What was he thinking?

Justin left for Pratt. He hated to carry that stupid briefcase with all that money around with him, so he had left it at Plexus, in his bottom drawer. The thief had gone through the trouble of getting his direct line at Plexus for a reason. Justin felt pretty confident he wouldn't hear from him until the next day.

He had just started a criticism of a Miro piece as an exercise when his phone vibrated. It was 3:30. He was surprised. Brian usually was very aware of his class hours and did not disturb him. He asked to be excused and left the room. It had not been Brian calling, but a blocked number, and there were no messages left. Justin quickly dialed Brian to let him know he suspected the thief was trying to make contact, but after ringing, Brian’s phone went to voicemail. He must be giving a presentation.

“Hey. I think the guy is trying to call. I was in class. I’m going to give him a few minutes to call back, then I’m going back in.”

He sat down in the corridor, waiting for his phone to ring, thinking of his new painting. He was back to full abstraction. On Sunday, when he had gotten the 5X5 out, it had been obvious what color was needed for a base. It was a golden brown, with specks of green, the exact color of Brian’s eyes. It had taken a very long time to get just right, and Justin still didn’t know where it was going. The phone vibrated. He was hoping for Brian.

“Justin Taylor”

“Why didn’t you answer?” The muffled voice of the thief.

“I was in the middle of class. I came out. I’ve been sitting in the corridor waiting for you to call back.”

“Good. You have the money.”

It wasn’t a question… “No. No I don’t.”

“Don’t lie to me. He went to the bank last night to pick it up. It must be nice to have a rich boyfriend who just hands this kind of cash over on demand.”

“It’s a loan.” Why did Justin feel the need to defend himself? Who gave a shit what that prick thought? “And I don’t have the money here with me right now. I’m at school.”

“You left the money at work?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to lug it around all day. Just tell me when and where you want me to drop it off.”

“Where is it at your work?” Why was he asking this? Was it a test? Justin was not that close to the window, but he supposed he could have been seen from the building across the way with binoculars. That was spooky.

“In my desk. In the bottom drawer.”

“Good answer. That’s where it was. It’s all there. Thank you.”

“Hello? Hello!” Shit! He’d hung up.

Justin called Julie’s direct line.

“Hello?”

“Julie?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Justin. Could you check if there is a briefcase in my bottom drawer?”

“I don’t need to check. Your friend Aidan from Pratt came to pick it up. He seemed so relieved you’d found it. It’s a good thing you had told him exactly where it was since you forgot to tell me he’d be coming for it …Better late than never. He seemed really nice. Nice smile. Is he… more than just a friend maybe?”

“Sorry, I gotta go, Julie. Bye.”

Justin wanted to hit himself. He had been so stupid. Why had he left the money behind? Why did he not at least leave it with Brian? The thief had the money, the paintings, everything… Now he had to tell Brian. He was going to be pissed. Fuck. He dialed. Voicemail. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved.

“Hey. Please call me back. We have a problem…”

He was such a coward. His phone vibrated.

“Justin Taylor”

“You want your paintings back, Justin?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“I have all the cards in my hands, Justin. I could just disappear…”

“I know. Please, please give me back my paintings.”

“I love it when you beg… Take a cab to Lincoln Center. Now! Let Lilah deal with your things.”

Justin dialed Brian frantically as he ran outside.

“The thief wants me to go to Lincoln Center. I’m taking a cab from Pratt. Please call me back!”

He found a cab, and alighted almost twenty minutes later in front of the hall of the philharmonic orchestra with its white columns. It was 4:00 PM. Now what? He waited, sitting on the sidewalk. After fifteen minutes, when he was losing hope, his phone rang.

“Go to Julliard.”

Justin had a vague idea about the general direction but asked a couple of people before getting to the school. There were lots of students around. Why was he here? Was there some meaning to this?

Justin called Brian.

“Hey. I’m at Juilliard. I have no idea what’s going on. He’s just sending me places, and I wait for the next call. Why aren’t you answering? I don’t remember you having a huge presentation today… Please call me back, Brian.”

Once again he sat down and waited, watching the students around him. It was a different crowd than Pratt, they looked... more driven. He was glad Fine Arts was not so competitive. At 4:30, he dialed Brian again, and once again it rang and went to voicemail. As he waited, he tried two more times. It was stupid, because Brian would call back when he could, but he couldn’t help himself.

His phone rang again.

“Get a cab to MoMA, Justin.”

Cabs were plentiful around the area and the Museum of Modern Art was just across Central Park. He got there quickly, leaving a message for Brian to tell him of his change of venue. His phone rang again.

“Go in, Justin. Go wherever you want. Enjoy yourself.”

Justin dialed Brian. “I’m at MoMA. He told me to go in and enjoy myself. I’m getting a bit worried. I think this guy is nuts. I’m going to look at the collections. The museum closes soon anyway.”

Justin walked around looking at the new pieces taken out from the permanent collection. Some he loved, some he hated. He practiced his critique skills on both, remaining distant and neutral, and thought he did a good job. His phone vibrated again.

“Time to go, Justin. Get in a cab.”

He dialed Brian. “I’m leaving. He said to get in a cab.”

