Sunday, 9 March 2014

­Familiar, dulcet tones again roused the two men in the morning. "Get your butts out of bed if you want breakfast! Rise and shine, boys!"

"Wha-" came from Brian as he struggled against the weight on his back. "What the fuck?"

Justin slapped his lover's ass rather harder than he had the night before. "What do you think?" He sat up, unzipping the bag, and hurriedly pulled on yesterday's clothes. "I'm gonna shower," he told Brian, who was blinking at him in sleepy confusion. His annoyance from the night before returning full force, he almost forgot to grab fresh cycling gear and the toiletries before storming off.

___

Brian, given his grumpy, uncommunicative demeanor, must've sussed out what went down last night. In typical fashion, he didn't apologize on the way to breakfast, instead hissing out a warning. "You'd better not say a word, twat."

A bright-eyed Emmett bounded up behind them and skipped ahead, swinging around to walk backward. "Sweet Jesus. Isn't tent sex great?" he asked before skipping over to Drew and jumping up to be carried piggy-back.

"I wouldn't know," Justin muttered a belated answer that his gossipy friend thankfully didn't hear.

"Our wedding night didn't count?"

Shit, Justin thought. He needed to get over himself. Getting so bent out of shape just because they hadn't fucked in daylight saving was ridiculous. Worried that Brian was pissed off - justifiably - he scrambled to apologize. "Of cour-"

Brian poked him in the side, and when Justin looked up, drawled, "Husband."

Justin melted.

"I'll make it up to you tonight," Brian promised. "I'll fuck you all. night. long."

If he wanted to hold the upper hand in the future, he was gonna have to build up some resistance, Justin thought. But that would have to wait, especially when his lover was going to give him exactly what he wanted.

He almost skipped, emulating Emmett, before coming to a stop at the breakfast table. He eyed the spread expectantly, frowning when he didn't see any snails, or anything else appealing for that matter.

"Sucks," Gus succinctly expressed Justin's opinion.

"There's not even any Cap'n Crunch," Michael put in his two cents.

"That stuff's pure sugar," Brian criticized.

"That's the whole idea!" Michael exclaimed. "It gives you energy."

"Not if you want staying power," Ben countered, scooping muesli into two bowls. "This'll help you last."

Michael waggled his eyebrows. "I didn't have trouble ‘lasting' last night."

Justin stifled a giggle as he looked at Brian, who was suddenly a bit flushed around the ears. Taking pity on his husband, and wanting to avoid anything too sexual in front of Gus, he tactfully redirected the conversation to the slim pickings. "Maybe the granola'll taste better if we add a cut-up banana?"

"We'll be stocking up in the city," Deb assured everyone, trotting over to stand on the other side of the table, a plastic container in her hands. "You can have a baloney sandwich now if you want. We've got more than we need for lunch."

Brian eyed the redhead suspiciously as he dropped a couple bananas on a tray next to the muesli, along with two apples. "What about my turkey on-"

"-whole wheat, hold the mayo," Deb finished for him, rolling her eyes. "I marked it special, so no one else gets stuck with a dry sub."

"I don't know how you can eat it like that, Dad." Gus shook his head before holding out his hand. "I'll take a baloney sandwich, Grandma. It beats that fruit and nuts stuff."

"Fruit and nuts, huh?" Debbie cackled, rapping Michael's knuckles for snatching a sandwich as soon as she peeled back the lid on the container. "Can't get away from that around here, sweetheart."

"Geez," Gus muttered under his breath, although he held back the retort that Justin could see trembling on his lips.

Smart, Justin thought as he handed Gus a single-serve carton of milk, grabbing another for the muesli. No sense getting razzed by his grandmother before the day had even started.

Justin grabbed another tray for the milk and the cups of coffee he poured from the industrial-size canister, before trudging over to the table the gang had claimed, Brian and Gus next to him.

"...riding me so hard," he heard Michael saying around a mouthful of baloney.

Justin looked away quickly, grossed out by the half-masticated food. He'd hoped for a long time that with Michael taking Ben as an example for almost everything, he'd learn to chew with his mouth shut, but the habit was apparently too ingrained.

"Bet you rode Justin just as hard, huh?" Michael turned an expectant, shit-eating grin on Brian.

"Mmm," came Brian's non-committal response. He slid his eyes toward his son, but Michael missed the cue, his mouth hanging open and his eyes alight with curiosity.

"Geez, Dad, not in front of Guster." Hunter stood up and asked Gus, "Want to join me?"

"Heck yeah." Face aflame, he followed his brother. They didn't make it very far since most of the tables were occupied by other cyclists, but Jennifer and Tucker budged over so they could squeeze in at a neighboring table.

"Sorry," Michael muttered, taking another bite of baloney. "I forgot about Gus."

"Details," Emmett said eagerly, eyeing Brian and then Justin. "We want details. Right, Teddy?"

Ted, who'd been having a tête-à-tête with Blake, looked a little miffed at being included in the inquisition. "I'm more interested in what Blake and I get up to," he answered curtly.

A blush showing on his fair skin, Blake put a hand on Ted's arm. "We were just discussing our own, er, coping methods," he said by way of explaining his husband's terseness.

Still a bit taken aback, Em spluttered, "But- but- they've made a tradition out of, um-" He visibly dialed back what he'd been about to say and lowered his voice when he noticed Jennifer glaring at him from the next table. "-you know, adjusting their, um, biorhythms to daylight saving."

"You've seen us in the- at Babylon," Justin hastily corrected himself, in case Gus should overhear. The teen wasn't gonna learn about backrooms from him. Never mind that he didn't want his mom to know what he got up to at Babylon. "Use your imagination."

"Sure, baby," the chastened southerner murmured.

"We made our own fun last night." Drew winked at his partner. "And we can make some more tonight."

Ben diplomatically pursued a different angle regarding the time change. "Last night was terrific" - he smiled at Michael - "but I'm really feeling the loss of an hour this morning. Effing Ben Franklin and his bright ideas."

"I used to think it was Franklin's fault," Justin admitted, embarrassed to have had the facts wrong, "but really, all he did was poke fun at the Parisians, telling them to wake up earlier if they wanted to save money on, um, lamp oil and candles."

"Quelle domage. He almost made ‘Ben' synonymous with dumb." Hunter called out, miming wiping sweat off his forehead. He aimed a cheeky grin at the professor.

Ben chuckled, raising his coffee cup in salute.

"Daylight saving isn't all bad," Blake threw in. "The guys going through rehab can get outside in the evening to exercise; it helps them deal with the craving for drugs."

"It is nice to be able to go out for a walk - or a bike ride," Daphne noted, lips curving in amusement as she staggered up to the table, looking frazzled and out of sorts. "But I don't get why it has to happen so soon. Didn't it used to be in April or something?"

"Yeah, we used to change the first Sunday in April, a week after most of Europe," Justin piped up, always happy to provide another time change factoid.

