The end of a very long day.

Brian couldn’t believe he had asked Justin to move in. Though he had tried not to think too much about it, the thought of spending the night without him once they came back again from Pittsburgh had bothered him, and the logistics of Justin’s responsibilities to his roommates had been nagging at him.

Justin could go home to eat dinner there and clean the kitchen in the evenings, after leaving the studio at Pratt, and come to the loft for the night, going in with Brian to Plexus in the morning, of course. But then what would be the point of his keeping a room there?

Brian loved their ride back to the brownstone after Essengy, but not half as much as he would love the shorter ride to the loft followed by lovemaking…

Of course there were plenty of evenings when he would go out alone, when Justin painted late, or hung out with his friends. Would he rather come home at three in the morning to an empty loft, or find Justin’s warm pliant body asleep in his bed? A no-brainer.

What about Justin’s fattening food in his kitchen, Justin’s messy art supplies left lying on his desk, Justin’s computer and cell phone plugged in under the bed with unsightly cords, his shoes to trip on by the door, his clothes scattered where they fell, his friends hanging out at the loft, his music playing on the stereo, and god knew what else?

They were part of Justin, and he wanted them.

He remembered sitting on Andrew’s bed, working on his computer, hearing the noise of a house with seven people in it. He had liked it, and he could always make one of the guest bedrooms into his own space if necessary.

Another idea came to mind, fully formed. He could make the other bedroom, the one with the larger window, into a studio for Justin. More glazing could be added, and it already had water in the small bath, and it had high ceilings…

He had promised himself he would not bring up the possibility of Justin moving in now, that they could see how it worked with the present situation, and talk about it before his next quarter started. No pressure.

He’d certainly fucked that up.

Patience had never been his forte. He saw something he wanted, he went after it. But this was ridiculous. They had only been together for ten days (so why was it so hard to recall life without Justin?).

It was too rash a decision, much, much too soon. Justin was smart. He would be the voice of reason and ask to wait a little.

God, Brian really hoped not…

He laughed at himself as he alighted from the cab. With Justin, he’d found joy where before there had only been pleasure. Brian had entrusted him with his heart and now he cared, instead of staying aloof. Before, Brian had been satisfied with his life; now, he was… happy. He’d gone completely lesbianic. So fucking what? He was taking a chance on love.

The 34th floor Gym occupied a whole story, yet it seemed quite small suddenly, invaded by the camera crew and the different employees of Plexus needed there for one reason or another, all wearing city clothes. In the middle of it was Brandon, looking a little worn out. Jessica was there also, sitting on a workout bench, making it look like the most comfortable settee, chatting with Erica, looking around at the different apparatus.

Brandon smiled at him when he walked in, and Brian smiled back. He realized Brandon was probably relieved to see a familiar face, but found that he had started to genuinely like the man and think of him as a friend. Brandon was sitting at a chest press, obviously waiting for the filming to start. He went and sat across from him, on the adductor machine.

“Sick of it yet?” he asked with a grin.

“Bored. It’s hurry up and wait. The lighting’s all wrong apparently. Makes me look green.” He chuckled. “Nice gym, though. You work out here?”

“Yes, at lunchtime.” He smiled. “Then I get a blow job in the steam room, and I’m ready for the afternoon.”

Brandon burst out laughing. “Do you always find takers?”

“It’s a big building. The Gym is gentlemen only, and the gay magazine “Homme” has its offices from the twelfth to the fifteenth floor… and of course, I have a magnificent cock.”

Once again, Brandon laughed, hard.

“See the short guy over there, who looks like a miniature Matt Dillon? He has a mouth like a tree frog’s. He’ll take your cock and your balls in there.”

“Brian, that’s not even physically possible!” still laughing.

“I guess that’s for me to know, and for you to find out,” answered Brian, grinning. “Maybe you should have a steam after your workout…”

Brandon was still chuckling when Adam announced the lighting was now OK, that everyone not in workout clothes needed out of the frame, and that Brandon should do ‘whatever one does with those machines’.”

As a male dancer, Brandon needed terrific upper body strength. Ballerinas counted on him for secure, controlled lifts, and in moves like the ‘Pas de Deux’, any weakness could be dangerous, never mind ruining the show. Considering his leanness, the amount of weight he worked out with was impressive.

There was not an ounce of fat on his body and the movements of his muscles could be perfectly seen under his skin. But once again, watching the takes, they realized he looked too perfect, too focused, and too alone. He needed a work out buddy.

They looked around the gym for a potential candidate until Jessica spoke up.

“Mr. Kinney, aren’t you a member of this establishment? Wouldn’t it be more comfortable, and therefore look better on film if Brandon actually knew the person with whom he works out? You two seemed to be having a lovely time together earlier. Isn’t that what’s needed? Someone with whom he can joke and laugh as he does these tedious exercises?”

Once again, she looked absolutely innocent, but he knew she was laughing at him. It was payback time. Everyone was looking at Brian.

“Dude, you’d be perfect. Same skinny ass build, dark to contrast his light. Totally rad,” was Spaz’s take on the idea. “And no worries, mate. No facial shots. You’re too good looking. We don’t want to distract from Brandon. Just the back of your head and your bod.”

