any good?"

Brian glared at Honeycutt. He could hardly answer that in front of his client. He remembered the copy machine xeroxing Billy's ass the whole time Brian was fucking him. Brian mustn't have been doing as thorough a job as usual, because the guy had still had the presence of mind to refer to his uncle as ‘Mr. Brown.'

"He was okay." Willy shrugged as if it hadn't been the fuck of a lifetime.

Brian rolled his eyes. Emmett hadn't meant Brian, for fuck's sake. Or had he? Brian swiveled his head to look at the nelly queen, who gave him an innocent lift of the eyebrows in return.

Justin giggled, obviously unperturbed at having his lover's reputation tarnished.

"I was more than a little peeved that Brian had ‘got into him.'" Leo raised his eyebrows at Brian. He didn't elaborate further, but he didn't need to.

Cynthia laughed into her wineglass.

Betrayed on all sides. Fuckers. Brian gave Brown a sickly smile in response. He was stunned that Leo had suspected - known? - all along what had happened but never let on. He was damned lucky that Brown hadn't reneged on the contract. Thankfully, the concept Brian had so hastily put together years ago was sheer genius, and Leo'd had the smarts to recognize that.

Will, face flaming, didn't look much better off than Brian. "C'mon, Uncle Leo," he protested. "It's been years. Let it go."

"The prints from the copier that the janitor put on my desk weren't yours?" Brown deadpanned.

Butt Print hadn't destroyed the evidence? Brian wanted to smack the nitwit.

"Jesus, Uncle Leo." The color now suffusing the moron's face matched his reddish-brown hair. 

Leo merely arched an eyebrow at his nephew, apparently enjoying himself. "What would you have done if my assistant had been female?" Leo inquired of Brian.

That didn't bear thinking about. Brian wasn't sure he could've gotten it up, even for a good cause. The days when he could get hard for just about anyone, as long as he was drunk and high, had been far in the past by then.

As if she'd been following his thoughts, Lindsay spoke up at that moment. "While I can't condone such behavior-" She paused, pursing her lips and gesturing with the wine glass in her hand.

Jesus, what was with the self-righteous moralizing? Brian narrowed his eyes at Linds, speculating that she must've been hanging out with Tannis and Philip again. She'd better be careful or she was going to turn into a dried-out, sexless prune like them.

"-I can assure you Brian would have managed," Lindsay concluded. She took a large swallow of wine and smirked at Brian before lowering the glass to the table. The glass wobbled when it hit the edge of her plate, but Mel reached out and righted it before it toppled over. 

Great, thought Brian. His friend was sloshed. Will looked from Brian to Lindsay and then back again. "Are you bi?" he asked, gray eyes alight with curiosity.

Brian snorted. He was as far to the homosexual side of the Kinsey scale as you could get. His trysts with Lindsay had only reinforced it.

Gus, who'd been chattering away with Molly and Timmy, none of the kids paying attention to the newcomers, must've caught the word ‘bi' and nothing else. "My daddy can make you buy anything," Gus piped up.

"Is that right?" Leo Brown drawled.

Gus nodded enthusiastically, smiling at Molly and then over at Leo. "Mama shays he could sell a twat to a leshban."

Molly, face flaming and clashing with her strawberry-blonde locks, appeared ready to die, embarrassed as only a young teenage girl could be.

Jennifer blinked, glanced at Molly in commiseration and then took a large swallow of her wine.

Face going equally as red as Molly's, Mel looked like she was contemplating sliding under the table.

Debbie guffawed, burying her face in Carl's shoulder; Linds let out a tipsy snicker; Theodore snorted virgin pumpkin martini out his nose; and Emmett and Justin giggled, leaning against each other.

Brian rectified that by pulling Justin back over to him. His twat, dammit.

Gus looked bewildered at the merriment his comment had provoked. He undoubtedly thought ‘twat' was an affectionate nickname; fuck knew, he'd heard Brian call Justin that often enough.

Laughing loudly, Leo Brown peered over at Gus. "You're Gus, I take it."

Brian took a drag from his cigarette, blew the smoke out through the door he'd cracked open and snorted in amusement. Thank fuck Leo was taking his fuckin' insane family in stride. When Brian had escaped from the dinner table, Brown had been bonding with his sonnyboy, Gus jabbering away excitedly about pumpkins and spiders.

The nicotine hit felt good. Another drag had Brian eyeing askance the rapidly dwindling Lucky Strike and contemplating lighting up another cigarette.

He heard the door to the back porch creak, followed by a familiar voice chiding, "You should quit, you know."

"Yeah," Brian grunted as Michael moved up next to him. He wrapped an arm around his childhood friend and breathed in the familiar scents around him: the lingering aromas of Thanksgiving dinner; the cheap-shit cologne Mikey still used; the tobacco from his dying cigarette; and the stench of the fertilizer Deb insisted would revitalize her rose bushes.

Opening the door to the backyard a little further, Brian dropped the cigarette butt on the cement step and ground it out with the toe of his Prada boot. He reluctantly decided against another Lucky Strike, Gus' recent declaration, ‘I want you around for a long time, Daddy,' still ringing in his ears a week later. No guesses as to who'd put his sonnyboy up to that.

"Will's chatting up Emmett," Michael revealed.

Who? Brian almost asked before remembering Leo's nephew.

"He's pretty hot," Mikey assessed. "You sure you don't wanna tap him again?"

"Honeycutt can have him." Hell, Brian would gladly pay the southerner to keep the flirty pain in the ass away from him.

"He likes the pumpkins," Michael babbled inanely.

Whatever. Brian shrugged.

"I told him your partner was the master carver." Mikey smiled up at him.

Huh. The way his lips were pursed, it was clear Mikey was expecting a kiss. Brian obliged him with a peck on the lips, but nothing more. Like the cigarettes, that was something Brian had been cutting back on. 

"You're a good friend, Mikey."

Michael's smile was a little droopy, but only for a moment. "Thanks," he replied, his smile returning to full strength.

"You know," Brian mused quietly, "I shouldn't have said that about you."

"You hafta clue me in." Michael shrugged and smiled good-naturedly. "You've said lots of things about me."

Christ, how could Michael so easily accept it when Brian was a jerk? His friend usually just rolled with the punches, although when he got his dander up, Mikey gave as good as he got.

"About you being a dumb little kid for wanting to carve pumpkins," Brian mumbled. It was hardly the most hurtful thing he'd ever said, but still.

"Yeah, well." Michael smiled at him. "Galaxy Lad should've stood up for himself back then and not been a pussy."

"What about Zephyr?" Brian asked.

"Zephyr's got his shit together," Michael declared. "And if he needs backup, he's got hunky Professor Kirchner."

It was... odd not to have Mikey rely on Brian or his alter ego Rage anymore. Odd, but freeing. He and Michael would always be friends, but they both now had other people who came first.