Once again finding a cab was easy. He got in and his phone rang. “Go to the McDonalds on Broadway and 71st Street. See you soon, Justin…”

He told the cabbie the address and called Brian yet again. It was 5:00PM.

“Brian, I am going to a McDonalds on Broadway and 71st Street. He said ‘See you soon’. I think he's finally done dragging me all over town and is actually going to be there. What’s going on? Why aren’t you answering or calling me back? I could use some advice here… Bye.”

Well. It looked as if he was on his own at this point. He walked into the McDonalds and ordered large fries and a water. He sat down near the window, munching. The fries tasted really good. Someone stepped behind him and put the briefcase with the money in front of him, then massaged his shoulders. He knew that touch. The man caressed his hair. “It’s so short, Justin. I don’t like it that short. It makes you look so young…” Ethan came and sat across from him.

His hair was longer than it had been, dyed blond, a beautiful dye job, professionally done, Justin thought. They’d even lightened his eyebrows. It looked really natural. His stupid little patch of beard was gone. Ethan chuckled. “I’m going to have to dye my hair back, I have a concert on Saturday, and I don’t think my agent would like my new look.” He was devouring Justin with his eyes. “You look so beautiful, Justin. You’ve lost weight, haven’t you? My prick is hard. You want to feel it? You always turned me on so much. I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”

Justin finally recovered the power of speech. “Ethan? What are you doing?”

Ethan looked away. “I’m sorry I took your paintings, Justin, but... I came to New York to ask you to come home. I’m sorry about what happened with Gary. It was just sex, and just a couple of times. It helped us relax and play better together, you know?”

He reached for Justin’s hand on the table. “I love you, only you, baby. You are my muse; no one can ever take your place in that… I should have told you about Gary. I should have explained it was just for the music. I know you still love me. A love like ours doesn’t just go away. Since you’ve been gone… My playing isn’t the same. No one else notices, but I do. The heart is gone from my violin. I know this was extreme, but your boyfriend wants to keep us apart. Did he even tell you I had come looking for you, baby? He is a fist class asshole. He threatened me, if you can believe that! He pushed me to this extreme. He would do anything to prevent me from speaking to you. Obviously, he knows how you still feel about me, and that you want to come back to me.”

Justin was looking with complete disbelief at Ethan's smiling face. Was he joking? He looked dead serious. Some things needed to be said. He pulled his hand out of Ethan’s.

“Ethan, I know, and you know, that Gary wasn’t the first. You had made promises to me you were unable to keep. You never could resist getting a dick, any dick, up your ass. I did love you once. I even moved to LA to be with you. But by the time I saw you with Gary, there were already some serious problems in our relationship. Your music takes precedence over everything else, and that’s fine. Even now, you are not here for me as a person, you are here for your muse. But I wanted more, Ethan. I needed more. You always thought of my painting as secondary to your playing, and of me as an extension of you. I was not a complete person, and I was not happy. In every aspect of our couple, there were things missing. The whole thing was hollow, only the shell of what it should have been.

“Listen to me, Ethan. I was glad to get out of the relationship. I couldn’t wait to leave LA. I did not love you anymore, and I certainly do not love you now. I don’t even think of you at all. Brian did tell me you were there. I asked him to get rid of you. I have no interest in you, or in ever seeing you again. Whatever fondness may have remained because of what we once meant to each other, you have now effectively destroyed by stealing my paintings and putting me through hell.

“If you have an ounce of decency, you will return them to me. Either way, I never want to see you again.”

Ethan’s face was ugly with disbelief and rage. He pushed the briefcase with the money to Justin. “I don’t want your tainted money. I don’t want his money. Take it.”

Justin took the briefcase off the table and put it next to his chair.

“You stole my muse,” Ethan spat out. “You stole my art, Justin. So I’ll be keeping yours as a compensation.”

“Ethan, you are a great violinist. No one can take that away from you. I stole nothing from you. You will meet someone else, someone who will understand you, another musician perhaps, and you will be much happier than you ever were with me.”

Now Ethan had that face he made when he was trying to get his way, as if Justin was being unfair to him. How could he have ever fallen for it? “It’s been a year, Justin. I have tried to find someone. No one even comes close to you, baby. They want me to top! And even if they don’t, it still never feels like you, like your prick inside my ass. Do you fuck your boyfriend, Justin? He doesn’t let you, does he? He is a top only, isn’t he? Or has he stolen that from me too? Why should he have you and not me?”

Justin's phone rang.

“Justin Tay…”

Ethan had grabbed the phone from him and closed it. And in his other hand Justin was shocked to see he was holding a small silver gun. The phone rang again, three times, before going to voicemail. Then Ethan pressed the off button then hid the gun with his hand.

Around them, things went on as usual. No one had noticed anything.

“Ethan. Is this even a real gun?” asked Justin. “What the hell are you doing? Stealing my paintings is not enough now? What are you going to do, shoot me?” He shook his head. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“I hate your boyfriend. He is arrogant, self satisfied.”

“Because he wouldn’t fuck you?” OK, maybe it wasn’t smart to antagonize him, but he was starting to piss Justin off.

“Is that what he said happened? He’s a liar. He wanted me. I turned him down.”