Brian knew when to be gracious. He went and changed, picking his darkest workout clothes.

They ran on adjacent treadmills for a while, asked to go the same speed and use the same stride. It was kind of fun.

“You have a very lithe built,” commented Brandon. “How old are you?”

What the hell. The truth will set you free. “Thirty-four.” God. He was ancient.

“Your body looks ten years younger, you know?” Brandon said, “When tall guys have just finished growing but have not bulked up yet? What do you eat to keep that look?”

“Practically nothing,” answered Brian, and that was the pathetic truth.

Brandon laughed. “I believe it. The early twenties are a hard period for male dancers. We need the bulk, the muscle mass, and it feels like it’s never going to come. It seemed I ate nothing but tuna by the pound and cottage cheese by the quart, while working out like a fiend for three years, to bulk up.”

“Your body is perfect now,” said Brian.

“Perfect for what I do. It’s a work in progress, but nature was good to me. I have perfect symmetry, perfect proportions, nice height, and long muscles. Those things you are either born with, or you never have. Well that’s not true. You can correct symmetry a little.”

“Guys, let's stop the treadmills. Erica is going to sweat you up with her water bottle, and then we will do a sequence at much higher speed, like a four-minute mile, for one minute. Then the treadmill stops and you guys high five. OK?”

Erica came with two bottles: One to spray their clothes in strategic areas, and an Evian mister for their exposed skin and to wet their hair. They looked like they had just finished a long race.

“This is much easier than my usual work out,” joked Brandon to her.

“And I bet you smell better than you usually do, too!” said Erica.

“That too,” he conceded. “Though good clean sweat can smell nice.”

“Such a guy thing to say!” Erica rolled her eyes.

Brian thought about how much he enjoyed the smell of Justin’s clean sweat, the taste of it, the smell of his crotch and the taste of his ass…

As they got back on the treadmills, Brandon smirked at him. “Thinking about Justin’s smell, Kinney?”

Brian was sporting an impressive boner, something he was never embarrassed about. “About the taste of his ass, actually,” replied Brian. “But that’s probably another guy thing…”

The treadmills started and they were running all out, though Brian was grinning, and Brandon was still laughing. A short minute later, they did their high five, and walked away, towels with the Clearlife insignia around their necks, bottles of Clearlife vitamin water in their hands.

“That was perfect, guys. How about some abs?”

It took another hour for them to have all they needed. Brandon and Brian headed to the showers.

A naked Brandon was a thing of beauty and Brian did not even pretend not to look. Brandon did not keep his eyes down either. Brian was gorgeous in his own right.

“What is it about him?” said Brandon, as they were toweling themselves off.

Brian knew exactly who ‘him’ was. 5’9”, only a shade of muscle definition, a bubble butt and legs more muscular than his torso.

“I’m not sure,” he answered pensively, “but I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my life.”

“Me neither,” answered Brandon ruefully.

Brian wondered, not for the first time, what had happened between the two of them. He knew about the blowjobs in the backroom, but had a feeling there might be more than that. Though sexual jealousy did not seem to be much a part of his make-up, he had certainly felt serious twinges of it about Justin. Now, he was interested to note that knowing Brandon and Justin had probably fucked only made him feel more sympathy for Brandon.

They returned to Plexus at 7:00 and went directly down to the Art Department. The movie editing computer and the large screening screen had been brought into the large work room. There was a bit of a spread, with turkey sandwiches, hummus, cottage cheese, and fruits, all of it oriented to Brandon’s requirements, with not a lick of mayonnaise or olive oil in site. That suited Brian just fine and he grabbed half a sandwich.

Justin wasn’t there. Brian dialed his cell number. It rang, then went to voicemail. Perhaps it had been at the bottom of his bag, and he’d not had time to reach it. He pressed redial. Ringing, voicemail. Could he have left it at ho… at the loft? Maybe he had headphones on and couldn’t hear it. But he had it on the ring/vibrate combo. Ringing, voicemail.

He closed his phone, which vibrated immediately and almost gave him a heart attack. He flipped it open.

“Justin?”

“You know Brian, there are other people who own cell phones in the world beside Justin.” It was Cynthia. “I walked over to Mansoor’s to get ice for the drinks (Where the hell is Sarah when one needs a slave girl, by the way?), and I’m stuck in the lobby. One of the elevators is stuck on 3, and you know that’s Alan, blocking the bloody door while he gives Betsy his last minute instructions, for forty-five minutes. The other seems stuck between the lobby and 2. I almost got on that one, but that asshole Phil from Legal let the door close, when I know he saw me coming. I cannot believe I actually went out to dinner with that prick.”

“Phil? Are you sure?”

“Which part of ‘went out to dinner with that prick’ did you miss, Brian? Yes. I know Phil. He is in the elevator, apparently stuck between here and two, and the stairs’ door in the lobby can only be opened from the inside, so get yourself down here and let me in. That ice is cold.”

“How did he get in?”

“What?”

“How did Phil get in?”