Carving pumpkins for Thanksgiving was reserved for him, Gus and Justin, thought Brian, but Halloween was another matter. "Next Halloween," he proposed, "we should all get together to carve pumpkins. But if JR even comes close to grabbing handfuls of ‘pumpkin paste' again, I'm gonna make sure she throws it at you."

"Again?"

"Yeah, after we carved the pumpkins in there" - Brian jerked a shoulder toward the interior of the house - "JR got into the raw pumpkin and threw it everywhere."

"That's my girl," Michael boasted, a proud smile on his face.

Brian rolled his eyes. Only Mikey would think that was good behavior. "You'd better watch out next year," he quipped. "You won't stand a chance against Kinney's Carvers."

"Dream on. You won't stand a chance against the Mighty Mikes." Michael playfully punched Brian in the shoulder.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Brian asked, putting Mikey into a neck lock and giving him a noogie.

"Ow. Ow! Uncle!" Mikey cried, giggling.

The TV in the living room was on mute when Brian sauntered back inside a while later. He'd indulged in a second cigarette - he'd cut back tomorrow - after Mikey headed back into the house.

Brian looked around for Justin and spotted him holding Jenny, talking with Lindsay and Melanie. An earnest look on her face, Lindsay placed a hand on Justin's arm and said something that had Justin frowning. Brian briefly considered going over to rescue Justin, but then he decided his lover could take care of himself. Besides, Brian'd had more than enough of the she-devil's get pawing at him.

Turning away, Brian checked what everyone else was up to. Carl, he noted in amusement, was shifting from side to side in his recliner as he tried to see around the people between him and the television. Deb must've put the kibosh on Horvath escaping to the back porch.

The table had been restored to its normal size, thankfully without his help. Besides Leo, only Debbie was sitting there, jabbering away with him like they were old friends.

Brian caught a snippet of the conversation - something about him, Mikey and the ten-speed his friend had destroyed - and sighed. Deb must be regaling Leo with tales of his teenage mishaps.

"I did not!" Michael shouted from the kitchen. "I didn't hit a bus! The bus hit me!"

Did Mikey really think anyone bought that explanation? If that was the real story, no way Michael would've walked away without a scratch while the bike he'd borrowed from Brian got creamed.

Michael looked none too happy to have been relegated to kitchen duty; he and Hunter had apparently gotten the short end of the stick and were washing and drying the pans that hadn't fit in the dishwasher, which was chugging away.

"Mr. Brown?" Blake walked over to the table and seated himself across from Debbie.

"It's Leo," the Brown Athletics CEO promptly responded.

"Right." Blake smiled. "You've said that before."

Brown chuckled. "I'll keep saying it until you and that husband of yours finally get it."

"I just wanted to thank you for your investment in the Liberty Avenue rehab," Blake said earnestly. "We'll help anyone who needs it, but ninety-nine percent of the people who come in are queer. We don't normally rake in big donations, and never anything like what we're getting between you and Stan."

"Three million's a little out of the norm?" Leo's gray eyes twinkled.

Brian smiled wryly to himself. Three million was out of the norm for everyone in the room. Even for him, despite running a multimillion dollar business.

"Three? Wait, you were serious about donating another mil just 'cause you got a chair to sit in for Thanksgiving dinner?" Blake's voice rose, conveying his astonishment.

"Uh, Leo," Debbie stammered, "that was supposed to be a joke."

"I know." Brown patted Debbie's hand. "But this is the first time I've known someone who's hands-on involved." He looked at Blake. "A lot of people backslide, I suspect."

"Yeah," Blake acknowledged. "It's tough to kick any drug, much less crystal. But the journey doesn't end when someone leaves the rehab. Addiction doesn't just go away-"

Bored with the crystal conversation, Brian tuned out, glancing over at the television right as the football action segued to commercial. "Turn it up!" he shouted. "That's the new commercial!"

Everyone stopped talking and gathered around the TV as Carl unmuted and increased the volume. From the other side of Carl's recliner, Justin flashed a smile at Brian, who smiled back at him.

"Jumpin' Jehoshaphat, that was close," Emmett breathed out fifty-eight seconds into the commercial, as Stan slid between Drew's legs on the TV, the hockey stick appearing to stroke the cotton fabric at Boyd's groin.

Brian reckoned Boyd had earned the mil for the commercial; it took balls to stand there with nothing but a pair of briefs to protect you.

Hockey stick extended, Stan sent the puck into the net.

"Yay! Go, Distorto!" Gus and Timmy cheered.

"You ever considered a career change?" joked Ted. "You'd make a heckuva hockey player, Stan."

Stan chuckled. "I don't think the opposition would obligingly stand there while I scoot through their legs."

Mere seconds later, when the yellow blur zoomed across the TV screen and knocked everyone down, the mood turned somber.

"Jush like Big Yerro," Gus commented in a hushed voice.

His sonnyboy, Brian noted, was cradling his left arm in its sling.

"That's scary." Molly leaned into Justin, who was standing next to the kids.

Timmy shivered. "It was," he agreed.

The TV screen froze on Brown Athletics and Kinnetik's condolences for those injured and killed, with the PSA about drunk driving directly beneath.

"I've never... seen anything quite like that," one of the off-screen commentators said.

"Me neither, Bill," his colleague concurred. "It's a sobering reminder not to drink and drive."

Heinz Stadium came back into view, the camera focusing in on the commentators' box, in front of which two ‘Terrible Towels' hung from the railing.

"We should give the towels to whoever came up with that," Bill opined. "That commercial's maybe the best deterrent to drunk driving that I've ever seen."

Suddenly, the screen went blank, and then the Brown Athletics commercial began to replay.

Brian watched in stunned silence. Their commercial had preempted the other ads that should be playing now.

When the commercial ended, the commentators came back on screen. The two men were looking at each other with perplexed expressions.

"What do you think that was about?" Bill asked.

"The advertiser probably paid for it to run twice," his colleague asserted confidently.

"More likely," Bill countered, "someone over at NBC made a mistake."

His colleague laughed, sounding amused. "Well," he drawled, "Let's hope it's not that."

"Holy moly!" Leo whooped. "Hillgrove and Wolfley just gave us a major plug, and the NBC affiliate may have replayed our commercial on purpose! I wouldn't be surprised if this hits the national news."

"I can' wash it again." Gus turned away from the TV.

Leo's expression instantly went from ebullient to concerned.

Justin crouched down in front of Gus and Timmy, who'd also turned away. "I know it's a little scary," he said softly. "But the commercial's a good thing. It'll help keep people from drinking and driving like Murphy did."

"Promish?" Gus asked, voice wavering. He looked up at his papa and then Brian, who'd crossed the room in long strides.