“You shouldn’t have. He is the fuck of a lifetime.” Justin could feel his temper rising. He had just about had enough of this nonsense.

“Shut up! If I can’t have you, baby, no one can, especially not him.”

“So you are going to shoot me in cold blood, and spend your life in jail. Yeah. That’s realistic. Hey, at least in the big house no one will ask you to top… And you’ll get to do it raw, like you always wanted…” God, Ethan was vile. How had Justin ever seen anything in him?

“Shut up, shut up shut up!”

“Ok then, Ethan. Just fucking shoot me already, or let me go. I have a painting to finish, and you are just as boring as you always were.”

“You don’t think I can do it, do you? I can. And I will unless you do what you’re told. Now, get up, and walk to the door.”

“No. Not unless you tell me first where the hell we are going.”

“I’ve been staying at my grandparents'. But for our reunion I got us a hotel room, a beautiful one, with a bottle of champagne, the pink roses you like, a big king size bed… Well. We’re going to use it. You are going to fuck me until I don’t remember my own name, like you used to do. And if you make it real good maybe I won't shoot you. And if you fuck me enough maybe I’ll tell you where your paintings are. And maybe when you are deep in my ass you will remember how good it can be. Dump that prick and come back where you belong.”

“You know what, Ethan? I’ll take the bullet.” Justin unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his breast. “Do your worst.”

Making a rather bad error in judgment, and to Justin's utter astonishment, the idiot shot him.

It seemed to Justin that after that time no longer followed its normal rhythm. It seemed to accelerate and slow down both at once, which was rather strange.

First there was a loud snapping sound like a branch breaking, and Brian was holding Ethan's gun arm behind his back too far for comfort. Then there was a boom sound, and in slow motion Ethan's face hit the table really, really hard. When he looked back up his nose looked funny, kind of squashed, and then a very bright red paint, as red as blood, just gushed out of it. It was a really pretty color. There was some of the same color on Justin’s own chest and he ran his finger through it, drawing with it on a napkin. What a gorgeous red! He wondered where he could buy some. There was a thump, thump, thump noise, and Justin looked up from his drawing.

Ethan was on the floor, now, Brian on top of him, and his head was hitting the ground. Boy! Was Brian pissed off! Maybe he knew Ethan had been spreading lies about him wanting Ethan and getting turned down. Maybe Ethan had called him baby. Justin giggled.

Justin got up and took off his shirt. He didn’t want any red on it. It was his special shirt. He took off his pants too, because the red was on his belly too, and he didn’t want his favorite pants dirty. He’d just gotten them back from dry cleaning. He had to toe off his shoes to get them off, and took off his socks too, otherwise he’d look silly naked with socks on. Brian liked him naked anyway. Then he went and pulled Brian off of Ethan because he wanted a kiss, and Brian was not even paying any attention to him. Brian looked at him and his eyes got really scared when he saw the red on his chest and belly. Silly Brian. Justin was fine. It was just a little round hole.

“I want a kiss!” he whined, and there were sirens outside. Brian was holding him and it felt good because Justin was really, really cold, but he wasn’t kissing, and Justin was getting mad. “Brian! Kiss me! Now!” And finally Brian’s lips were on his and Brian’s tongue was in his mouth and it was the best kiss ever, it was so good that Justin fainted.

When he came to he was in a hospital, and a clock said 8:00. Brian was sitting in the chair next to his bed, holding his hand, a guilty, concerned, sad look on his beautiful face. Oops. There was blood on hisshirt, and on his tie… Justin had an elastic wrapped around his chest. Seeing his eyes open, Brian smiled at him, and he smiled back. Justin’s cock was really hard.

“I am so fucking horny for you,” he said, and Brian burst out laughing, so Justin took the hand that had been holding his and put it on his erection, to show he wasn’t joking.

“Holy shit, Sunshine. You want me to do something about this?” Brian looked real happy that Justin was horny.

“Oh, yes please.” He loved Brian.

Brian moved the sheet and blanket aside, uncovering a magnificent boner. He licked the head, and sucked the precome oozing out of its slit. Justin moaned. That felt so good. Brian suckled the head of his cock like a man starved, and then swallowed the whole thing to the root, and Justin was in heaven. Brian only had to bob his head two or three times, and Justin came and came and came.

Brian sucked the last drop of his come and put the sheet and blanket back in place. Justin grabbed Brian's shirt and pulled him to him, kissing that wonderful mouth. Then he remembered he had a few questions.

“Why am I here?”

“The fiddler shot you.”

“But he missed, didn’t he?”

“No. But it was an old gun, and an old bullet, and only a 22. The bullet hit your rib, and stayed there. An inch higher or lower, and he would have hit your heart, but even then, the surgeon thinks it wouldn’t have had enough velocity to kill you. You would have bled a lot, and got tamponade, but the EMT’s got there so fast you’d have been all right. As it is, you’ll hardly have a scar. It was a slow day, and there was a plastic surgeon doing a consult in the ER. He went with them when they took out the bullet. He said you had fabulous skin, and he closed you up. It was a little tiny hole anyway. They said you could come home tonight. And if I hadn’t been so scared to lose you I’d kill you myself. ‘I’ll take the Bullet, do your worst?’ What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I can’t believe he shot me! I’m so going to kick his sorry ass! He wanted me to fuck him. I wasn’t going to fuck him. I don’t fuck anybody but you. I love fucking you. Your ass is beautiful and so tight, and you taste so good. Fuck.” Justin giggled. “I’m getting hard again… I didn’t think it was a real gun. I thought it was one of those funny lighters… And Ethan? Shooting someone? He is too chicken shit! The noise alone would make him shit himself…” Justin giggled again. He’d said shit twice. Was he high?