"God forbid we should change at the same time," Mel muttered, setting down a tray with bowls of the ubiquitous muesli and two steaming cups of joe.

Swallowing down a spoonful of banana-heavy muesli, Justin mused, "We used to... for the return to standard time on the last Sunday in October. But then the energy boffins who thought it was a good idea to go on daylight saving the second Sunday in March said we'd save even more energy if we switched back to standard time a week later, on the first Sunday in November."

Brian snorted and Justin shrugged in agreement. It was the stupidest reasoning he'd ever heard. All it did was shift the time of day energy was used.

"The Ironmen hate training this time of year," Drew commented. "They act like it's midwinter."

"It isn't?" Blake asked, looking around at the snowflakes fluttering down in the dim light.

"Why'd we get up so early for breakfast anyway?" Michael groused. "Especially if all we're gonna have is granola and baloney. Ow!" he complained a second later when a meaty hand swatted him upside the head. "What was that for?"

"Quit griping," Debbie chided. "Breakfasting early means you can get on the road as soon as there's a bit more light, and you'll have more time to cover the route. You gotta do 96 miles today, boys."

Once the groans subsided, Jennifer asked, "Things got moved around to help the farmers, right?"

Emmett burst out laughing. "Oh, honey, that's a crock. No one hates the time change more than farmers. Try telling a cow you're gonna milk it an hour later - or earlier - why don't you."

"It wouldn't help with the cows," Brian said drily, "but it'd be more tolerable if we went back to six months on and six months off."

"When was that?" Gus asked.

"Back in the olden days, Justin teased, drawing out ‘old.'

"Fuck you," Brian growled. "That was in effect until 1986."

Tongue-in-cheek, Emmett observed, "Baby wasn't born yet. Not nearly."

Amidst ribald laughter, Ted coughed up a clump of muesli.

"Goodness," Jen noted as the hilarity died down, "I hadn't even met Craig at that point." She looked thoughtfully at Justin. "Even though it didn't end well-"

That was an understatement, Justin thought, anger rising up at his father. Not for how Craig had rejected him, but for the way he'd cheated on Jennifer and then the way he'd shafted her in the divorce proceedings.

"-but I'll never regret marrying him," his mom finished. "I got you and Molly, two good kids, out of the deal. No one can ask for more."

"Hear, hear," Debbie agreed. "That's the way I feel about Michael's dad. Without him, I wouldn't have Mikey." She pinched her son's cheek between her fingers before pressing a wet, lipsticky kiss to his forehead.

"Ma!" Michael protested.

Deb laughed and cuffed her son behind the ear.

He loved Deb, Justin mused - she really was a second mom to him - but he was glad Jen was his actual mother. Debbie would've embarrassed him to death by now.

"You hated waiting till the end of April for daylight saving to kick in," the redhead observed, laughing. "You thought it was ‘totally rad' when it switched to the first Sunday in April and you got an extra month of longer days. You and Brian both." She shot her surrogate son an amused look. "You two used to strut down Liberty Avenue like you were hot shit - baby cheeks, bell bottom jeans-"

"I never wore bell bottoms," Brian cut her off in an offended tone.

"Wanna bet?" Deb planted her hands on her hips. "You and Mikey thought you were the Beatles, although which ones, I never could tell."

Ted laughed, "I'd pay to see a photo."

"How much?" Deb demanded.

"There's photographic proof?" The accountant's eyebrows rose toward his hairline, dollar signs dancing in his eyes, as he calculated what it was worth to him.

"Theodore."

His name from Brian was all it took for Ted to back off, mumbling, "Never mind."

Justin was already planning to wangle the photo out of Deb. His mother grinned at him, doubtless cottoning on. Maybe he should have her get it from Debbie?

"You know, the Romans had an even messier method of dealing with the longer days," Tucker observed. "They made the length of an hour variable; in summer it could be as long as 75 minutes, in winter as short as 45 minutes."

Justin felt a brief surge of irritation at being upstaged by his mother's lover. He was supposed to be the time change expert, dammit.

Then Ben chuckled good-naturedly, "Who's the professor here?" and Justin found himself laughing too.

"BBC America aired a segment about it," Tucker admitted. "A sundial in remarkably good shape was unearthed in Italy, and the markings gave away how they adjusted for the longer summer days. I figured my students would get a kick out of it, so we're designing a sundial to track time the way the ancient Romans did."

Tucker might be an okay teacher, Justin acknowledged. That sounded way cooler than any of his eighth grade science projects.

"Well," Deb said, consulting her wristwatch, "my sundial says it's time to get a move on. If you haven't already, get your gear for the day, turn in your tents and then get your butts on your bikes."

___

Brian tossed a green apple and then a red one up in the air, neatly catching them as they approached the tent. "You know," he speculated, "there should be enough time for a quick fuck-"

"No there's not!" Deb yelled stridently from ahead of them.

"Christ!" Brian's stride stuttered. "How the fuck did she get ahead of us?" 

"No time to practice your juggling either," Debbie cackled, "although two balls can't be much of a challenge."

"She really does have eyes in the back of her head," Justin commented, in awe of Deb's skills. The redhead hadn't so much as glanced back at them.

___

Brian and Justin took it slow as they cycled along the coastline, Daphne accompanying them, much like the day before. They stopped to take photos whenever they felt like it, making sure to get shots of their extended family throughout the morning. When he'd seen his mother and Tucker down along the shoreline, necking, Justin scrunched up his nose in disgust - that was his mom - but then, remembering how insecure Jennifer had been the day before, he took a bunch of shots. Not of them feeling each other up - blech! - but of their expressions. He zoomed in on Tucker's face in some of the pics, so his mom would see just how gone for her the man was.

"So whipped," he muttered to himself, which had Daphne giggling and Brian raising an eyebrow at him.

___

Later that morning, as Justin's stomach began signaling that it was time for lunch, the three of them came upon Ted, Blake, Emmett and Drew pulled over to the side of the road.

Wondering if they needed help, Justin stopped, Brian and Daph wheeling up next to him.

Emmett slotted the back tire of the bike Ted was holding into place and gave it a good spin.

"You know what you're doing," Drew commented in evident surprise. "You had that patched in a jiffy."

Justin was impressed. He and Brian had practiced emergency patches, but neither of them had been a natural, and it wasn't the ‘quick fix' the YouTube videos purported it to be. 

Em gave the former quarterback a sunny smile. "Tires are my specialty."

"Lug nuts anyway," Brian snarked.

Where had that come from? Justin wondered, feeling a bit lost.

"Better than you," Emmett shot back, smirking at Brian.

"Yep." Ted nodded in agreement.

A dull red crept up Brian's neck, leaving Justin even more confused. Why was his lover embarrassed?

Critically eyeing the tire, Emmett said, "That should hold for a bit, Teddy. But you'd better replace it when we stop for lunch."

"Thanks, Em," Ted said before grousing, "Verdammte deutsche Arschlöcher," as he pumped more air into his tire, making sure the patch held.