"It's going to make a big difference, young man," Leo said with conviction as he got up from the table and joined them. "I'm sorry I didn't think about how it would affect you," he added in apology.

Leo wasn't the only one, thought Brian, mentally kicking himself.

"It's your 'mershal, right, Daddy?"

"It's the one Kinnetik made for Brown Athletics," Brian agreed.

"I still don' wanna wash it," Gus reiterated. "But I'm glad you made it, Daddy, 'cause it's gonna help people."

Jesus. His kid was gonna kill him, thinking Brian was some kind of altruistic do-gooder. 

"You done good." Debbie patted Brian on the back. "Keep it up."

Thanks a lot, Brian thought. Now everybody was gonna expect him to create more advertisements that raised social awareness or whatever. He'd done it to bring down Stockwell and also, in a way, with the original Remsen Pharmaceuticals' ad, so maybe occasionally? There was a market out there; Brian just had to tap into it.

"Whaddaya you say we do something fun?" Debbie took the remote from Carl and zapped the screen off. "Where'd you put 'em?" she asked, prompting Horvath to get out of his recliner and find whatever she wanted.

Leo suddenly said, "I owe you." Reaching out, he shook Gus' hand and then Timmy's.

Both boys looked puzzled but pleased at being treated like adults.

Leo then shook hands with Brian, Justin, Ted, Blake, Cynthia and Stan. "I owe you," he repeated. "All of you."

Brian didn't know what the fuck to say to that but fortunately didn't have to come up with an answer, Debbie's loudly yelled "Twister!" drawing everyone's attention.

Who the fuck wanted to play Twister while overloaded on tryptophan? Brian wondered, looking at the battered boxes in Carl's hands.

Apparently he was the only rational person in his family. Brian started edging away from Deb and the horde of eager beavers gathering around her, pondering his escape. 

He could excuse the two seven-year-olds for jumping up and down, although Gus was doomed for disappointment. Both he and Timmy were tall enough, despite being under the recommended minimum age for the game, but there was no way Gus could participate with an arm in a sling.

Stan was grinning like a shark scenting chum in the water. Lindsay, who'd never expressed the least interest in the game before - she'd disappeared wherever it was dragged out by one of their college peers - actually seemed intrigued.

Grinning, Daphne looked at Justin. "Bet I can still beat you, Jus!"

Justin gave his bestie a wary look, declining to take the bait.

"You too?" Molly giggled.

"Puhleeze," Justin scoffed. "No way could you beat me, Mollusk."

Brian took another step back as the siblings bickered. 

"Watch me, Jester," Molly dared her brother. "Daphne and I are gonna whoop your a-" She stopped abruptly when she caught sight of her mother, whose face bore what Brian would've called a mild look of disapproval from anyone else. But Jen was a WASP; she could convey more with a raised eyebrow than anyone else Brian knew. Even Justin hadn't yet reached that level of WASPishness.

Molly quickly amended the last word to "derrière," pronouncing it with a French accent.

Jennifer's expression didn't change. Chuckling, Tucker observed, "At least Molly's practicing her French."

With a rueful toss of her head, Jen also laughed.

"Go on," Debbie coaxed. "Let's get the game started. "You too, buster." She pinned Brian, who was getting close to the front door, in place with a stern look.

Shit. He'd almost made it.

"It'll be good for you," Deb reasoned. "Help you work off the turkey so you'll be ready for dessert."

Was that supposed to be an incentive? Brian didn't want dessert.

Debbie looked him up and down. "You could use a piece - better, two - of pie. You need fattening up."

Not if he wanted to fit into the new Armani collection, he didn't, Brian thought resentfully.

Even if it meant drawing his surrogate mother's ire, Brian almost bolted. Anything related to the dirtiest three-letter word in the English language - fat - terrified him. 

"We've got two mats, so that means two teams, one for each mat," Deb laid out the rules. "Any member of a team flubs up, they lose that round."

"How are we gonna choose teams?" Michael interrupted his mom. "Whoever gets Distorto is a shoo-in."

"I'll referee," Stan offered. "I could use help though." His gaze landed on Gus. "How about you?"

Gus looked conflicted, obviously wanting to play but also eager for a chance to assist his idol.

"You can't play with an injured wing," Stan commented gently.

Gus scuffed a sneaker against the carpet, lips turned down, a little bummed out.

"I'll keep you company, Gus," Timmy piped up.

That was a friend worth keeping, thought Brian. He glanced over at Mikey, remembering all the times Michael had stood by him.

"I'll play with the two of you another time," the contortionist sweetened the deal. "I can show you the best moves to win."

Brian's sonnyboy perked up at that. "Okay!" He high-fived Timmy, both of the seven-year-olds grinning from ear to ear.

"You gonna choose the teams?" This time Michael directed his question at Stan.

Stan looked a little hesitant about how best to proceed. "I guess I could draw names out of a hat."

That proposal was greeted with mumbling and uncertain glances. 

"Or how about I choose two team captains and then the captains can take turns selecting their team members?"

Ted approved, "That'll work."

Stan glanced around. "Okay, let's see how many people we've got, and then I'll decide how many people play each round."

"I'm out," said Leo, making himself comfortable on the sofa. "Willy'll play though."

"Jenny's too young." Lindsay corralled JR just before she stuck her hands into the ‘Play-Doh' again. "I can sit this out-"

"Oh, no you don't." Deb marched over and took hold of her granddaughter's hand. "Jenny and I'll do just fine together."

Had Debbie ever intended to participate? Brian's eyes narrowed in suspicion. It would be just like her to bully everyone else into playing but then come up with a perfectly reasonable out for herself.

"We can have dessert with Leo." Debbie smiled at the toddler.

"Fuck," Melanie muttered, sharing an unhappy glance with Lindsay. "She's gonna be up all night again, high on sugar."

"Sceam!" shrieked JR, letting her grandma know what she wanted.

Then again, Brian reckoned, playing Twister didn't sound bad compared to dealing with the demon child.

"Sorry, Ben," Debbie addressed her son-in-law, "I meant to see what I could rescue of your, uh, masterpiece so you could take it home, but I got sidetracked."

The tofu chef gazed down at the tofurkey ruins for a moment. "Just as well," he sighed. "I'm the only one who'd eat it."

"Looks like a moat with the castle missing," Carl chuckled, putting the camcorder to use once again.

"Play-Doh." JR nodded seriously as her grandmother led her to the kitchen.

"I'll film the contest for posterity," Carl declared.

"I'll play," Jennifer agreed to participate, "but I don't want the camera on me."

Tucker chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Yeah, I wouldn't want any of my fifth-graders to see me. I'd never hear the end of it."

Horvath kept his eyes fixed on the camcorder, fiddling with the viewfinder. Tucker, Brian thought, might be in for a surprise; Carl had neatly avoided answering him.