“Oh. Justin arrived in a cab and Phil was waiting by the door. He probably forgot his card. Justin let him in. I was across the street but the light changed and I was able to cross. The elevator doors were just starting to close when I got in. Phil totally saw me but closed them anyway. Now he’s stuck. Serves him right.”

“Justin’s in there with him, Cynthia.”

“Poor Justin, stuck in there with that prick.”

“With that extremely homophobic prick whom I fired and had escorted out of the building by security this morning. What's Dwayne’s extension?”

“Oh, shit!…3616, I think. No! 3816. 3816, Brian, I’m sure.”

Brian felt sick. He would not panic. Elevators got stuck all the time (but then people pressed the emergency bell…). Phil did not know who Justin was (but Justin was not answering his phone…).

“Hello?” Oh, for fuck's sake!

“Yeah.”

“Dwayne, this is Brian Kinney from Plexus. I need you to use your override key on one of the elevators that seems to be stuck between the lobby and the second floor.”

“There hasn’t been any bell, or any call. Are you sure?”

“Dwayne, I'm sure. Where do the elevators go when you use the key?”

“Down here.”

“Down here where, Dwayne?”

“Well, the garage, of course.”

“Go to the elevator. Use the key, NOW. I’ll be right down.”

Brian had been jogging for the stair’s door and now started going down, the sole of his Gucci loafers sliding on the bare, smooth concrete. As he passed the lobby, Cynthia was banging on the door and he opened it for her, not waiting to see if she actually got in. He almost killed himself on the last flight, and once in the garage, ran to the elevators, his leather soles still sliding. Cynthia, her pumps in her hands, was right with him. Above a couple of car roofs, he could see the door of the elevator opening, then he heard Dwayne, “Get off of him, get off!” then the sound of a fist on flesh and of a body hitting the cement.

As he came in view of the elevator, his brain took in every detail of what he was seeing.

Justin, lying on his stomach at the bottom of the elevator, pulling his hand out of his carrier bag and standing up on wobbly legs, his unbuttoned pants showing white underwear. His face and shirt were all bloody, crimson running out of his nose. He wiped his hands on his thighs, buttoned his pants and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He was all right. He was all right.

Brian stepped in the elevator and reached for him, but Justin batted his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” he said in a shaky voice.

Cynthia removed the emergency key from the lock and handed it to Dwayne, stepped in the elevator with a trembling Justin and a stunned Brian. Her hand in the middle of his chest, she pushed Brian back, shaking her head “No” and said, “Justin, you're bleeding all over.” Staring at Brian, she added, “Let’s go to the Lady’s Lounge on the 3rd floor. There is an emergency kit, and we’ll take care of that.”

The doors closed. Phil was on the cement floor, out like a light.

“He was on top of that sweet blond kid that always says hello,” said Dwayne. “I think he was trying to take his pants off. D’you think he wanted to… you know? That boy was fighting him like a lion. He may be a pansy, if you know what I mean, but he was not gonna let it happen, and that’s for damn sure…”

Brian dialed 911 to report an assault, and mentioned the perpetrator was unconscious in the garage. They were sending a car, and an ambulance. Brian did not want to wait. He wanted to be on the 3rd floor, waiting for Justin.

He called the elevator, and apparently Alan must have concluded his nightly instructions because it came almost immediately.

Before stepping in, he said, “Thank you, Dwayne. Thanks a lot. Please wait for the police. They should be here any minute. If you can avoid it, could you not mention that Mr. Taylor’s fly was open, and that it’s possible Phil was trying to take advantage of him? I think we should let Mr. Taylor decide whether to mention it or not.”

“Sure, Mr. Kinney. I know how some of them cops feel about pansies. They’d probably say the kid was asking for it. I won’t say nothing ‘bout that. Let the boy decide what to say. You’d be his… good friend then, Mr. Kinney?”

“Yes I am.”

“You’re a lucky man, then. He’s a very nice young fella. Polite. I like the ladies, myself, but I can tell a good guy when I see one, pansy or not.”

“Yes. I’m very lucky.”

The doors closed and Brian started shaking. ‘He’s all right, he’s all right…’ He mentally slammed the door shut on the “what could have happened” chamber of Hell, and concentrated on recalling Justin getting up, a little shaky but looking mad as hell, and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Justin was only 5’9”, and less than 150lb, Phil was as tall as Brian, 6’2”, 6’3” and big, 190, 200lb. How long were they in there? Long enough for Cynthia to lose her patience and call him. Ten minutes? Fifteen minutes?

The doors opened on the third floor. Contrary to the impression he’d given Betsy, he knew perfectly well where the staff room was. Attached to it was the Lady’s Lounge. When your personal assistant tells you she wants a lounge, and you depend on her as much as Brian depended on Cynthia, or Paul on Emily, you said, “How large?” When the bill for the furnishings topped that for your own office, you said, “I’m so glad you have a comfortable place to relax,” and if there was a weekly bill for Evian water, fresh fruit, fresh flowers, and Godiva chocolates, you just signed it with a smile. These women routinely worked ten to twelve hour-days, and deserved everything they got.

