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**This chapter is dedicated to Bryton4ever71, because he was pickled tink over my last chapter.***  TAG

 

 

Chapter 8

 

All the way home, all Justin could think about was the Leather Ball. Of course, the little novice knew nothing about the leather lifestyle, but that didn't matter because the only words he'd heard come out of Emmett's mouth were ‘Ball' and ‘Brian'. After his washroom adventure with the man earlier in the afternoon, Justin knew that he had to have more of the amazing brunet and he thought that, just maybe, this Ball would be his best bet at getting what he wanted.

 

Unfortunately for the day-dreaming darling, Ethan and Ian had long beat him home and were on the look out for the poor boy's return. They pounced on poor little Justin faster than a barn cat on a cornered rat as soon as the boy walked through the front door. The lovely lad, whose head was still in La-la-land with the gorgeous and gallant Kinney and swirling fantasies of whirling and dancing amongst half-naked men, was taken completely by surprise by the ambush.

 

Ethan, who had been leaning against the staircase banister, popped up and grasped Justin around his shoulders, but not in a nice glad-to-see-ya-hug kinda way. Ian, who had been standing between the doorjamb and the front window where he had a good view of the driveway and front walk, popped up behind the boy and snaked his arm around the kid's waist with one hand while tearing the paper Justin was holding out of the unsuspecting child's hand. Justin just gaped back and forth between the two, uncomprehendingly.

 

"Sooooo, what have we got here?" began the interrogation by Ian as he perused the pamphlet purloined from poor Justin. "The ‘Leather Ball'? What the hell is this all about, little brother?"

 

"Gimme that," ordered Ethan as he grabbed the flyer away from his twin. "Oh, no, no, no, no. Dear, Justin. You don't actually think that you are going to go to this Ball thing, now do you? Hmmm?"

 

"I might," was the brave backlash from our bonny bold boy.

 

"What? You think you'll go to the Ball and meet some handsome prince who'll take you away from all this?" Ethan began taunting the twink. "Grow up, Taylor. This isn't some fairy tale. It's real life and there's no way YOUR homophobic Dad is going to let you go to some Fairy Ball. More likely he'll have your BALLS if you even bring it up. And no way are we gonna let you sneak out of here - no, this is way too much fun!"  

 

"Please," Justin grovelled, "don't tell my father. Please. He's already threatened me with sending me off to some deprogramming camp. Please."

 

"Well, what's in it for us?" Ian was always willing to compromise - of course his idea of a compromise was one where he got his way completely and the other person got shafted.  

 

"I . . . I don't know," Justin couldn't think of anything he could offer that these boys couldn't just take from him anyway. "What . . . what do you want?"

 

"Well, let's think about that." Ethan had always been the more introspective of the two Nellah brothers. ‘What do I want?' he thought. The dirt they had on Justin was too good to waste on just any old petty blackmail scheme. They already had the boy totally cowed - he did all their chores and most of their homework. They could take anything that belonged to Justin without fear of any reprisals from the meek boy or his father. While he was contemplating just what would be the best possible extortion request in this particular circumstance, he happened to glance down at the flyer in his fist.  

 

"Hmmm. I think that Ian and I would have much more fun at this Ball than you," Ethan opined. "I think that if you agreed to help us get costumes and agreed to cover for us with the ‘rents the night of, we might agree not to tell your dad about your extracurricular activities. Plus, you'll of course have to do anything else we tell you for the rest of the week". (Okay, Ethan may have been the more introspective of the two brothers but he wasn't exactly a genius. In fact, if brains were leather, he wouldn't have enough to saddle a junebug. Apparently the fact that, by revealing he and Ian were interested in attending the Leather Ball, he'd just intimated that he and Ian were both into men and/or leather themselves, slipped his notice.)

 

When given these alternatives, Justin looked about as happy as a dead pig in the July sunshine. Get outed to his Dad or help these two morons go to the Leather Ball in his place - not much of a choice. Mild-mannered, glasses-clad demeanor notwithstanding, Justin was seething inside. There was no way he was going to help these heinous, hateful hellions towards their happy-ever-after if he was hindered from being with the heaven-sent hunk otherwise known as Brian Kinney. But our boy wasn't exactly lacking in the brains department, so he simply agreed to the outrageous demands of his sadistic siblings - for now, that is.

 

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A joyless Justin called me later that night to relate his doings with the detestable duo when he got home. The little blond twink wasn't nearly as empty-headed as one would expect, though, and together, we came up with a perfect plan as to how we would do in the beastly brothers and still get our beautiful boy to the Ball. However, you know that old saying about best laid plans of mice and men . . .

 

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The next evening found the three siblings situated in the suite of the favored sons of the house. Ethan and Ian had directed Justin to bring them up a tray of snacks to slake their hunger while the young Taylor helped the tiresome twins try-on and tailor some togs that they thought they might wear to the Ball. The beleaguered boy barrelled into the boudoir bearing a tray bountifully brimming with yummy bites of many different cold cuts, fruits and vegetable bits. (Did I mention how incredibly spoiled these two were - they rarely ate what was served to them at dinner and would instead demand that they be served whatever dainties they desired later in the day). Justin barely managed to heft the huge trayful of goodies over to the sideboard before dropping it disgustedly and turning towards the step-beasts to hear their next demand.