"What about choosing the captains from the original gang?" Dale suggested. "I wasn't around at the time, but I've heard-"

"Me and Brian hafta be together!" Michael cut in. "We're a team! Always and forever!"

Brian rolled his eyes, both amused by and annoyed at his childhood friend's exuberance. What had happened to the adult he'd just been talking to on the porch?

When Justin shifted away from him, Brian snagged him by the back of his T-shirt. "Where do you think you're going?"

The blond shrugged, disappointment flashing across his features. "If this is gonna be an episode of the Brikey show..."

Brian gagged. Brikey? He wasn't gonna let Justin name things anymore if that was the best he could come up with.

"As the two captains?" Stan put paid to Michael's notion that he and Brian were gonna be on the same team. "Sure."

"Wait, I didn't mean-"

Too late, Mikey, thought Brian, laughing to himself. He tugged Justin closer, and husked in an atrocious western accent, "Who'd you think was gonna be my pardner, pardner?"

Justin grinned, discontent vanishing.

"Team Brian on this side of the room" - Stan gestured at the area near the sofa - "and Team Michael over there." He pointed at the dinner table. "That way the captains can see who's left to choose from. Brian, you go first."

Fucking easiest decision ever. "Justin."

Carl zoomed in for a closeup of Justin. The blond grinned, his infectious sunshine smile on display as he moved over to the couch and started chatting with Leo.

"Ben." Michael made googly eyes at Ben, who was flexing his arms, biceps bulging.

Horvath panned from Ben to Michael and back to Ben. The detective, Brian thought, looked a little envious of the muscles on display. Brian was less impressed; brute strength wasn't gonna help the professor do well at Twister.

"Honeycutt," Brian selected his next team member. Like Brian, the southerner was tall. Unlike Brian, he was bendy.

"Don't call me Honeycutt," Emmett reiterated his standard refrain as he flounced over to join Justin. "Bri."

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Carl joked as he zeroed in on his housemate with the video camera.

Brian was sure the cop meant Emmett, but then Horvath winked at him. What was that about? He did not ‘get his panties in a twist.' Ever.

"Ted." Michael grinned at his longtime friend. 

Brian mentally rolled his eyes. Mikey, he suspected, had simply called his friend's name without reasoning out who'd actually perform the best.

Brian took a moment to consider his remaining options, but again, it was a straightforward decision. "Melanie." The dyke wasn't very tall, but she was agile; pair her up with Emmett, and they'd boost his team's chances.

Michael hemmed and hawed, but then his face lit up. "Daphne."

Brian gave a mental nod. That wasn't a bad choice, with Daph motivated to beat Justin. He opened his mouth, ready to go for Molly, wanting to foil any plans she and Daphne might make.

"You'd better pick Linds," Mel hissed, elbowing Brian in the ribs. Sighing, Brian complied. He didn't need a pissed-off bulldyke on his team, and if anyone knew how to keep a drunk Lindsay in line, it would be Mel.

"Molly!" Michael shouted. Fucker had obviously been thinking along the same lines as Brian. Molly skipped over to Daphne, the two of them immediately putting their heads together.

Horvath zoomed in for mugshots and then, as Brian mulled over the remaining possibilities, panned back and forth between him and those not yet selected.

Surprisingly, Hunter wasn't looking at Brian with his patented ‘I'd do you' leer. Brian was tempted to choose the annoying shit just to get his eyes off Daphne, but he wasn't sure how Hunter would respond. He might try showing off and fuck up, losing the game for Team Brian.

Better to go with someone else. Maybe he should take Copy Boy? Brian was at least a little bit acquainted with Phil, if only in the biblical sense. Nah, he decided a moment later. He needed to choose whoever would help him win. If Brian selected Billy, it might make Brown happy, but a nebulous ‘might' wasn't reason enough to go for Leo's nephew.

Brian looked over the other possibilities. Blake? Another no. He was limber but short. "Cynthia," Brian stated decisively. His blonde assistant was not only taller than Blake but equally as agile.

"Hunter." Michael promptly made his next choice, keeping it all in the family on his team.

"You should've picked Blake," Ted grumbled, visibly annoyed that Michael had passed over his husband.

Theodore should take lessons from Mel on how to apply peer pressure, Brian thought sardonically. The number of candidates having dwindled significantly, he debated between Tucker and Jennifer for a few beats before deciding, "Tucker." Justin was probably going to kill him, sticking them together on the same team, but the guy was tall - maybe even taller than Brian; Brian had never stood right next to the fucker since he didn't want to find out - and seemed reasonably limber. 

Arms crossed, brow lowered, Ted glared at Michael. Huh, who knew Theodore had it in him to look that menacing?

Succumbing to Ted's arm-twisting, Michael shouted, "Okay, okay! Blake!"

"Jennifer." Brian had missed out on Molly, but except for her, he now had a full set of Taylors.

Michael looked from one remaining option to the next before glancing over at Stan. "Dale."

Mikey was probably hoping Stan would show favoritism toward the team his husband was on. Dale was tall - another person Brian was careful not to stand next to - but he didn't give an impression of dexterity. Other than with a whip.

With eight people on each team, Leo's nephew was left all by his lonesome, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "Uh, I don't have to play."

"Nonsense, Willy," Leo rejected that notion. "You have to uphold the family honor."

Stan nodded in support of Leo, stating, "Two teams of nine would work better anyway. Three from each team per round." He glanced at Timmy. "Help me out?"

"Sure!" Timmy paused, looking at Gus. "Uh-"

"'shokay." Gus gave his buddy a gummy smile. He'd taken the spinner board out of one of the boxes and now twirled it, presumably checking that it spun freely.

With Timmy now in the mix, Brian mulled it over. Phil could maneuver - he'd hopped right up on the copier years ago and wrapped his legs around Brian - but he didn't particularly want him on his team. Ignoring the urgent "Will" from Emmett, he went for Timmy, leaving Copy Boy to Mikey.

Carl zeroed in on Bill as he sloped over to join Team Michael, not waiting for Mikey to call his name. Phil had a dejected look on his face, whether because he wanted to be on Brian's team or because he was picked last, Brian didn't know. Or care.

Taking out the Twister mats, Stan positioned them about a foot apart and smoothed out the creases with Gus' help.

"Captains, choose your threesomes" - Stan grinned wickedly - "wisely."

Mel eyed up the blondes on Team Brian as if debating which ones she wanted for a threesome.

"Let me know the order the threesomes will play in" - another impish grin from Stan - "before we start. Nine rounds total per game, with each threesome competing three times."

"Good approach," murmured Justin, moving up next to Brian. "The rounds are bound to go pretty fast on these mats." Raising his voice a little, he asked, "One point per round? Anyone puts a knee or elbow on the mat or falls over, they lose that round?"

Justin probably had the Twister handbook memorized, Brian reckoned.

