Negation, Final Chapter

John Finn* does not clearly remember his attack. “I woke up in a hospital bed,” he tells me. “I’d been operated on, and I was in serious pain. My partner was there, and the doctors. Everyone telling me I’d been attacked. I don’t really remember.”

Finn is lucky and he knows it. The police have identified his assailant as the man who murdered Rafferty Coleman last week, a criminal implicated in a series of assaults that began a year and a half ago. Police have also tied DNA evidence to the notorious West Village murders in New York City, where two men have been killed. The first murder there took place on February 24th, one week before Finn was assaulted.

“They’re pretty sure he meant to kill me,” Finn says, “but he hadn’t perfected his technique. We were in my car, which had bucket seats, and I managed to use that space to fight him off. I don’t remember that part very well. The tasering and trauma wiped most of my memory.”

Finn woke up in the hospital with broken ribs, a damaged liver that required an operation, and a torn colon, the result of being penetrated with a club.

Justin looked up from the Sunday paper’s magazine that Brian had thrown to him upon entering the loft five minutes before with coffee and the paper. So much for a lazy Sunday morning. “John Finn, that’s you?” Justin asked, receiving a terse nod in response. “It doesn’t sound like you at all,” he added.

“That’s kind of the point,” Brian answered, settling in behind him on the couch and looking over his shoulder at the article. Justin sat up from where he’d been stretched out on the couch, watching morning news. He shifted to accommodate Brian, setting his back against his chest.

According to Police Chief Kent Johnson, the New York connection has only come to light with the DNA evidence taken from the Coleman murder scene. In a brief interview, Johnson told me that the connection is currently being explored. “We didn’t want to tip off the perp that we’re onto him. When these things are kept quiet, it’s far more likely that we will be able to target the intended victim population and catch the guy.” Johnson leans back in his big leather chair, and fingers the fraternity ring on his pinky finger. “Of course, we’ll have to shift our approach now that this has come out.”

Despite Johnson’s assurances, an anonymous source in the Pittsburgh Police Department…

“Anonymous source, that’s Clarke. See, I told you she was okay.”

“I never said she wasn’t okay.”

“You’re just a big misogynist, Sunshine, admit it.”

“What?! Who’s the...?!!! ...oh, shut up.”

…an anonymous source in the Pittsburgh Police Department informs me that little is being done. “We’re short handed, absolutely,” the source states. “In general, but especially in this case. We have a good idea that the target locations are the clubs down by Liberty Avenue, but there are like, what, six or seven main clubs? And that detail consists of two officers, count ’em, two. And you want to guess how many policemen would be willing to do the undercover work necessary to catch a murderer preying on the gay scene? We have one. One cop cruising the clubs, and another one doing the foot work outside of them. We have some back up support in the office, but two officers on the street. How’s that for targeting the crime?”

“Holy shit, she could lose her job! Who’s working undercover?”

“Gonzalez. Don’t tell me you didn’t…”

“No, I got he’s gay. Did you?”

“Long time ago.”

The Chief takes exception to that.

“I bet he does.”

“Read.”

“How many people did you point this reporter toward?”

“All of them. He only talked to a few, though.”

Justin frowned at that. “What? Why?”

“Read. I’ll tell you after you finish.”

“There are thousands of assault reports all over this city, we can’t put police officers on every single one of them. We can definitively connect this criminal to only three crimes that have occurred inside Pittsburgh City Limits.”

Ray Tedeschi of The Gay Men’s Health Alliance laughs cynically when I read back Johnson’s words. “Oh, please,” Tedeschi says, setting aside a file in his impossibly crowded office. He works in a cramped room on the second floor of a small rented building, and the tiny couch he gestures me to sit on has seen far better days.

“Ugh, I remember that couch. Why the details? Wouldn’t it be better if he talked about the crime?”

“It’s a gay crime. Notice how fluidly the gay thing is worked into the story without centralizing it all at once?”

“Yeah, things that make you go ‘hm.’”

“You have gaydar. You support the right of gay men to fuck. Thus, you are not the average reader.”