He went into the staff room, and started pacing. The Ladies’ Lounge had a keypad. He did not know the code. Then he noticed the door was held open by the tall heel of a red soled pump. He got close.

“Stop moving, Justin, keep your head back!”

“Sorry, I’m just full of adrenaline. That fucker!”

“I know.”

“He was so fucking big, so fucking heavy!”

“And such a prick. Don’t forget the prick part.”

Justin let out a shaky laugh. She had him laughing.

“You look like you butchered a hog,” she said.

“I was trying for that look.”

“Good job, then.”

“You know what gets me? Now everybody is going to say: ‘Poor little Justin’, like I’m a victim or something.”

“He did attack you, Justin.”

“I know. And I could kiss Dwayne for getting the fucker off my back, but now he… now people are going to look at me differently, see me as weak.”

“You mean Brian.”

“No, I mean… Yes. Brian. Thank god he asked me to move in before this, and got me free cabs on my contract yesterday, because otherwise, how would I have known he wasn’t doing it to watch over me, to protect me?”

A feminine peal of laughter. “He asked you to move in! Oh, I am going to make him eat so much crow!!”

“I’m so glad my woes amuse you…”

“Sorry. He’ll be a little overprotective. You scared the piss out of him; it’s normal. Give him a week, and then, if he’s still doing it, tell him off…”

There was silence for a moment, then, “He’s the same height as Phil, isn’t he?”

“…Yeah.”

“And he is… forceful, his personality is domineering…”

“…Yeah.”

“But he’s not like Phil, is he, Justin? He loves you.”

“I know that Cynthia.”

“I know you know that. In your head. In your heart. But in your gut…”

“Yeah. I pushed him away.”

“You needed space. You needed to calm down. He was tall and he was going to hold you. He’ll understand.”

“That fucking prick!”

“Hopefully, we are back to Phil?”

Justin’s laughter again, more relaxed this time.

“Yeah. We are. I don’t want to fear the man I love because of him. I don’t want the man I love to see me as a helpless victim.”

“Fat chance of that. He saw what I saw.”

“Yeah, me, on the fucking floor, helpless and bleeding.”

“No, you, on the floor, fighting tooth and nail and reaching into your bag.”

“You saw that, eh?”

“What’s in your bag, Justin?”

“My Exacto-knife. The big one.”

“Good thing for Phil that Dwayne opened that door then. Saved his ass.”

“He was pissing me off.”

Another peal of laughter. “Remind me not to piss you off. We’re done. You’re not bleeding anymore. Put this on. It’s Betsy’s.”

“She went to Dartmouth?”

“Yes. Emily and Dianne went to Radcliff.”

“You?”

“Bryn Mawr”

“Wow. The women behind the men…”

“Yep. Half the population, all the brains…”

“Hey!”

“I know, Justin, the truth hurts.”

They laughed again, amidst chair noises, and Brian opened the door just enough to push her shoe all the way in.

Then he went and sat next to the coffee machine. Justin saw him and smiled, a real Justin smile, and then said, “Ouch,” and pressed a Kleenex to his lip.

Cynthia shook her head, “Thanks, Brian. There goes all my hard work.”

Justin was completely clean, not a trace of blood on him, and except for a small cut in his lip, he looked completely unhurt. Brian got up, and Justin walked into his arms, holding onto him fiercely.

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t want to put blood on your suit.”

Brian went along with it. “I truly appreciate that. It’s my favorite.”

“Cynthia thinks I might have black eyes tomorrow, though we iced the shit out of my nose.”

“Yeah. Good thing I had that ice…” she commented.

Brian looked at Justin’s face. His nose and cheeks were a bit red, but not terribly so. He put a feather light kiss on his lips.

“You can adopt the gothic look for a few days, and no one will notice.”

Justin laughed: “Yeah. My hair color is perfect for goth…”

Brian’s phone rang.

“Kinney.”

“Officer Hamill, sir. We are here about the assault. We talked to Mr. Cussac, he said you witnessed it as well, with a lady, and that you’d know where the alleged victim is.”

“Yes, officer. We are all on the third floor. Please come up to my office.”

“Go on,” said Cynthia, “I’ll bring them in.”

Brian and Justin walked to his office, Brian’s arm on his shoulders. As soon as they closed the door, Brian hugged him tight, breathing in his scent.

“I was so fucking scared…”

Justin just hugged him back.

“I want to kiss you but I don’t want to hurt your cut…” said Brian.

“Well, you could always suck my cock instead…”

There was a knock on the door.

“Damn, one more minute and I had you right where I wanted you,” said Justin.

Brian chuckled as he opened the door.

Officer Hamill was a petite black woman with a no nonsense air about her. Her partner was twice her size, black as well and very dark skinned, but with striking light hazel eyes.

She looked around the room, and her eyes stopped on Justin.

“You're the victim?”

“I’m the one who was attacked,” corrected Justin.

“Well, that big boy in the hospital sure messed with the wrong man, didn’t he?”

Her partner laughed quietly, his big frame shaking.

