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Author's Chapter Notes:

Debbie comes to the loft for a heart to heart with Brian about his new PC. Enjoy! TAG

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Chapter 10 - Casserole Chats.


When Brian and J327 arrived back at the loft that night, they met Debbie Novotny on the front walk. She was carrying a large shopping bag in one hand and had a quilted casserole carrier in the other. Brian groaned. He dreaded Debbie's casserole visits.


“I swear, Deb, I HAVE been feeding him. You don't need to come over here and threaten me with a casserole,” Brian held up both hands in a pleading gesture, hoping against hope that it would ward off the visitation.


“Shut the fuck up and let us in, Asshole. It's colder than a witch’s tit out here. I don't want this,” she lifted the casserole dish higher so all could see, “to get cold. Tuna noodle casserole tastes much better when it's hot.”


“Shit, Deb. You know how much I hate it when you come over here with that crap,” Brian complained, unlocking the door and ushering both the boy and the beldame inside.


“You do not hate it! Tuna noodle is your favorite!” Debbie insisted adamantly.


“No, it's not. And even if it was, I wouldn't want to see it, because that particular dish means you're going to come into my loft, make yourself at home, demand that I get you stoned, and then force me to have a deep, meaningful conversation . . . Which is why I hate your fucking casseroles.”


Brian followed Deb into the elevator even as he protested the pending tuna noodle onslaught. He knew it was already too late for him. He was doomed to an evening of carb and emotional overload. He fucking hated that damned casserole dish. It was always a bad omen.


After they piled out of the elevator, and Brian had unlocked the door to the loft, Debbie marched in and started to organize things without further invitation. Brian watched her go at it, frowning all the time. J327 walked past his owner, eyeing him sideways as he shuffled over to the corner of the couch where he'd become accustomed to sitting.


“Do not laugh, J,” Brian griped as the kid passed him. “You'll see how NOT funny it is after you've been forced to help eat a metric fuck ton of gooey, cheesey tuna and noodles.” J’s expression didn't change, but Brian was sure the kid was laughing inside.


“Okay. Let's get this party started,” Deb said as she sat the casserole dish down on the coffee table and began distributing forks to everyone. “You know, I don't have all day, Brian. Where's the pot already?”


Brian resignedly brought over his stash box and flipped open the lid. Debbie eyed the assortment of pre-rolled doobies with glee and then chose a nice fat one for herself. Brian just shook his head and offered the woman a light. There was no use fighting it. When Debbie Novotny wanted to have a tuna noodle casserole chat with you, you just had to grin and bear it. As soon as Deb’s joint was lit, Brian helped himself to his own, taking a hit and then wordlessly passing it over to J. The PC hesitated briefly but then accepted and took a very small hit himself. Before long they were all three sitting cross legged on the floor and congenially digging into the large casserole together, wearing identical ear-to-ear grins and, in Brian and Debbie's cases, giggling every so often.


But, when Deb set aside both her fork and her joint, Brian knew it was showtime. He sighed, tossed his own fork down and mentally prepared himself to be castigated. Deb surprised him though.


“I didn't come by to break your balls, Kiddo,” she offered as an opening. “I hate the idea that all your hard earned money is going into the pockets of those monsters that run the PC trade, but the boys explained to me why you did it. You're doing a really good thing, saving J from that life, and I'm proud of you, Brian. Really proud.”


“Thanks, Ma,” Brian responded dismissively. “But I didn't do it for you. I don't give a fuck if anyone agrees with me or if they're proud of me. I didn't even really do it for him,” Brian jerked his thumb towards the boy sitting patiently next to him. “I did it for me. I did it because I hate people like that Bellweather guy and all his henchmen. Because I don't want them winning. I don't want them being in control of MY world.”


Debbie scrutinized the man she'd known for almost half his life and, although she didn't totally buy his self-deprecating stance, she decided to let it rest. She knew Brian and also knew how Brian would always deflect any praise. It was just the way Brian was. It didn't change the facts. And she respected him more after what he'd done for this one unfortunate PC boy than she ever had before. He wouldn't let her demonstrate that, though.