“I’m not the average anything.”

Brian snorted, and nudged Justin’s shoulder with his own. “Anyway, the couch. What other piece of furniture has been mentioned in the article?”

“The chief’s chair… right, leather. Expensive. Got it, as opposed to Tedeschi’s ratty couch.”

“In one shot! The moneyed power brokers ignore the poor little guy who’s working for the victims. You’re the artist, details influence the reader’s emotion, and therefore point of view.”

“Yeah, and you’re the professional, paid to notice how the clueless consumers are being manipulated. And then to tell your clueless partner.”

“Who should read the article and let the wise one drink his coffee.”

Now it was Justin’s turn to snort. He turned back to the article.

“The police have known about this particular criminal for the past eighteen months. I started receiving reports of a man picking up men at clubs and driving them around, refusing to let them out of the car, as far back as spring of 2003. Most of these guys wouldn’t even report the assaults as crime, since they knew they wouldn’t find a sympathetic ear with the police. When I communicated my own more explicit information to a police liaison, I was told there was nothing that could be done.”

The assaults began showing up in police reports in May of 2005, when the killer began beating his victims and ejecting them from moving vehicles. The penetration rapes began later.

“He uses a club for both the beating and the rapes,” Tedeschi tells me. “Wait…” and he handed me the following sketch, a composite of two early reports.

[sketch of suspect appears in box]

I realize I’ve seen this before. “Yeah,” Tedeschi says, grimly, “On poster boards at the GLC, and the community health centers, the AIDS walk-in clinic, and the establishments around Liberty Avenue.” He reads from the text under the picture of the bland-looking man in dark glasses: “‘Suspect in assault and sexual abuse. 5’ 10”, 185 pounds. Blond hair, wears leather, dark tinted glasses.’”

So why haven’t the police done more to spotlight this serial criminal, now killer? “Two things,” Johnson tells me, looking annoyed. “One is the confidentiality issue. The crimes were already on the books as assaults. To point out that the man is a sexual predator would violate the privacy rights of the victims.”

“That is the most ridiculous argument I’ve ever heard!” Justin shouted, “Pointing out to a community that there’s a predator in its midst is a problem because the crimes were already reported?!”

Brian had been drinking his coffee and watching CNN; he reached his arm around Justin’s chest and drew him back, peering over his body to see what the hell Justin was ranting about. Justin pointed at the chief’s quote. “Ah. There is a tradition of not exposing victims of rape to public scrutiny.”

“Which is stupid,” Justin continued in the same tone, arching his back to put space between him and Brian. Brian sighed and released his arm from around Justin’s chest, as Justin turned to face him. “It’s not like it’s your fault that this happened! Why should you be ashamed of it? Facing what happened is hard! Anyone who does it is fucking brave.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Brian answered, keeping his voice even. “But what do you think people would say when they heard Brian Kinney had been raped?”

Justin stared at him for a moment, and then turned his face to the side, and away, finally turning his body back to the original position, and settling back into Brian. “Yeah, okay. It’s still stupid.”

“No, what’s really stupid is the favors I had to call in to get this story in Kevin Inch’s weekly column.”

“But he did a great job in writing it from a sympathetic viewpoint.”

“He didn’t write it.”

Justin pulled away again, and Brian sighed, setting his coffee cup down. The damn shit was cold anyway. “You wrote it.”

“What can I say, I’m brilliant.”

“Why’d you put yourself in the story? You didn’t have to.”

“It’s a human interest column, I can’t just report what two major dicks are fighting out at the expense of the public and expect anyone to give a shit in that particular context.”

“Couldn’t you have reported on the other victims?”

“Kevin had to do the interviews, and approve the copy. And, again, the police are not making the names of the other victims public. Neither is Tedeschi. He said he didn’t trust Kevin.” Brian shrugged. “That’s fine. Writing this was not exactly ethical,” Brian laughed. “Kevin was pretty pissed. This is all he consented to give me.”

“What kind of favor did he owe you?”