 

Ian was in the middle of displaying his latest dress option for the ball - the current outfit looked like a knockoff Zorro costume complete with cheesy cape and half mask. He was also brandishing around a fencing blade - god only knew where he got that - waving it wildly around and almost poking his brother's eye out in the process. Justin had to hold back a snicker of derision. He barely stopped himself.

 

To keep himself occupied and his mouth busy so that he wouldn't be tempted to tell the two twats what he really thought of them, he turned to the snack tray. He looked over the selection of fresh fruit and almost went for the nice ripe banana. But, as he extended his hand to grasp the luscious fruit, he hesitated. No, he thought, he was in the mood for something much more . . . tart. Ahh, the jar of pickles called out to him and he used a fork to spear the largest pickle he could find, admiring its girth and length as he sucked on it. Unfortunately, his pleasurable pickle moment was rudely interrupted by Ian demanding his attention and his opinion of the Zorro costume.  

 

Luckily for the lad, he didn't have to voice his low opinion of Ian's choice as he was interrupted by Ethan entering and attempting to sport the ‘Biker Look' complete with spiked leather collar, black leather vest and chaps. This time he couldn't hold back the loud guffaw that erupted from his gut. "Really, Ethan?" Justin commented. There was no way the scrawny, flat chested, muscle-less Ethan could carry off that costume. He'd be laughed out of the club faster than kudzu covers an oak tree in Alabama. Reluctantly, Ethan retreated to try on his next option.

 

Justin almost choked on his pickle as Ian entered the room with his next fabulous ensemble. This time Ian was sporting a swashbuckler theme, complete with cropped leather leggings, a large leather belt with an ostentatious gold belt buckle and a loose fitting leather vest over a blousy white shirt adorned with a cascade of frills down the front.  

 

"Hello. My name is Inago Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die," Ian ventured in his best spanish (sorta) accent while again brandishing the fencing epee.

 

This time Justin's glee could not be constrained. He began laughing so hard he doubled over and eventually fell to his knees, dropping his lovely pickle in the process, completely out of breath. When Ethan came back into the room garbed in a ‘Black Bart' leather cowboy getup, Justin was literally rolling on the floor, laughing so hard he thought his ribs would break and with tears streaming from his eyes. Needless to say, his brothers were not very enamored with his responses and ordered him out of the room and back to his dungeon forthwith.

 

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Meanwhile, Justin and I were surreptitiously working on the boy's very own ball attire. The plan was that Jus would complacently go along with the bastard boys demands - helping them get ready for the Ball, hemming their pants and otherwise pretending to go along with their demands. All the time, though, the two of us would be working to get Justin ready as well. Now I knew the two little spies wouldn't let Sunshine out of the house, but after our last two shopping excursion, I already had a pretty good idea of his size and what would look good on the boy (well, to be honest, practically anything would look good on that pretty little bubble butt). So I did the shopping for the boy while he was kowtowing to the two kibitzing kids.  

 

Now the wedding plans were winding up since the big day itself was only two weeks away at this point. But that meant that there were ample opportunities for Justin and I to meet as I was constantly coming and going, accommodating Brenda's many and often vacillating demands.  

 

I finally managed to slip him the duds I'd decided on for the dear on Thursday afternoon. I'd picked up a fairly conservative ensemble for him - a black silk shirt (one size too small, of course), with tight fitting leather pants that should perfectly hug that pert ass of his and a tasteful half-mask/leather collar combination - like I said, for the Leather Ball this was pretty conservative. Justin was beyond thrilled with my choices and couldn't wait to try everything on. But just then we heard Ethan and Ian drive up in their rather loud muscle car, so the boy had to simply hide the outfit for now and promised to try it on later and call me with his final opinion.  

 

Now, the only thing I was still worried about was that egregious eyewear of his. I tried to talk him into just leaving the lenses at home on Saturday. Justin refused though, arguing that he was stone-blind without the glasses and it wouldn't do him any good to be bumbling around at the Ball completely blind. He wanted to see everything - wasn't that really the point? I reluctantly agreed that it probably would be better if he could see where he was walking and who he was walking into, at least so he could tell the trolls apart from the studs.  

 

However, just as I was getting up to leave, Brenda the Breeder called down the stairs ordering the hottest little cookie around to get cleaned up and come help her with dinner. Justin laid his glasses on the side table near the sofa we'd been sitting on and plodded to the washroom to clean his face and hands off before venturing into the kitchen. I saw my chance and took it without a second thought - I grabbed those beer-bottle lenses, stashed them in my bag, yelled over my shoulder, "Chow, Darling" and bolted out of the house before Justin could catch me.  

 

You see, I had a plan of my own - I knew how to magically transform the timid toy boy, but I would need to prepare the ingredients for my potion first and those glasses were part of the spell.

 

 

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