Friday

Another drink just would not be a good idea. Brian picked up the bottle and chugged anyway.

So what time was it now? He had a plan. Oh, yes, he had a plan. And, yes, he should not get too drunk because wasn’t performance said to suffer under alcohol’s overabundant influence?

Fuck that. He was Brian Fucking Kinney. He had performed PLENTY of times under much greater influence than he was planning for tonight. Where the fuck was all this self-doubt coming from?

Fuck it all. He was Brian Fucking Kinney, with a clean bill of health. More or less.

“Your ribs are pretty much healed, although they may feel sore for another couple of weeks yet,” the doctor had informed him earlier that afternoon. The operation incision, the other wound, that also healing nicely too. It was more or less repaired. If not good as new, then good enough.

“But can I fuck?” he’d asked, point blank.

“I would hold off on being on the receiving end of anal sex for another month, just to be safe…”

“Anal sex is never safe, doctor,” Brian had quipped. Besides, as if. There was only one kind of anal sex he was interested in, and it was not as a receptor.

Apparently, this guy had no sense of humor. He turned a stony gaze over his bifocals, pinning Brian in it. Brian remembered that look from his childhood.

“Mr. Kinney, you can have intercourse, but I advise you to keep to less stressful positions for the next month. I might advise you as to what I mean, but something tells me you are way ahead of me.”

Okay, so maybe the guy did have a sense of humor. At his patient’s expense. Brian could appreciate that.

A limited prescription of those weak-ass pain pills was thrown into the trash on Brian’s way out, and Brian had headed over to Woody’s to pick up some real pain killers, to have a drink, and to get his dick sucked.

Unfortunately, Anita was nowhere to be seen, and the population at Woody’s was composed of skanks, so he’d headed back to the loft after a couple hours, sending Ted an email informing him he’d be back on Monday and if anything was fucked up he’d have his balls. Yeah, okay, Ted would just laugh and delete the message, but he needed to remind the guy he hadn’t died. Although, god knows what Ted was thinking. It was time to get hold of the situation.

So yep, here he was, given the pass by the doc, and coming back to life.

The bang of the loft door echoed through the space as he slammed it behind him. He swore he could still hear the reverberation, hours later, through the wide spaces that spread out around him.

Damn, what the fuck did he do before going to Babylon that kept him interested? TV was boring as shit. He flipped aimlessly through the channels, pausing reflexively on the cartoon network before determinedly surfing past. After switching the television off and dropping the remote to the floor with a bang, he lay on his back on the couch, staring upward. He had never noticed before how high his ceiling was. Well, he’d looked, but he’d never really noticed.

He hauled himself up, and moved over to his work desk, booting up the computer to cruise a variety of web sites, looking for any promising leads that could come service him right now.

Nothing.

What the fuck?

Fine. Alcohol it was. Amazing that he hadn’t thought of this the second he had walked in the door. Enough had probably been coursing through his veins to keep him focused on the plan, and off his buzz.

It was at the third drink that he eschewed the glass and began chugging straight from the bottle. Then he put it down. He could call Mikey, see if he wanted to meet him at the diner… oh, fuck that, right. Mikey. Good ol’ Mikey. What the fuck had Mikey been thinking? As always, thinking of Brian, worrying about him, unable to keep his concerns to himself. Mikey never could hide anything. The real question was, what the fuck had JUSTIN… nope. Nope, uh uh. Brian wasn’t going to go there.

Restless, he picked up the phone and called Lindsay’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Lindz.”

“Brian? Hi! What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing…”

“Nothing? Really? What do you want?”

“Nothing! Why do I have to want something?”

“You don’t. Don’t get all worked up! What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Brian hissed. “Look, I just… I’m just wondering if I could stop by, see Gus.”

“He’s getting ready for bed.”

“Bed? Already?”

“It’s eight o’clock, Brian.”

“Already?”

Lindsay started laughing. “My god, what are you on? First you want to see Gus, now…”

“Is it so funny that I want to see my own son?”

That shut her up. “No. Brian, of course not. I just…” Long, drawn out sigh. “Why don’t you stop by tomorrow?”

“Yeah, all right.”