"What was that, Teddy?" Emmett asked.

"I took German at St. James. Not that they taught that in class." Daphne giggled before providing a translation. "It roughly means ‘fucking German assholes.'"

"Ooh. A German asshole to fuck early in the morning?" Emmett clapped. "I could go for that."

"No you couldn't," Drew growled possessively.

In a long-suffering tone, Ted clarified, "I meant, it's all the Germans' fault."

"Your bike's German?" Emmett frowned. "I thought Trek was American."

"It is," Ted huffed. He gave the offending tire a light kick. "My morning wouldn't be so fucked if the Krauts hadn't instituted daylight saving-"

Not the best logic, but Justin got the older man's frustration.

"-back in WWI... to support the war effort or something."

Always willing to expound on one of his favorite topics, Justin chipped in, "They wanted to save fuel. The US thought it worked 'cause they followed suit a couple years later. Congress still thinks it works." He rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for the PSA," Brian teased, before agreeing, "It's bullshit. There isn't anything we can do about it though."

"True." Justin shrugged resignedly, but then, unable to leave it at that, added, "Attempts to either end DST or stay on it permanently haven't gone anywhere, not for most of the country anyway."

"Like Congress is some Zeitgeber," Ted grumbled as he swung a leg over his bike and started pedaling. "My biological clock doesn't agree with their reset of the time."

At least someone else liked to talk about the intricacies of the time change, Justin thought, sticking his tongue out at his husband, who was now openly laughing at him. He hmmed, trying to come up with something that would improve the man's mood. Unlike Brian, Ted wasn't a sun worshipper, so talking about catching more rays wouldn't help. Not that anyone but a masochist would try tanning right now.

"Christ, Theodore. Cut the whining and just fuck in the time change," Brian advised, coming to the rescue in his usual acerbic way. "It works for me and Justin."

Justin stared for a beat before schooling his face to impassivity. How soon we forget, he mused wryly.

Looking thoughtful, Ted commented, "We usually listen to opera to cope."

"Opera?" Daphne turned up her nose.

With a sly expression, Blake elucidated, "Opera is playing while we do other things."

"Yeah." Ted's warm brown eyes lit up as he eyed his husband. "Tonight," he promised. "We can use the speaker we brought along for the Walkman."

___

Less than half an hour later, they pulled over for lunch at what looked like a wide place in the road. It was kinda cool to see Long Island so close across the water, but since they'd been looking at the spit of land all day, it had lost some of its appeal.

Justin accepted his sandwich from Deb, popped open his drink and bit hungrily into his ham and cheese, while Brian did the same with his turkey sub. Justin watched, fascinated, wondering yet again how he managed to swallow it dry like that.

"I wish we could spend the night in the city," Emmett said wistfully. "Go clubbing..."

"Shopping," Brian predictably threw in, making Justin shake his head.

"No way." Gus blanched. "You shop for, like, the whole day, Dad."

Justin laughed at the thirteen-year-old's dramatic reaction. Not that he disagreed; Brian was fucking indefatigable when it came to shopping for designer clothes and furnishings. "We don't have Deb's Pinto anymore," he reminded his husband.

"So what? We've got buses," Brian countered. "We could just lighten their load a little."

"Right. Who needs tents?" Justin rolled his eyes.

Brandon chuckled. "We'd lose at least half the riders if we overnighted in NYC. They'd be all fucked out and too hung over to catch up tomorrow."

"That doesn't sound so bad to me," some wiseass threw in from across the way.

A shrill whistle cut off further commentary.

"Ma!" Michael protested, drilling a finger into his ear and shaking his head. "Did you have to stand right next to me?"

"Got your attention, didn't I?" Deb belted out an unrepentant laugh as she climbed up on a picnic bench, megaphone in hand. "Okay, everyone, listen up. We're gonna be cycling through New York City-"

There were rousing cheers from throughout the crowd.

"-this afternoon. We'll even have a uniformed escort-"

This time there were boos.

"-but no one will be taking us to the hoosegow for a ‘visit.' Instead, they'll be treating us like fuckin' dignitaries."

The boos turned into laughter.

"The lead motorcycles will be ridden by our own kind-"

"Fag cops!" Emmett yelled, setting off a round of applause.

"Why not dykes?" Mel grumbled, although she didn't sound overly disgruntled.

"You all know New York's gay community doesn't have the best relationship with the fuzz-"

There were nods and murmurs of agreement. They'd been through a lot of the same shit in Pittsburgh, Justin thought. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled how close Stockwell had come to being elected mayor.

"-and the only reason we're being accorded a police escort is because this ride isn't a Pride month event, and because our escort is made up of queer officers who volunteered to see us through the city. So let's not cause any trouble for them, okay?"

Justin nodded along with everyone else. It took balls to be an out police officer. Even now, even in a city that was considered gay-friendly.

"They'll be waiting for us beneath a Pride flag-"

Approving hoots and whistles met that announcement.

"-as we enter the city. Our newlyweds will follow behind the lead cops-"

"My dads!" Gus yelled.

"The Taylor-Kinneys!" Brandon added. "Just in case you missed the memo."

Laughter ensued.

Before Deb could go on, Brian's voice rang out, "You wanna ride between us, Sonnyboy?"

The teen's face lit up with a huge smile. "Yeah!" He pumped a fist into the air.

"What about Brian's best friend?" Michael called out, his smile making it clear he was joking.

"Justin? He'll be riding on Gus' other side," his mother deadpanned.

There were bursts of laughter from some of the men in the crowd, Justin wondering if those were former tricks who'd been treated to the ‘best friend' speech.

"If you were in the wedding party, and want to be next to enter the city, just follow along behind Brian and Justin," Deb recommended. "Otherwise, all of you can ride wherever you want in the procession."

"Where's the rest?" Brian muttered, waiting for Deb to finish. When it appeared she was done, he cut through the crowd to the redhead's side and took the megaphone from her.

"We're going to be making a long, slow loop through the city's gayborhoods," he announced, "so the New Yorkers can show their support."

"Let's show them how we do it in Pittsburgh!" came an enthusiastic yell from deep in the crowd.

"Normally, I'd be all in favor of showing how we ‘do it,'" Brian joked, garnering good-natured laughter and applause. "But since we don't want the cops to change their mind about where they're taking us..."

The laughter was louder this time.

"...let's avoid overly revealing PDAs."

Justin grinned, fondly remembering all the displays they'd engaged in during his time in New York.

"I heard there was gonna be a press conference," one of the lesbians standing near Mel yelled. "Is that true?"

"Yes-" was all Brian got out before excited chatter threatened to smother his reply.

There was a flurry among the bikers who wanted to be sure they were wearing their best and that they had their Pride flags to hand.

"I've gotta get out my orange tiger print cap," Emmett told Drew. "It flatters my coloring."

Brian raised his voice, but even with the megaphone, no one heeded him. "A little help?" he addressed Deb, who unfortunately had her back to him.

