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When Justin woke up that morning, he stretched slowly, feeling his ass twinge as he did so. Memories of the previous night's pleasures assaulted his mind and he sighed happily, opening his eyes. Then, looking around in puzzlement, he wondered what he'd done with his new toy. He couldn't have lost it, since he'd had it in bed with him the last he remembered... 

Right then, as he rolled onto his back, something prodded him in the thigh. "Ah, there you are," Justin smirked, immediately glancing at the door, hoping no one had overheard him talking to the - mostly - inanimate Battery Operated Brian. "Fuck," he cursed when he realized the name had apparently stuck, following it with a halfhearted shrug when he decided it didn't really matter.

After enjoying a leisurely shower - he had a rare day off work and wasn't meeting his mum at the diner until nine - he clambered down the stairs to the kitchen, where he was greeted by Harley chirping loudly, "Hellooo, Briaaan."

Peering over the top of the newspaper, Vic shot a smug grin at him.

Flushing, Justin surmised, "I take it I was really loud last night?"

"Woke me up," Vic confirmed with a nod, chuckling, "after I'd dozed off in my armchair. All that screaming inspired me to teach Harley a new greeting this morning. Not that the little fellow didn't get an earful last night..."

Whether Vic had given the budgie some kind of verbal prompt, or whether Harley just wanted to test out his new word, the blond wasn't certain, but the parakeet again peeped, "Hellooo, Briaaaaaaan," his ex-lover's name seeming particularly drawn out this time.

"Deb asked me to tell you that she regrets missing all the action," Vic teased. "She only caught the final moan of ‘Brian!' as she returned from driving Daphne home."

"Fuck," Justin eloquently replied, floundering about for something to say as he poured himself a cup of joe.

"I'd say you and Bob definitely did that," Vic jested. "I told Sis she shouldn't have to wait long for a reprise."

"Fuck," the teen reiterated, turning a deeper shade of red. "Yeah," he then admitted sheepishly, "there probably will be many encores."

"Good," the older man nodded, "I'd hate to forgo my nightly entertainment."

Justin grabbed the international news section, so he could hide his reddening face behind it, the two men sipping their coffee and perusing the paper in silence for the next ten minutes.

"Enough of this," Vic declared, tossing the paper aside in disgust. "The news is all about that moron Dubya taking office this January."

"I'm going to miss Clinton," Justin commented. "At least he gives a shit about equal rights for queers."

"Yeah," the older man sighed deeply, "tough times ahead, I fear. With a president like that."

The blond shrugged. "Yeah, well, at least it can't be worse. It can only get better from now on."

Vic snorted. "Oh, Kid, I'm pretty sure it can get worse still. I just hope I won't live long enough to see it." He paused. "But enough of that depressing garbage. Tell us, what're you up to today?"

"I'm meeting my mum for breakfast at the diner," Justin responded, glancing at his watch, "in about twenty minutes. After that, I'm thinking of visiting the Carnegie Museum of Art. Or maybe I'll drop by the library and use one of their computers. I'm working on this really cool project in my IT class; it doesn't even seem like schoolwork."

"The diner's rather out of Jennifer's comfort zone, isn't it?" Vic quirked an eyebrow at the teen.

"Well, she has been there before," Justin noted, "when she talked to Debbie about what it was like to have a gay son."

"Ah, that's right," Vic acknowledged. "I remember Sis thinking they'd established a rapport."

"They might've built a real friendship if my mum hadn't decided it was in her best interests to stay with Craig." The blond shrugged in faked indifference.

"It's okay to miss your mother, Sunshine," the older man commiserated. "She may come around yet, you know."

"Maybe," Justin shrugged again. "But I'll be fine if she doesn't... now that I have you and Debs."

"We're family," Vic affirmed, grinning at the blond. "You too, Harley," he amended when the budgie banged his new mirror lantern against his cage. "Hello, Baby. Come, come, come," the blue bird chirped. "Hellooo, Briaaan," making both men laugh.

 

As awkward as Justin's morning conversation was, it didn't hold a candle to what Brian's beginning of Tuesday was like. The brunet stud woke up to the sounds of road construction, a pounding in his head, and a crick in his neck. He slowly blinked his eyes open, squinting in the early morning sun, and noticed he was on the couch. Had he really never even made it to bed?

A loud, raspy noise disturbed his thoughts, and Brian turned his aching head to his left, coming face to face with a sleeping Theodore. Apparently, what he had thought was an ongoing construction in his sleep-addled state was his friend snoring.

"Ted!" he hissed, kicking at his friend in an attempt to wake him up. "Theodore!"

"Hmm?" the other man mumbled, not opening his eyes.