“Brian… are you all right?”

“What? Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

In the silence, Brian felt a sudden urge to throw up. “Lindsay.”

“It’s just… after your accident…”

“That was almost two months ago.”

“But, you know…”

“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you explain?”

“Oh, Brian,” and now her voice was filled with those fucking tears, and Brian knew, he just knew that she knew. Who had told her? Did it matter? He slammed the phone down in its cradle, and when it started ringing again seconds later he picked it up and hurled it across the room; it caught the steel girder and shattered, littering the floor with tiny phone bits.

Well, now he had to put on his boots, and go out. In his head, Nancy Sinatra sang her song as he slammed the door behind him. “These boots were made for walking…”

***

He had several more drinks at Woody’s and sat through an interminable karaoke-ish performance before finally finding an acceptable trick to suck him off in the bathroom, wishing Mikey was there so he could get a good fucking eyeful of the Liberty Stud’s demise. Suck on this demise, Brian thought, smirking as he watched his fully erect dick push hard into the trick’s mouth. He kicked at the toilet with his heel, wishing the damn thing would get out of his boot’s way. Fucking stalls, not exactly comfortable places for this. So much better places… no, fuck that. Fucking anywhere was fine. Anywhere, anytime. Brian snapped his hips forward as the guy’s tongue traced a particularly sensitive nerve on his dickhead, and the guy choked as Brian’s cock hit the back of his throat. Just doesn’t know me the way… Brian cut off that thought before it had fully formed. He came, not very satisfyingly, pulled out and walked out of the bathroom. At the bar, he ignored the tall dark guy on the stool next to him who kept bumping his knee against his thigh, and pulled out his Blackberry. Yep, this adventure needs something, that is definitely for sure. He sent out an email.

Babylon. One hour. Be there.

He turned and eyed the dark haired man next to him, but the knee hitting his leg was seriously starting to piss him off, and he deliberately moved out of contact, turning his back. When he turned to look again, a drag queen had taken the guy’s place. “How you doing, Kinney?” the queen asked.

“Just fine,” Brian replied. He had no idea whom he was talking to.

***

He cruised into Babylon at 11, and already it was full, but of course the bouncer let him sail by. No likely candidates in the line, they all looked like children, all looked younger than… nope, nope, nope. His entrance into the front doors stopped any consequent thought, as the lights and the noise and the fucking smell of the place hit him, lights splashing around and the “OONTS OONTS OONTS” of the beat and the writhing bodies… yep, this was it. He elbowed his way through the crowd and made his way to the bar, leaning in through the three-deep crowd, and getting Kenny’s attention. There were perks in being known, oh, yes…

“JB?”

“Yeah,” Brian yelled back. “Hey, Kenney, who’s Brandon?”

Kenny stood on what seemed to be a box or something behind the bar and scanned the crowd, before pointing at the dance floor, to a shaggy-haired blond who was practically mating against his dance partner. Oh, fucking blonds, Brian thought, before his gaze lasered in on the guy dancing with him, and he practically started laughing. Goddamn Richie, could the guy have less taste? But yeah, okay, that was perfect.

“Brian!”

Brian turned around, and came face to face with Michael. “I said an hour, Mikey!”

Michael grinned, his happiness at having been forgiven obvious not only in the dewy, huge eyes he had turned on Brian, but in the speed with which he had responded to Brian’s earlier email. “I know, but it’s good to see you in the swing of things again!”

“And the Professor.” Well, shit. Ben grinned at Brian as he put his hand on Michael’s shoulder and nodded over at Brian.

“I’m the ride!”

“I bet you are!” Brian answered, and Michael laughed as he went to get drinks for them.

“How you doing, Brian?” Ben asked, and Brian shook off an impulse toward violence since he now knew what was behind that question.

“As you see,” Brian answered, toasting Ben with his shot glass instead of throwing its contents in his face. A tad dramatic, Brian thought, gulping the drink down.

“Indeed!” Ben answered, smiling gently. “Michael was so happy you invited him along. We don’t get out much these days, but Friday dancing…”

“Or, Friday fucking…”

Ben laughed. “Whatever!” Michael returned with drinks, and Brian decided as he watched the two interact, that it was for the best, anyway, that Ben was here, since he was about to abandon Michael anyway.