"Exactly." Stan nodded. "If the teams are tied at the end of the ninth round, there'll be a knockout round; captains can choose which threesome they want to play in the knockout. Whichever team wins two out of three games is the Thanksgiving champion. Okay?"

"Can team members put their hands on the same circle?" Molly piped up.

Another Taylor who must've memorized the handbook and was experienced in team play. Brian regretted that he didn't have her on Team Brian.

"That's fine," Stan agreed. "Any other questions?"

He got head shakes in return. "Then take a few minutes to confer on your threesomes, and we'll get started."

A noisy babel ensued as Brian and Michael's crews surrounded their captains, everyone wanting to get in their two cents as to who should be in their threesome.

A deafening whistle pierced the din. 

Weird, thought Brian, his ears ringing. He could've sworn that Mel was clamoring for Cynthia to be part of ‘her' threesome a moment ago.

He turned toward the bulldyke, ready to thank her for quieting the unruly horde, only to discover Mel holding a hand to her head, mumbling something about damage to her eardrums and glaring toward the kitchen.

"Nothing beats that whistle from my patrol days, huh, hon?" Carl beamed at Debbie, swinging the camera toward the redhead.

Deb had a tray crowded with pie, ice cream, coffee cups, creamer, sugar bowl and utensils balanced on one arm and a coffee carafe in her other hand. JR toddled along at her side, holding onto a sippy cup. 

Letting a large silver whistle fall from her mouth to her chest, where it dangled from a lanyard, Debbie grinned at her inamorato before turning a chastising gaze on the players. "Don't get your tits in a twist," she reprimanded them, staring directly at Brian. 

Like it was all his fault. Jesus. To make it worse, she had to use the T-word. Brian knew he shouldn't say anything, but he couldn't let that go. "I don't have-"

Deb didn't let him finish. "Or your dick. Whatever equipment you've got. It's just a game." Forging her way over to the coffee table, she set the tray down, the dishes and silverware bumping and jangling discordantly. "But you'd better win," she directed a final comment at Michael. "Uphold the Novotny honor."

A while later, the threesomes sorted, more or less amicably, they were deep into the first game, the two teams dead even after eight rotations. Team Michael had drawn ahead a couple of times, only for Team Brian to peg them back. They were now on the ninth rotation, the last of the threesomes on the mat.

"Blue, right hand," Gus called out.

Brian's gaze flicked between the opposition and his team.

Butt Print, who was spreadeagled across the mat, breathing heavily as he tried to keep elbows and knees from touching down, dragged a hand from green to blue. 

"Keep it up, Willy," Leo volubly encouraged his nephew.

Stretched out over Will, Ben lifted a hand off a green circle and moved it to a blue one. In contrast to the heavy breather, Ben looked like he could hold his position all day.

"Go, Dad!" Hunter whooped.

On Team Brian's mat, Melanie and Lindsay were chest to chest, the bulldyke's torso twisted sideways, hands behind her head. Despite the awkward position and having to swivel her neck around to find the closest blue circle, she made it look easy to lift a hand off green and move it to blue.

All Lindsay had to do was lift her hand from the circle it had been resting on and move it over one row. Thank fuck since Linds wasn't very supple and had proven to be something of a liability, just as Brian had feared.

Not worried about Emmett - he was as formidable as Mel - Brian took a quick look at the other mat. 

Michael hesitated, the seconds stretching out before he gingerly reached beneath Copy Boy. His elbow came dangerously close to Willy's groin as he strained for the closest blue circle, but he made it without collapsing onto the mat.

"You've got it, Uncle Em!" Timmy, who'd adopted Gus' uncles as his own, yelled in encouragement.

Balancing on his heels, back arched, Honeycutt outstretched a hand. Then, just as he was about to touch down on a blue circle, disaster struck. One stocking-clad foot slipped on the mat, and down Emmett went. He caromed into Mel, who knocked Lindsay over, their limbs tangling as all three fell in a heap.

"We did it!" Michael sprang up and started jumping up and down, doing a wacky victory dance.

"Take that, Jester." Molly smiled smugly.

Justin stuck his tongue out at his sister, making Jennifer laugh.

Brian couldn't help being a little annoyed at how lightly Jen was taking the Twister match. Didn't she realize this was serious business? He was gonna have to listen to Mikey crowing for the next year if Team Michael won. Not to mention Theodore. His CFO would be more subtle than Michael, bringing up his loss when Brian was least expecting it.

"That was just the first game. Best two out of three," Stan reminded everybody.

"We've got the edge; we're gonna win." Ben low-fived Hunter, Michael and then the rest of his team.

"Some of you probably haven't played Twister in a while-"

"I may be twisted," said Dale, generating laughter from the group, "but not like this." He bent over and started massaging his calf muscles.

"-so I was lenient in the first game," Stan went on. "Some of you took your time when Gus made a new call. From now on, if someone doesn't move right away, the team defaults that round."

"What if that happens on both teams? You can't have your eyes everywhere at once." Daphne, Brian would bet, was still annoyed at having been caught sneaking her foot off the circle it was supposed to be on during her threesome's second rotation. It had cost Michael's team the round and allowed Brian's team to catch up. To no avail, unfortunately.

Stan grinned toothily at Daphne. "I can always ask Lieutenant Horvath to check the video."

"Glad to help," agreed Carl, looking up from the camcorder, blue eyes steely.

Daph pouted for a moment but then gave a resigned shrug.

The no dithering rule ended up benefiting Team Brian. Early in the second game, Ted had frozen, too busy calculating the best angle to remember to move. Then, in the next round, Dale put a knee down on the mat, complaining about a spasming muscle as he clutched his leg to his chest.

They'd never caught up to Team Brian.

Morale boosted, Brian's threesomes were looking sharp as they started the deciding game.

Hunter couldn't get his hand on the mat in the first round, which gave Team Brian an early lead. Then, in the third round, Emmett started whistling Itsy Bitsy Spider.

Ben had been managing surprisingly well up to that point, even though his heavily muscled frame didn't lend itself to yoga-like contortions, but his fear of arachnids did him in. He collapsed, taking Michael down with him, for the loss of another point.

"Cheater!" Michael's jaw jutted out pugnaciously as he confronted Emmett.

"What?" Emmett asked innocently. "I thought I saw a daddy long-legs dangling from the ceiling."

Ben paled and backed away, peering up worriedly.

Fucking brilliant, thought Brian, giving Honeycutt a subtle nod of approval.

Certain the spider stratagem was gonna win the day, Brian grew a bit overconfident.

In the fifth round, the first move that Gus called out, Tucker put his right foot on a green circle instead of a yellow one.

"Sorry," Tucker apologized sheepishly. "I was thinking about playing red light, green light with my fifth-graders and got distracted."

Fucking lamest excuse Brian had ever heard.

