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Author's Chapter Notes:


The morning after the Ball! Hope you enjoy!  TAG




Justin and I sat together in the brilliant early morning sunlight streaming through the bay windows of the breakfast nook. The boy was staring dejectedly at the remaining half of his once beautiful triple crown cock ring which was resting on the placemat on the table in front of him. The glass was cracked and at least one of the loops was completely gone, but it was still in a mostly recognizable shape.


"God, Em. I'm so sorry that I broke it. I know it was an expensive gift. If only that fucker hadn't knocked me against the door," Justin repeated for about the fifth time since I'd arrived at his home this morning.  


"Justin, sweetie, please stop. It's okay. Really. I'm just glad it didn't shatter into a thousand pieces slicing your scrumptious dick off in the process. And from what I've heard, I'd guess there's someone else out there equally interested in that dear dick, who would have been similarly devastated if it had been been damaged." I had already spoken to some of my tightest gossip buddies this morning and got the whole dish on what Justin and Brian had been up to last night while I was otherwise tied up . . . er . . . I mean, engaged. "From what I heard, honey, you must have had quite the Ball experience. And everyone does say Brian's balls are nice . . ."


Justin blushed. It was just so adorable and so innocent and so cute. Not to mention, he was hotter than a billy goat with a blowtorch!  


"Come on, child. I want to hear all about it," I prompted. Justin required no further persuasion. He was instantly babbling like a spring brook, telling me EVERYTHING about last night. Somebody really needs to explain the concept of TMI to the boy - but since I loved hearing all the juicy details, it certainly wouldn't be me, honey. I sat back and thoroughly enjoyed listening while the excited blond told me the whole tale.  


"It sounds to me like our boy Brian has it bad for you, baby!" I commented when Justin had finally run out of either things to tell or breath, I wasn't sure which. "Are you going to see each other again? "


"I . . . don't know. We didn't really talk much. Our mouths were pretty much always kinda busy," he said shyly, smiling at the sumptuous scenes in his memory. "In fact, I don't think I ever even told him my name, now that I think about it. And, except when we were in that dark office, I kept my mask on the whole time - especially after I knew Ethan and Ian were there - I didn't want anyone to know it was me. So I doubt Brian would even recognize me if he saw me."


"Well, that's an easy problem to solve," I asserted, digging into my bag for my cell. "I'll just call him up and tell him right where to find his missing Prince."


"Please, Em, no!" Justin grabbed at my hand, wrestling the cell phone away.


"Why the hell not?"


"Brian Kinney wouldn't want me. If he knew who I really was, I mean. I'm just some nobody kid - he's rich, successful, famous all over the land, and he can have any man he wants. What the fuck would he want with me?"


"Well, darling, since you are just about the hottest piece of ass I've ever seen, I can think of at least one thing he might want with you," I started to joke, but then noticed that the boy was serious.


"Please. Don't tell him, Em. Really. I'd rather just remember the one fantastic night we had together. I don't think I could take it if you told him who I was and then he rejected me. Please, promise me you won't tell him who I am."


Justin did have a point, I conceded. Brian Kinney did have a reputation for kicking ‘em to the curb once he was done with someone. I looked over again at the sweet, sensitive, sublime young man sitting in the sunlight, sincerely staring at me, and I saw that I couldn't serve him up to the lion like that. ‘Kinney doesn't know what he's missing in this boy,' I thought, but I agreed with Justin that it was probably for the best that we keep mum.  


"Okay, I won't tell him," I reluctantly agreed, but not without some misgivings.  


You see, the other thing I'd heard about last night, which I hadn't yet told the boy, was that after Justin's hasty departure Brian Kinney had just about gone nuts. Or at least that was what the gossip mongers on the Avenue were saying. The rumor I heard was that Brian had virtually leapt off the stage, trailing his Kingly cape and trying to work his way towards the door. However, his hounding, howling fans couldn't keep their hands off his royal handsomeness and hindered him from following that hotstuff honey he'd been holding.  