She took out her moleskin booklet. “I just finished talking to the receiving nurse at Columbia general.” She read off the page. “Three broken metatarsals, a broken astragal, that’s his foot apparently,” she translated for them, “two broken ribs, a broken nose, a broken jaw, Mr. Cussac claims the jaw as his handy work, and my favorite, one burst testis, being surgically removed as we speak… He’ll be in the hospital for at least 72 hours.”

She looked at Justin. “You took a couple self defense classes, didn’t you, son?”

“I was bashed when I was seventeen. I went to the classes sponsored and taught by the Pittsburgh police force for two years after I got better, as part of my therapy.”

“Thought so. I recognize all the injuries.”

She turned her back to her partner who grabbed her from behind and pretended to stamp her foot hard on top of his. He said “foot,” she swung her elbow back, “ribs.” He let go of her and brought his arms protectively to his chest, she turned to kick her right foot crotch height, “balls,” he said and folded his body in half, holding his genitals. Her hands on the back of his head, she swung her other knee up, ”nose” he said, and fell to the floor in the fetal position.

“Your teachers would be proud. You did everything right,” she said, helping the big guy back up.

“He was supposed to be out of commission!” said Justin, annoyed. “That’s why I turned away to ring the alarm. He jumped on my back and flattened me. I fell on my bag.” He pointed to his lip.

Big guy explained, “He would have fainted in a few more minutes, but he had two grams of alcohol in his blood. His brain didn’t know he was hurt yet.” He sounded just like Barry White.

Justin nodded. “I could smell the booze as soon as he came on. I ignored him, figuring he’d leave me alone. He grabbed me from behind, called me a little faggot, ripped my fly open and said I’d gotten my job by sucking cock, and that if I liked it so much, he’d be glad to put his prick up my ass.”

Agent Hamill shook her head. “Well. We’ll pile on the charges.”

“Will it go to court?”

“Truthfully? Probably not. First offense. They’ll bargain it down. But if we charge him with enough he’ll do some time.”

She gave each of them a card. “Please come in tomorrow and review your deposition. We can talk to you then or we can talk to you now,” she said to Brian and Cynthia.

“Now,” said Cynthia.

“Tomorrow,” said Brian.

“Do you need me anymore?” asked Justin. “I’d like to get back to work.”

“No. See you both tomorrow. I’ll be in from one to four if you want to see me, otherwise your case number is on the card.”

“Thanks.”

As they were leaving, they heard Officer Hammil say to Cynthia, “That’s a really nice painting. I like the one in the lobby, too. Feels like the city, you know?”

Justin and Brian looked at each other and Brian said, “A woman of excellent taste.”

In the elevator, he smiled at Justin and caressed the side of his face. Justin turned into his hand and kissed his palm, and Brian, stupidly, felt like crying. He took a deep breath.

“Brian,” said Justin, softly, putting his hand on top of Brian’s, ”I’m all right.”

Brian pulled him against his body and kissed the top of his head.

The doors opened. When they exited the elevator, they found Dwayne, waiting with Justin’s bag.

“Poked my head in there,” he said pointing to the Art Department’s workroom, “didn’t see you there. I figured I’d wait.”

“Thank you so much, Dwayne. That was very thoughtful of you,” said Justin.

“What’s going on in there? You’re all here mighty late,” Dwayne asked.

“We’re making a commercial,” said Justin.

“Like for TV?”

“Yes. For TV.”

Dwayne looked very impressed.

Dwayne had worked for the building for over twenty years, as far as Brian knew. He had a small apartment on the premises, somewhere in the basement, and was always around. For example, tonight, Brian had had no doubt Dwayne would be available to help open the elevator. He made a quick decision.

“Dwayne, it’s top secret, but if you can keep it to yourself, you can come in and watch,” he said.

“Scout's honor,” said Dwayne looking pleased as punch, crossing his heart.

He walked in with the two of them, looking around. Brian found a spot where he could see the big screen, and not be in anyone’s way. Brandon, who was drinking some water at the impromptu buffet, saw Justin and made his way in their direction. Brian smiled at him, telling Dwayne: “Stay right there. Mr. Taylor will introduce you to the star before they both have to go to work again.”

Brian joined Sam near the large screen where the takes were showing.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“A long and painful story. How is it going?”

“Good. You weren’t missed. We’ve been choosing shots. Not easy, too many good ones. We have enough for a two-minute spot. We’re going to cut it, and then from it make the thirty-second one. You weren’t here. I made an executive decision.”

“I do have a phone.”

Brian looked towards Justin. He was laughing with Dwayne and Brandon.

“Well, considering you weren’t answering, it wasn’t much use. Were you in the garage or something?”

“Yes, actually, I was. And a two-minute spot is a great idea. If it’s really good, I should be able to sell it to them, for use after the Rose Bowl, when minutes are cheaper.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” He added, “We have to tape some “Deep thoughts” from Mrs. Hammon, but we don’t have a writer. You want to take a crack at it?”

“Let me talk to her.”

Justin had come forward and was watching Spaz and Adam working on a computer. He looked fine. Brian needed to relax.