Team Michael burst out laughing.

"Christ," Justin muttered in disgust.

Jennifer ran a hand up and down Tuck's arm, murmuring, "It's okay, sweetheart. Like Debbie said, it's just a game."

No it fucking wasn't, thought Brian, his annoyance with Jen growing. Since the Tucker Fucker duo still had to play one more round, he gritted his teeth and swallowed down the snark he wanted to let fly.

The Mel-Em-Linds threesome took the sixth game, restoring Team Brian's lead and Brian's good humor. No way were they gonna lose now.

In the next round, Brian, Justin and Timmy were neck and neck with Ted, Blake and Hunter, all six of them successfully twisting this way and that as Gus called out the moves.

Timmy had been a godsend, the seven-year-old twisting and turning with ease. Justin was equally bendy, leaving Brian to grumble to himself as his hip twinged. This game was intended for kids, not adults, dammit.

"Right hand, red," Gus announced the fourth move in the round.

Justin lifted his hand from a yellow circle and stretched for the nearest red one, his T-shirt sliding down and further exposing the spot on his neck that Brian had worked on so assiduously this morning.

Forgetting what he was supposed to be doing, Brian leaned in, closed his teeth around the hickey and started sucking.

It was only when he and Justin tumbled down onto the mat, knocking Timmy over, that Brian realized he'd just forfeited that round.

"Hmm," Tucker hummed as Brian stood up.

Brian lifted an eyebrow in return. At least he'd had a good reason for his abstraction.

"That's how you make a hickey," he stated insouciantly, grinning at Gus.

Team Brian was still ahead by one point, so they'd be okay.

Brian kept thinking that when Cynthia fell flat on her ass in round eight. Despite the loss of their one-point lead, they just had to take round nine and they'd win.

Em, Mel and Linds were doing fine, moving fluidly as Gus called one combination and then another. Until, suddenly, close proximity to her wife's neck flipped a switch in Lindsay. Lips drawn back from her teeth, she latched onto Melanie's skin. 

"What the fuck?" the bulldyke cried out, leaning back a little too far and falling down on the mat.

Michael and his teammates started jumping up and down and cheering. "Still think you can beat me, Jus?" Daphne taunted.

Lindsay pouted at her wife. "I just wanted to give you a love bite, babe. You know, like Brian-"

"Um, I don' think you did it right, Mommy," Gus observed. "Maybe Daddy could show you?"

Lindsay swiveled around on the mat, smiling hopefully at Brian.

"Sure." Brian smiled sweetly at Linds. "Justin and I can do a demo."

His blond moved closer, eyes narrowed as he grabbed hold of Brian's arm. "Try YouTube," Justin advised Lindsay. "Search under hickeys."

From Team Michael's mat, where the winners were hugging and pounding each other on the back, there came a burst of laughter.

"You should give lessons, Bri," Ted deadpanned. "On how to help your team lose."

He was firing Theodore first thing Monday, Brian decided.

Daphne and Molly strutted over to Justin. "Didn't go so well for you, huh, Jester?" Molly teased her brother.

"Not this time," Justin allowed, sounding a little sullen. "Really, you two were great," he added more graciously, smiling at his bestie and his sister.

"Yinz were aweshome!" Gus ran over, Timmy right behind him. Gus' eyes fixed on Molly, his Aunt Daphy might as well not have been standing there.

"Way better than we were," a downcast Timmy threw in. "Uh-" He glanced over at Brian and Justin and stopped speaking, his freckles standing out on reddening cheeks.

"It's the truth," said Brian heavily. "I flubbed up." He wanted to blame it on Lindsay, but Brian couldn't; she'd just copied him... in an irrational lezzie fashion. 

"I didn't mind." Justin wrapped his arm around Brian's waist. "Just maybe not when we're playing-"

"-Twister!" Daph and Molly chorused in unison.

"Jus is totally edible," Daphne tacked on, waggling her eyebrows at her bestie before grinning cheekily at Brian. "I get why you did it."

His face warming, Justin spluttered incoherently.

Horvath's voice boomed out, saving Justin from further embarrassment. "How about a couple shots of the whole group?" he suggested.

"Photos of the teams?" Michael hee-hawed, gasping, "We can tack them up next to the front door, labeled ‘winners' and ‘losers.'

He might have been expecting it, but Mikey's behavior still galled Brian.

A scathing put-down was on the tip of Brian's tongue when Debbie intervened. "Someone had to win and someone had to lose, but a real winner knows how to be gracious in defeat."

"That's right," Leo backed up the redhead.

Brian smiled smugly at his childhood friend.

"Brian wouldn't be ‘gracious' if he'd won," Michael retorted.

That might be true, but while Brian would give his friend a bad time now and then forget about it, Mikey would rave about his win, rubbing it in every chance he got for fuck knew how long.

"Everyone stand over there." Carl pointed at the spot where the folding table had been. "Don't worry, I'll angle the camera so the Irish lace isn't in the picture," he added, fiddling with the camcorder. "I'm getting pretty good with this thing."

"I can't believe I missed that." Face going pink, Deb stared at the thick strands hanging from the ceiling.

"Um." Ben backed away. "I think I'll pass."

"Ben, honey, it's just a bit of spider silk," Deb tried to reassure the arachnophobe. "But I can get it down with the broom if you want."

"No!" Ben yelled before calming a little. "I don't want you to, uh, knock the spider down, maybe, uh, kill it. It's good to have spiders around" - Ben blanched as he spoke - "since spiders eat insects."

Brian snorted at Ben's disjointed rambling. According to Michael, Ben was all for killing spiders - as long as he could do it with a vacuum, safely distanced from the creepy-crawlies.

Six minutes later, Deb finally coaxed Ben into standing on the edge of the group, as far from the Irish lace as possible. Carl snapped a bunch of photos, Brian getting antsy because he was separated from his blond, who was standing in the front with the other shorties.

"How about a couple more?" Michael asked when Carl lowered the camera and the group started to break up. "We could pretend we're still playing Twister."

"No thanks," Daphne declined. "I'm ready for some pie." 

"Same here," Cynthia agreed. "That pecan pie has been calling me."

"Follow me," said Deb.

A good half of the players along with Gus and Stan trooped after the three women.

Shit. Brian didn't want dessert, but he also wasn't keen on posing for more photos.

"I'll make it worth your while," said Justin. "You could dip me. Like you did at prom."

Brian couldn't refuse. Prom wasn't as painful for him as it used to be, but it was an endless source of frustration for Justin, who still couldn't remember anything except the bat coming at him.

A little while later, looking over Carl's shoulder at the viewfinder as he flipped through the shots, Brian decided it had been worth posing for the additional photos. Even with Lindsay just standing in the background or sitting on the floor, the pictures were good. Emmett had his arm around Justin in one of the photos, but Brian didn't mind too much. A growled ‘Honeycutt' had had the southerner removing his hand from Justin's ass and placing it on Brian's thigh instead.