“Whatever you have to tell yourself, Kiddo,” Debbie replied, reaching over to muss the big guy’s hair like he was just a kid. “I'm still fucking proud of you. And I intend to back you up any way I can. Including talking to Lindsey for you,” Debbie startled him with that statement, causing Brian to look up, intending to interrupt . . . Although that was virtually impossible where Debbie was concerned. “Michael told me how she acted last night, and I have to say I'm pretty fucking disappointed in that girl. There's no justification for that kind of prejudice. I don't care what her philandering father did or what her stick-up-the-ass mother told her - none of that has anything to do with J here,” Deb beamed affectionately at the bashful blond boy. “I intend to give that girl a serious talking to as soon as I see her, Brian. It's just ridiculous that she would try and prevent you from seeing your son because of this poor kid. But, like anyone suffering from that kind of prejudice, she just needs educating. I'm sure that, as soon as she gets to know our J, she’ll realize how full of shit she was.”


“I don't know, Deb. Lindsey didn't seem like she was going to be changing her tune anytime soon.” Brian took another hit off the last joint, killing it in the process, then tossing the remains into the nearby ashtray. “You can't educate people who don't want to learn,” Brian added philosophically. “But it doesn't matter. Lindsey's opinion isn't going to change a thing. I'm not going to back out of my deal with J no matter what Lindsey and Mel do about Gus. Fuck Lindsey. Fuck Bellweather. And fuck Gardner Vance, too. It doesn't matter if they look down on me because I bought J’s contract, or don't like him just because he's a PC. Their uninformed, narrow-minded opinions mean nothing. I say, fuck ‘em all!” Brian reached over and slid his arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him off balance enough so that J toppled over and lay in Brian's lap, looking up at the playful yet earnest face above him. “It's just me and J against the world now, right? Everyone who doesn't like it, can go fuck themselves. We'll be just fine without ‘em.”


“Well, you might not care what the girls do, but I care. I'm not going to let them keep you out of your son’s life for this. Not when Lindsey doesn't even know the whole story,” Debbie insisted, leveraging herself up awkwardly off the floor, and nodding at the pair of boys with certainty. “Don't you worry about it, Kiddo. Just leave her to me.”


Brian chuckled at his surrogate mother’s determination. If anyone could talk someone out of their innate prejudices, it was this woman. And if Debbie couldn't talk you out of them, she'd just wear you down until you gave up from sheer exhaustion. More power to her, Brian thought. If it worked, and Deb was able to placate the girls enough so that he'd get to see the baby, great. He'd been a little amazed at how connected he'd felt towards the little tyke even in just those few minutes he'd been allowed to hold him. Brian hadn't really planned to be involved in the child's life - he'd thought that his part would be over as soon as he jerked off in that cup. But between then and now, something had changed. Well, actually, a fucking LOT had changed - mostly just in the last few days. But, for whatever reason, Brian now thought it wouldn't be a bad thing to maybe get to know his son, at least a little. So maybe it was a good thing that Deb wanted to take this on.


“Well, that's about enough for me, boys,” Debbie announced as she gathered up her purse and coat. “That weed of yours is so mellow I think I need to go home and take a fucking nap,” the jovial dame added with a chortle, then seemed to remember something and turned back to the living room area. “Before I forget, though,” she pulled a well-thumbed magazine over off the stack Brian kept on the end table and fished a pen out of her voluminous purse, “this is my phone number, J.” She scribbled the digits down on the top right corner of the magazine’s cover and shoved it over in J327’s direction, prompting the boy to sit up and look at it more closely. “If you ever need anything, Honey, and Brian isn't around, you just gimme a ring. You don't even need to talk. If I get a call and there's nobody speaking on the other end of the line, I'll know it's you and just come running. Okay?”


J327 darted a glance sideways towards Brian, as if seeking permission for him to accept this offering. Brian smiled and nodded, saying nothing though, so as to give the younger man the option to do with the number whatever he wanted. J looked back up at Debbie, pulled the magazine towards himself, and nodded. Deb seemed satisfied.