Brian smirked. “It’s not so much the favor, so much as where I threatened to collect it. Now stop squirming, read the magazine and let me watch the news.”

The second issue, of course, was the desire of police to supposedly lay low in the hopes that the criminal would reveal himself.

Instead, Rafferty Coleman is dead.

“I know that should have been me,” Finn says. “It’s a weird thing to consider, that I was lucky. Saved by a bucket seat, since the guy couldn’t maneuver really well when I came to. I bet, though, whoever that guy is, he won’t make the same mistake again.”

I asked Finn if he plans to stop going to clubs, to give up the lifestyle. Finn shrugs. “Isn’t that kind of like, letting the terrorists win?”

In the meantime, Pittsburgh continues on, blithely unaware that the killer stalking the streets of New York has a second hunting ground, and he’s unlikely to stop now. The question is, why isn’t anyone in Pittsburgh talking about him?

*Names have been changed.

Justin looked up and tilted his head back. “That’s it? What about the New York murders?”

Muting the television, Brian settled a hand in Justin’s hair. “Yup, that’s all you get. Word limit. And Kevin’s being a bastard. AND, we’re lucky to get what we did. Brandon Christie is the editor of the paper. Guess who was in most of the meetings I had with Stockwell about his PR?”

Justin groaned. “So, it’ll get buried.”

“Kevin was packing his desk when I left. He’s sure he’s going to be fired.”

“But it’s a great story!”

“Yep,” Brian said. “Or at least a sensational one.” He turned Justin around, and lay him against his stomach. “Don’t you worry. It’ll garner attention, and you’re right, the story is ripe to be uncovered and exposed by a real reporter. Which is why I sent a copy to a friend of mine at the Philadelphia Inquirer. They’ll pick it up, get a Pulitzer out of it.”

“So, your reporting days are over?”

“I have better things to do.” His hand settled on Justin’s rear.

“Ribs all better?” Justin asked, running his hands down Brian’s side, and under his shirt.

“Yeah… and I have got to get back to the gym.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re real fat,” Justin teased. His thumbs brushed against Brian’s nipples. He felt them harden to points, and a surge of desire swept through him.

“Actually, I’ve lost muscle tone and I’m too skinny,” Brian responded, before he fastened his lips on Justin’s skin, just below the jawline.

“Mmmm… but your skinny body is up for this.” It wasn’t a question.

Brian bucked his hips, so Justin could feel what he was about to be sitting on. “I’m up. Besides, weren’t you paying attention? If we don’t fuck, the terrorists win.”

Justin sat up, squirming his ass against the erection beneath him. “You wrote that whole thing to get that one line in there, didn’t you?”

“Maybe. It definitely was a bonus, that’s for sure.” And Brian decided they’d talked enough, and pulled Justin down towards him, encouraging the use of lips for another activity.

***

They showed up at the diner ninety minutes later. Justin hesitated when he saw Michael, Ben and Hunter sitting at one of the booths, but Brian just grabbed his hand and pulled him along. When they reached the booth, Brian slid into the seat Hunter occupied alone, bringing Justin with him.

“Space issues!” Hunter groused, from his position hard against the wall. Brian smirked, and hauled Justin into his lap.

“What… hey! I’m not a twink! I don’t do lap dances! …anymore.”

Michael looked over, watching this without a change in expression. Brian caught his eye and smirked. Finally, Michael smiled back. “Boy Wonder, you will always be the twink in this crowd.”

“That’s JT to you,” Justin responded, giving up and settling into position.

“Did you see this article?” Ben asked, pushing the Sunday magazine across the table toward them. It was, of course, Kevin Inch’s piece. “I don’t know who that Kevin guy is, but he deserves a medal for bringing this to the gay community’s attention.”

Justin picked up the article and pretended to be absorbed. It didn’t take much; he wanted to read it again, anyway. Ben looked over at Michael; they exchanged a glance. “How are you doing, Brian?” Ben asked.

“Just peachy. Mikey, I’m stealing your, ugh, husband, for the gym today. I need someone to whip me back in shape.”

