Justin thundered down the stairs and skidded into the kitchen at six-thirty on Saturday morning. He didn't have to set foot in St. James for a week because of the Thanksgiving break, and today was the big day, the one when they'd add a new member to their family.
He grinned happily as Vic glanced up from where he was ensconced at the kitchen table in his pajamas, plaid bathrobe, and slippers, sipping at a steaming cup of coffee. "What's got you so chipper this morning?" the man leered, licking his lips. "Did you get some last night?"
The teen shifted uncomfortably, his dick twitching in his cargos, as he was reminded that he'd had only his hand to rely on for the past two weeks. He needed to change that soon, or he figured his hand might wear out. Maybe he could pull a willing trick after his first dance shift at Babylon...
When Vic cleared his throat, quirking an eyebrow at him, Justin flushed, realising he hadn't answered the older man's question. "Uh, no," he stuttered, mourning, "haven't gotten any in far too long."
"I suggest you rectify that stat," Vic jested. "A gay boy's pecker will wither and fall off if it's not used.
"Bite your tongue, Vic Grassi," Debbie ordered as she entered the kitchen. "I'm sure Justin's pecker is in no danger. Right, Sunshine?"
The teen wanted to melt through the floor from embarrassment. How did their conversations so often veer onto the topic of his sex life? he wondered. "Uh, pass me the cereal, would'ya Debs?" he requested, quickly changing the topic.
"That's not enough to sustain a growing boy," the redhead teasingly chided, making Justin turn even redder. "How about I whip up some scrambled eggs and bacon?"
"Say yes!" Vic hissed, pouting. "Sis'll never make them just for me."
"You old reprobate," Debbie scolded. "You get bacon and eggs at least once a week," saucily adding, "although you tend to prefer biting into sausage."
"You know me so well, Sis," her brother readily agreed, not looking at all offended.
"So, bacon and eggs?" Deb repeated her offer, already grabbing the ingredients from the fridge.
"If it's not too much trouble, and if there's enough time before our shift," Justin responded politely, his stomach rumbling happily at the idea it would soon be fed. "I could always grab something at the diner."
"I can whip this up in two shakes of a lamb's tail," Debs insisted, making Justin laugh at the colloquialism as she sashayed toward the stove, shaking her own well-padded tail, a carton of eggs in hand.
"Eat here," Vic advised, chuckling along with the blond at his sister's antics. "Even Fahad's cooking doesn't have a touch on Deb's."
"Okay," Justin acquiesced easily, walking over to his surrogate mother and inquiring, "what can I do to help?"
"See that, Vic?" Debbie addressed her brother, "You should follow Sunshine's example."
"I rather think he should follow mine," Vic quipped, settling deeper into his chair.
"I don't need any help, Kiddo," the motherly redhead told Justin. "I could prepare this in my sleep. Go take a load off - you'll be running around like a chicken with its head cut off soon enough at the diner."
Deb quickly beat the eggs together with milk, throwing in some spices. "I'd better give you a hand, though," she remarked.
"With?" the puzzled teen responded.
"Your concealer," the redhead replied, "unless you want to field queries about your shiner."
"Fuck, no," the teen exclaimed. "I've already had enough of that. I've learned I'm not much of a dab hand at applying greasepaint," he finished wryly. Then a thought struck him. "I'm lucky Detective Horvath didn't notice anything yesterday."
Debs snorted in a very unladylike manner. "You really believe that, Kiddo? Coppers notice everything."
Justin scrunched up his nose. "He didn't say anything, though," he noted, brow furrowing.
The redhead shrugged. "Probably didn't want to lay into you any more than necessary," she theorised. "We'll cover up that black eye right after we eat."
A few minutes before seven o'clock, the two cohorts entered the diner, astounded to be confronted by a teeming crowd.
"Thank fuck you're here," Harry greeted them. "The queers have been crawling out of the woodwork since five o'clock this morning."
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Deb exclaimed. "Is there a sale on dildos or something?"