“Good boy,” she praised as she started sliding her jacket on. “By the way, Brian, you really DO have to get around to picking a name for J here. We can’t just go around calling him ‘boy’ all the time. It makes me feel like I'm talking to a fucking cocker spaniel or something.”


“I'm working on it, Deb,” Brian assured, getting up to walk her to the door. “I'd like to be able to call him something other than ‘J’ myself. But, until I can either figure out what his real name was before he was contracted out, or I'm struck with inspiration as to a new name, we’re going to just have to make do. Or maybe, if it starts to bother him too much, he’ll relent and tell me what he wants to be called himself?” Brian suggested with a wink in J327’s direction.


“You boys be good,” Deb ordered, leaving them with an admonitory index finger pointing ominously at Brian's chest.


“And that's Debbie Novotny for you, J,” Brian explained as he tugged the loft door closed behind her and started to clean up the mess from their pot-fueled pig-out. “The surrogate mother of every gay boy on Liberty Avenue and our sometimes conscience. Just a word to the wise, though, try not to get on her bad side. You wouldn't like her when she's really angry. She may look like a sweet Mother Hen type, but she can get pretty nasty if you cross her. Plus, when she's mad at you, she won't feed you.”


J327 continued to just sit there on the floor next to the coffee table. Brian ruffled the blond hair as he passed by - pot tended to make him demonstrably affectionate, so what the hell - but the kid didn't look up. He seemed to be staring at the magazine Debbie had written her number on and thinking about something. Brian continued to putter about, tidying things, putting away the leftover casserole, and washing dishes. A couple of times, he caught J surreptitiously watching him out of the corner of his eye, following Brian's movements with an intense scrutiny, as if he was trying to figure out a complicated enigma. Brian left him to his mental puzzle.


It wasn't long before the pleasant silence within the loft was broken by the ringing of the land line. Brian, suspecting who it was based on the timing, picked it up with a peremptory, “hey, Mikey!” He smiled over at J327 and winked, indicating that he'd been right in his assumption. Brian thought J’s expression might have lightened just a bit, as if the kid was maybe just a little amused even if he wouldn't let himself smile. But then the lightness disappeared and the boy went back to contemplating his magazine and playing with the pen Debbie seemed to have left by accident.


“Yeah, your mom just left. After torturing us with her tuna noodle casserole . . . Of course he’s here. Where the fuck else would he be?” Brian kicked gently at J’s thigh as he walked past. “Yep, Deb has officially adopted him . . . Mikey says ‘Hi’ and that he'll bring you more clothes tomorrow,” Brian addressed J and got a small nod of acknowledgement. “No . . . No way . . . Fuck off, Mikey . . . No. Not tonight . . . Because, Mondays at Woody’s are fucking karaoke and you know I hate that shit . . . Okay . . . I said okay, didn't I? . . . Yeah, see ya tomorrow . . . Whatever!” Brian hung up and replaced the phone on its charging cradle before returning to the couch.


“Hey, you. Better get up off the floor. It's cold down there,” Brian insisted, reaching down to help the boy up and then seating him back on the warmer couch. J327 easily acceded to that suggestion, rising from the floor and then sitting again where he was placed. All the time, though, he kept ahold of the magazine he'd been doodling on, holding it in front of him and staring at it like it held some profound mystery. Even after he was seated, J continued to look at the item, biting at his bottom lip worriedly while darting quick glances Brian's way every so often.


“So, what's up with that magazine, J?” Brian couldn't help his curiosity. “I'm pretty sure nothing on the cover of Architectural Digest could be THAT enthralling.”


There was still no response from the boy, though, so Brian grabbed the magazine out of his hands and quickly glanced over it in order to figure out what was so fascinating about the thing. Nothing about the magazine itself seemed all that interesting - it was just a photo of some modernistic building. Up in the right hand corner was the scrawl of Debbie's handwriting where she'd written her phone number in large, easy-to-read numbers. That was expected. But then Brian saw another addition that wasn't expected. Above Deb’s number, written in tiny clipped letters that were positioned so close to the top edge of the paper you almost couldn't see them, was one word.