Brian kicked out again, a little harder this time. "Wake up, you lazy sod," he demanded.

Ted shifted, mumbling sleepily, "Go 'way."

Sighing heavily, the adman heaved himself up slowly. It was time to bring out the big guns. He leaned closer to his dozing friend and whispered in his ear, "Auditor. Debt. Red numbers. Depreciation." A frown appeared on the accountant's face, and Brian continued with a chuckle, "Bankruptcy. Insolvency. Market crash."

Ted finally opened his eyes, scowling at him. "You're mean," he complained.

The younger man rolled his eyes. "What do you mean? Was I not nice enough to let you sleep on my couch?"

Theodore glanced at his surroundings. "Oh." 

"Yeah, ‘oh.' Now get up, it's already past seven," he told his friend, pausing when he noticed the intent gaze Ted was aiming at his face. "What?"

"You look like hell," Ted commented with an amused snort.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, you're not exactly going to be winning any pageants either," he countered, staring pointedly at the older man's wrinkled clothing.

The accountant shrugged, uncaring.

"I'm going to get ready," Brian announced, waving his arm in the direction of his bedroom, before demanding, "You are going to make me coffee."

Ted sighed. "Fine. Do you have a spare toothbrush?"

Brian's eyes narrowed. "Maybe?" he drawled slowly.

The other man snorted. "I'm not gonna jerk off on it, if that's what you're worried about," he deadpanned.

The younger man nodded. "In that case, yes, I have a spare toothbrush you can use." And with those words, he went to get himself ready. He emptied his bladder, popped a painkiller for his hangover, took a lightning-fast shower, brushed his teeth, shaved off his stubble, styled his hair, and put on a deep blue Armani suit - all in less than ten minutes. Content with his appearance, he made his way back out to the living room.

Ted, who had two steaming cups of coffee in his hands, gaped at him. "What is this, brujería?"

Giving him a confused look, Brian asked, "What?"

"Witchcraft," his friend explained, setting the cup on the table. "How did you go from looking like death warmed over to a GQ model in a matter of minutes?"

The younger brunet shrugged. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Then, glaring at the coffee, he questioned, "Did you put sugar in mine?"

Ted rolled his eyes. "No... but I did add a little coffee to a cupful of sugar."

Brian chuckled. "That joke is not funny anymore, Theodore."

"I find it hilarious," his friend retorted. "Do you know that if you cut half the sugar you consume out of your diet, you would be able to actually eat from time to time?"

"I eat," the younger man protested.

Ted raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? What did you eat yesterday?"

Brian thought back to the single Granny Smith he'd had for breakfast and the half of a tuna sandwich Cynthia brought him after he worked through his lunch break, and snapped back, "Shut up."

His friend just laughed at him.   

 

Having said goodbye to Vic and Harley, the blond walked towards the diner, enjoying the crunch of his shoes on the fresh layer of snow. The wet stuff soon began to soak through the canvas, though, since it wasn't at all water repellent, causing Justin to make a mental note to buy a pair of boots. Perhaps he could swing it with his next paycheck, although he hated to shell out a lot of money. Hmm, maybe Second Hand Job would have a pair that would fit him... If not, perhaps he could acquire another pair of inexpensive sneakers from Sears.

Justin clutched one gloved hand in the other, ambivalent and a little nervous about the imminent breakfast meeting with his mother. As he'd told Vic, he really didn't miss her as much as he had expected, in part because he'd been so busy but mostly because of the way Debbie and Vic had welcomed him into their home, immediately making him feel like part of their family. They'd accepted him unconditionally, in a way he had hoped his mum would do; instead, she'd carted him off to see a therapist who was supposed to ‘cure' him.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, the teen reminded himself that he was going from one safe place, Deb's house, to another - the diner. This was his home turf, and there was no way Jennifer could make him feel uncomfortable or unwelcome.

As soon as he entered the eatery, he noticed his mother sitting in one of the booths. He didn't know if it was her shiny blond hair, the ever-present aura of waspishness, or if it was the air of hetero surrounding her, but Jennifer definitely stood out.

He walked over to her, smiling awkwardly. "Hey, Mum."

She gave him a warm smile, rising to greet him. "Justin!" she called softly, hugging him. "It's so nice to see you."

The teenager suffered through the embrace stiffly, not quite managing to summon the enthusiasm to return it. "You too," he murmured into his mother's hair. She smelled nice.

"Sit down, Honey." She motioned to the empty seat opposite her. "I want to hear everything you've been up to."

Justin suppressed a snort. Yeah, right. "Not much has happened since I called you," he told her, lying through his teeth. If he told Jennifer about the locker incident or about his new job, she'd just go off on him.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "What about school? How are you doing?"