"Either that, or they're here to ogle Justin's bodacious butt," Harry quipped. He vanished into the breakroom, reappearing moments later with his coat on. "I'm outta here," he announced, before dashing out the door.
"He must've really wanted to escape this horde," the blond remarked, shaking his head. "He couldn't even wait for us to get our aprons on."
"You know," Deb stated wearily a few hours later as they met up at the cash register, "there may be something to Harry's theory that your ass is attracting more customers than ever before."
"No complaints," the somewhat frazzled teen replied. "It's raking in lots of tips, so I'll have something to pay Brian back.
"I'm so fucking proud of you for sticking to that," the waitress declared, before hustling over to serve two noisy queens, who appeared to be arguing about who had the better wig. Justin himself would probably vote for the Victoria Beckham style short bob rather than the Brigitte Bardot inspired blonde wig.
The teenager was practically bouncing as he and Debbie left the eatery that afternoon at four o'clock, energized by their upcoming shopping expedition. "Where shall we look first, Debs?" he excitedly inquired. "The local humane society?"
The redhead chuckled at Justin's exuberance. "You sure have been chomping at the bit - ever since we unearthed my old birdcage while cleaning the attic last Saturday - to acquire a budgie," Debbie fondly teased the eager blond. "That's a fine notion, however, Sunshine. If they don't have Harley's great-great-grandson, we'll try somewhere else."
When they reached Deb's house, the redhead led Justin directly to the garage.
"What is that?" Justin questioned in astonishment after Debbie heaved open the door.
"That's my Vincent," Debbie announced, patting the vivid orange exterior of the Ford Pinto as she walked to the driver's side. "Go on. Get in," she waved the teen toward the passenger door.
The vinyl was clearly old, Justin observed as he gingerly opened the door and looked inside, but the interior had been kept scrupulously clean. The unkind thought that Michael must not have driven it recently crossed his mind; the man seemed to leave a trail of crumbs and debris behind him wherever he ate, and the blond couldn't believe that if Michael had a car, he wouldn't constantly have munched away on junk food in the vehicle.
"I was such hot stuff in this car," Deb reminisced. "The guys couldn't take their eyes off me."
The teenager had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out that it was probably the hideous car that had drawn attention. He'd never hurt Debbie's feelings by saying that, though. "Um," he cleared his throat, "you really were a bombshell in those old albums I leafed through, Debs."
The redhead turned her head, bestowing a brilliant smile on Justin. "Why thank you, Kiddo. I pulled quite a few guys back in the day."
An ‘eww' expression on his face, the blond pled, "Can we talk about something else? Please..."
Debbie cackled, "Heteros do it too, ya know."
"Yeah," Justin mumbled, "but I don't want to think about it, much less talk about it."
"Here we are," the motherly woman declared as she pulled into the parking lot for the Sequoia Humane Society.
The teen looked at the sign in puzzlement, inquiring. "Aren't sequoias out west, like in California?"
"I reckon that's about right," Deb replied. "I think the founder of this place was a transplanted tree-hugger from some remote town in the northwest. He must've been feeling nostalgic when he named it."
"I wonder if budgies like the redwoods..." Justin mused as they entered the building, the bell chiming Where the Wild Things Are.
"Can I help you?" a young woman asked brightly, her name tag identifying her as Susie, a volunteer.
"Uh, yeah, I'm looking for a blue budgie," Justin responded hesitantly, thinking that this place was likely to have mostly cats and dogs. He and Debs would probably have to try a pet store.
"Oh, you're in luck!" Susie exuberantly responded. "A couple who were moving to Nepal didn't want to put the parakeet through the trauma of an international move. They couldn't find any friends who would take the little critter, so they dropped him off here a week ago."
"Can we see him?" Justin asked, exchanging an excited glance with Debbie, barely able to believe this humane society might actually have his Harley.
"Of course. Right this way," the volunteer ushered them to a room with just a few birdcages. "We don't get that many birds here. It's mostly cats and dogs," she commented, confirming Justin's earlier surmise.