‘Justin’


“Justin, huh?” Brian looked at the quiet boy sitting next to him and still worrying at his bottom lip. “Was that your name from before?” No answer. “Well, either way, it fits you.” Brian stretched out his hand. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Justin.”


It took a couple of moments, but eventually the boy accepted the hand, tentatively shaking with Brian before retreating back into himself once more. Brian was glad to note that they seemed to be making at least a little bit of progress. Slowly but surely.


He picked up the television remote off the side table and flipped on the television before relaxing back into the couch. After flipping through about a hundred channels, he finally came to an old black and white movie that he thought he could tolerate, and propped up his feet, prepared to get comfortable for the long run. By fifteen minutes into the movie, Justin had allowed Brian to wrap his long arm around the narrow shoulders and was tranquilly nestled against the bigger man’s side.


Yep. They were definitely making progress,


********


For the second morning in a row, Brian awoke to a snuggly blond boy with a big boner. It seemed like this was going to become a trend. Not that Brian objected at all to the circumstances. He was just a little leery of starting anything when experience had proven that he wasn’t likely to get anywhere with it.


Which was a really strange thought. Presumably the boy had received all the standard PC training, right? Brian had never really concerned himself with that kind of thing, but he vaguely remembered reading something about what PCs were trained to do and it was pretty comprehensive. So, how had he ended up with the one PC in the country that didn’t seem able to do anything even remotely sexual without going into some sort of panicked withdrawal. How the fuck had Sapperstein managed to hide this little peccadillo? How had he been able to hide any of the kid’s many physical and emotional problems? Then again, if Bellweather was representative of the type of guy in the market for someone like Justin, he probably wouldn’t have cared at all that the kid was scared to death of just being touched. Fuck. For all Brian knew, that would just turn the fucker on even more.


Brian, on the other hand, would never force himself on anyone that wasn’t interested in reciprocating. Although that, in itself, was problematic. Because here he was, wrapped up in the arms of a hot little Twink who was unconsciously rubbing his very lovely cock against Brian’s hip in his sleep, and making Brian fucking hornier than hell in the process. And Brian couldn’t do one fucking thing about it. Which just wasn’t fucking fair.


Oh, well. Brian had never been the kind to fret over what he couldn’t have. He would take what he could get and make do. Which meant that he would enjoy the comfy warm blond boy in his bed to the fullest extent possible while he could. And when the boy inevitably pulled away, Brian would deal with it. But, in the interim, he decided to enjoy the sleepy rutting and maybe even help himself to a little relatively innocent groping.


That being decided, Brian reached down, grabbed himself a handful of perky Twink ass, and pulled the hot little body closer to him so he could get in a little frotting of his own. Mmmmmm. That was nice. Okay, not as nice as actually sinking his now steel hard cock into the tight little ass he was groping, but nice enough. At least to start with. And who knew - maybe the boy would surprise him and suddenly remember all that legendary PC sex training of his?


For the first five minutes, Brian thought his hopes might be realized. The boy seemed to enjoy the initial groping. He was making happy little mewling noises in his sleep and rutting against Brian’s hip with all his sleepy might. Brian shifted around until his own cock was snuggled tightly against the boy’s stomach and he started in on some rutting of his own. Okay, so it was a tad bit sophomoric - all this frotting and moaning with no expectation that it would go anywhere, but what the fuck, right? Seize the moment. Carpe diem. Or at least carpe the ass in your hand. Brian was happy enough for the moment that he just kept on rutting against the pliant body, leaving the occasional kiss on any available patch of skin his lips could reach, and fondling the luscious mounds of perky ass through the boy’s boxer briefs. There were worse ways to wake up.


Lamentably, the pleasurable grinding didn’t last very long. After only a few minutes, Justin’s happy little mewls started to sound more like unhappy mewls and the breathless sighs turned into distressed panting. The sweet, innocent rutting became more and more frantic until the boy was struggling to get away rather than get closer. But even when Brian let go, the agitated thrashing just continued to get worse. Finally, with a whispered ‘No, no!’ the frenetic bundle of hysteria scrambled backwards so far that Justin tumbled off the far side of the mattress onto the floor.