“Well he did shoot, didn’t he. And I already kicked his sorry ass. I thought he missed too, because you didn’t bleed at first and you looked surprised and pissed, but completely fine. Then next thing I know, you’re butt-naked and pulling me off him, and there’s blood on your chest, and you’re incoherent…”

“Incoherent? I wanted a kiss!” He wouldn’t mind one right now…

“You were just making sounds, and your skin was clammy and I thought… I just had to kiss you.”

Silly Brian. He’d thought Justin was dying… "Did I get blood on my clothes?”

“Not a drop.”

Justin leaned back on his pillow, satisfied. “Good.” He looked at Brian. “That’s why I took them off. It’s the shirt you bought me, so it’s special and my favorite Jay Kos pants.”

A man walked in.

“Mr. Taylor, I’m detective Sandoval. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I’m high though. Oops. I mean to say high with legal drugs prescribed by this hospital, sir. Not, you know, high as in illegal drugs. I hardly ever use illegal drugs, sir. Please don’t arrest me.”

The cop chuckled. “A lot better than your would be murdered, that’s for sure. Your partner here did quite a job on the shooter. Dislocated shoulder, dislocated elbow, broken radius and ulna, torn ligaments, broken nose, broken jaw, and skull fracture. He’s going into surgery right now. He said to tell you he was sorry, that he didn’t know the gun was loaded. There might be some truth to that, the magazine was empty, but evidently there was a bullet in the chamber. He also said to tell you he burned the paintings, whatever that means.”

The paintings were gone. Justin bit his lip and buried his feelings about that until later.

“Will he go to jail if I don’t file a complaint?”

“Why wouldn’t you? And yes. Attempted murder is a felony, as is carrying a concealed weapon.”

“He shouldn’t go to jail. He is obviously having some kind of nervous breakdown. He is a violinist, not a murderer.”

“He tried to kill you, Mr. Taylor.”

“My point exactly. He needs serious psychological help, not jail time…”

“It’s up to the prosecutor and to his attorney. Let them figure it out. If the both of you can come to the precinct tomorrow for your depositions, I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Can it be late in the day?” Fuck. He had really wanted to paint. Already today was shot. Oh, ha, ha. He’d made a funny. Shit, they must have given him some painkillers, because he really was a bit loopy.

“Sure. Though you were shot, young man, you might want to take it easy for a few days…” He left. He reminded Justin of Carl, a benevolent father figure.

“Justin, we got…” Brian started. But Justin needed to know.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“It was on vibrate and had fallen out of my pocket in Jason’s car. Justin, that son of a bitch is a lying piece of shit.” Brian took his hand. “Your paintings are safe, we got them back. It was when I wanted to call you to tell you so, that I realized I had dropped my phone and had missed all your calls.” Justin could read the truth in his eyes. His paintings were safe.

He wasn’t sure how it happened, but he was in Brian’s arms hugging him, and being hugged tight, laughing and crying all at the same time. “He didn’t burn them, you’re sure?”

“No. He didn’t, Sunshine. They’re fine.” Oh god, they were safe, Brian had them, and they were all right… And Brian was holding him and caressing his hair and it felt so good to be loved like that.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed both the knowledge he was going to get to show his paintings to Brian, and the caresses. Finally, he took a deep breath. “How did you get them back?”

“I got a look at the security tapes from the day they were stolen, and got the license plate of the van. From what the art teacher had said, Jason and I tracked down the people who had removed the paintings from your storage cabinet. They were just honest guys who thought the job was legit. They told me where they had dropped them off, and since it was in gangland, I recruited LaShaun to find out if anyone had seen where the van they were in went after that. It had been noticed and followed by a Chinese gang, the Green Dragons, and it was in a different gang’s area, the Bronx’s Bloods. It was inside a garage. Probably the fiddler’s grandparents’. Jason and I stole it back, with LaShaun’s help. It’s in Jessica’s parking garage now.”

“You and Jason and LaShaun were doing all this sleuthing and you didn’t tell me any of it?” Bastards. They’d had all the fun.

“I didn’t want to raise your hopes, Justin. It really was amazing luck that we were able to find that van, and bring the paintings back safely. You were not talking about the theft, so I didn’t want to bring it up. I wanted you to deal with it as you saw fit. And this afternoon, I wasn’t sure it was going to amount to anything. You were in class. I try not to call you in class. I figured you’d call if anything came up with the ransom.

“I was calling you to tell you not to worry anymore when I saw all your calls. I’m sorry. I probably should have told you what I was up to all along. Had I gotten your first phone call, I would have told you not to go meet that idiot to pay the money …”

“Well, actually….”