"Need a hand, Kinney?" Melanie joked.

Justin giggled at the grossed-out look on his lover's face.

"Just a whistle," Brian curtly replied.

A beat later, Mel's piercing whistle penetrated the clamor, and there wasn't a sound to be heard except for a pained, "Ow!"

"The press conference won't happen in the city," Brian said to disappointed groans.

Deb yanked the bullhorn out of Brian's hand, shouting, "No one's to stop during the ride through NYC, you hear me?"

"What if I need the head?" an enterprising soul dared ask.

"You gotta take a leak, do it before we get to the city," Deb warned. "Same if you've gotta jack off."

"Like I'm gonna expose my todger," someone with a strong accent wisecracked. "It'd freeze right off."

"So where's the press conference going to be?" Mel's lesbian friend persisted, snarking, "Back in Pittsburgh?"

Brian retrieved the bullhorn from Deb. "After we stop for the night." He managed a charming smile, which didn't appear to make an impression on the dyke. "You want a soundbite, you'll get your chance then. Now let's get going."

A few people slowly clambered back onto their bicycles, but that was it.

Snatching the megaphone back from Brian, Deb ordered, "Swallow down your lunch, whatever it is-"

That got boisterous laughter.

"-and get your asses back on your bikes, folks. New York City, here we come!" she yelled.

Justin giggled when the horde of queers hopped to it. Deb knew more about wrangling fags than Brian did, but then, she had more experience, the backroom excepted.

"Harder than pitching an ad campaign," Brian muttered, corroborating his thoughts.

___

New York, New York

They had to slow down well before they reached the Bronx, traffic increasing as they traveled through the built-up outskirts of the city. The number of lanes open to cars had been reduced, but the cyclists still needed to proceed cautiously. Surprisingly, none of the drivers were laying on their horns, which was pretty much unimaginable in New York City.

"Ooh, look," Emmett said, jaw dropping.

Justin, who'd been chatting with Brian and Gus, followed the southerner's line of sight and barely kept his own jaw from dropping. There, parked near a sign indicating they were now entering the Bronx, were two motorcycles, one of the hottest men he'd ever seen sitting on one of them.

"Fuck," he rasped, forgetting he was trying to swear less in front of Gus.

"I'd do him," Brian agreed.

"Geez, Papa, Dad. Not now," Gus complained. "We're not at the diner."

Justin flushed, wondering what he might have done in front of Gus to elicit that comment.

"Gus, honey" - Em flicked his eyes toward the teen before focusing back on the leather-clad man - "one simply has to admire a sight like that."

"That is one. hot. cop," Ted commented, enunciating each word distinctly. 

They'd come near enough as they slowed to a stop for Hot Cop to hear them.

"Thank you," he said, grinning as his eyes roved over the group, lingering the longest on Brian and Justin. 

Ted's cheeks acquired a pink hue.

"You're our escort?" Emmett breathed out, holding a hand to his heart.

"What gave it away?" the policeman asked.

"The- the Pride flag-" Ted stuttered. His eyes never left the police officer, or he'd have realized he wasn't pointing at the flag draped over the Bronx sign.

A light laugh drew their attention and had the men realizing Hot Cop wasn't alone.

"Niiiice," Mel drawled as she took in the curvy dyke standing next to HC.

Curvy Dyke gave Melanie a once-over before responding to Emmett. "We are indeed your escort."

"We had to beat off the other cops who wanted to guide you through the city," Hot Cop added.

"There are, ah, that many of you who are out?" Ben asked.

CD shook her head. "Nah. It can be really dicey to be out, depending on where you're assigned. Especially for the men," she added, throwing her companion a commiserating look.

Hot Cop nodded. "There are still enough of us to man the route though, and to check that all 400 of you make it through the city."

"You two the newlyweds?" Curvy Dyke asked Brian, looking between him and Justin.

"What gave us away?" Justin asked, wondering if they had some kind of weird ‘just married' glow about them.

CD laughed, replying, "Your license plates."

Justin blinked, only now realizing they'd pulled past the cops just enough for their ‘Just Married' plates to be visible.

"Fuck. I knew I forgot something," Brian groused. "I meant to ask Deb for a wire clipper."

Both men had tried to twist the plates from their bicycles, but whoever had attached the metal rectangles to their bikes must've welded the wires together.

"Besides" - Hot Cop winked flirtatiously - "our looey shared your photos. You guys are a hot ticket right now."

Justin did his best to will down his burgeoning erection. This was hardly the best time to get a hard-on.

___

It didn't take long before they were underway. "Woowee!" Emmett exclaimed as a black, oversized, hi-riser pickup truck approached on the other side of the freeway. "What a donk."

"Donk?" Drew asked.

The southerner laughed. "Yeah, that's what we called hi-risers, and their overcompensating drivers, back in Hazlehurst."

"Why-" Justin started, wanting to know how the term had been derived, but then the truck slowed as it approached them, the driver rolling down the window partway, and yelling, "Fucking faggots!"

"Well," Emmett said as the monster pickup disappeared from view, "we are fags, and we do fuck, so thank you very much."

Everyone was laughing as they entered the Bronx behind the motorcycle cops, Gus hanging back with Hunter for now, not all that enthralled with this NYC borough.

"Ooh, look," Emmett said for the second time that afternoon, pointing at the park that housed the Botanical Garden and the Bronx Zoo.

"At what?" Brian grunted.

Justin wondered the same thing. There wasn't much to see from the road, mostly bare limbs pointing at the sky and a dusting of snow on the ground.

"Um, Em," Ted chided, "the cop was worthy of an ‘ooh, look.' This, not so much."

"I bet they have lots of cool animals," Em huffed.

"They do," Drew agreed.

Emmett grinned happily.

"No self-respecting animal is going to be out in this cold," Ted bit out, wiping his dripping red nose on the sleeve of his jacket.

Justin looked over at Brian, leaning in closer to say, "What about all the animals that thrive in the cold? Penguins, polar bears, caribou-"

Before he could continue with his list - snowy owls were on the tip of his tongue - Brian quirked an eyebrow at Ted, who mirrored the action, a smirk playing across his lips.

"You wanna go see the reindeer, Sunshine?" 

Justin's brow furrowed. He was missing something. "Not right now," he cautiously replied.

"Then don't let Emmett hear you, or we'll be cycling through the zoo... all so he can see Rudolph."

Justin giggled, mentally tipping his hat to Ted, as his bestie began singing, quietly, so the southerner wouldn't hear, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer has a very shiny nose..."

Brian shot an aghast look at Daphne, making Justin grin. He was about to join in with ‘And if you ever saw it,' when the road turned sharply again. "What is with this street?" he exclaimed, jinking to the right and then to the left before going right again.

"They must've been loopy," Ted drolled.

"No shit," Daph concurred, having dropped the Christmas melody. She made the last turn a little late and almost plowed into Emmett. "Sorry."