The picture in which Brian was dipping Justin was his favorite. He already had a spot in mind, once the photo had been printed. It would have pride of place in the breakfast nook at Britin, and the other photo could go on the mantelpiece in the living room, where they'd display family photos.

Now Britin was only missing one thing... 

Brian just needed to sell Justin on getting married first; then he could finally reveal he'd never sold the mansion. 

Recalling something he'd caught sight of when hauling the children's table down from the attic, Brian suddenly knew just how to proceed. He glanced around for Justin and found the blond at the table, stuffing his face with pie. Of course.

Certain Justin would be busy for a while, Brian made another trip up to the attic and looked around for the children's table, which was again propped up against the far wall but with the legs still screwed in. The top of a guitar case could just be seen poking out over a stack of boxes near the table.

Tall as he was, Brian still had to move dusty boxes out of the way before he could grab hold of the guitar case. It was definitely Mike's old case: a large Captain Astro decal front and center, surrounded by stickers for bands that had been popular when they were teens.

Now if the guitar was just inside... Crossing his fingers, Brian flipped the latches and opened the case.

Mikey's acoustic guitar was inside, unstrung, but that didn't faze Brian since a packet of strings was tucked in next to the instrument. Setting the kiddy table upright, Brian sat down and got to work.

He took his time - it had been a few years since he and Mikey had a garage band - but he remembered what to do. Brian chuckled, recalling how he and Mikey thought they were hot shit, even though they were actually mediocre guitarists at best.

It took him a good thirty minutes to string the guitar, but no one came looking for him. If Justin was still stuffing dessert in his face, he'd have to roll his partner home, thought Brian, snorting.

Another few minutes and Brian had the guitar tuned. Satisfied, he made his way back to the second floor and then stopped at the head of the stairs. 

Now to make a grand entrance.

Strumming the guitar for all he was worth, Brian sang, "Well, shake it up, baby, now."

The ‘baby' felt a little awkward, but if Lennon could sing it, so could Brian. He might not sound as good as Lennon, but he was hotter. Justin wouldn't be able to resist him.

Brian could see heads turning as he carefully started down the stairs. He wouldn't be able to follow through with his plan if he took a spill.

Shit, he hadn't thought this through, Brian realized. Without backup, he'd have to sing the chorus too. Resigned, he repeated, "Shake it up, baby."

He winced when his voice went up higher than intended.

Searching for the next step with his right foot - why the fuck hadn't he just waited till he got to ground level to play the song? - Brian belted out, "Twist and shout."

"Twist and shout," he provided his own chorus.

Another step. Christ, he didn't remember this staircase having so many stairs.

Carl whipped out the camcorder - Brian was beginning to wonder if it was glued to man's hand - and started recording. Brian faltered for a beat. He hadn't intended on having this captured on film, but then again, it meant Justin couldn't back out, right?

Pausing for a moment, Brian planted both feet on one stair and concentrated on the guitar. He wanted to get the chords right. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now."

"Come on, baby," Brian segued into the chorus.

When a rich baritone joined in on ‘baby,' he lifted his fingers off the strings, trying to place the voice, before hurriedly setting them back on the guitar.

"Come on and work it on out," he sang the next line. Brian plucked the notes for the chorus, waiting to see if the mystery singer would pick up again.

Sure enough, the same deep baritone chorused, "Work it on out."

This time Brian spotted Ted, who was swaying in place as he sang. He should've recognized the voice - he'd been subjected to Theodore's operatic efforts before - but he just hadn't expected a rock tune from Ted. 

"You forget the words?" Debbie yelled.

Realizing he'd been woolgathering, Brian used his long legs to cover two steps in one go and then picked back up with, "Well, work it on out, honey," while looking directly at Justin.

Like ‘baby,' ‘honey' felt weird dropping out of his mouth - ‘twat' would've been more natural - but it was part of the song, so he rocked with it.

"Work it on out," Ted sang, Justin joining in as he looked up at Brian.

"You know you look so good." Wasn't that the truth? thought Brian, eyeing Justin hungrily as he felt for the next step.

In the next instant, while Ted and Justin chorused, "Look so good," Brian retracted his foot. He'd stay here, midway down the stairs, where everyone could look up at him, for a bit.

Beginning to feel more at ease, Brian belted out, "You know you got me goin' now."

"Got me goin'," Ted and Justin returned, Justin snapping his fingers in time with the music.

"Just like I knew you would." Brian's fingers were flying over the guitar as he sang to Justin.

"Like I knew you would," Ted and Justin chorused, the opera singer crooning, "Woooo," by himself and carrying it off perfectly.

On autopilot as the refrain kicked in - this was the easy part - Brian mused absently that Theodore might even be good enough for a recording contract.

"Work it on out," everyone chorused at the end of the refrain.

Jesus, thought Brian, a couple of them - he wasn't sure who - really couldn't carry a tune. Then, realizing it was time for his favorite bit, the only part he'd altered, he grinned and sang, "Well, you twist, little boy."

Justin twisted in place, singing along with Ted, "Twist, little boy."

"You know you twist so fine," Brian went on. The only one who could match Justin on the dance floor was Emmett. On that thought, Brian looked around for Honeycutt, glad to find him on the opposite side of the staircase, the handsy southerner nowhere near Brian's boy.

"Twist so fine." Justin bent his knees, twisting from side to side.

"Come on and twist a little closer now." Brian lifted his fingers from the strings for a moment, beckoning Justin closer. 

As he and Ted chorused, "Twist a little closer," Justin grooved his way back to an upright position and then stepped onto the first stair.

"And let me know that you're mine." Brian's voice cracked halfway through the line and he colored up, suddenly having an inkling of how Mikey must've felt when he serenaded Ben at Woody's way back when.

Justin didn't seem to mind his less than stellar singing abilities, smiling at Brian as he leaned against the banister. "Let me know you're mine," he sang along with Ted.

"Woooo," Ted again added, right on cue.

Time for the instrumental section. Brian took a deep breath and looked down, careful with the tricky fingering. Fuck the vocals; Ted could do this part by himself.

He peered up from beneath his lashes to see Justin tapping his foot to the beat, his blue eyes sparkling as he watched Brian.

"Ahhhh, ahhhh." Ted was pitch perfect, not sounding at all challenged.

"Ah, ah," came the sharper finish.

He had this, thought Brian, relieved to have reached the last part of Twist and Shout without any major snafus. Removing his gaze from the fretboard, he launched into the refrain.

His audience stamped their feet, clapped and sang along.

Well, shake it up, baby, now

(Shake it up, baby)

Twist and shout

(Twist and shout)

Once Brian reached the lyrics he'd only sung once so far, everybody except Ted, Justin and Debbie dropped out of the chorus.