Jessica, like Dwayne, was watching everything from a spot out of the way, except that she was in Sam’s extremely comfortable leather chair, and drinking some Perrier water with ice. Brian called Steven, the sound specialist, over.

“Mrs. Hammon.”

“Mr. Kinney.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely.”

“We need you and your Grandmother again, I'm afraid. Steve, here, needs to record voice-overs, general comments about Brandon that have nothing to do with the images per se, but are appropriate in a general sense, mostly about how special he is. In the jargon, we jokingly call them, ”Deep Thoughts”, because they sound good, but don’t mean much. They are the equivalent of the journalists’ sound bites.“ He turned to re-introduce Steve. “You’ve seen Steve working today, along with the cameraman. This is different. He will just be taping your voice.”

Justin and Spaz were talking animatedly, pointing at the screen. Justin looked excited, probably learning something new.

“Brian, we don’t have a script yet,” said Steve, bringing him back.

“I know. I’m supposed to write it, but I think if I give Mrs. Hammon a theme, she can probably improvise. It will sound more genuine.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work…”

Jessica’s eyes were shining. “Oh! Let’s try it, shall we?” To Steve: “I’m an attorney. You would be surprised at the bullsh… the improvised words of wisdom we come up with on demand. I can think on my feet.”

Steve shrugged. Brian said: “Ready?” Both Jessica and Steve nodded.

Brian thought for a second, watching Justin smiling and gesturing to describe something.

“Poetry in motion,” he said.

“Go!” said Steve.

"Poetrrry in motion! I think always: what a stupid English exprrression! Poetrry is poetrry! motion is motion! Then one day, I see Brrrandon dance… And I think…. Oh! So… that’s what it means! Because that’s what he is: Poetry in motion!

“Cut! ... Eh,” said Steve. “That's really good! Great delivery!”

Jessica smiled. “Thank you.” Then her face lit up. “I have another one! Oh, it’s really over the top!! You’ll love it.”

“Go!”

“The firrst time I see Brrrandon on stage I think: Dance? I neverrr danced. Now this is dance. He rrredefines grace. He rrredefines control. He rrredifines BALLET!”

“Cut!” The three of them laughed.

“It’s the accent,” Steve said. “What you say is totally cheesy, but the way you say it, we think: Oh, it’s that passionate, fiery Russian temperament… That was great. You must be a kick ass lawyer!”

“I had my moments.” Brian was surprised to see her cheeks pink with pleasure at the compliment. “I’m retired, now.”

“You didn’t sound retired this morning,” Brian said. “You had them chasing their tails.”

She laughed. “It was fun. I was this close to getting him the Plaza!”

Brian smiled, “Sad, but true…”

Adam joined them with Brandon. “Tomorrow, we do the interviews. We might need you again if you are willing, Ma’am.”

“It will be my pleasure,” she said.

“Mr. Bloomquist and yourself can call it a night, then. We'll have the set ready, and start at… What do you think, Kinney?”

“We’re doing the set tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Eight then.”

“Is eight all right Ma’am, Mr. Bloomquist?”

“Eight is fine.”

“Yes. Fine.”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure how much we will use you, but it will be nice to have you around if need be. Thank you so much for today. You are entitled to payment for the acting job. There are different scales. A non-speaking extra, like the piano player, is on one scale, small acting parts on another. Monica, over there, can tell you your number of hours, and your pay scale for both your acting bit, and for your voice-overs. If you are already a SAG member, you are on a different scale altogether…”

“I am happy to do it on a volunteer basis, to help out,” said Jessica.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“Then Monica will have a form for you to sign. You were excellent, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“See you tomorrow, then.” Adam went to join Spaz at the computer.

“Brandon, dear, I would be happy to drop you off,” offered Jessica,” and pick you up at your hotel in the morning, if you wish.”

“I’d appreciate it. I was up early, and it’s been a long day. Give me a couple of minutes? I want to talk to Brian for a moment.”

They walked to the buffet.

“Is Justin OK?” asked Brandon.

“Yes, why?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Kinney. He has a split lip, and you smell like fear. I’ve been watching you. You keep checking on him.”

Brian reminded himself that, though Justin was his, he was not the only man here who loved him.

“He was attacked in the elevator by a homophobic ex-employee with a grudge. Justin beat the crap out of him. The guy is in the hospital having a burst testis removed. He has seven broken bones as well. Justin fell on his bag and split his lip. I’d realized they were in the elevator together. The guy had stopped it between floors. He is 6’2”, 6’3”, 190, 200lb. I was scared shitless. Unnecessarily, evidently.”

“Holy crap!”

“Yeah. The big homophobe picked on the wrong little blond faggot. Justin’s fine.”

“Are you?”

“I will be.”

“Thanks. For telling me.”

Brandon went to say goodbye to Justin, then went back to Jessica, offered her his arm, and they left, having an animated conversation.

Justin was now sitting with Spaz and some other member of the filming crew whose name Brian didn’t remember. Justin was holding the mouse, following the crewmember’s instructions. They were working on a small screen, but what they were doing was showing on the big one. They were cutting and joining scenes together, apposing the rehearsal moves and the stage moves.