"No worries, sweetie." Emmett put out a hand to steady Daphne's bicycle as he made a case for the zoo. "There's people there now. There must be something to see."

Justin held his breath for a moment, afraid his friend had heard the strains of Rudolph, but Em continued on his merry way instead of heading for the entrance, and Justin relaxed again.

"They're visiting the reptile house?" Blake guessed.

"We have a herpetarium in the Burgh," Daph pointed out.

"Spoilsport." Em shot the girl a betrayed look, causing Daphne to giggle along with Justin. "How'd you know it's called a herpe-" The southerner flapped a hand. "You know, the thing that sounds like an STD on steroids."

Daphne rolled her eyes and tilted her head at Justin, making the blond grin. He'd taught his bestie the name for a reptile house back when they were seven.

"Jus told me too," Gus chimed in, cycling up next to Daphne.

"I should have known," Emmett muttered.

"Niches of the World is way cool," the teenager enthused. "Want me to take you there?"

"Maybe you can source a pair of alligator shoes," Brian deadpanned, earning a chorus of "Brian!" along with a lone "Dad!"

___

Gus perked up as they cycled past Yankee Stadium, moving up closer to his dads. "Wow! It would be cool to see the Yankees play!"

Justin flinched. He'd never had much interest in baseball, and getting bashed had put paid to ever wanting to get close to a baseball field.

Glancing over, he noticed that his husband's expression had gone a bit chalky. "We're not much into baseball, Sonnyboy," Brian told their son.

"Oh, right. I... uh... that makes sense," Gus stammered. "Sorry, Papa."

It's okay," Justin murmured, shrugging it off. The bashing was long behind him, and he could handle cycling past a baseball stadium, for fuck's sake.

"Drewsie?" came Emmett's bright voice. "What do you think? Could we take Gussy to a ball game?"

Gus' downcast countenance brightened. The teenager didn't even object to being called Gussy, likely because Drew was one of his sports heroes and because the built quarterback just grinned at being called ‘Drewsie.'

"I don't know why not," Drew replied easily. "I'm no expert on baseball, but I know the basics. Maybe we could take you and one of your friends."

"Heck, yeah! Sweet!" Gus enthused before dialling it back a bit. "It doesn't, uh, have to be at Yankee Stadium. We-"

"You'd rather go to PNC Park?" Drew asked.

"No way," Gus giggled.

Even with telling himself he shouldn't be bothered, Justin did breathe easier as they left the stadium behind and crossed the Macombs Dam Bridge.

"Are we in Manhattan yet?" Gus asked, giving the park to their right an uninterested glance.

"Yep-"

"Where's the ‘welcome to Manhattan sign'? Michael asked, craning his neck around.

"There isn't one that I know of." Justin shrugged. There's probably too many crossings between the boroughs to bother."

"This is, like, the northernmost edge?" Gus guessed.

Justin shrugged. "Not really. The Harlem River, which we just crossed" - he waved a hand behind him - "separates the Bronx from Manhattan. It goes all the way up to 220th Street. We're on 155th," he clarified, pointing at a street sign.

"First Street is at the southern tip?" Blake hazarded.

"Nah." Justin laughed. "There's a bunch of streets with names instead of numbers below First."

"Bummer." Blake shrugged.

As they traveled deeper into Manhattan, following along behind Hot Cop and Dyke Cop, they were greeted by friendly cheers and waves.

Gus eagerly waved back.

"Um." Emmett shifted uncomfortably on his bicycle. "I've, um, never felt so lily white."

Justin chuckled. "You shoulda seen the looks I got when I walked around Harlem. I stuck out like a sore thumb."

"Everyone seems pretty friendly," Ted noted.

"Trans women of color have been prominent in the LGBT movement since before the Stonewall Riots," Ben observed. "In fact, the Black civil rights movement and the fight for LGBT rights are closely entwined. Black New Yorkers have faced a similar fight for recognition, so, gay or straight, they've been largely supportive of queer rights."

"Thanks, Professor," Brian commented drily.

Ben joined the laughter at his expense. That was what made the occasional pedantic outburst bearable, Justin mused; Ben knew how to laugh at himself.

___

"Geez, Manhattan is really long," Michael blurted a while later as they kept cycling.

"Yeah," Gus agreed, looking awed.

Justin grinned. He'd been anticipating a comment from Gus - it was different to experience the city than just hear about it - but Michael startled him. He'd thought Michael would have explored during childhood visits to see Vic, but apparently not.

"Brace yourselves," Hot Cop shouted over his shoulder as he and Dyke Cop slowed to turn off the freeway onto Christopher Street.

Justin blinked in surprise. The one-way street had been blocked off so they could cycle in the ‘wrong' direction. Then he forgot all about that as he and the others were hit with a wall of noise.

There were whistles, hurrahs, clapping, stomping of feet - and most surprising of all - shouts of "Brian and Justin" as they started down New York's equivalent of Liberty Avenue. There were so many cameras going off that Justin was half blinded, blinking away ‘floaters' from the flashes.

"Oh my God! Baby, look over there!"

Justin glanced at Emmett, who was riding behind him and followed his pointing hand.

Holy shit. For a moment Justin stopped pedaling as he stared at the cringy banner. Centered against a Pride background, he saw:

Just Married

B <3 J

Brian was gonna kill him even though he had nothing to do with... whatever this was.

Justin sneaked a glance at his lover, who must've backpedaled to keep even with him, amazed to see him laughing at the tacky banner.

"See that, Sonnyboy," he called to their son, who'd pulled a little ahead. "Your dads are famous!" Leaning closer to Justin, he guffawed, "Or rather, your blowjob is, Sunshine."

Justin laughed. He did give a damn fine blowjob. There was no need to point out that it was a heart, not a cock, on the banner, or that it was ‘B' who ‘hearted' ‘J'.

Michael's indignant "Hey, what about the rest of us?" was drowned out by a drag queen yelling at Gus, "What's your name, cutie?"

"Gus," the teen yelled back, beaming at the woman. He pointed at Brian and then Justin as they drew level with him. "BJ are my dads!"

The drag queen, who looked like she'd just stepped off RuPaul's runway, winked and shouted, "You look just like your old man!"

"Which one?" Gus cheeked back, getting a belly laugh from the woman and everyone else in earshot.

Even moving at a crawl, it didn't take long for them to travel the handful of blocks to the Stonewall Inn. Justin hoped there'd be video footage of their ride through Greenwich Village that he could get hold of; he'd never felt so much like a part of gay history as he did right now.

He'd been to the Stonewall Inn while he lived in the city, but that wasn't quite the same. All sorts of guys had hit on him - hot young blond was as much of a hit here as in the Burgh - but it was pretty much just like an evening at Woody's.

The best part had been regaling Brian over the phone with the tale of the trick he'd banged in the men's room - how the guy had been clinging to the side of the stall and pleading for more. By the time Justin got to the climax of the story, both he and Brian had been grunting and groaning as they came.

