BRIAN'S POV

Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?

I open my eyes and squint at the sun barging in my bedroom. Everything is way too bright in here with these white sheets and this blond pot of gold nestled beside me. Whoa.

Why Gus fights me when it’s time to take a nap I’ll never understand. Naps are way better than drugs, especially when you’ve got real sunshine in your bed.

Fuck, I need to wake up. I’ve got a lot of shit to do in the next few hours, but letting go of his warm, sleeping body doesn’t seem to be one of them. I guess I’m staying put for a little while. I continue to hold him snugly against me, the way we’ve been for a little over an hour.

He doesn’t really move much when my hand releases his and starts to stroke his pubic hair. It takes him a minute to acknowledge me. It's one of the best minutes of my life.

He rubs his hand over his nose half a dozen times and scratches the back of his head. “Brian, that tickles.”

“You’re no fun.” His hand pauses mine, so I stop and focus on something else. “You’re hard.”

“You’re smart.”

“Shhhh.” I burden his body with mine and push my intentions into his ear. “I want this, okay?”

He gives me that sleepy smile, and I lean over to kiss him—mostly out of obligation it seems. It seems wrong to fuck him while he’s asleep without at least frenching the shit out of him first. He isn’t very interested in my suave moves, deciding instead to punctuate my effort with a half-assed moan that is clearly just for my ego. He rolls back over and cuddles up with his pillow.

My lips slide off of his onto his cheek and onto his neck while I reach over him for a condom. My dick settles in the niche of his ass where it will always belong.

His hand darts out from under the pillow and flicks the condom from my fingers.

“You don’t need that.”

He’s a fast little fucker. I barely saw his eyes open. I snatch it before it flies off the bed. I’m fast too. His hotness is only ever surpassed by his twatness.

My arms slide under his chest, wrapping around his shoulders. The lower half of my body is getting ready to betray the upper half. I feel the disappointment in his body underneath me, although he’s trying not to show it. Sometimes he misunderstands me, just like everyone else.

I forget sometimes that he’s so young, that there are some things I guess I just shouldn’t expect him to know or understand yet. And there are others that I’m just not ready to tell him.

I won’t tell him that he will never, ever get a spare set of keys to any car I ever own ever again.

I won’t tell him that I fuck him raw in my mind at least five or six times a day, every single day—or that that number was a lot higher when he preferred classical music.

I won’t tell him that there isn’t a part of me that ever wants to put one of these fucking stupid things on, even as I lie here and do it anyway--like I want to dull any part of me that experiences any part of him. I ought to tell him that I’m insulted.

But then there are some things I will tell him. There are some things he needs to hear from me and only me, especially when my cock is centimeters from his slippery hole. I inhale and close my eyes before I whisper anything to him.

“You know, you shouldn’t be such a twat when I’m showing you how much I love you.”

My words sink in just as I do, granting him the resistance that I gladly suffer through, that has become my guilty pleasure. And I am there for him when he reaches back over his shoulder, touches my face, strokes my hair, and tries to hold onto me. God, I want him to hold onto me. At least for now. At least until Monday.

Shit. The expression on his face right now is worth more than this fuck to me. I smother him with my mouth and french the awkward fuck out of him, ignoring him when he gasps for air. The kissing stops, his breathing resumes, and my thrusting quickens. A cloud darkens our bedroom.

I'm not so gentle anymore, pushing him where I want him, my hand roughly gathering the skin on his ass.

“Fucking squeeze me like you did this morning.” I'm gruff in his ear, my unshaven face scraping his neck. I get what I want. I'm getting it now. Oh fucking Christ, oh fucking Christ. He reaches for me again, but I stay too far—

“Aaaaah. Fuck. Me. Oh god Justin. Oh god.” He doesn’t have to say a word to get what he wants. I come closer. “Hold onto me.”

And I thought cancer would kill me.

************************************************************************************************

Cynthia looks more than surprised to see me when I walk into the office. Her chair zips backwards, and she bolts in front of her desk, in front of me.

“Hey Brian. Are you all right?” She is giving me a really weird look, and she's touching me. I step back a little. I guess she thinks I’m sick?

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I sound defensive. I look around. There are more people working here on a Friday afternoon when the boss isn’t around than I thought I’d actually see. Good for them. Then I notice that they are all sort of giving me weird looks too. Does everybody know my fucking business in this office? Now I’m just fucking irritated. Bad for them. Whatever. Fuck them.

“Is Ted in?”

“Yeah. He’s in his office.”

“Thanks. I’m not here.”

I stand in the doorway of Ted’s office for a minute and just watch him work. The man is worth more than I pay him, and I pay him quite well. The tape from his adding machine is almost long enough to meet me at the door. He hasn’t even looked up.

“Knock. Knock. Knock.” He jumps.

“Jesus, Brian. You scared the shit out of me.” I stroll into his office and plop down in a chair in front of his desk.