“Excuse me.” He handed his glass to Ben, and stalked onto the dance floor, heading toward Brandon.

The other man saw him coming, and lifted his head from devouring Richie’s neck. “Kinney,” he said, as Brian walked right into their clinch space. Brian barely spared a glance at the blond, just enough to wonder where the fuck the taste of the queer universe was going if this was the new hot.

“Richie,” Brian said, looking instead at the other man, who stared back at him. “Now.” And he turned, heading to the backroom.

He only needed to look to his left, at Michael laughing his head off against Ben’s chest, to know that Richie was following him without question, and that Brandon had been abandoned mid-clinch. Of course, he did not spare a glance back, until he was well inside the backroom, and located a spare foot of wall, falling back against it, and Richie was dropping to his knees, unbuttoning Brian’s jeans while Brian put his hands in his back pockets and just waited to be serviced.

To say that this was a spectacularly bad blow job would be an understatement. It was painful. What the fuck? Brian thought. Technique was fine, no teeth, enough depth, lips not too tense, he wasn’t even using his hands so there was no over-squeezing…

Shit! Brian thought as a particularly uncomfortable sensation traveled from the base of his dick upward. He yanked his hands out of his pockets and put them on Richie’s head, pushing him away from his body.

“What the fuck…” Richie began, his voice angry as he took in Brian buttoning up his jeans. “What the fuck, Brian? I just walked away from a hot fuck to give you a blow job and you can’t even finish it?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know it was going to suck. Not in the good way,” Brian answered, not looking at the man, but already halfway out of the room.

“You’re such an asshole!” Brian heard the assent of more than one other voice agreeing with Richie’s parting shot, but he didn’t care, he just didn’t care, and besides it didn’t matter as the lights and gyrating bodies greeted him as he passed through the doorway into the main room. He glanced around, looking for Michael, and was struck by how many people he did not know here. Sure, he knew the bartenders, but even the third man behind the bar was a stranger, and shit, half the guys jammed into the club were underage anyway. Where was Emmett? Ted, of course, no longer visited such establishments, except on business. Richie he knew, but the guy of course hated him now, and it wasn’t as if Richie were alone in that sentiment. Brian looked around, and wondered what time it was. His muscles felt suddenly heavy. Goddamn accident. He hadn’t been able to work out in so long. But, as Justin had pointed out to him just the other day, he had actually lost weight.

Stop. He wasn’t thinking of Justin. Just stop.

He made his way back over to where Michael stood, near the bar.

“That was beautiful!” Michael yelled over the music. “You should have seen the look on Brandon’s face!”

He really hadn’t given a shit. Hadn’t even thought of Brandon’s reaction, actually, only of Michael’s. “Where’s Ben?” Brian yelled over the music.

“Bathroom,” Michael yelled back.

“Backroom?” Brian teased. “And you’re not with him?”

“I’m not you!” Michael replied. He grinned up at Brian. “Some of us are less on display!”

“And, what, thank god for that?” Brian shot back. What the fuck was Mikey saying? Brian’s mouth snapped open, before he even realized what was going to come out of it. “Good for you, Mikey, out of the line of rapists. But what the fuck, someone’s gotta put on the show.”

Michael looked stricken. “Brian, I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, I know. You want a drink?” Brian pushed away, to the bar, and ordered three beers.

When he came back, Michael still looked distressed. “Brian, I just, watching Brandon’s reaction… it was just funny, is all! And watching you just walk in and take that guy… it’s just. You know I love you. I just want to see you back to normal!”

“Normal,” Brian repeated. He handed Michael two beers. “You and Ben enjoy.” He scanned the immediate crowd. “You!” he barked at a young guy, maybe 25, standing a few feet away. The kid looked over, black hair swaying gently with his head’s movement. Very good looking, and those lips… “Me?”

“Yeah, you. You drive here?”

“Sure.”

“Good, you’re coming home with me.”

“Awesome!” The kid pushed away from the table he was leaning against and moved toward Brian.