Although he was a little sad to leave the Stonewall behind, he was grinning at the memory of his visit nine years ago, including the part he hadn't shared with Brian. As he'd exited the men's room stall behind the sated - and very satisfied - trick, he'd been confronted by three guys. "My turn?" one of them had asked hopefully, going so far as to lower his trousers and bend over so Justin could get a look at his ass.

Justin's cock had twitched - his refractory period might not be quite as short as Brian's, but he had youth on his side - but then the man ruined it all by saying his name. Dave or Duncan or Phineas, for all Justin could recall. It had been difficult to forgo that really appealing ass, but he hadn't been about to break the rules again, whether or not they were still in force.

Thoughts of the untapped ass vanished as they reached the end of Christopher Street and continued in an easterly direction. His brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out what was going on.

He looked over at Brian, who just shrugged and jerked his chin at their escort, who were continuing straight on.

"This can't be right," Ted muttered, unknowingly voicing Justin's thoughts as they wended their way through NoHo. "Shouldn't we be heading south? More south, that is," he amended since the grid on which Manhattan was laid out had 8th Street going south as well as east.

Justin grinned, leaving it to Ted to suss out the wacky Manhattan grid, a flash of color to his left drawing his attention.

His smile widened when he realized there was a family up ahead that somewhat resembled his own, all of them waving Pride flags; even the baby in its mother's arms had a chubby fist wrapped around a flag. There was a mix of generations, with an older woman who reminded him of Debbie, albeit with candy pink hair and less bulk; a few kids, the oldest of whom appeared to be around Gus' age; and five other adults - the parents? The three men, one of them wearing a shaggy, lime-green coat that could have come out of Emmett's closet, were standing close together, their arms around each other, which made him wonder whether they were in a relationship.

The flash of color came again, a weak shaft of sunlight piercing the cloud cover amid lazily swirling snowflakes and glinting off something. He scanned the family group, looking for what had caught his attention, smiling when he saw a child wielding something rainbow-colored.

The whatsit had blinked at him from near the shaggy coat, making him wonder if there were sequins in among the threads - pile? - whatever the fuzzy stuff was called. But then his breath caught as a bat swung free of the green coat it had momentarily tangled with. Fuck. Justin felt his skin go clammy, his breath coming out in wild, short bursts as his eyes locked on the bat. There must be glitter or something sparkly stuck to the rainbow-hued foam for it to catch the light like that, he guessed, his thoughts spinning in all directions. Hadn't they left Yankee Stadium behind?

"Papa?" Gus' voice was tinny, like he was hearing it through a bad phone connection.

It was a major effort, but Justin managed to turn his head toward his son. He tried to smile at Gus, aiming for reassuring but having a hard time quelling his panic. He wished he could tamp down his reaction, but it was too visceral.

"Papa!" the teen repeated, his voice becoming shrill.

The panicked note in Gus' voice had Brian turning his head to look his way. Brian frowned, his concern clear as he tried to pinpoint the problem.

"Sign my bat?" a child piped up.

From the corner of his eye, Justin saw a monstrous, purply object coming toward him, and he swerved, almost crashing into Gus, before he got control of his bicycle. He wheezed, unable to get any air past his windpipe.

"Easy, Jus," came a calm, commanding voice from right next to him. "You're okay. Breathe with me. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out."

The pace Brian set, with a long beat between each ‘in' and ‘out' helped Justin regain control of his breathing.

"S- sorry," he gasped, mortified to have made such a spectacle of himself. There was obviously no danger; the kid had just hoped Justin would sign his bat. He must've mistaken him for someone famous, like Drew.

"What're you sorry for, twat?"

His husband's brusque tone, along with the affectionate ‘twat,' helped steady him. He glanced down at his feet, amazed to see that he was still pedaling, Brian right beside him, following along behind the motorcycle cops.

"You okay, Jus?" came Daphne's voice as she pedaled up on his left. "I saw the- I mean-" She stuttered to a halt, clearly not wanting to mention the bat.

"Uh, yeah. Sor-" Justin started to apologize again, only to be halted by another "Twat" from Brian.

He reached for his water bottle, wanting to ease the parched feeling in his throat, but fumbled, unable to free it from its cage on the bike's frame.

"Here." A red-colored bottle that matched the red of Brian's bike appeared in front of him. "Use both hands," he added a moment later, when Justin had trouble grasping the bottle with his right hand. "Don't worry. I've got you."

With his partner steering his bicycle with one hand, the other on his own bike, Justin greedily sipped the water, just barely enough in possession of his wits not to gulp it. "Thanks," he rasped, glancing at his lover as he went to hand back the bottle, and just now realizing that Brian and Gus must've switched places while he was freaking out.

"Take a couple more sips," Brian recommended. He sounded so self-possessed that Justin was startled to see the strain in his face, and the way he was white-knuckling the handlebars.

After a couple more cautious sips relieved the pain in his throat - you'd have thought he'd been screaming his lungs out for hours at a concert - he carefully handed the bottle back to Brian, firmly grasping the handlebars with his left hand, his right hand just resting there like a useless lump.

This was a first. Not only had he freaked out his lover, his son and his bestie, he'd also managed to make his hand seize up.

Brian's eyes flicked down to his right hand. "We can stop, and I'll massage it," he offered.

"We aren't supposed to stop," came a voice from behind them.

Justin knew who it was but chose not to acknowledge the idiot. To be fair, the twit might've missed his freak-out, only homing in on ‘stop.' He reckoned Brian was pretending deafness since he also ignored the person.

"Maybe just between the thumb and index finger?" Justin held his right hand out. "That should help."

They rode for a couple blocks with Brian giving him a one-handed massage, neither of them saying a word.

Justin was relieved that it actually did help. He reclaimed his hand and grasped the handlebars with both hands, if not as firmly as he'd like with his right.

Brian, obviously reluctant to let go, said, "Let me know if it starts to cramp up again."

Justin doubted he'd need to say a word, Brian would be keeping such an eagle eye on him. He looked past his husband at Gus, able to produce a better smile now.

"Was it-" Gus stopped, plainly as reluctant to broach the topic of the bashing as Daphne had been to mention the bat. While they didn't like to talk about the bashing, all four of Gus' parents had been open about what had happened to Justin at his prom, making sure both he and Jenny knew how dangerous being gay could be.

"It was a panic attack," Justin managed to say without strangling on the words. "I get them sometimes, ever since the ba- bashing." He hated stuttering, but that wasn't nearly as bad as it could be. "Sometimes, I'm not even sure what's triggered one, but other times it's obvious." He paused for a moment. "And embarrassing. A toy bat." He hoped Gus had never heard about his first birthday party, when the same damn thing had happened.

"Jus, it's norm-" Daphne hastened to reassure him, at the same time as Gus exclaimed, "That's not embarrassing! You should be, like, proud that you survived. I am, Papa!"