Big Hairy Al told me that he'd seen Brian yelling at the door security about letting the boy get away and was demanding that he be found. Anyway, apparently the whole King of the Ball ceremony had been completely disrupted and Brian had refused to name a Prince for the night - which meant that the traditional BDSM demo was cancelled and lots of leather daddies left completely let down by the lousy ending. The whole evening went to hell in a handbasket after that.


But if Justin wanted me to keep his little secret I would. So, I leaned over and gave the little whippersnapper a quick kiss on the cheek, gathered my belongings together and started for the door. I was due at Debbie's for Sunday Brunch and still had to get to Teddy's to pick him up.  


Justin was seeing me off and had just opened the front door, when we were both struck dumbfounded by the most amazing sight either of us had ever seen: A posse of the biggest, loudest, shiniest, black and chrome-covered motorcycles was screaming up Justin's serene suburban street and screeching to a stop right in front of the silent Nellah-Taylor residence.  


The hurly-burly instantly got the attention of Credulous Craig and Bemused Brenda, who came rushing out of their room, intent on finding out the source of such unholy noise. Many of the neighbors from the surrounding houses were also issuing forth from their residences, curious about what exactly the Taylors were up to now. In fact, there were more folks standing outside on this normally silent suburban street on this very early, sunny morning than you would normally see in a month of Sundays, since this was the most outrageous thing anyone in the hoity-toity burbs had ever imagined.  


Once the twenty or so Harley Hogs had come to a halt and their engines hushed to a hum, two humongous, hard-bodied hooligans dismounted and handily hauled two smaller hunched-up humans off the hogs, setting them down on the sidewalk where they lay like small humid humps. Justin and I edged a bit closer to the group, eyeing the heaving burdens on the ground. When we were only about twenty yards away, one of the big bruisers looked up, noticed my fabulous self and smiled up at me while raising his hand in a friendly salute.


"Hey, Em! How's it going?" the big guy greeted me. That's when I recognized him as my sometime-spotter from the gym, Bruce.


"Oh! Hey, Bruce. What in the name of all that's queer are you guys doing in the burbs?" I couldn't help but ask, venturing closer and noting at the same time that the other hovering hulk was Trevor, also a gym buddy.  


"Just came to drop off our dates from last night," snickered Trevor, indicating the shivering, sniveling unfortunates still sitting on the sidewalk. "Boy, get up!" Trevor demanded, pulling rather roughly on a leash attached to the collar of one of the young men lying at his feet.  


A very faint, "Yes, Master Slash," was heard as the boy in question rose to his feet.


A collective gasp was heard round the neighborhood as everyone finally got a good glimpse of the object of Master Slash's, I mean Trevor's, attention - It was Ethan, no longer dressed in his cowboy costume, but attired instead in a lovely, and very little, black leather jock strap, leather wristbands and a spiked leather collar. The no-longer-boastful-boy, was standing very submissively at Slash's side, with his head bent and eyes cast down, waiting for his Master's next command. Behind me I heard a quickly stifled whimper and turned to see Craig shushing his soon-to-be-bride and trying to hasten her into the house.


"You too, Mousie," ordered Bruce, leaning over to assist the other slave up. And, as you probably already guessed, the other cowering pile of fear on the sidewalk was none other than dear, dreadful Ian, now known as ‘Mousie'. Mousie was still wearing the black leather pants from his Zorro costume but had lost his shirt, mask, cape and hat, and was instead sporting leather wrist restraints which held his hands together behind his back and which were then tied to a thong attached to Bruce's belt.  


Bruce appeared to be quite taken with his new boy. He wasn't nearly as forceful with Mousie as Trevor had been with Ethan. "That's a good little Mousie-boy," Bruce said as he gently stroked the twin's hair. Ian was looking up at his Master with an almost adoring look in his eyes. "Yes, Master Clipper.  I'll be good. I promise," came the eager reply from little Mousie. Justin and I couldn't help but look at each other in amazement and then we both broke out laughing at this submissive spectacle.