“What?”

“He already had the money when he called. He’d been watching me at work from across the street with binoculars and saw me put the briefcase in my bottom desk drawer before leaving for Pratt. He came in and told Julie he was a friend from Pratt and that I’d found his briefcase and had told him where it was, and she took it out of the drawer and gave it to him… He left with it. I’m sorry. That was so stupid of me.”

“He had the money and still wanted to meet with you?”

“He said the whole thing was a ploy to get to see me. He thought you were keeping us apart, that he could convince me to come back to him. He’s lost his mind. Part of him knew he was fantasizing, because next, he said it was revenge. I’d taken his art, he had taken mine.”

“How did you take his art?”

“He thought of me as his muse. And then, all of a sudden it was about sex, about him not finding a new lover, and wanting me back for that, and if he couldn’t convince me and have me back, no one should, especially you. He really is not in his right mind… The entire time we were together, he cheated on me. That’s how satisfied he was with our sex life… Anyway, that’s when he shot me. Nuts!”

Brian looked at him with a grin. “Well, you are an amazing fuck…”

Justin grinned back, realizing Brian was trying to lighten the mood. “That good, huh?” His cock was hard again.

“I certainly think so…” Brian was caressing his face, his eyes full of love, not lust. It made Justin feel so good. Though a hand job would have been nice as well. It had been fun the other night. He loved sex with Brian. Shit. Did Brian feel the same?

He asked, curious, “If there was anything you could change about our sex life, what would it be?”

He expected Brian to answer that he wanted to fuck raw, or that he wanted to fuck even more. Those would have been his answers… But Brian said, without any hesitation, ”I’d want you to top more.”

“Really?” Justin was completely surprised. At first, Brian had asked for it a lot, and they had almost been equally topping and bottoming, but then he had stopped asking, and Justin had thought the novelty had worn thin, and Brian was back to what he liked. When he fucked Brian, he always felt Brian was indulging him… “But you used to ask for it a lot, and then you stopped asking…”

Watching Brian’s face, he thought maybe Brian had hoped at some point he wouldn’t have to ask anymore, that Justin would get that he really loved it and wanted it a lot. And maybe, when Justin had not gotten it, he had thought Justin just wasn’t that keen on it. But how could he have thought that, when Justin had been a top, exclusively, for years?

Oh, God. Maybe he’d thought Justin wasn’t that keen on it with him. Maybe he thought Justin had liked it with other men better. Oh, fuck. Maybe Brian thought Justin had liked it with Brandon better. No. He was imagining things. It was the drugs talking. Brian was not insecure about sex, any aspect of it. But if he wanted Justin to top more, God, Justin would be thrilled to indulge him.

“I love fucking you, Brian. And I love you fucking me. I certainly don’t want any less of that. I guess it means we are just going to have to fuck a little more…”

“Yes. I think that’s the only solution…” said Brian with a grin.

“I want to go home, I’m so fucking horny. I want to go home and make love, right now.”

“We have to wait for the doc’s OK, and then I promised Jason we’d drop by his mom’s. He was at McDonald's. He got me there in a hurry, and he’s the one who called 911. The EMT’s said it was a flesh wound, that you were in shock but that you’d probably be out tonight.”

As if the surgeon had been waiting behind the door for his cue, he entered without knocking.

“Feeling all right?”

“Fine, but horny as all get out, though. Did you slip some Viagra in my meds by mistake? I also feel a little loopy.”

The surgeon rolled his eyes. ”You’re good to go. There is a transparent second skin over the wound. Leave it alone. I will come off by itself. Don’t eat too much tonight. You might barf.” He turned to leave.

“Doctor?”

The surgeon turned back, a put out look on his face.

“Thank you.”

The surgeon stretched his lips in a completely phony smile and left.

“Lovely bedside manner,” Justin commented.

“That’s why he’s a surgeon. He likes his patients unconscious…” said Brian.

A nurse’s aid came in with a wheelchair. “Use that when you are ready, please.”

“Thanks.”

Justin got dressed, once again feeling great satisfaction that his clothes were spotless. He was not feeling even a twinge from his wound but figured it was probably because the local anesthetic had not worn off. Brian wrapped his arms around him from behind and kissed his neck. Justin turned into his hold and put his arms around him as well, looking up at him.

“I’m going to spank your ass for keeping secrets from me,” he said to Brian.

“I’m going to spank yours for putting $100,000.00 in a drawer that doesn’t even lock, and telling an asshole with a gun to shoot you already…”

“This is going to be fun.”

What they were saying did not matter in the least. What mattered was their bodies, close to each other, their embrace, and the look between them. Brian leaned down and kissed Justin lightly once, twice, and then kissed him again, slipping his tongue inside, claiming his mouth, one hand coming to his neck, the other to his lower back, and Justin understood what he needed, and yielded, all softness and suppleness, molding his body to Brian’s in sweet surrender.

“Justin…Justin…”

“I’m all right, Brian. I’m fine. I’m strong, and I’m lucky, and I’ll never do that again, I swear.”