“So? Hire a trainer. And do you have to do that every time you call him my husband?”

“I don’t blame him. I want to groan every time you get all gloopy too,” Hunter put in. “You guys are practically poster children for lovey-dovey. It’s disgusting.”

Michael sputtered, “You have the poster couple for PDA grinding against each other right next to you and you’re accusing me of that?”

Ben smiled. “I like being the poster couple for lovey-dovey.” He leaned over and kissed Michael. Hunter snorted. Ben pulled back, and continued, “Anyway… I really think this article will motivate the community. I’m going to see Tannis and Philip later about organizing a rally.”

“That’s a great idea!” Michael enthused.

“I agree,” Justin put in.

Brian moaned. “Oh, god, not you too.”

“Hey, boys!” Debbie appeared at the side of the table. “How are you all?” She smiled brightly down at Justin and Brian.

“Well, aren’t you Rosy the Riveter,” Brian added. “I thought you’d be on a hysteric rant over this.” He pulled the article out of Justin’s hands, and shook it at her.

Debbie grabbed the magazine, and swatted Brian’s head with it. “I’m proud of you, Brian.”

“What the fuck? What for?”

“You know what for.” She shook the magazine at him. “It’s a good thing this is out, now people can be warned.” The magazine left her hands, and fell to the table. Ben picked it up again. “Well, what’ll it be?” She took out her order pad.

Brian chose instead to slide out from under Justin and out of the booth. “I have a few things to take care of, actually,” he said.

“I thought you were too skinny! You need to eat, Brian.”

“I’ve already had my high protein breakfast,” Brian tossed out, pushing past Deb. Everyone groaned, even Justin, who covered his face with his hands. “You up for a gym session at 3?” he asked Ben, who nodded in response. “Okay then.”

Justin knew better than to ask Brian if he wanted company; if he had, he would have said so. But he was surprised when Brian leaned over and caught his lips in a brief but tender farewell kiss.

Hunter shook his head. Justin ignored him, and proceeded to order pancakes and sausage.

When Ben turned to talk to Hunter about a school assignment, Michael turned to speak to Justin. “You guys good?” he asked.

Justin hesitated, but nodded. He would have left the conversation there, but that was not Michael’s way. Michael pushed, “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Justin hesitated to respond. Two days ago, he probably would not have. He might have stewed for days in a passive aggressive snit, but things had worked out and he was feeling generous. “Yeah, actually I think maybe you should have. I’m too afraid of Brian sometimes…”

“You?” Michael scoffed, half-kidding.

“Yeah, me,” Justin replied, quietly. “You’re not, and that’s good for him. I think he needs someone like me who’s sensitive to his issues, but he needs someone like you who refuses to indulge him too much too.”

Michael smirked. “So, you’re saying we’re a good balance for the Kinney mystique.”

“Ugh, please don’t repeat that to Brian.”

Michael just laughed. “Yeah, okay, we can plan strategy during Rage sessions. I’ll whine and kick his ass and you sooth his ego and give him space to vent.”

“Yeah. That’s healthy.”

Michael picked up his coffee cup and toasted Justin with it. “I’ll put Kinney strategizing on the next Rage agenda.”

“Put me on Brian’s agenda too,” Hunter added with a smirk. Ben cuffed him across the head.

***

Brian leaned against the doorframe of Ray Tedeschi’s office, glancing at the reams of paperwork, the books and pamphlets littering every spare surface. Organization, he thought. No wonder this guy gets nothing accomplished. Ray had office hours on Sundays; Brian had learned Ray’s schedule in order to send Kevin his way for the interview.

Ray glanced up from his computer screen to see Brian slouched in his doorway, waiting to be noticed. “Brian Kinney,” he said, pushing back slightly from the desk, and sitting up straighter. “What can I do for you?”

Brian noticed that the magazine supplement lay toward the side of Ray’s desk. In fact, there was a pile of supplements. “Getting ready to distribute the information?” he asked, not moving his body, but gesturing toward the stack of magazines.