“You know, Theodore, I wasn’t kidding when I sent you that email about casual Friday.” He is starting to dress better than me. He gives me a quizzical look.

“I had a hard time deciding what to wear today—on this special occasion.”

“What special occasion?” Oh fuck, I forgot somebody’s birthday or some shit.

“Apparently today is ‘I just fucked Justin five minutes ago Friday.’” Now I have the really weird look on my face. “Did you bother to look in the mirror before you left the house? You're sporting that ‘freshly fucked’ look.” I am? “Here.” He hands me the mirror he keeps in his top left drawer. The same drawer he kept his dictaphone in. “Fix your hair.”

He mumbles something about, “Shaving would have helped.”

I look at my face in his mirror. No wonder everyone was looking at me. My hair looks like it’s still fucking Justin. I'm jealous of my hair.

“Excuse me for a minute.”

I unlock the door to my office and retreat into my private bathroom. I have everything I need in here to come out looking impeccable, except time. I wet my hair and comb it a little, making myself presentable and locate some cologne. That'll do for now. It'll have to. I return to Theodore’s office to see if I meet with his approval.

“Better?”

“Much. So what are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you, and I’m hungry as hell. You got anything to eat?”

“Fridge.” I walk over and open his mini-fridge.

“There’s nothing but bottled water and vanilla pudding in here.”

“Sorry boss. Today’s payday. I’ll buy groceries this weekend. Time’s are tough.” I take his last two puddings and a bottle of water. I’m fucking starving.

“Spoon? Please?” He hands me one, pretending it’s his last. I keep Ted comfortable, and we both know it.

“What do you want to talk to me about? I hope it’s not month end because I don’t want to talk about that.”

“There’s a problem? Something I need to know about?”

“Nothing you need to know about today. We’ve got GL issues, but I’m fixing them. It’s just time consuming.”

“That’s what I pay you for, right?”

“Right. So, what’s going on?”

“I need you to do something for me. Well, you and Emmett actually. It’s kind of a personal favor that I kind of need Emmett for more than you, but I’m not letting him do it by himself. Oh, and I need it done by tomorrow at two o’clock.”

“Okay. This sounds expensive and intriguing. I’m completely hooked. I’m assuming this has something to do with Justin?”

“Yeah.” I’m doing a pretty good job of not getting emotional about this. “It’s going to take some time, but it should be kind of fun. Emmett doesn’t have an event this weekend, does he?”

“No, it got cancelled.”

“Okay. I’d do it myself—I mean I’d really like to, but I need to spend my time with him. You understand?”

“Sure. Are you gonna tell me what it is you need me to do or do I get to guess?”

“Yeah, here. I’ve written most of it down.” I hand him the notes I’ve made—who he needs to call, which credit card of mine to use, etc. “Just a couple more things. I need Emmett to call me once he’s done running errands for Justin today. I don’t want to call him and catch him while he’s at the loft. If you guys need me tonight after five or tomorrow, just call my cell. If I don’t answer right away, I’ll call you back. I’m going to be busy tonight and tomorrow. I’d rather you call me Ted because I can pass it off as work related.”

He reads over my notes, making sure he understands everything I’m requesting. “Okay. This is really, really—“

“Don’t.” I stop him. This is already hard enough for me.

“Can I just ask you a question?”

“Sure. It’s a free country.”

“Are you all right with all of this? With him leaving like this?”

“Next question.”

“Um, okay. Is he all right with leaving like this, with leaving you?”

“Strike two.”

“Okay. Will you be here on Monday for our meeting with that new client?”

“Absolutely. 10:00 am. I’ll be here.” I push my chair back and stand up, throwing my trash away. “Don’t forget to tell Emmett to call me, okay?”

“I won’t forget. Have a good weekend, Brian. I’m sure you’ll make it a memorable weekend for both of you.” He stands up as I leave.

“Thanks for taking care of this for me. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“See you on Monday.”

I wave good-bye to Cynthia as she's on the phone and feel slightly relieved since at least one of my tasks is done for today. A few more to go. This is one of those days where it would have behooved me to just hire a personal staff—an army of people to handle things for me so I can go back home and just keep fucking Justin.

For a minute I sit in my car and think about how cool it would be to have my own squad of up-and-comers like on The Apprentice. A bunch of over-eager, good-looking, well-dressed twenty-somethings tripping over themselves to make me happy, handling all of the trivial details I have to handle everyday at Kinnetik….

Covering for me so I can at least go to LA with him for a few weeks and help him get settled. Yeah, right.

Marching into my conference room every week, so I can fire one of them, send them packing because I don’t need them anymore. Because my life has gotten simple again. Work, Trick, Sleep, Repeat.

I fucking hate reality television.

I fucking hate reality.

**********************************************************************************************************

I quit feeling sorry for myself and call Lindsay at the gallery and break Justin’s news to her. She's too busy today to stop what she is doing and show me her new apartment. I figured that would be the case. We try to figure out a way to work our schedules out. She has a plan. I can always count on Lindsay.