The angles were the same, the speed of motion was the same, the lighting direction was the same. It was as good as it gets. Justin was having fun with the Fouete en tournant, changing from one to the other on every turn. Spaz’s colleague looked excited at the idea. Justin was gesturing and asking a question, and pretty soon, Brandon’s clothing was changing color every two turns, yellow scene costume, yellow workout clothes, orange costume, orange clothes, red costume, red clothes. It looked very cool. They switched back to the true colors. It didn’t look half as exciting. They went back and did it for all the jumps, the Jete in blue, the Pirouette in purple, a move Brian did not recall the name of in green. The similar colors emphasized further the similarities between the moves, the perfection of execution. It was brilliant.

He looked back from the large screen to the computer where Justin was working with the cameraman and his colleague. They were laughing. Spaz called the director over, and showed him the difference the color change made. Adam looked happy, and clapped Justin on the back. Brian felt an absurd burst of pride in Justin. Anything visual, Justin could improve.

He hated to disturb him, but he needed his extra sketches of Brandon and those of Jessica, the ballet teacher. He’d had this idea for the interview set, and Sam had liked it. They were using Erica’s makeup station and making it look like Brandon’s changing room at the theater. They needed to reduce the exposed area of the mirror, to give the camera greater range without appearing in the reflection.

It was usually done by putting pictures, programs and so on under the frame all around the mirror, as if the performer used it as some kind of scrapbook. It was such a cliché, people were always surprised when visiting real changing rooms to find the mirrors completely free of clutter. Brian wanted to use Justin’s sketches, and then during the interviews, which were supposed to appear to be unplanned, unscripted conversation, the camera could break the monotony of the shot by focusing on the sketches, with the voices then on voice-over.

It would be quick, the final commercial being only thirty seconds, at least originally, but it was amazing how much you could fit into that time, or at least suggest was there. There would be bottles of vitamins and supplements in every frame, but just as the vitamin drinks at the gym, and the energy drinks at Brandon's practice were seen and used but not spoken of, they would not be mentioned. Only at the very beginning, and at the very end of the commercial would the name Clearlife be spoken, though it would be seen continuously.

“Taylor, sorry to interrupt. We need the sketches of Brandon and of Mrs. Hammon you drew this morning.”

“Sure. They’re in my bag.”

Justin got up, and they went to where Dwayne was still standing, staring at the big screen, fascinated. Justin got his pad out and carefully removed the drawings required. He was about to close the pad when Brian stopped him. He looked at the drawing of himself on the phone, and was reminded anew that he was loved by this amazing young man. He looked at Justin, who was blushing and smiling at him almost shyly, his eyes full of love, and Brian smiled back, wishing he was capable of saying the words that filled his heart.

He and Sam worked on the set, and then he wrote the script for the interview, wondering how Brandon would do. Perhaps they should just ask him the questions and see what his natural answers were like, and only script them if that didn’t work.

Spaz and Adam worked out the camera angles, and filmed the shots of the sketches to be inserted later.

Brian went back to the main room to find Justin still working with the guy whose responsibility apparently was to edit the movie.

They played the two-minute spot, which had forty-seven seconds of blank space interspersed throughout, and the thirty-second spot, which only had nine free seconds left. So far, they were totally amazing. Better than the Raines commercials, which was unbelievable.

Justin pushed back from the computer desk and stood up, stretching. Brian couldn’t wait to get him home. He walked over, remembered the guy’s name just in time and said, “They look great, Chris. Can’t do much more tonight.” Then he asked Justin, “Taylor, where do you live?”

“Uh… Tribeca, for now.”

“Good. I want to talk to you about the St Blanche winery project. Tribeca’s on my way. We can share a cab and talk about it. Meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”

Brian went up to his office, picked up his coat and his computer bag and headed down to the lobby.

Justin was outside and had hailed a cab. They got in, unconsciously taking their usual position. Brian sighed. He loved holding Justin.

“Do you know what Chris said when you left?” asked Justin. “He said, no wonder they call him the Asshole. He wants to share a cab to talk about work? It’s not as if you haven’t had a fourteen-hour day already…”

Brian had to laugh. “Good. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Your evil work persona turns me on,” said Justin. ”When we get home, I want you to fuck me. Hard.”

Brian didn’t know which was better. That Justin had just slipped and called the loft ‘home’ or that he wanted to fuck after such a long day. His cock didn’t care. It had heard the word fuck and reacted predictably.

Justin said softly, but clearly, “I’m going to kneel on the bed with my head on my arms and my ass up in the air, my knees spread, and you are going to eat my ass until I can’t take it anymore and start begging for your cock."

“Then you’re going to slip it in, stretch me, burn me, until you are as deep inside my body as you can go, because I love it that way, and no one is going to make me afraid of being taken from behind. You are going to grab my hips, and fuck me hard and deep and talk to me the whole time, to remind me that it’s you taking me, you, the man I love and no one else, until I come without even touching myself."