Ray nodded, placing his hand on the front cover of the top copy. “Now that we have something to work with, we can launch from that. It helps that the paper is mainstream. And, as you know, publicity is self-generating.” He smiled. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to get that bastard Johnson to actually do something. Don’t suppose you want to help with the PR or anything for the rally? Why don’t you take a seat?”

Brian shook his head. “I’ll stand.” He didn’t even bother to answer the first question.

“So… what can I do for you?” Ray shifted uneasily, uncomfortable under Brian’s intense stare.

“I know you know,” Brian said, “but that’s not what I want to talk about. Justin told me he’d been here.”

“Yeah, well, you know I can’t talk about private sessions…”

Brian snorted, interrupting him. “Yeah, okay. Then let me talk about your private session with my partner.” He emphasized that last. “Justin came here because he needed something, reassurance, god knows, I don’t really get it. He didn’t get what he needed. Of course, he’ll get involved in your little rally and whateverthefuck to stop your killer, he’s like that. It’s your job to respond to other people’s needs, isn’t it? Justin forgives a lot in the name of community service.”

Brian had paused, and Ray realized he expected an answer. What else could he say? Brian’s posture slouched, and god knows he was not the bulkiest guy out there. So why did Ray suddenly feel he damn well better answer these questions correctly? “Well, yes, of course, I try to help people…”

“No, apparently, that’s not absolutely true. I’m just here to tell you, don’t make the mistake of putting your agenda in front of my partner’s needs. Justin’s a good guy. I’m not.” With that, he pushed off the door frame, and disappeared down the hall.

Ray leaned back abruptly in his chair, his head hitting the roll bar at the top of his cheap chair. “Shit.” He knew that session would come back to bite him in the ass one day. Yep, he’d kicked himself enough over it, so he thought, but apparently the powers that be figured he had needed one extra ass kicking.

Not that he thought he had been wrong in what he’d told Justin. But, saying it at all. Now that had been a serious breach. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head. Oh, well, there were more important things to do at the moment. He glanced down at the magazine, wondering which of the luckier victims was John Finn. Not that it mattered. He was just glad the rally had publicity. He’d been waiting to launch it for over a year.

***

“He misses you.” Ben didn’t say anything more than that. At least he had waited until Brian finished the bench press reps. Twenty pounds down from his usual weight load. Damn it. Six months, it would take him six months to get back in shape, according to Ben. Brian was seriously thinking of telling him to shut up about everything. Especially those annoying, "Yup, you got it, one more, good job!” It wasn’t a good job, he was twenty pounds light of a good job. And since the weights weren’t lying on his crushed-in chest, he hardly needed Ben to tell him he “got it!”

Brian sat up, grabbing his towel and wiping his forehead. “Yeah? Michael knows where I am.”

Ben grunted, moving more weights onto the bar for his round. Brian helped him, depressed at how much extra weight Ben was loading up. “He doesn’t know how to deal with the new you.”

“New me? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Ben shrugged. “Michael has a hard time with change, that’s all I’m saying. He sees your absence from the backroom at Babylon as a retreat, not a choice.”

“We’re going to Babylon Thursday. He can see me then.”

Ben just grunted again, before laying down on the bench and going through the chest press routine. Brian stood over him, spotting, glancing around the gym. Ben sat up and watched a fit young man walking by.

“Is that allowed, professor?” Brian asked.

Ben shrugged. “He’s a beautiful man. Looking’s a sign of healthy libido.”

“You really DO have to analyze everything!” Brian moved to take off the weights, and prepared the bench for his turn.

“I’m surprised you’re not running after him,” Ben added, taking the weights from the other side of the bar.

Brian sat down on the bench. “I need bulk, not aerobic weight loss,” he said, lifting his shirt and frowning down at the prominence of his ribs. He let the shirt drop. “I’ll keep him on reserve for next week.”

Ben just nodded and moved into position to spot, not mentioning that they had already discussed how much Brian should run after the lift.