“I couldn’t… Justin… I can’t…”

Justin got scared suddenly. “Don’t you dare retreat from me, Brian. Don’t you dare build walls between us to protect yourself.” He held Brian’s face in the palm of his hand, wanting so much to convince him. “I love you. I love you.”

“Oh, Justin,” Brian smiled and kissed him lightly again. “I couldn’t if I tried. I wouldn’t know how anymore. I love you. I just want you safe. I am fighting a part of me that wants to keep you locked in the loft, away from every risk. Will you forgive me being overprotective for a couple of days?”

Justin laughed. “You have until Sunday. Then I’ll tell you off.”

Brian chuckled. “Get your ass in that wheelchair, Justin. The sooner we go to Jessica’s, the sooner we get home.”

*****

“Madame and Mr. Jason are in the yellow salon, gentlemen. Please follow me.”

As they approached, they could hear someone playing the piano softly. They entered the ‘Yellow salon’, a nice room with comfy chairs. Jessica was playing Scrabble with LaShaun, and Jason was the one on the piano, a Steinway upright, placed between two windows over the park.

Jessica was on her feet and hugging Justin before he walked two steps into the room. “Justin, I am so glad you are well. Thank you for not dying, I look terrible in black.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” said Justin laughing.

He was surprised that as soon as Jessica had let him go, LaShaun was hugging him as well, sniffling. “You stupid kid, telling some nigger with a gun to shoot you! My Daddy’s dead, my brother’s dead, my best friend’s dead, all from a bullet. Don’t you ever do that again, Justin. Don’t you get dead on me. Who’s going to believe in me if you gone?”

Justin was glad he was not high anymore, because he might have cried too. “The other people in this room for one. But don’t worry. I won’t ever do that again. And don’t you get shot either. That would really piss me off. And thanks for getting my paintings back.”

LaShaun backed off, unashamed to wipe his eyes, and grinning. “You don’t have to thank me for that…” He cracked up. “It was fucking great, working with Starsky and Hutch over here. Let me tell you. It’s a good thing they have day jobs. Criminals they ain’t. I almost peed myself watching them. But they got the job done. Now man, I want to see them paintings. They’ve been over there in the ballroom all evening, and they wouldn’t look at them until you got home. The only one I saw was Jessica’s portrait ‘cause she showed me, and it’s really cool, but she said that’s not your usual style. So come on. Let’s see them.”

Jason had stopped playing the piano, and smiled at Justin. “Yes, Justin, let’s see them.”

Justin couldn’t help but turn to Brian excitedly. “Oh, Brian, come see them. I’m so glad they’re not gone. I think you’re going to like them…”

Once again, he felt like a kid on Christmas morning, unable to contain his glee. They got to the ballroom, which seemed to have been freshly painted white. There were three unadorned walls.

“Come on, you guys, there’s room for all of them, help me set them up against the walls.”

They worked in pairs and soon they were all twelve of them on display. It was amazing, though obviously the lighting wasn’t perfect. Justin still loved it. And as soon as the others started looking at them, he wanted to crawl under a rock.

“I…uh…I’ll be right back.” He left the room. It was so weird. He always felt so self-conscious and embarrassed when showing his work, yet he couldn’t wait to do so. This apartment was amazing. He was pretty sure the painting in the entryway was a Watteau, and along the corridor, there was a Sorollas, a Germain and good god, a Manet. In the corridor! He figured he’d better go back before he was really too embarrassed by the company his paintings were keeping to return at all.

LaShaun was staring at New Years Eve, an unreadable look on his face. Justin joined him. LaShaun said, “I feel it, Justin. I feel it inside. It’s friends, and love, and sex, and dancing, and fun, and joy, and belonging… It’s like I remember it, the best night ever… And I wasn’t there. And the blue one over there? It’s like a good night's sleep somewhere safe. So restful, and comfortable. I want to feel that someday. But they don’t show anything. They’re pretty colors and shapes, but it’s nothing. They just talk to your heart through your eyes. They make me feel things I didn’t know you could feel.” He turned to Justin. “I want out of the life, man. All I know is fear, and hate, and… I want to feel some of this for real before I die.” He was gesturing to the paintings. “I want a different life, a real life.” He pointed to Summertime. “I didn’t even know you could feel that way, that… happy. That’s your life with him, isn’t it?”

“Yes. That’s my life with Brian. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“You wanna know something sad? For me, that’s tonight. These two assholes over there ran off to save you, and said ‘Go to the 26th floor and tell Jessica you’re a friend of Justin, and let her know what’s happening.’ I was like, fuck no! I show up anywhere in this building and I’ll get arrested. I’m about to leave and my phone rings, and it’s Jason. He says, ‘Where are you man? My mom said you’re not there yet. Don’t make a lady wait. And be nice. Take off your do-rag and pull up your pants. She kills people for fun’.”