“Brian, do you think it’s a good idea…” Michael’s eyes were darting between Brian and the young man whose belt Brian had grabbed.

“What, got a problem, Mikey? Thought you liked me back in action.” He pulled the kid roughly behind him as he walked away.

He stopped by the coat check to pick up his leather jacket, ignoring the kid’s hand on his arm, shrugging the kid off as he shrugged his coat on. “Oh my god, you’re so hot,” the young man said as he was pulled out of the club. “Where are we going?”

“Your car?” Brian answered, barely looking at him, pausing on the steps to light up a cigarette.

“Okay, sure.” They walked down the side street toward the main drag, and Brian had the sudden memory of a night not too long ago, Justin behind him, worry raising his normally deep voice…

Stop.

“Here we are!” The guy owned a Saturn. Well, what the fuck, it would do. Brian slid into the passenger seat, closing the door as the guy started up the car.

“My name’s Hu…”

“Don’t care.”

“Um. Okay.” The sound of Radiohead filled the space around them. “Where we going?”

“You know where Tremont is?”

“Sure.”

“Go there.”

But Brian couldn’t stop thinking of that night with Justin following him and his trick down the alley, just after Jason Kemp, just before Stockwell… When he rolled down the window to toss the cigarette out, he realized he had no idea where they were. “Where are we?” he asked.

“On our way to Tremont.”

“This isn’t the way.” They were moving through back streets, and no other vehicles were around. The buildings looming on either side of the street were dark, probably uninhabited. Was this the business section? None that Brian knew. The street they were on was narrow. Narrow and deserted.

“It’s a shortcut.”

“Where the fuck are we?”

“It’s fine, really, I know the way around here.”

Yeah, I bet you do, Brian thought.

“Turn the car around and go back to Liberty.” He would remain calm. This was perfectly normal. The guy was just a jerk, that’s all, he was just being an asshole.

“Hey, take it easy! really, it’s just a shortcut…”

“Stop the fucking car and let me out!” Brian shouted, and the wheel jumped in the man’s hand. Brian reached down to the car’s door handle.

“Hey, buddy, it’s fine! Look, I’ll turn around…” And he turned the car into an even narrower street, between two dark warehouses.

That was it for Brian. He popped the door open and jumped.

Brian heard the car’s brakes screech as he felt his back take the brunt of the fall, and he rolled, wrenching his shoulder, into the curb, striking his face against the stone, and stopping. He scrambled to his knees, pushing himself up and running into the dark alley where he couldn’t be seen. He heard the car stop, and suddenly accelerate, taking off, and then there was silence. He leaned back against the brick wall of the building, and slid down to sit.

Pain, again. Dammit, that hurt his shoulder. And his cheeked was scraped. But not too bad. He was bruised, but not ripped up. Not like last time.

Where the fuck was he? The alley created a wind tunnel, blowing the cold night air down the neck of his jacket. He pulled it closer around him. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and he could feel his hands chapping.

He sat there, huddling in on himself. Had that guy been about to…? No, probably not. Probably not. But Brian’s heart continued to race anyway, and the shivers were a bit extreme for the temperature. It wasn’t that cold.

Okay. That had been seriously fucked up.

Thank god Hu or whoeverthefuck that guy was, that he didn’t know him. Otherwise, this would be all over…

Shit, it already was all over.

Brian sat, his ass going numb on the concrete, shivering. What the fuck had just happened? Twenty minutes ago, he had been in Babylon, wanting to leave, and yeah, okay, that last trick was definitely about getting the fuck out of there without his exit looking like the retreat it really was, out of an environment that seemed suddenly tedious, and boring, and… what? but still, it had been warm, and familiar.

And now he was here. He had just jumped out of a car.

Damn, it was cold. And his cheek was stinging badly. He raised his hand to his face, feeling ragged flesh. Fuck. His upper back and arm had borne the brunt of the fall, and he could already sense the residual effects that the morning would bring. Brian’s eyes slid shut. He had a sudden, wrenching desire to be back at the loft.

He had just jumped out of a moving car.

Holy shit.

He wanted to be back at the loft, not here in this back alley, god knows where in this god-forsaken city. On his ass, shivering.