The transformation from happy, horny, sleeping Twink to quivering ball of dread happened so fast that Brian didn’t have a chance to do anything to stop it. He was still lying there, his now-empty arms held out ineffectively, as if trying to grapple the fleeing boy to him. Justin blinked up from his landing spot on the floor, confused and gasping, his heavy breathing evidencing the panic that had washed through his body only seconds previously.


“Well, fuck!” Brian exclaimed once he'd found his voice. “At least having you around here is interesting, Justin. Frustrating as fuck, but interesting.” Then Brian climbed out of bed and followed his jutting cock all the way to the shower, leaving the confused boy still sitting on the floor.


But not for long. Brian had only just soaped up in preparation for the morning’s masturbation marathon, when the shower door clicked open and a submissive little blond sylph slipped inside. This time Justin quickly shut the door behind him without direction, standing off to the side in his usual stance with bowed head and downcast eyes. All the while, though, Brian could tell that the kid was peeking through his lowered lashes. Well, if the boy wanted to watch, then Brian was happy to oblige.


Brian leaned back against the glass wall of the shower enclosure and let one hand play with his balls while his other hand continued to slowly stroke his fully engorged cock. The hot water flowed down over his chest and groin as he squeezed and twisted with his fist, eking out every last twitch of sensation that he could. Fuck it felt good. And the tempting, yet off limits, twink standing there watching him just added to the feeling. Brian liked the veiled way the kid followed every motion he made, listened to every groan of pleasure, while still never allowing himself to react in any way.


This innocent fascination was far more seductive than the more overt and obvious responses that Brian was used to getting from men. He found himself more and more turned on by the enigmatic boy, which fueled his showery joyride even more, and spurred him to perform just a little more than necessary for his audience. Being just a little more vocal than he would ordinarily be. Drawing out the pleasure just a little longer than needed. Making a show of how slowly he could thrust into his fist and pinching his own nipples with plain eroticism. Trying to get a rise out of the boy and instead just driving himself to even higher levels of lust.


And before he knew it, he’d passed that immeasurable point where there was no going back or controlling the flood of bliss that cascaded across his nerve endings like the water that was raining over his body. One last thrust and he was coming all over the wall and his hand and his chest, grunting out his satisfaction in time with the hammering of his heartbeat. And all the while, Brian’s eyes remained locked with the hooded blue gaze peeping out from under the thick dark blond eyelashes, neither man’s attention drifting for even a second even as Brian’s body trembled through its ultimate release.


When it was all over, Brian couldn’t help but chuckle at himself and the ridiculous situation. “Yeah . . . Don’t even TRY to pretend you didn’t enjoy that, Brat,” he teased as he passed over the bar of soap to the waiting boy. Justin accepted the soap without a word, and moved closer so he was further under the water spray as he began to cleanse himself. “Did I mention before how totally frustrating this is?” the older man asked as he watched the soap gliding over those acres of creamy ivory skin, the sight making his fingers itch to reach out and follow along behind the dripping suds. Of course he received no answer.

 

“Fuck!” Brian blew out a deep breath and then reached for the bottle of shampoo. “I get it though. This is you being in control of what little you can control. Which, unfortunately, isn’t very much, is it? So, fine . . . I don’t mind in the least if you watch me, Twat. And when you’re ready, feel free to join in . . .” Brian offered, smiling at the staring boy in an accepting way, before ducking under the water to rinse his hair. “Now, better hurry and get ready before Cynthia gets here. Or do you intend to tease HER with your hot, naked Twinkie bod too?” Brian exited the shower with a wink and a smile, enjoying the fact that he could tease the reluctant PC back for once.

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

10/12/16 - How was that? I managed to give you a little bit of lighthearted sexy fun . . . maybe not all you're hoping for, but we're getting there. Enjoy the innocence and happiness while you can, though. The story's going to be dipping back into the realms of unhappy and creepy pretty soon. Off to write more! Ta! TAG

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