Brian placed his hands on the bar, but then he paused, and looked up to meet Ben’s eyes. “You should talk to Michael about how I don’t always need his opinion on everything.” He hesitated, then added. “It sometimes upsets Justin.” The last was tossed off almost carelessly, even as he lifted the weight bar, effectively ending any conversation.

Ben knew better. Sure, it upset Justin. Justin and Michael had already made up. Ben did find it interesting, however, that Brian used Justin to serve as a rhetorical device allowing Brian to claim his own feelings.

Damn, Ben thought, I really do analyze everything. He stopped thinking, and focused on the work out. The real reason he hit the gym so much. Health, schmealth, working out shut up the running commentary in his head, if only for a couple hours.

***

“Brian!” Ted burst into the office, waving a sheet of paper. Brian looked up, fairly annoyed. “Cynthia let me in,” Ted added. Brian stayed silent, but raised his eyebrows. Ted sighed and walked out of the office.

Cynthia buzzed him on the intercom.

“Yes?” Brian drawled.

“Ted’s here. He has a check for a shitload of money for you. I’m assuming you want your millions sooner rather than later?”

Well, fuck, of course he did. “Yeah, okay, send him in.” Brian turned off the intercom with a flick of annoyance. These people knew him far too well. Still, he was not about to let Kinnetik slide into one of those casual hippy-dippy businesses, like SpyWhip. Speaking of which…

Ted entered the office, trying hard to suppress his grin and failing. “Brian. We got the SpyWhip payoff. Direct from Semantic. Thirty million dollars. Free and clear.” Ted set the bank proof down on his desk. Brain raised an eyebrow, and said, “Cynthia said it was a check.”

Ted rolled his eyes. “She’s creative, not finance, you don’t just walk around with a check for thirty million dollars. Well. Not officially. Not for a real business. Unless you’re a drug dealer. And they only deal in cash, I would think.”

“Ted.” Ted shut up. Brian stared at the piece of paper that had been set in front of him. “I’m assuming there’s more paper than this to it?”

“Well, YES, but I figured you’d want to see this hot off the press!”

“Not a bad job, Theodore.” Brian reminded himself to add a shitload of money to Ted’s Christmas bonus. Who would have thought how a good decision it would be to hire Ted Schmidt?

“Thanks, Bri. So… how are you going to celebrate your additional millions?” Ted took a seat. Brian wondered what he planned to stick around for.

“Well, we’re going to Babylon tonight…”

“Of course.”

“Why don’t you come? We’ll have some champagne. Well, sparkling juice, whatever works for you. Make all the losers drool with envy.”

The look on Ted’s face… well, it erased the immediate second thoughts Brian had, hearing the invitation fall out of his mouth.

“Really?” Ted asked, almost cautiously, a tone that belied the look.

“It’s a public place, Theodore. You don’t really need my express permission.”

“Yeah, but…” Ted shut his mouth with a snap. He knew better than to push an actual invitation from Brian Kinney. “Yeah, you know. I think I’d love a glass of sparkling grape juice later.”

“Okay then. So, why don’t you go off and pretend to work while you really surf the net for a new sports car? Or, more your speed, better retirement investments.”

“Really? I’ll be able to afford a… Porsche? Or, yeah, you’re right, I could bulk up my hedge funds?”

“Of course, really. You did work the SpyWhip account. At least, at the end.” Brian turned away, back to the computer.

Ted nodded, but he didn’t stand up immediately as Brian had hoped he would. Ted took a deep breath, and Brian could feel himself preparing to cringe. “Brian, I just want you to know. Nobody knows Finn is you.”

Brian’s eyebrows shot up involuntarily, and he inwardly cursed that he reacted at all. He kept his gaze firmly on the spread sheet in front of him, but now he wasn’t seeing it.

Ted continued, relentless. “No one’s connected your accident with the timing on the attacks reported in that article. Most people are much more concerned with the murders than the survivors. That rally on Saturday is all about Rafferty’s murder. Most people are just pissed the police kept this so quiet, and don’t care about who was actually attacked.”