I’m worried… He heard the echo of Justin’s concern, voiced just the day before.

“Yeah,” he whispered into the night. “Yeah, Sunshine, so am I.”

Justin. He closed his eyes, and saw a picture of his lover bringing him pain pills in bed. In bed, in the loft, and god, he wished he were there right now, in that picture and out of this alley. Justin.

His eyes snapped open, and he pushed off the alley wall. Fuck this. What, was he going to sit here, shivering, feeling sorry for himself, when he could be somewhere far more desirable?

He stood, reaching as he did so into the inner pocket of his jacket to pull out his Blackberry. Yup, it hadn’t fallen out anywhere, but why should it? As soon as he found a street sign, he could call up a cab and get the fuck out of here. He walked slowly to the end of the building, peering carefully around the wall. No cars. Good. He glanced to the end of the alley, to the sign posted where the alley met the street. Bingo.

***

Daphne opened the door just when he wondered if he would have to knock his knuckles raw, and her face went from sleep-filled to angry. “Oh,” she said. “You.” She stepped aside, and got a good look as Brian walked past her. “Holy shit, Brian, what happened to you?”

“Which room is his?” Brian asked, ignoring her. Daphne pointed to the short hall shooting off the tiny living room. “Last one.”

He walked down the hall, and opened Justin’s door. The light from the living room momentarily illuminated a small room, clothes, books, sketch pads and sneakers littering the floor, and Justin curled up in the twin bed against the back wall. Brian closed the door behind him, and shrugged out of his leather jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He took off his boots and socks, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and his belt clunked onto the floor as he dropped his jeans, letting them all join the mess on the floor. He kept his briefs on.

The room was dark with the door closed, but Brian had seen where Justin lay sleeping. He took the three steps carefully, not wanting to trip over something on the floor and wake Justin up with a body falling on top of him. When his knees connected with the side of the bed, he leaned down, placing one hand on the mattress, and drew back the side of the covers. Justin grunted, and tried to regain the departing warmth over his back. Instead, Brian slipped into the space opened up, fitting himself against Justin’s spine. He reached over Justin’s rib cage, and felt down his forearm, to his hand, twining his fingers into Justin’s. He buried his head in the tender spot where Justin’s neck met his shoulder.

“Brian?” Justin’s voice was groggy, and he attempted to turn around, but Brian remained plastered firmly to his back. “Fuck.”

Brian remained silent.

“Why?” Justin’s voice broke the quiet. He had woken up quickly.

“Why did I throw you out? Or why am I here?”

“Either. Both.” Justin stopped trying to turn his body around, but he withdrew his hand, only to retwine their fingers so that their palms were clasping, and he could squeeze slightly without hurting Brian’s knuckles.

“I’m an asshole?”

“No. Really.”

“I really am an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re exhibiting that perfectly right now. Talk to me.”

Brian fell quiet again. “I don’t know if I can,” he finally said.

“Try.” Justin paused, then tried another tack. “Why are you here?”

“I went to Babylon.”

“And…”

“I picked up a trick.” No need to elaborate on how many.

“Pretend I’m saying ‘and’ every time you want to stop, okay? And…”

“I don’t think I’m okay.” Brian’s voice was practically swallowed in Justin’s skin.

Justin allowed a pause. Then he asked, gently, “What happened?”

Maybe the dark helped. Every other time he was with Justin, they were in rooms with lights: the blue lights of the backroom, the light over Brian’s bed, the lights from outside the giant windows in the loft. But never, never in the dark. Here, the window looked out on… nothing, apparently, and the night was moonless. Justin could not see him. There was something very comforting about that.

“I freaked out and jumped out of a trick’s car. While he was driving it.”

“WHAT?” Justin sat up, reached over Brian to a lamp on a side table Brian hadn’t noticed earlier, and snapped it on. Justin winced in the sudden light, blinking rapidly to see. “Sit up!”

Brian did so, reluctantly, and Justin bent forward, running his hands over Brian’s torso, and then grabbing his chin, turning his face to look at the fresh scrape on Brian’s cheek. “How are your ribs?”