Without further ado, Clipper and Slash removed the restraints from their slave-boys and moved back towards their bikes. "We'll be back tonight for you two boys. Be ready at six-thirty - both of you," directed Slash/Trevor. "And don't forget that if you aren't ready on time, you WILL be punished, Pumpkin" he added with an obvious wink in Ethan's direction. I was, by this time, standing close enough to little ‘Pumpkin' to see a momentary glint of pleasure light up those otherwise dull brown eyes, before he nodded to Master Slash and returned to his submissive stance. Then the engines of the hogs roared again, and the troop was off with a wave, heading back to the more comfortable environs of Liberty Avenue.  


As soon as the coast was clear, an earsplitting wail was heard as the front door was thrown open and Bungling Brenda burst onto the scene, crying her eyes out - whether at the terrible treatment of her twins or at her own tormenting embarrassment, it was tough to tell. She proceeded to bundle up the still cowering boys in blankets and rushed them back towards the front door and then into the house, safely away from the astonished and amused eyes of the crowd of neighbors.  


After I'd stopped laughing enough to say goodbye to Justin, I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and jumped into my van, off to my brunch with a brain-full of amusing stories to relay to the gang at Debbie's.




An hour later, sitting around the always crowded but always homey kitchen table in Debbie's kitschy cottage, I was just getting started on the titillating tale of the tethered twink twins, when Brian Kinney, himself, entered and sat next to me. Not letting this fashionably late appearance interrupt my entertaining tale, I trudged on, turning all those gathered into tittering, tickled, laughing balls of amusement. Brian was even smiling a little at the retelling of the twin's not-so-triumphant return to burb-dom.  


"I'm glad to see the guys enjoyed the dates I set them up with last night," Brian smirked. "Not that those two boys deserved to enjoy themselves after what I caught them doing."  


Brian went on to fill in the rest of the story about how he'd found the Nellah twins messing with his ‘angel' at the Ball the night before. This of course led to Brian relating his take on everything else that had happened. I could hear from his tone that the otherwise un-rattle-able Kinney was still upset at the loss of his ‘Vision in White'. His eloquence alone, when he would normally be terse and snide at these brunch affairs, told me just how upset the man really was. But I had to just sit there, guiltily, listening to him go on and on about the wonderful, beautiful boy he'd met and then lost. I wouldn't break my promise to the little lost boy.


Everyone else around the table offered endless suggestions on how to find the lad. Brian finally admitted, though, that he hadn't gotten the boy's name, let alone his address, and that he really hadn't gotten a good enough look at him in the darkened office to even give a full description of the boy to an investigator. The poor brunet looked thoroughly dejected and depressed as he detailed his useless detective efforts to date. Apparently, he'd interviewed everyone who was there and nobody knew who the white-clad winsome youth was.  


"All I have, really, is this," Brian said, pulling a broken piece of hand-blown glass with a streak of blue at its core out of his jacket pocket. "I don't really know what it is, but someone said they saw this fall out of the man's clothing as he left the club last night. I don't have a clue how this will help me ID him, though." And with that crestfallen conclusion, the Stud finally fell silent, hastily pulling his ‘indifferent' mask back on to hide how much he truly longed for the lost youth.


Now, I ask you, how could any self-respecting Fairy Godperson leave matters like this? I had two lonely, lovestruck men, each lost without the other, one looking desperately for his love and the other lost in low-spirited lamenting of what could have been. Somehow, I had to get these two back together again, without breaking my promise to Justin, and without letting Brian know that I could tell just how much he cared about this unknown little twink.



Chapter End Notes:

I was laughing so hard while writing the section about the twins' return that I almost couldn't finish writing the chapter. At least I amuse myself, if no one else! Realized I now have to add "BDSM" warning to this story after what went down with Ethan and Ian - although it's very light and not explicit. Please don't let it scare you off. TAG

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