"He looks so sad," Debbie murmured, immediately homing in on the cage with the little budgie and poking her fingers through the bars.
"He's been disconsolate since he was left here," Susie admitted. "He's hardly let out a cheep."
"What do you think, Deb? This is Harley the Second for sure, right?" Justin urged.
"It definitely is, Sunshine," his surrogate mother assented. "He'll be talking in no time once we get him home."
"I'm made up that you're taking the little cutie," Susie announced. "Do you need a cage? Birdseed? We have those items for a good price."
"Fuck!" Deb exclaimed. "I forgot the cage at home." She then sheepishly glanced at Susie, "Uh, sorry. I don't have much of a filter."
Susie giggled, "No worries. I've been known to let rip with an expletive or two as well. And we have a box you can take him home in. It'll be fine since you'll be transferring him to a proper cage."
Justin interjected, "Should we get a box of birdseed?"
"Good idea," Deb concurred. Then we won't have to worry about that for a while."
Soon thereafter, they exited the building, Justin carrying Harley in a cardboard box, all of seven dollars poorer. "What a bargain," he claimed. "I never expected to acquire a parakeet and a box of bird seed so cheaply."
"We done good," Debbie humorously congratulated both of them. "Give me the birdie, okay?" she then asked, confusing the teen.
"Huh?" Justin responded to her request.
"The budgie," Debbie repeated, taking the box out of Justin's hand and tossing him the keys to Vincent.
"You want me to drive?" the blond squeaked.
"You got it in one. You really are a bright lad," Debs teased. "You want the practice, doncha?"
"Uh, yeah," Justin agreed, wincing a bit at the idea of being seen driving the Ford Pinto. Debs was right, though; he needed the practice. It had been at least a month since his mum had let him drive her car.
Fortunately, Debbie's house wasn't all that far from the humane society, so it only took twenty minutes before the teen pulled into the driveway. He was proud that he'd only stalled out once since the car had manual transmission, like his dad's; he'd only driven Craig's car twice, so shifting gears in the Pinto had been a challenge.
"Just leave Vincent in the driveway," Deb suggested. "I'll put him away later. Right now we should get Harley settled in."
"Okay," Justin readily agreed, not particularly wanting to stall out again as he maneuvered the car into the garage.
"Vic, we're home!" Deb yelled as they entered the house, Justin once more carrying the budgie.
"You found Harley the Second so quickly?" Vic queried in surprise.
"Yep. Here he is," Justin disclosed, lifting the budgie out of the box and inserting him into the birdcage, which Vic had placed on the kitchen table. "Go on little guy - check out your new home," the teen encouraged him.
Harley immediately chirped, flitting over to the blue ring in the middle of the cage and clasping it in his claws.
"He'll be cursing like a sailor in no time," Vic decreed.
"Or like a waiter," Debbie joshed.
"What's that aroma?" Justin inquired, belatedly noticing the enticing smell emanating from the oven.
"I thought we should have a bit of a celebration to welcome Harley the Second," Vic stated, "so I made some scones."
"Why, Victor Grassi," Deb crowed, slapping her brother on the shoulder and making the man stagger slightly, "it's high time you showed off your culinary skills again."
The three of them settled in at the table, munching on scones with clotted cream and sipping on tea, moving Harley's cage over to the counter so he could observe them and join in the conversation if he wanted.
"Spit it out," Vic demanded a bit later. "You're never silent for five whole minutes, Justin. What's troubling you?"
"Ehm, you were right," Justin shamefacedly confessed. "I should have gone to the police right away about my torched locker."
"What brought you to that realization?" Debbie asked.
"As you know, I was supposed to meet with Dr Perkins, the school principal, yesterday morning." Debbie frowned, possibly supposing he hadn't made it to the meeting, so the teen hastily tacked on, "I didn't miss the meeting, I promise."
"So what happened?" Vic questioned in an ominous tone.
"Perkins was a total jerk," Justin related. "He all but outright accused me of vandalizing my own locker."