“They’re fine, I landed on my back. I think I bruised my shoulder, nothing serious. My jacket took the brunt of it. Farewell, Hugo.”

Justin ignored that. “There’s a cut on your cheek. Stay here.” Justin flung back the covers and moved to stand up, when Brian saw an enormous bruise on his hip. It was purple and black, with yellow edging. Very ugly.

“Wait,” Brian said, grabbing Justin’s waist before he could pull on the underwear he had picked up from the floor. “Was that…”

“Yeah,” Justin answered. “I hit the ground kind of hard myself.”

Brian looked up, his lips trembling slightly. Oh, fuck, maybe he should have waited before coming here, he was just entirely too fucked up, and apparently even emotional. SHIT. The tightening in his chest that seemed to have moved up to his throat, causing him to shake slightly, and good god, what, tears? No, no, no, no. What the FUCK. Forcibly, he swallowed a few times, beating all that back, forcing it down. Nope, this was not allowed.

So there was Brian’s calling card, on Justin’s hip. And he’d said too many times in the past that sorry was bullshit. So how was he supposed to apologize?

“I know you’re sorry,” Justin filled in for him. “And yeah, sorry IS bullshit.” He walked out of the room, and when he came back, he had a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a box of band-aids, cotton balls and antibiotic ointment. He sat down on the bed, opened the hydrogen peroxide, wet a cotton ball and moved to wipe it across Brian’s face, but Brian reached out and took his wrist, stopping him.

“Justin, I didn’t mean…”

Justin smiled slightly, and tried to divert Brian’s attention. “After your little stunt tonight, we’re gonna have matching bruises.”

“Not quite. You didn’t put my bruises on me.” Brian’s voice was grim.

“Brian…”

“No, stop,” Brian interrupted, not wanting him to say anything to make this okay. “When I was a kid, I promised myself that I would never, never raise my hand to anyone that I…”

“…love…” Justin supplied, his voice low.

“Yeah.” Brian had been looking at Justin’s hand, and he looked up. “I do, Justin. You’ve been good to me during all this, and I haven’t deserved it.”

“Yes, Brian, yes, you do.” Justin gently detached his wrist from Brian’s grip, and proceeded to clean the scrape on his face, which had traces of the street dirt still in it.

“I’m not putting a band-aid on my face.”

“If you don’t, it’ll scar. Besides, technically, I’m putting it on.”

“You really are the good little wife.”

Justin smiled, and corrected, “I thought it was the ‘good little woman.’ Big difference you know.” Turning serious, he said, “I’m not going to argue how taking care of each other is not a gendered activity. Or about your weird need to label everything. ‘Woman,’ ‘man,’ ‘muncher,’ ‘cocksucker…’”

“I like labels.”

“I’m aware. I’m not a big fan of them myself.”

“I know.”

Brian let Justin finish without further protest.

“There,” Justin said when he had the bandage in place. “You look very roughed up, very butch.”

“Isn’t that a label?” Brian half-smiled up at him.

“Just for you.” Justin kissed him on the forehead.

“Why are you doing this?” Brian asked quietly.

“Because you jumped out of a car and landed on your face?”

“No,” Brian replied. “I mean, you should yell at me and toss me out on my ass.”

“You need me right now.” Justin put his finger on the bandage on Brian’s face. “Brian. You were assaulted. And everything you’re going through, from what I understand, is a normal process. You think I’m going to say no when you need me?”

Brian shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked away.

The light snapped off, and Justin leaned on Brian’s body, so Brian ended up on his back on the mattress, Justin fitting himself into his side. “Honestly? I’d have been back in this room and out of your way the second you made out with that guy in front of me, normally. But this isn’t normal. Same way, normally, you would have tossed me out on my ass the second I came crawling after you if I hadn’t been bashed.”

“Actually, I kind of did.”

Justin sighed. “No, you kind of didn’t. Anyway, my point is, life happens. And we have to accommodate each other. And besides, I love you too. So, there’s that. ”

“If I hadn’t been… raped… you would have left me before last night?”

“I didn’t leave you, you threw me out. But if you hadn’t been hurt, I don’t think you’d be acting like this.”