“Don’t be naïve.” Brian’s voice was harsh. He finally turned to face Ted. “They’re talking, they’re just not talking to you, since everyone knows we’re…” He paused.

“Friends?” Ted ventured.

“Acquainted.”

“But Emmett would have heard something. And he hasn’t.”

Oh. Brian absorbed that for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and shook his head. “Well, it’ll come up eventually. So people are pissed. But after they get used to this new information, they’ll start taking it apart. And then they’ll put it together.”

At this point, finally, Ted stood. “You’re incredibly self-centered. And negative.”

Brian actually smiled. “And if I weren’t, you wouldn’t have a company to come work for every day. Now, really, I do have work…”

“Yeah, like accepting the bank draft. The numbers are on the paper. Don’t forget to figure in my Porsche for my cut!” Ted left.

Porsche. Tacky. He really hoped Ted wouldn’t get that brand. It just wasn’t him.

And since when had he started actually considering the facets of Ted’s personality?

His IM alert sounded. Justin. He clicked on the message, glad for the distraction.

JTtheartist: It’s 5:00. Do you know where your partner is?

Kinnetik: At his lawyer’s, I hope.

Justin had had an appointment with his new lawyer at 4:00, a much more competent attorney than Mel. In fact, Mel had gone quite pale when Justin had reached the point of his reasoning for replacing her when he brought up the St. James suit.

“Um, okay, I understand,” she’d said, when he had fallen silent. “It’s not really my field, I should have suggested you get another attorney months ago.”

Justin had kicked Brian in the shin before he could put in any additional comments.

JTtheartist: Nope, done .

Kinnetik: Loft?

JTtheartist: Bingo!

Kinnetik: How’d it go?

JTtheartist: Perfect, lawsuit’s filed.

Kinnetik: That fast?

JTtheartist: She did some legal voodoo that basically filed an intention to file. I think that’s what she said. Don’t ask me, but she says we’re all set.

Kinnetik: I’ll meet you at the loft.

JTtheartist: Nope, I’m going to Woody’s. Gonna go celebrate. Come find me.

Kinnetik: Will do.

JTtheartist: Soon.

Brian rolled his eyes, but realized he was ready to go. Well, he would be, after doing his own voodoo to clear that stellar payment.

Kinnetik: Meet you there. Now let me go so I can get shit done and get out of here.

JTtheartist: ’kay!! But just think of this perfect ass sitting on a stool at Woody’s… wasted for want of the perfect 9” dick… brushing off the scores of perfectly good offers as it saves itself up for the best orgasm you’ll ever feel…

JTtheartist has signed off.

Brian signed off himself, and leaned back in his chair, laughing. “Fuck!” He was hard.

****

Babylon. Midnight. Ted and Brian toasted the third glass of champagne (Brian) and sparkling grape juice (Ted) and tossed it back.

“That’s it for me,” Ted announced, watching the bodies on the dance floor. “It’s been fun, but if you don’t drink, it’s actually easier to get tired out.”

“Aw, you’re not that old yet, Ted!” Michael yelled over the music.

Brian shook his head, and met Ben’s eyes. Ben shrugged and pulled Michael back against him. “I think it’s great you came out, Ted, we never see you.” Ben clapped a hand on Ted’s shoulder. Michael looked up at Ben, then over at Ted. “Hey, yeah, we’ll see you at the diner?”

“Of course,” Ted said, as he moved to leave. And almost tripped over Justin, who had practically bounced off the dance floor, right into his path.

“Ted!” Justin shouted. “Do you dance, Ted?”

“I think you’ve been dancing enough for all of us,” Ted chuckled, as Justin grabbed his hand and attempted to pull him toward the dance floor. Justin had had a lot to drink.

But Brian had managed to get a hold of the hand Justin hadn’t latched onto Ted with. “Hey, there, Sunshine, not so fast.”

“Brian!” And that fast, Ted was forgotten. He smiled at Brian, who smirked back before turning his attention back to the armful of Sunshine. Ted slipped out of the club, and into the warm night. The line of people waiting to get in stretched down the block. He thought that this might be the last time he came here. Time to move on.