"That fucking bastard," Debbie seethed. "I'm going to march down there on Monday and give him a piece of my mind."
"Uh, it's Thanksgiving break," Justin reminded her. "I doubt anyone, including Jerkins, will be around for the next week."
"Jerkins, sounds like the perfect name for that bigot," Vic chuckled. "So, Kiddo, when are you going to the police? You shouldn't put it off any longer."
"I went to see Detective Horvath - you know, the one that keeps stopping by the diner - yesterday, after I went off shift," Justin revealed.
"Why didn't you tell us about it when you got home?" Deb inquired, an offended look on her face.
"I'd already had the detective read me the riot act, even if it was out of concern," Justin admitted. "I wasn't ready for another lecture so soon after that."
"Then we'll lecture you now," Vic chided, shaking his head at the blond.
"Well, what did Horvath say? Are those flatfoots gonna do anything to help?" Debbie impatiently demanded.
"Yes," Justin hurriedly reassured Vic and Deb, who were both distrustful, with good reason, of the police. "Detective Horvath is going to ring Jerkins again after the break - he already tried once - and see whether he can make him rethink matters. If that doesn't work, it's likely his partner, Detective Wen, will pay a visit to the school. She's one scary woman, let me tell you," the teen reported, shuddering a bit.
"If you need scary, just sic me on that sack of shit," Deb suggested. "I'll show the man scary. He'll be pissing his pants before I'm done."
"Calm down, Sis. Let the fuzz handle it for now," Vic advised. "You can be their backup."
"Alright," Deb conceded. "You'd better keep us updated from now on, you hear me, young man?"
Justin promptly agreed, and the trio turned to discussing preparations for the upcoming Thanksgiving dinner, Vic teasing, "Do we need to get a whole turkey just to appease your stomach, Sunshine?"
Come six-thirty, Justin was hoofing it over to Babylon, still utterly made up about his new buddy. His trademark smile covered his face as he knocked at the door, Oscar - the bouncer who'd done him a good turn by letting him in with Vic's ID the first time he'd visited the club - finally cracking it open a few minutes later. "We aren't open yet, Blondie," he grinned, Justin's good humor proving infectious, as usual.
"I know," the teen replied, "but Mr Smythe wanted to meet with me." He hadn't yet adjusted to the idea of calling the owner of the club by his first name and didn't know if he ever would.
"So, you're the new go-go boy who's going to bring in the hordes of customers," the bouncer deduced. "Arthur's been raving about some blond boy, but I hadn't connected him with you till now."
"Yep. That's me." Justin beamed some more. "I just hope I can live up to his high expectations."
"You do realize you're gonna be fucking tired after shaking your ass all night, don't you?" Oscar asked, shaking his head at the teen's enthusiasm. "That's no easy gig."
"I can handle it," Justin asserted confidently. No way was he going to pass on this opportunity to earn money that would allow him to pay Brian back more quickly for all those burgled goods.
"Just don't turn to drugs to keep yourself going," the bouncer cautioned. "You'd crash and burn so bad, it'd take you ages to recover."
"Don't worry, Oscar. No drugs," Justin promised.
"Off you go then. Arthur's office is up the stairs to the left," Oscar informed him.
"Justin, lad," Smythe greeted him warmly when he knocked and poked his head through the open door. "It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you too, sir," Justin greeted the older gent, who was wearing a pair of horn-rimmed half glasses. The man really was something of a fox, Justin observed, before dismissing him as being much too old. Besides, the man was about to become his boss, and it wouldn't do to fuck the man under those circumstances.
"No need to call me sir," Smythe reminded the teen. "I'm not that much older than you."
Justin's face pinkened as he wondered whether the bossman had read his mind.
Babylon's owner continued speaking, however, without further addressing that topic. "This is a standard contract," he explained, removing the document from a pile of papers on his desk. "You'll be working part-time, twelve to eighteen hours a week, as long as it fits in with your school requirements and your schedule at the diner. Does that sound reasonable?"