"Me too," Brian said, sincerity and love shining in his hazel eyes.

Justin swallowed hard, warmth coursing through him. They'd probably need to talk more about the bashing, help Gus understand what had happened and how it affected everyone, but that could wait till later.

Soon, they'd left NoHo behind, biking through the Ukrainian Village and into the East Village, to more cheers and Pride flags waving. One brave soul in chaps even waggled his bare ass at them.

"I'd take you up on that, sweetie," Emmett called out, "but, alas, I can't stop."

Bare Ass laughed and blew the southerner a kiss.

Emmett caught the kiss and pressed it to Drew's lips, getting a yell of "Touchdown!" from the wannabe trick and laughs from everyone else.

As the merriment died away, Justin realized they were heading toward his old stomping grounds. What he couldn't figure out was why. It wasn't famous, not compared to loads of other gay landmarks.

He again glanced at Brian - this had to be his doing - but the brunet shook his head, appearing as genuinely surprised as Justin.

"I know where we are!" Daphne suddenly yelled.

"Stove," Justin murmured, a delighted grin on his face as they neared the art supply store.

"Huh?" Daphne gave him a quizzical look, which had Justin realizing he must not have told her about the ditzy blonde Jon had been screwing, her complete lack of direction and how she was sure the art supply shop was named Stove.

He was just wishing he could take a moment to check in with Susan about whether there'd been any interest in the two paintings he'd shipped less than a week ago, when he saw the ArTrove manager standing in front of the shop, beaming at him and pointing at a banner behind her.

For a moment, Justin worried that it would be a duplicate of the kitschy banner from Christopher Street, but on a background in ombre shades of blue was the message:

Whoever had painted the miniature of him using a tin can as a ‘palette' had done a good job, Justin thought, flattered. Other than the fact that it looked like he was wearing half the paint in the can.

"Both paintings sold!" Susan called out as they came abreast, coasting as slowly as they could. "The buyers will have to wait though; I need something to display until you send more."

She motioned at the shop behind her, and Justin was shocked to see how crowded it looked.

"They all want a Justin Taylor original." Susan winked, adding, "There's no accounting for taste."

"My papa has taste!" Gus protested.

"He does?" Susan feigned disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, he likes burgers and fries, just like me!" the teen repeated the joke he'd told Susan the first time they met, giggling as madly as he had at six years old.

Susan joined in the boy's laughter, before waving them onward - none too soon as the other riders were starting to bunch up behind them.

They cycled away from ArTrove, heading directly down his old street, Justin couldn't help but notice. 

There were catcalls, offers for a quickie, more camera flashes and cheering queers lining the street, pressing against the barriers that had been erected between them and the bikers.

Daphne suddenly burst out laughing, drawing Justin's attention to Jon, who was standing on the stoop of the redbrick building in which they'd once shared a flat, waving a Pride flag back and forth. Jon was dressed in an eye-searing combination of yellows and oranges, looking like a sunset gone amuck.

"What the fuck is Jon wearing?" Daphne gasped between giggles.

Justin had no clue. Had the man borrowed the outfit from a circus clown?

"Nice legs, sugar," a drag queen standing next to his former roomie called out. Mona Lott was wearing an ensemble Justin recalled from years ago: a black turtleneck, a red and black buffalo plaid miniskirt, and knee-high, patent-leather boots with four-inch heels. Her outfit clashed horribly with Jon's attire, which Mona must have realized, since she edged to the side of the stoop.

The drag queen must've felt right at home here in the East Village, but Justin couldn't figure out why Jon had stayed in his dump of an apartment. He'd finally graduated, even if it took him more than twice as long as most students to finish his bachelor's degree. Whatever it was in; Jon had never said.

"What is this?" Ted snarked, following Jon's madly waving arm up the facade of the building. "A Justin Taylor hotspots tour?"

"Keep your hands off Sunshine's ‘hotspots,' Theodore," Justin heard Brian growl as he belatedly looked up, only to see another banner, this one a garish yellow. It looked like a sheet that someone had dug out of the rejects bin at Kmart. Across the banner in sloppy block print was the message:

Justin Taylor lived here!

Check out his digs!

"Roach haven," Brian muttered darkly.

Drama queen, Justin thought fondly, exchanging an amused smile with Daphne. You'd think the man had never seen a roach in Pittsburgh.

Brow furrowing in perplexity, Justin tried to decipher the reasoning behind the invitation. Did Jon think straight women were gonna flock to his flat, all because of a Justin Taylor they'd never heard of? Never mind a banner they wouldn't see. Weird.

As they finally looped back toward the west, the ‘Justin Taylor highlights' hopefully behind them, Justin studied Brian out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't think of anyone else who could have arranged this, but there was no telltale smirk or glint in Brian's eyes at carrying out a successful scheme of this magnitude.

Justin reckoned Brian'd had help, but he couldn't suss out who: Daphne had been too surprised by the banner at ArTrove to be involved; Susan was unlikely to have been behind the first, cringy banner; besides being terrible at keeping a secret, Ted was his usual witty self; and everyone else was acting normally.

"It's monkeys," the same strongly accented voice he'd heard earlier in the ride carped as the breeze picked up, whipping down Second Avenue.

"Monkeys?" Justin mouthed at Brian, who shrugged in response.

"I know!" Gus chirped. "It means it's really, extremely cold. You can say ‘brass monkeys' too."

"How'd you know that, Sonnyboy?"

"One of the kids in kindergarten used to say it was monkeys. All the time, Dad, even when it was sunny and warm." Gus shrugged off the oddity. "Our teacher told us what it meant."

"Did your teacher say where it comes from?" Justin asked, his interest piqued. What did monkeys - brass or not - have to do with cold weather?

Gus' brow furrowed in thought. "Nah. Not that I remember anyway."

Huh, he'd have to look it up once he had access to the Internet. If he ever got to a computer again anyway. Justin looked around, wondering why they'd slowed down. In contrast with the area around Stonewall, Second Avenue wasn't packed with onlookers, although there were still plenty of people waving Pride flags.

All thoughts of brass monkeys flew out of his head when Emmett yelled, "Oh my God," sounding just like he did earlier. Giggling behind the hand he'd clapped over his mouth, the southerner tilted his head toward the right, a little way ahead of where they were.

Justin went beet red when he saw the banner hung over the window at The Cock, the white outline of the neon rooster that identified the club glowing through the thin red material on which had been printed:

JB [] here

An eggplant might've been used as a stand-in, but the ‘fucked' came through loud and clear.

The Cock wasn't even that interesting, at least from the outside, but that didn't stop the cyclists from practically coming to a standstill, giving everyone the opportunity for a good, long look.

"When did I sign up for a cycling tour of one Justin Taylor's sexual exploits in the Big Apple?" Brandon deadpanned as he joined them.

"You should be so lucky," Brian quipped, grinning.

Brandon winked, smirking at Justin as he irritably waved off another cyclist, undoubtedly the blond stud's latest conquest.