***

“You’re going to be soooo hung over,” Brian said, back in the club. Justin reached up, pulled his head down to meet his lips. Their mouths connected, open, tongues touching and exploring, hot recesses and a thousand nerve endings fired up. Finally, Brian pulled back. “Wanna get out of here?”

“You don’t want to dance?” Justin asked, pulling back and tugging his hand, half falling in the direction of the dance floor.

“Oh, I want to dance. With you. In private.” Brian pulled Justin in closer toward him, grinding their hips together.

“You can fuck me here!” Justin pulled away, almost violently, and turned around to shove his ass into Brian’s groin. He bent at the waist, and ground his rear backwards.

“We don’t need to see it!” Michael yelled.

“Hey, speak for yourself!” Emmett retorted, coming up behind Michael and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Go ahead, honey,” he called to Justin, who turned his head to see Emmett’s arrival.

“Okay!” Justin agreed, reaching for his pants buttons.

Brian stopped Justin’s movement, but made up for it by cupping his hand around Justin’s obvious erection, and rubbing his own against the proffered ass. He leaned closer, and said into Justin’s ear, “No. Let’s go home. I want to fuck you somewhere I can hold you down on a clean surface and pound into you so hard and so long you come twice in succession.”

Justin shivered, and moaned. The second orgasm, on the rare times it happened, was always so much more intense.

“But…” Michael started to say as the two men turned to him and Ben, unwrapping from each other in order to leave. Ben wrapped an arm around Michael’s chest. “Yeah. Okay. Will you be by the diner for breakfast Saturday?’

“Sure!” Justin responded instantly. Brian suppressed the eye roll. The boy was totally flying.

“Will do, Mikey. See you then?”

“Yep! Have a good night!”

“You want to dance?” Ben asked, not releasing Michael, but pulling him toward the dance floor, directing his attention away from the retreating backs of his two friends.

“Oh, yeah!”

Ben smiled. He had plans of his own.

****

“OhmygodIloveyou,” Justin groaned as the second orgasm convulsed through him. Brian held himself deep in his lover’s body, and closed his eyes as his own climax swept over him. Then he collapsed on Justin’s back. He pulled out, rolling to his side, tossing the condom away. Justin moved to curl into Brian’s chest. His hand moved down to trace the scar on Brian’s side. Brian moved his legs to capture Justin’s in his, and reached down to move his hand away from the scar.

“No, it’s sexy,” Justin muttered, placing a lazy kiss on Brian’s collarbone. He was passing out.

Brian just shook his head, wondering how Justin came up with some of this shit. But, damn, he loved that he did. He certainly never could. The damn thing was fucking ugly. But he had no doubt Justin meant it.

He hadn’t taken any tricks earlier that night. He wondered if Justin had noticed.

And it wasn’t that he couldn’t have. He just hadn’t had the inclination. He found himself looking, that was for sure. Lots of gorgeous, hot, sexy men at Babylon.

But he hadn’t really wanted to fuck them. And he didn’t really care that he hadn’t wanted to fuck them. It wasn’t as if the desire to fuck had left him. It just… he couldn’t explain it. The desire for random men all the time, though, tonight he hadn’t felt that insistent urge.

The fact that he really wasn’t concerned certainly didn’t bother him at this moment, with his arms and legs full of Justin, his body satisfied and limp. Justin moved in closer and shivered slightly. Brian reached down and pulled the covers up over them. Justin let out a deep breath. “That was…”

“Amazing,” Brian completed. He kissed Justin’s forehead. Amazing that this guy stuck with him through all this. Through all of it, ever since they’d met. Moving his head lower, he kissed Justin’s lips. Justin sighed, relaxing his lips and accepting the kiss, but not giving back. “Justin…”

“Mmmm…”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know, love you too.” In the next minute, Justin was making the snuffling noises that indicated he was sliding into sleep.

Good enough. Brian relaxed fully. He closed his eyes, and breathed in the smell of alcohol, and cigarettes, and the musky scent of Justin. Good enough.

End