"It does," Justin agreed, certain he could handle two or three nights of dancing per week.
"Refreshments and snacks are free for employees, of course," Arthur continued, "and you'll get a break after dancing for thirty minutes. You'll dance and take breaks on a rotation system, which goes like this: Dancer one goes on a break and dancer two replaces him. Ten minutes later, dancer three takes his break, and dancer one steps in for him. Then dancer four leaves, and dancer one replaces him. That goes on until dancer one is up for a break again.
The teen's eyes glazed over a bit as he tried to calculate how that would work, causing Smythe to chuckle.
"Don't worry," he reassured Justin, "the system has been in use for years and runs smoothly. I know dancing is hard work, so I do my best to ensure my lads don't collapse from exhaustion." His eyes twinkled devilishly at Justin, as if he couldn't imagine a teen in such fine fettle doing anything of the sort.
Justin nodded in acknowledgement. So far, so good.
"My plan is to schedule you on Friday and Saturday nights, with an occasional extra night," Smythe elucidated. "We usually get our largest crowds at the weekend, and that fine arse of yours will be an extra draw."
The teen almost reached back to check his own ass; he hadn't realized it was quite that fine.
"It's the first thing they'll notice, of course, with you waggling it in their faces as they order their drinks." Smythe rubbed his hands gleefully, presumably at the thought of all the loot he'd be making. "Then, they'll notice that brilliant smile of yours and be completely captivated. They'll be stuffing so many bills in your underwear, you'll have to spend half your break counting the money you've earned," the man jested. "The club also rakes in money from customers buying drinks for you dancers, so we instruct the barmen to substitute non-alcoholic drinks for anything they order for you - for example, water instead of vodka, iced tea instead of whiskey."
As dollar signs danced in his eyes, Justin decided he was going to be the best ass-wagger ever. He didn't care that he wouldn't be drinking alcohol since it wouldn't make a good impression on his boss - he was underage, after all - and alcohol wouldn't hydrate him properly after he'd worked up a sweat anyroad.
"The tips are all yours, naturally," the bossman asserted. "That's where you'll earn most of your money, and it's the reason your base wage is only eighteen dollars an hour. I'd estimate your tips will be a minimum of five times the hourly amount, probably ten times, depending on how much those horny queers are lusting after you."
"Hmm," Justin mumbled, completely gobsmacked that he could expect to earn that much money in one hour.
"You'll work a six-hour shift on Friday and Saturday, and you'll get a longer break in the middle of the shift so you can eat something and refuel your energy," Arthur further laid out the terms. "Will eight p.m. until two a.m. work for you?"
"That'll be fine," Justin affirmed.
A few minutes later they were done reviewing the contract, so the teen requested, "I'd like to take the contract and have my lawyer look it over this evening. Once she okays it, I'll sign, make a copy, and return it to you tomorrow."
Smythe's eyebrows rose in surprise when Justin mentioned his lawyer, and he intoned, "You really are full of surprises, young man. I didn't expect a high schooler to have his own attorney."
The blond shrugged. "She's part of my Liberty Avenue family and is always ready to lend any of us a hand."
"I envy you, Justin," Smythe half joked. "I have to pay my lawyer a hefty retainer for his services."
Shortly after leaving Babylon, Justin arrived on the lesbians' doorstep, hoping it would be okay that he hadn't called ahead. When Lindsay opened the door, looking rather disheveled, he hesitantly inquired, "Is this a bad time?"
"Huh?" the blonde woman replied. "Oh, no, we weren't doing that."
Justin practically wilted in relief. After Deb and her allusions earlier that day to het sex, he really couldn't have dealt with hearing about what lesbians did - in or out of bed.
"Gus spit up all over me," Lindsay explained, brushing at the large damp patch on her blouse. "I was just trying to get it out with some Zout. It would've made more sense to change my top, but I didn't feel like traipsing upstairs."
At that moment, Melanie appeared, carrying the culprit. "Jushun," the toddler babbled, stretching out his arms toward the blond.