“Psychology 101 again.”

“Hey, you’re paying the bill, it’s only fair you get the benefit of my higher education.”

Silence. Brian put his hand on Justin’s pelvis, and stroked the bruised flesh gently. He said, “The police want me to come in and look at mug shots.”

“And you haven’t yet.”

Silence.

“Is that why you’ve been hiding in the loft for the last week?”

“I haven’t been hiding.”

“…”

“I was resting.”

“But not tired enough to skip clubbing and fucking around tonight.”

Brian pushed his nose into Justin’s neck. “That wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t what? What?”

“Okay, maybe I was worked up. At what Mikey said. And at you, too. I know you hate all the tricking.”

“I don’t… okay, I’m not a fan. It’s just… exposing yourself that way to total strangers makes you vulnerable. I know you say it’s part of the thrill, riding that edge, but, maybe I’m too conventional, it scares the shit out of me. Maybe I’m just being selfish, I like having you around. And yeah, I hate it that you need to find other people to satisfy you. It makes me feel inadequate.”

“You’re not. It’s not about you.”

“I know that. But I don’t feel it.”

Brian put his arm over Justin’s waist, and squeezed the closest ass cheek his hand came to.

“You should go look at mug shots.”

“What’s the point? I don’t really remember what the guy looks like.”

“You might, if you looked.”

“Like it would do any good.” The agitation was clear in Brian’s voice, and in the way he took his hands off Justin, and pulled back, trying to see Justin’s face, to read him. But it was too dark.

Justin took his hand again. “You might help stop the guy.”

“My days of public service are over. That Stockwell thing was only to keep the backroom open. For ME.”

“Fine,” Justin moved his body closer into Brian, fitting back into his side. “Maybe you can do this for me. If you can’t say you’re sorry about putting your hands on me and causing this bruise, how about going to look at mug shots as a form of penance?”

Brian started laughing. “Wow, the Catholic card on top of plain old guilt! You really want me to do this, huh?”

“It’s not just what I want, Brian, that guy is dangerous. Yeah, okay, maybe I shouldn’t have come at you from that particular angle…”

“No, you’d understand if I refused. You wouldn’t push me…” Brian’s lips were muffled on Justin’s shoulder.

Justin was beginning to see that maybe pushing Brian was not a bad thing, but he didn’t say that. He managed to ignore the sensation flooding down his body from Brian’s contact with his skin, enough to simply say, “I’ll feel better if this guy is caught. If you help, you might feel more better too.”

“Psychology 101 again.” Brian was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I know one way I’ll feel better, right now.” His hand moved to Justin’s back, and slid under the elastic band of his briefs, cupping his ass cheek and stroking it.

“Are you sure?” Justin asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Brian answered, his mouth moving toward Justin’s voice, until he caught the other man’s lips and held them, gently, between his own. He pulled away. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Justin replied. “God, yes.” His cock was already filling; Brian felt it against his stomach. His own was oddly flaccid, but felt warm, with the stirrings of desire in his loins, and he continued to kiss and lick Justin’s throat, and shoulders, feeling Justin writhe against him. He began to respond, the need rising up in him, meeting those of the body against his.

“Justin,” he asked, “When did you do this last?”

Justin took a deep breath. “Last time was you.”

He’d been waiting. Brian didn’t need to ask, to know. Patient, the kid was patient, a lot more than Brian ever would be. It was probably a good thing for Brian that he was.

Justin was not exactly patient at the moment, however. Brian heard a drawer open, Justin fumbling around, and then the familiar feel of a condom and lube pressed into his hand. He wasted no time in slipping a condom on himself, rolling Justin onto his stomach, preparing him as quickly as possible, and easing into Justin’s body. Justin’s legs spread out to accommodate the press of the other man’s body into his own, as Brian moved his chest and stomach into Justin’s back, his thighs contacting, bracketed by Justin’s legs, held by them. For the first time all night, Brian relaxed, sinking down into the welcoming flesh, feeling himself surrounded with a sensation he could find nowhere else, needing more than the physical sensations, needing confirmation of the emotional reassurance he felt washing over him, delivered in the body of this man who loved him, this man he loved.