LaShaun smiled. “I knew he was just shitting me, but now, I have to go, right? I go up, and here she is at the elevator, waiting for me, this really beautiful old white lady, and she is so nice. The place looks like a fancy hotel except better, and we go and sit, and they bring real food, you know, burgers, and she sits on the floor and eats at the coffee table, with her fingers like a normal person, and I never talked so much in my life. I tell her shit I’ve never told anybody. And she tells me stuff, like a friend. Then I tell her about getting the paintings back with those two, and I swear, she just about peed herself too. And she said she’ll tutor me for my GED, that Brian hasn’t got the time really, and then for my SATs. Can you believe her? I get to come here, and study.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Then Jason comes, and tells what happened, and I’m freaking out, ‘cause where I come from, shot means dead, and so she hugs me, then teaches me this cool game where I can use a lot of those words I’ve memorized but can’t place in conversations with my peers, if you know what I mean. And Jason asks what music I like, and hey, he white, so I don’t have to be embarrassed, I say Michael Franks, and he just start playing Tell me all about it. And then you’re there, and not dead, and this.”

He waved at the paintings again. “For me, that’s the best evening ever. I mean I’ve been with girls and shit, and it’s all good, but… it’s gonna sound stupid: you all white and rich and educated, but I feel like I belong, and I don’t have to prove nothing, and I can relax. That’s a first, man.”

Jessica came over, and put her arm around LaShaun’s waist. “LaShaun, dear, come tell me which is your favorite, and why?” LaShaun put his arm around her shoulders, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and pointed to a painting Justin had done a few months before, thinking about Daphne and their friendship.

Jason was walking around, checking the names of the paintings, and no doubt pricing them about ten times what Justin thought they were worth. Brian was looking at The Rainforest, whose real name was Besheert. Justin joined him, and Brian just turned, took him in his arms and kissed him, a deep, wonderful loving kiss. He whispered in Justin’s ear, “I am going to give you everything you want, Justin.”

Justin smiled. When he had painted this he had hoped someday to be enough for Brian, that Brian would stop tricking, so they could go without condoms with each other, and they were on their way there. Next week, they could go get blood tests, and then…

“We can go get tested next Friday morning, after I come back from Vail, if you can drag yourself out of bed…and celebrate Friday night, what do you say?” asked Brian, still whispering in his ear.

Justin kissed him, putting his answer in it, and Brian smiled. They walked to Summertime, where Jason was standing.

“What’s the name of this one?” he asked.

“What would you call it?” asked Justin.

“Now, you know very well this is a very personal question you are asking. But I can tell you, because my answer is so conventional it’s a cliché. Yet, it’s absolutely true. I’d call it Wedding Day. My wedding day was the happiest day of my life, the day I married the most beautiful girl, the love of my life, and my best friend, and the beginning of my married life. I am the happiest married man I know. But of course it’s going to be different for everyone.”

“The old man who stole the painting said he hoped that was what heaven would be like,” said Brian.

“So,” Jason suggested, “A Taste of Heaven?”

“No,” said Justin, smiling at Brian. “This Heaven We Are In…” Brian smiled back, and Jason rolled his eyes, but wrote it down and noted it on the back of the canvas.

“What about the blue one? I just look at it and my blood pressure goes down ten points…”

“Cool Sheets,” said Justin.

“OooooK. You’re the artist…” He wrote it down.

“What about the rain forest over there? I suppose “Rainforest” would be too simple?”

“That’s Besheert.”

“Besheert? What do you know from besheert? That’s a Jewish mysticism concept. What are you? Madonna?”

Justin cracked up. “No. That’s what my friend Lilah said Brian and I were when I was telling her about us.”

Jason nodded, took notes and noted it on the back of the canvas before moving on.

“Why were you telling Lilah about us?”

“She was talking about her and Max wanting to get married. I asked her if she didn’t feel they were too young, that maybe they shouldn’t wait a little. They’re both my age, you know.” Justin wondered why Brian suddenly looked...upset. He really didn’t know Lilah that well. Surely he wouldn’t care if she married too young?

“What did she say?” Brian asked.

“She asked me if I could ever imagine meeting a guy, somewhere, and leaving you. I laughed and told her no. That you and I were two halves of a whole, made for each other. That you were part of me, that I couldn’t imagine life without you. She said that we were besheert. Predestined. Soul mates. That it was exactly what it was like for her and Max. So I told her that if she and Max felt about each other the way I feel about you, then they should definitely go for it and get married, because waiting a million years would not make a difference.”

Brian and he had been facing each other as they talked, and now Brian smiled at him, combing his hair back with both his hands, and said, “My besheert.” He could have been teasing Justin for all his romantic declaration, but Justin didn’t think so. His smile was so genuine and happy. Then Brian grabbed him in his arms and twirled him around, laughing, holding him tight. It was so unexpected and out of character. Brian put him back down, and whispered in his ear, “Let’s go home, my besheert.”

It was late, close to eleven, and Justin was feeling the strain of the day. Jessica’s chauffeur took them home, and it was such a relief to be back at the loft. Justin listened in complete disbelief when Brian left a message for Cynthia that he would not come to work until one-thirty, and for Sam, saying that Justin had been shot, needed a day of rest and would not be back at work until Thursday.

As if he had not done the most extraordinary thing, Brian went on with his nighttime routine, and asked Justin if he was hungry, which he was not in the least. They brushed, flossed, peed, and went to bed. Brian kissed him, blending their minty breaths, and asked, “Is your chest very sore?”