"Hiya, Buddy," Justin cheerfully greeted the tyke, taking him from Mel. "I hear you've been busy decorating your mum."
Gus gurgled again, looking inordinately pleased with himself, the resemblance to his father plain to see.
"Let me have him again for a moment," Melanie suggested, "so you can at least take off your jacket."
The tyke whooped as he was handed back to his mother, obviously considering it a fun game.
After divesting himself of his coat, scarf, and gloves, Justin sat down on the couch, rooting around in his backpack. He finally pulled out the contract, which had somehow gotten lodged at the bottom in less than twenty minutes. "There it is!" he triumphantly exclaimed, before turning to Mel and asking, "I don't mean to be a bother, but could you possibly look this over for me? I want to make sure everything is kosher before I sign it."
"What is it?" Mel inquired curiously, taking a seat next to Justin, handing Gus to him, and reaching for the document on the coffee table.
"It's my contract to perform as a go-go boy at Babylon," the teen absently replied as he made faces at Gus, much to the boy's delight.
"You're really going through with that?" Mel enquired, her misgivings clear in her voice.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Justin huffed. "I'm an adult, and my decisions should be respected." The teen had the niggling impression that he sounded more like a petulant five-year-old, but he resolutely ignored it.
"Whoa, calm down, sweetie," Mel commanded, placatingly patting Justin's hand, which rested on Gus' back. "I just want to make sure you've thought it through."
"I've talked with a few go-go dancers," Linds chimed in as she carried a tray with a pot of tea, a creamer, a sugar bowl, cups and saucers, spoons, and a plate with slices of gingerbread over to the coffee table. "None of them could get by without popping pills - the job is that exhausting."
Justin nevertheless remained certain he could handle the job, but he felt bad for being such a rude little shit. "I'm sorry," he confessed. "I know you were only expressing your concern for me. I promise, if it gets to the point that I can't keep going without drugs, I'll quit."
Right then a perfunctory knock on the door heralded Brian's arrival as the brunet pushed open the door, interrupting their conversation. Paling, Justin frantically hissed, "Don't mention the go-go gig in front of Brian, okay? It's practically the only thing he's talked to me about since we split, and all he did was chastise me."
Lindsay stood up to greet her friend, while Melanie murmured, "We won't say anything as long as you agree to talk more with us. Here," she added, "the contract seems above board, so you can sign it. But we will discuss this more."
Justin quickly agreed, stuffing the contract in his backpack and pulling out a pad of paper, bouncing Gus in his arms as he did so. "Jushun!" the tyke crowed, tangling his pudgy fingers in strands of blond hair as the teen hastily started sketching him.
"Justin. Mel," Brian acknowledged curtly as he walked into the room. Fuck, why did the blond have to pop up everywhere he went? he morosely wondered.
"Bah, ga," Gus greeted his dad with a smile, drool trailing down his chin.
"That's right, Sonnyboy," Brian encouraged, lifting the boy out of the loose circle of Justin's arms. "Say Dada."
"Hey!" Justin protested.
"Give over," Brian muttered. "You can do a better job with your scribbling if you look at my son while you're doing it."
"My son," Mel predictably insisted, riling Brian.
"Let's skip the argument, shall we?" Linds hastily interposed. "He's our son, all three of ours."
Melanie and Brian subsided with ill grace, but the brunet managed to block out everything except the scritch-scratch of Justin's pencil as he looked at his son. "Dada," he repeated, enunciating each syllable distinctly.
"Mama," Gus essayed, which wasn't at all what Brian expected - or wanted.
"Fuck, no, I'm not a muncher," a horrified Brian declared, staring at his son in bemusement.
Justin began laughing, while Linds gazed at Mel in drop-jawed amazement. "Did you hear that?" she asked in unison with her partner, who asked the same question at the same time.
"Traitor," Brian accused his son, although by the pride in his voice, it was obvious he wasn't truly upset.
"Jushun. Mama gah bub," the little boy babbled.