"Then you are going to lie on me, covering my body completely, and kiss my neck, and bite the spot on my shoulder that always feels so good and I will start getting hard again. And you’re going to fuck me the way you like it, deep and long, and jerk me off as you do it, until I come again and pulse around you, and you are going to shoot your come into that condom so hard it might break.”

Brian’s cock was so hard he could feel his heartbeat in it. He had never wanted to fuck Justin as much as he did at that moment, and god knows how much he had wanted to fuck him before.

Justin was asking to exorcise his demon. He had been attacked by a tall man who had got him on his belly with the intention of raping him and he had been afraid, but he did not want it to affect what he liked and did not like in bed.

He wanted to reenact the traumatic scene with the man he loved, changing fear to arousal, pain to pleasure. Brian never talked during sex, or rarely, to whisper arousing words in his ear. Justin wanted him to talk as he made love to him tonight, to reassure him with words. It would be difficult, but Brian would do anything to give him what he needed.

He did not really remember who paid for the cab, or how they got to the loft, but as soon as the door was closed, Justin started walking to the bedroom as he peeled off his clothes. Brian followed, taking his off as well, further aroused by Justin’s striptease. By the time he got to the bed, Justin was naked and took the exact position he had described. Rushing through his last garments, Brian was staring at Justin’s perfect ass, and at his pink asshole. As soon as he was nude, he gloved up and lubed, and fell on that ass as a man starved, spreading the cheeks, and suckling the hole.

He pushed his tongue just past the entrance, and circled around and around, relaxing that first ring of muscle and then held it open with his thumbs as he plunged deeper, loosening the muscular channel with the constant caresses of his tongue. The thumbs followed, spreading, massaging, as he pushed his tongue deeper and deeper into Justin’s ass. Justin's sweetness was everywhere in his mouth, his heady scent was driving him feral, and Justin’s incoherent begging told him it was time.

His long thumbs were holding Justin’s pink channel, with its many folds, open for him to see and plunder. He tilted his hips to line himself up without the help of his hands, and shoved in with a cry, pulling out his thumbs once he was buried in Justin to his balls. He grabbed Justin’s hips and started thrusting, hard, deep and fast. He felt as if his brain was empty of language, of thoughts, except for the overwhelming pleasure of taking Justin, but somewhere he knew he had to find words to tell Justin why nothing else mattered than the two of them, and their shared pleasure. His motions slowed, becoming long and languorous, his cock gliding in and out of that silken velvet that he had to push open again with every thrust.

“You… You are so beautiful. You are a gift… to me. Your smile… lights up my life. I love… the taste of your skin, the scent of your neck… the softness of your mouth… when we kiss. Your hair… your hair is like silk, sunlight, soft, soft and smells of sunshine, fresh air, your skin is silk, moonlight soft, I love touching you, you are heaven, your body, mine, perfection… so good Justin, so good, soft perfect love inside you, inside you love, come my love, yes, come my love…”

Justin’s muscles were contracting in that age old rhythm, “Brian, I love you… I love you.”

As he had requested, Brian covered his body with his own and keeping his thrusts slow and deep, he kissed and teased Justin’s neck and shoulders for a while, then reached for his semi hard cock, caressing it to full hardness. His hand was slick with lube, and slid easily back and forth over the thick ridge at the base on Justin's gorgeous cock head.

When Justin started keening in pleasure, he changed his thrust to the one he liked most, almost coming out of Justin and then pushing back in as deep as his cock could go. He matched the speed of his hand on Justin’s cock to that of his hips, angling himself to run over Justin’s prostate at each plunge.

Every inch of their bodies was in contact and he could smell the citrusy scent of Justin’s skin, the sun warmed scent of his hair, and the musk of Justin’s ass remaining on his lips. He licked the sweat of his neck, adding it to Justin’s sweetness still in his mouth. Justin's keening and purring filled his ears and he opened his eyes to see Justin’s white shoulders, and gorgeous wheaten hair, all his senses filled with Justin as his pleasure mounted, mounted until his balls were tightening, and his cock swelled and hardened for the last few thrusts before orgasm.

Justin’s body commenced trembling beneath him and knowing what it meant, Brian allowed his body to take over, his hips losing rhythm and his thrusts becoming fast and short and completion seeking. Justin’s muscles pulsed around him, adding to the amazing pleasure, and he came, jet after jet after jet of liquid bliss filling the condom, his mind an explosion of white as every cell in his body seemed to take its delight.

His entire dead weight was on Justin when enough sense returned to his brain for him to know it had to be too much, and holding the edge of the condom he rolled off to the side.

Justin lifted his head from between his arms for a second, to look at Brian with a completely blissed out smile. Then he dropped it back, as Justin chuckled.

“You follow instructions very well,” he said.

Brian rested on his side, his head on his hand. He bent down and kissed Justin’s tricep, and a new path opened in his mind, so easily it was a wonder it hadn’t done so before.

“I love you, Justin.” Brian chuckled, and repeated joyfully, “I love you.”

Justin lifted his head again, looking at him with a wonder filled smile. “I love you too, Brian, so much.”

He backed his body into Brian’s who put his arm around him to pull him even closer, and they fell instantly asleep.

To be continued...