Amazingly, it wasn’t, not much. His rib seemed a little sensitive if he took a deep breath, but otherwise, the flesh wound was just very slightly tender. Brian asked, seriously, “Are you too sore or too tired to make love?” And just like that, every ounce of weariness just left Justin, and he was hard and craving that closeness with Brian. He took Brian’s hand and brought it to his cock as an answer, and Brian’s smile was full of love. He kissed Justin again, and Justin wanted him, wanted to make love to him tonight.

Brian whispered “Fuck me, Justin, fuck me please…”

Justin smiled, and answered, “Oh, yeah…” It felt like it had been a really long time, and he wanted in Brian’s ass so much. He turned Brian on his belly, and just looked at his back and ass and thighs for a while, caressing them lightly. Brian was so beautiful. He spread Brian’s legs, and put some lube on his finger, massaging his anus, admiring the neat, symmetrical folds, pressing in a knuckle, and enjoying the reflexive tightening. Brian’s ass reacted like a virgin’s. He added lube, and slipped in a finger, loving the tight heat. He fucked Brian with that finger for a while, massaging his entrance, very lightly caressing his prostate, enjoying the sight of the white skin of his hand against the dark pigmentation around Brian’s hole. It was beautiful, his tight anus looking as if it was sucking his finger in.

He added more lube, and pushed in two fingers, and up they went slickly and smoothly, into Brian’s ass. Fucking him with two was just as sweet as fucking him with one, but Brian liked it better, letting out a beautiful sigh when Justin passed over his prostate. God, now Justin just wanted to bury his cock in that tight, tight hole…

He took a breath to slow himself down, added more lube, and pushed three fingers in, and concentrated on stretching Brian, kissing the smooth skin of his ass, caressing that beautiful back, suddenly wishing he had fucked him with his tongue first. He loved the squelching noise his fingers made going in, Brian’s panting, the sight of them disappearing into his hole, the warm smoothness of his insides.

“Brian, I love your ass. It’s beautiful, your cheeks are small, tight, perfect. My fingers are just sliding right in your hole now, you’re ready, but I love finger fucking you, watching them disappear inside you. It is so erotic. My cock is leaking though. I can’t wait to put it in. Fuck, Brian, I’m so hard for you. I so love fucking you… Here I come.”

He pulled out his fingers, and guided in his condom-covered cock. Even after three fingers, the head of his hard cock was a stretch for Brian's sphincters. He passed the first one, and the second one held him until he applied some pressure to get through. “Aaaah, fuck, Brian, it’s so good, every time I almost come just popping in.” He slowly pushed into Brian's wonderful soft tight heat all the way and stopped, running his hand over Brian’s flanks and ass, massaging his lower back. Brian was in his favored position when Justin fucked him like this, both his arms wrapped under the pillow, and his forehead resting on it. His rectum and sphincters had relaxed now. “Are you good, Brian, are you ready?”

“Your dick feels so fucking good coming in. I’m ready now, fuck me, Justin, fuck me.”

Justin backed out, and pushed back in, nice and slow, enjoying the smooth tight warmth. He did it again, two or three times, getting his bearings, and then he moved. It always seemed he forgot in between times how good it could feel. Brian’s ass was exquisitely tight, his rectum nice and straight. Justin liked to back out just enough to engage the inner sphincter with the head of his cock, and then slam in again all the way. On the way out, he tilted his hips a little, and the rim of his glans caught and milked Brian’s prostate, a firm, incredibly pleasurable caress. He knew that his control over his motions and that mushroom head of his made him an exceptional top, and now there was only one man to appreciate his talent, and he was going to make sure Brian loved it.

He closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sensations. His pleasure was mounting with each penetration, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. It felt so fucking good, and it was Brian’s ass, and just knowing that was such a turn on. Then Brian started moving with him, arching up when he pushed in, and he knew he only had a half a dozen pushes in him before he lost it. Brian was panting, and moaning with each of his retreats, getting louder and louder. Justin reached for the back of Brian’s neck, and caressed it, scratching his nape lightly, and Brian loved it, “Fuck, Justin… fuck yes, now, now…” He shivered and his whole body contracted with his orgasm. Knowing Brian was coming and feeling the rhythmic pulsating around his cock finished him off, Justin’s orgasm rushed through him like hot lava, filling the condom, feeling so good he wasn’t sure he didn’t want to die right then, in complete bliss.

He lay on top of Brian, catching his breath, kissing his shoulder blades, waiting for Brian’s reassertion of dominance that always came after Justin fucked him. He pulled out carefully, and removed the condom, tying it and throwing it in the bin. Brian rolled him over and lay on top of him, kissing him hard. Justin loved it. He loved to fuck Brian, but he loved his possessive domineering lover. He yielded to the kiss, opening himself to Brian and his demanding tongue, purring in contentment. Soon the kiss changed to a loving caressing one. Brian looked at him, and said, “I love you so fucking much.”

Justin smiled at him. He was exhausted suddenly, and must have looked it, because Brian caressed his face and pulled the duvet over him. He got up and Justin fell asleep in the few minutes it took Brian to clean up. He only partially woke up to snuggle back into Brian’s embrace when he came back into bed, and smiled to himself when Brian’s possessive hand wrapped loosely around his wrist.

To be continued...