Even though he appreciated the attempt to buoy his spirits, Justin's own smile was a bit weak. He almost started blathering about how the sexual exploits had only happened in clubs, and when Brian visited him, but he stopped himself just in time. He thought about speeding up, and leaving the Cock and this conversation behind him, but that would be too obvious. Biting his lip, he suffered in silence... for all of two beats.

"Where's the ‘D'?" Daphne asked, taking her hands off the handlebars for a second, planting them on her hips and scowling at Justin.

His mood lifting, Justin retorted, "Where's your eggplant?"

His friend burst into giggles, grabbing the handlebars just in time to avoid falling off.

Hoots and hollers came from the cyclists. "There's more spots they've made famous in the Burgh!" someone called out to the horde in front of the Cock.

"Come visit!" another cyclist added. We'll show you a good time!"

"Gus, don't look!" Michael cried out way too late.

This was where Michael drew the line? The man was so schizo sometimes. He hadn't thought twice before talking about fucking in the time change this morning, but an eggplant bothered him?

"Geez, Dad, relax," Hunter interceded. "Guster has seen worse than that on Liberty Avenue."

Blushing, Gus shot a grateful look at his big brother. "Yeah," he mumbled.

"Let it go," Ben laughingly recommended when Michael opened his mouth, his gaze going from Hunter to Gus and then back to his son.

After casting a glance to the right, Michael did shut his mouth, possibly going with ‘out of sight, out of mind.'

___

Fortunately, the Cock was the last part of the ‘tour,' the cyclists continuing down Second Avenue and then making their way further south before cutting over to the harbor and reaching the Paulus Hook ferry terminal.

Justin was glad to get off his bike for a bit - he was starting to go numb - and stretch out his legs.

"We're taking the ferry?" Gus asked, his eyes widening in excitement.

"Yep." Brian smiled at his sonnyboy.

"Awesome! I've never been on a ferry before."

"Me either," Hunter admitted, displaying far more enthusiasm at twenty-six than he would have as a teen.

They'd normally have decent views of the Statue of Liberty from the ferry they'd be taking over to Jersey City, but the wind that had started to pick up while they were crisscrossing the city was getting stronger, dark clouds now scudding across the sky. It looked like they might be in for rain. Possibly sleet. Justin shivered, just the thought making him colder.

Regardless, Justin decided, hoping the ferry got here soon and they could get out of the elements for a bit, they'd have to take Gus - Hunter too - on the Staten Island ferry sometime. Or one of the other public transit ferries; they were a great, low-cost way to sightsee.

As he was pondering the possibilities - maybe they should make a day of visiting the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island? - Hot Cop approached, holding out his hand. "See ya."

Justin was more than a little sorry to say goodbye to HC and lose the vision of him in his riding leathers, powerful thighs snugged up against his motorcycle.

Right then Tucker wheeled his bike over, Jen next to him, which prevented Justin from having a private word with the hottie. "Harleys, huh?" Tucker eyed both cops' rides with interest. Dyke Cop had been mobbed by Mel and the other lesbians, so he must've decided it would be easier to get a close-up of HC's hog.

"The NYPD outfits us well," Hot Cop said, discreetly passing Justin a slip of paper before asking the two motorcycle aficionados, "Want to take a look?"

Brian and Gus sidled over to join his mom and Tucker in admiring the Harley, although Justin would bet his husband was taking a last look at other assets too. Grinning, he moved out of the way and glanced at the note. Sure thing, he thought.

Unfortunately, Michael must've observed Hot Cop's sleight of hand because he snatched the piece of paper and tore it to bits. "You can't do that anymore!"

Christ, Michael could be a pain sometimes. Justin had really warmed to him over the years, and not just because they were partners in Rage. Michael had turned into something of a pesky older brother who was really caring most of the time, but who, unfortunately, also had a tendency to be whiny and judgmental.

Then there were the times when, despite his claim that he'd memorized the Brian Kinney Operating Manual, that he totally didn't get his childhood friend. Brian had no desire to be center stage as an advocate for gay marriage, yet shortly after Justin proposed, he'd suggested using their wedding, in conjunction with the annual bike ride, as a vehicle to push for marriage equality - largely because Michael had taken to complaining to all and sundry that he and Ben still couldn't get married in Pennsylvania.

Even that didn't appear to be enough for Michael. Now he was bitching-

"Do what?" Brian demanded, lifting a hand in farewell to HC and arching a brow at his friend as he approached. Slinging an arm around Justin's shoulders, Brian nuzzled the flyaway blond hair by his ear.

"Trick, apparently," Justin started, only to be overridden by Michael screeching, "You're married! You're supposed to be monogamous now!"

"Marriage and monogamy aren't the same thing, Mikey," Brian stated patiently.

"Th- they should be!" Michael sputtered, going red in the face.

Ben, who'd just been standing there like a block of wood, finally tried to calm his husband down. "Mike, babe," he said soothingly, "you know what works for us doesn't necessarily work for other people."

"Yeah," Emmett threw in. "Drew and I like to trick sometimes."

"But you aren't married." Michael threw up his hands in frustration.

"Like the man said" - Drew nodded at Brian - "marriage doesn't have to mean monogamy."

"It should," Michael persisted. "That's what marriage is for. It's why we're on this ride."

Justin could tell Brian was about to lose his cool, so he stepped in. "No, it's about marriage equality. Everyone should have the right to marry, but how people define a marriage is up to them."

"Hear, hear," Emmett agreed.

"But, Briaaan," Michael whined, "you're the one that said you wanted to be monogamous the first time around. You even refused the trick we arranged for you!"

"Mmm, he was tasty." Em licked his lips.

Michael glared at his erstwhile roommate. "You're not helping, Emmett!"

"Did you ever stop to think," Brian gritted out, "that you arranged a stag party for me but treated Justin like the little wife?"

Justin drew in a breath, shocked to hear Brian say that. Not so much that he'd picked up on it - Brian was incredibly observant - but that it had bothered him and apparently still did. Heck, Justin had played into it himself, stupidly following Michael's lead.

"What do you mean?" Michael asked, his bewilderment plain. "He was right there in Woody's, with the rest of us."

"Maybe," Justin mused, "if you'd offered the trick to both of us, and we'd gone along with it..." He smiled over his shoulder at Brian. "...I would have gotten over my fixation on monogamy. It wasn't even what I really wanted, but I-"

"You weren't the only one." Brian admitted, his voice hitching, "I was so worried about losing you-"

Justin's heart turned over in his chest.

"-that I decided a monogamous marriage was the only way to fix things. Which was pretty fucking dumb since it didn't suit either of us." He lowered his voice, nuzzling Justin's ear and mumbling, "Then I ended up talking a load of crap about ‘only time.'"

Fuck. Justin wished they were already at the campsite, the interview over with, so he could drag Brian off to their tent.

"I still think-" Michael started up again, thankfully cut off by a blast from the ferry as it docked.