C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now

(Come on, baby)

Come on and work it on out

(Work it on out)

Well, you twist, little boy

(Twist, little boy)

You know you twist so fine

(Twist so fine)

Come on and twist a little closer now

(Twist a little closer)

And let me know that you're mine

(Let me know you're mine)

He lost Justin then, not that Brian blamed him. Debbie joined Ted though, her soprano meshing well with his baritone.

Woooo, woooo, woooo, woooo," they harmonized.

Blake, Emmett, Mel and Stan jived to the music, while Linds and Dale swayed in place, their feet barely moving. Kind of like him with Justin, Brian thought wryly.

Brian segued into the last of the lyrics, fingers flying.

Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now

(Shake it up, baby)

Carl passed the camcorder over to Cynthia and twirled Deb around, both of them deft on their feet. Leo cut in briefly but then returned Debbie to Carl. Jesus, the old folks could really move, thought Brian. He'd known Deb could cut a rug, but Carl? He would never have expected the portly detective to move so smoothly.

Singing the chorus, Justin stepped off the staircase and swung Daph around before handing her off to Hunter.

Hunter stared down at his feet and shied away. The kid must not know how to dance, Brian assumed. If he hadn't been busy singing, he would've told Hunter to just shuffle in place; it worked for him.

One hand on his stomach, Emmett raised his other hand in his signature ‘Praise Jesus' move.

Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now

(Shake it up, baby)

Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now

(Shake it up, baby)

Ted was doing such a bang-up job with the vocals that Brian left the last bit to him.

"Woooo, ahhhh, ahhhhhh," Theodore crooned, drawing out the last ‘ah.'

"Yeah!" Brian bowed like he'd seen the Beatles do on an old episode of the Ed Sullivan Show.

To applause and cheers, Brian jumped down the last of the stairs. He ignored the back slaps and admiration from family and friends and zeroed in on Justin. He was the only one who mattered.

Two long strides and he was face to face with Justin. Justin licked his lips, looking ready to pounce on Brian and eat him up.

Normally Brian would have been all in, but there was something that needed to be settled first.

He sank to one knee, setting the guitar down next to him.

Justin's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened.

A fine tremor made Brian's hand shake as he fished out the ring he'd retrieved this morning. The box wouldn't fit in his jeans without leaving a weird bulge, and fuck knew what kind of comments it would have elicited from his friends, so he'd taken Justin's ring out and slipped it into his coin pocket.

Now, hand extended, the ring nestled in the palm of his hand, he opened his mouth to pop the question he'd never anticipated asking once, much less three times.

Before he could get a word out, Emmett shouted, "You go, baby!"

Did Honeycutt mean him with that ‘baby'? Brian wondered, bemused.

Shaking it off, he looked up at the man he wanted around for the rest of his life.

"Marry me, Justin?"

While Justin stared down at him, Brian's heart beat erratically. Say yes, say yes, say yes...

"Yes," Justin said so quietly that Brian could barely hear him. Then he threw his arms around Brian, declaring, "Yes! Yes, Brian, I will marry you."

Brian stuck the ring back in his pocket - he'd wait until they were married to put it on Justin's finger - rose and twirled his blond around.

"Oh, honey." Jennifer started towards them with tears in her eyes, but she was preempted by Gus crashing into Brian's legs.

"I'm the ring bearrr!" he hollered.

"Hmm," Brian murmured into Justin's ear. "That's an idea. A ring bear..."

Justin laughed. "You finally admitting you're a bear?"

Brian narrowly evaded Debbie, leaving Justin to deal with the Novotny matriarch. Justin was already getting hugged to death, so he'd just have to handle a double dose from Deb.

Desperate to wet his whistle, Brian took one of the few remaining lagers from the case on the back porch, removed the cap, tipped the bottle and took a long draft. 

"Ahh," Brian moaned, taking another swallow. His throat had never been as dry as when he'd asked Justin to marry him just now.

Fuck it. He'd earned another cigarette. The last of the day, Brian promised himself as he lit up and nudged open the door to the backyard.

Someone came onto the porch behind him, and assuming it was Mikey bubbling over with enthusiasm about finally getting to be his best man, Brian held out the beer.

What he got was a wiseass lesbian lawyer. 

"Thanks," came Mel's voice. "Got an extra fag?" she quipped.

"Two fags for the price of one," Brian riposted, handing over a Lucky Strike and lighting it for her.

Mel took a drag of nicotine and blew rings of smoke through the propped-open door. "You better not think about getting married in New York, Kinney. I got Linds to go along with the surprise Christmas trip - and I damned well know that's as much for Justin as for Gus - but there's no way I'm going to miss you tying the knot. I won't believe it till I see it."

You'd think a marriage certificate would be enough for the legal eagle, but... given his anti-marriage stance, Brian got why it might not be. He still wasn't gonna be a Stepford fag, but no one who knew him would expect that. Certainly not Melanie Marcus.

"Okay," Brian acquiesced, handing off the beer. Melanie would have her proof soon enough.

They smoked in a surprisingly companionable silence, trading the lager back and forth. Brian was a little irked that Mel was better at blowing smoke rings than he was, but he was in too good a mood to let it get to him. Much.

Brian briefly considered bringing up the statute of limitations in regard to what Justin had done to Hobbs, but then he decided to wait. Anyone could come out on the porch while they were talking; better to discuss it where they wouldn't be overheard.

"Wanna dance?" Mel interrupted his thoughts as the sound of someone strumming the guitar Brian had abandoned carried out to the porch.

Brian shot her an appalled look. They might be getting along fairly well nowadays, but-

"Christ, Kinney, you should see your face," Mel chuckled.

Brian glared at the she-devil.

"I didn't mean with me." Now Mel looked almost as appalled as Brian. "I thought you might want to dance with your fiancé."

Fiancé, thought Brian, unaware that he was smiling foolishly. That had a nice ring to it.

Leaving the half-smoked cigarette and the rest of the beer with Mel, Brian headed inside.

Hell, he thought, smirking. Maybe he'd whirl the bulldyke around the dance floor after he and Justin got hitched. It'd probably give Smelly Melly a heart attack.

Moments later, his fiancé in his arms, Justin guiding his steps, Brian was swaying to the rendition of Yellow Submarine that Michael was picking out on the guitar.

Once they were married, Brian mused, Justin would have to keep him. Warts and all. Not that a gray hair or two - Brian shuddered - was the worst of his ‘warts,' but since nothing had put Justin off before, he reckoned the blond would stick it out. 

"You're not gonna wriggle out of this one, Sunshine," he muttered. "You're stuck with me, gray hairs and all."

"You're insane," Justin giggled. "All this so no one will see your gray hairs?"

Brian grinned. "Only my prince."