"Okay, now you've got it right, Sonnyboy," Brian confirmed. "Justin is a lesbian."
The teen just laughed harder, finding Brian's attempt at asserting some control humorous. His ex knew very well he was anything but a lesbian. Shaking his head, Justin picked up the sketchbook he'd dropped during his laughing fit and began drawing again.
Brian narrowed his eyes at the chuckling teen, watching as the boy put pencil to paper, and his mood eased as he recalled Justin drawing him on a different occasion and what it had led to...
The munchers' living room faded away, to be replaced by his bed at the loft, Brian kneading massage oil into Justin's shoulders as the teen moaned and squirmed beneath him.
"How about heading south a bit?" Justin suggested hopefully. "The small of my back really aches."
"Your back?" Brian responded drily, digging his thumbs into the ridges of the blond's spine. "That it?"
"Perhaps a bit further down..." Justin breathily murmured. "I am kind of sore down there."
The brunet chuckled evilly. "You'll have to describe where it aches better than that, Sunshine."
"Keep working your way downward," Justin advised, turning his head to grin cheekily at his lover, "and I'll tell you when you've reached the right spot."
"Here?" Brian asked, digging hard into the base of the boy's spine. "This is where the small of your back is located, you know."
"A bit further," the blond begged, writhing on the sheets.
Brian was having a hard time stopping himself from wriggling too, excited by all that pale flesh sprawled across his eight-hundred-thread count navy sheets. His cock was sticking almost straight up, bobbing slightly, pre-come spilling from the slit. It was high time to provide it some relief, the brunet decided, teasingly trailing one finger along Justin's crack. "Is that the right place?" he huskily inquired.
"Yeah," the teen conceded, raising his ass in the air. "A bit more pressure, though."
"Like this?" Brian tantalized Justin by adding just the slightest bit of pressure.
"More," Justin panted, canting his arse further into the air.
Brian playfully slapped it before leaning down and worrying one cheek with his teeth.
"To the left a bit," the teen gasped, sounding like he'd just run a marathon.
Brian obligingly swiped his tongue along that crevice, swirling the tip around Justin's opening before withdrawing.
"Mmpfh," Justin inarticulately moaned as Brian inserted one finger and then another into his hole.
The brunet smiled at the delectable sight, telling his pecker it just needed to hold on for a few more moments as he thoroughly stroked Justin's prostate. "I wouldn't want you to complain that your masseur did a subpar job," he joked.
"Mmpfh," the teen grumbled again, before managing to form a few words, "Now, Brian; I need you in me now."
"Your wish is my command," Brian asserted, momentarily terrified by how true that was.
Just as the brunet was pushing his dick into Justin's ass, both men moaning in pleasure, a voice intruded, "Earth to Brian."
"Huh?" Brian grunted in confusion as he groped about for the blond who'd just vanished from his bed.
"I asked if you'd like to bathe Lambskin," Lindsay repeated, evidently for the second or third time.
The disorientated brunet blinked at his son in surprise.
"What were you thinking about so deeply?" Mel inquired, eying Brian suspiciously.
"Nothing important," Brian tried to shake off the fantasy. Hoisting Gus in his arms, he stood and turned to Lindsay, awkwardly quipping, "I thought you'd eliminated the baby talk."
The two friends bickered about whether or not pet names constituted baby talk as they ascended the stairs.
Meanwhile, Justin seethed, pissed at Brian for completely ignoring him. That the brunet could so casually dismiss him as unimportant brought home to the teen how little he mattered to the man these days.
"I'm going to head back to Debbie's and see how Harley's faring," he informed Mel, attempting to shake off his deflated mood.
"Who's Harley?" the lesbian asked, pecking him on the cheek. "New boyfriend?"
"You'll meet him tomorrow," Justin promised, shaking his head and smiling mysteriously.
"You scamp," Melanie chided fondly as she followed him to the door.
He just had to forget Brian, the teen reminded himself after saying farewell to Mel, whistling Let's Hear It for the Boy as he walked over to Kinkos to copy the contract.