“Okay. Let’s do this. I will pick up Gus at school and Justin at the loft after work and drop them at the diner. They can have dinner together. You can join them when you finish up. That would work better for me anyway, Brian, because I’ve got to come back here tonight for a small function we are having. Will that work?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Then you and Justin can bring Gus home, and you two can see the new apartment quickly and get back to your alone time. I mean Justin’s got to see Gus before he leaves.”

“I know. I thought about that. He’ll want to see him. What time will you pick him up?”

“Probably around 5:30 pm.”

“I’ll call and tell him to be ready. Thanks for doing this Linds. I need the time.”

“I understand. I just can’t believe he’s leaving so soon, but we’ll talk about it later. Go do what you have to do.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ll see you tonight.”

Our call ends, and I'm thankful that I have at least one blonde in my life who knows when to make things easy for me.

Actually, that’s not fair. I have two.

**************************************************************************************************************************

My ‘vette pulls into Jennifer’s driveway, but there are already two cars here, so I back out and park on the street. She’s expecting me, but I’m a little early.

I assume it’s a client. I’m glad I don’t work out of my loft. I’ve learned my lesson about mixing business with pleasure. I’m fifteen minutes early and about to knock on the door when it opens, and I'm standing there wishing I wasn’t—especially because of the way I look, especially because of who I am, or at least I think that’s why. It’s probably better just not to think right now. Just stop thinking. Just stop. Oh, and stop looking. Yeah, stop that too.

Jennifer Taylor is freshly fucked. We have something in common. Oh my god, Justin and his mother have something in common like right now. And it’s kind of partly cloudy out today and a little windy and the guy that just is, um, not her client is backing into me, and I just stepped right into her flowers. Look at the flowers. Fix the flowers.

Dude, get the fuck off of me.

And I thought I looked bad. I help him get steady on his feet and pretty much ignore the introductions.

“Um, Tripper, this is Brian Kinney, my son’s…….boyfriend.” Tripper? Isn’t that a dog’s name? There’s a name you can yell out in a moment of passion. I give him an obligatory wave while I try to repair the damage I did to the front stoop. He kisses her good-bye again. What a horn-dog. She looks embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry Brian. You’re a little early.” I look up from my flower-pot fixing.

“Cutting it close, aren’t we?” I can’t resist.

“He wouldn’t leave. Come on in. I need to freshen up.” She clasps her white robe in front of her chest when she realizes I can see right down it. Frankly, I’m more interested in Trip. Although I really try not to fuck guys whose names are verbs or adjectives. They are usually complete and total losers. Well actually, that’s why I just don’t get their names to begin with.

“He seemed a little pushy.” I feel protective of her all of sudden. Seems kind of silly.

“More like over-eager, I’d call it. Just let me run upstairs and change, so we can go. If you want to make a sandwich or something, help yourself.” I'm hungry, but I’ve kind of lost my appetite right now. The appointment that we have, that we’ve had for a few months now didn’t feel so urgent a week ago. I asked to go as a favor. When I talked to Jennifer this morning, when Justin finally walked to the elevator with Michael, I told her I was definitely going—that I'd be there no matter what.

And I pissed Justin off too. I’ll make it up to him.

I wander over to Jennifer’s stereo and mindlessly thumb through her CD collection. I’m nosy. I can’t help it. I press “play” on her CD player, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when Elvis starts playing. Really loudly. Loud enough that you can hear it upstairs where I guess they were, uh, tripping. Think about something else.

I fuck with her stereo and turn it down, sitting on her couch with a sleeve of CDs. I don’t feel like watching television, nor do I feel like finding a box of Trojans stuck in the couch that say ribbed for her pleasure. Jesus, enough is enough. I need to set her straight about a few things. What else is your son’s boyfriend for?

Finally, I hear her coming down the stairs.

“Can I borrow these?” I flash a couple of CDs at her while I stuff the crappy condoms back where I found them.

“Sure. I don’t know why you’d want to. Be my guest. We better go. Did you eat something?”

“No. Not really hungry. I’ll drive, if you want.” She agrees, saying that she doesn’t get to ride in a stingray with a hot guy like me every day. She’s trying to make me feel better. It’s going to take a lot more than that, but it’s sweet of her to try. I open her door for her, hoping that there isn’t anything horribly embarrassing in the ‘vette that I’ve forgotten about. At least Justin and I don’t fuck in here. I never thought I’d actually be happy about that.

“God, Brian, how many cigarettes do the two of you smoke in a day?” She asks me this as she fastens her seat belt. The aroma of our bad habit has always been comforting to me. I forget that it isn’t to others.

“If you think about it per hour, you’ll probably feel better about it. Number’s a lot lower.” I make a mental note not to speed, squeal my tires, or light up on the way to the hospital.