Jesus, this was weird, thought Justin. "Well, I'm doing well at maths," he offered. "I'm even tutoring Daphne."

Jennifer smiled. "That's good, Honey," she praised patronizingly. "I'm really pleased you're doing well. I remember you didn't quite like your teacher?" she hinted.

The blond shrugged, dismissing her concern. "It's fine." Then, wanting to change the topic and steer the conversation away from him, he queried, "How's Molly doing?"

"She's wonderful," his mother assured him. "She keeps asking after you. Maybe you could come home for Thanksgiving dinner, so you could see her?" she invited him.

This time Justin did snort. "Is Craig going to be there?" he asked.

Jennifer gave him a reproachful look. "Yes, Justin, your father is going to be there - it's the holidays, so the whole family should be together."

The teen shook his head. "In that case, count me out. I refuse to spend my Thanksgiving pretending I'm straight."

"No one's asking you to do that," his mum denied. "Your father just doesn't want you to..." she trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

"What?" Justin interjected. "Flaunt it? Act gay? Be myself?"

Jennifer pressed her lips tightly together. "Your dad loves you, Justin," she chided. "If only you'd make the effort to-"

"I'm not going to pretend to be someone I'm not, Mum!" the blond interrupted again. "I'm a fag, and if Craig can't accept that, I don't want to see him."

His WASP of a mother looked around nervously at Justin's raised voice, checking to see if anyone was looking at them. "Can you not shout, Honey?"

He deflated. "Sorry, I don't want to be arguing with you," he apologised. "I would love to see Molly, but I'm not setting foot anywhere my father is going to be. I'll think of something to do with her, and then I'll call you, okay?"

Jennifer nodded her assent. "Very well, I'm sure Molly will be happy to do something fun with you. Maybe you could take her to the zoo?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. So, uh," he paused, "you bought that frame for the drawing I gave Molly for her birthday?"

His mother acquired a contrite look. "Not yet, I haven't had the time," she explained with an apologetic smile.

Justin huffed. Of course she hadn't, he thought sarcastically; he should've expected her not to follow through. After all, she had to go to work every day and didn't even have time to spend her afternoons at the country club, let alone- oh, wait... "Don't worry about it," he told her, taking care to keep his tone respectful. "I'll take Molly to buy one."

Jennifer let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you, Honey. Here, I'm going to give you some money, so you can buy a nice one," she offered, pulling out her wallet.

The blond was about to refuse, when he realised he had just spent most of his own cash on a dildo and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Thank you, Mum," he accepted the twenty she slid across the table with a quirk of his mouth.

"You're welcome."

An awkward silence followed the transaction, during which Harry came over to take their orders - Jennifer ordering a single cup of coffee, while Justin asked for a full English, something the diner didn't offer very often but which was one of the specials on the menu today.

"It'll be done in a jiffy," the Asian boy grinned at them, patting Justin's shoulder in silent support. Harry must've noticed the conversation was uncomfortable.

Once they'd received their orders, Jennifer took a sip of her brew, visibly steeling herself before asking, "So... how's Brian? Are you still broken up?"

Justin raised his eyebrows. "You really want to know?"   

"Of course, I want to know," Jennifer insisted, reaching out to cover Justin's hand with her own. "It's just... he's so much older than you, Honey, and he doesn't seem very responsible, out partying till all hours of the morning like that. I can't help but think it would have been better if you'd dated a boy your own age..." She paused, then finished in a hesitant voice, "and maybe a couple girls, too? Just to make sure that, you know-" Jennifer broke off.

The teen slid his hand from underneath his mother's, scowling. How could she still not be convinced Justin was gay? "Listen," he demanded, "are you listening?"

"Of course," his mother reiterated.

Justin barely refrained from rolling his eyes at another meaningless 'of course.' Deciding to teach his mother a lesson she wouldn't easily forget, the teen speared one of the bangers from his breakfast with his fork and then slowly fed it down his throat. Jennifer's eyes kept getting wider and wider as he swallowed until he finally got it down whole. "Tasty," Justin murmured, sitting back with a self-satisfied smile on his face. "I like dick, Mum," he reminded her; "how many times do I have to tell you that?"

Jennifer sat in stunned silence for a few moments before croaking, "I just don't want you to get hurt, Sweetie. A lot of doors are going to be closed to you if you're gay."

"Like your door, you mean?" Justin questioned in a flat tone.

"Our door is never closed to you," Jennifer protested. "As long as you treat your father with respect, you can come home anytime. I'm sure Craig would take it as a gesture of goodwill if you'd just stop associating yourself with people like that... predator," she spat out. "Why not date a nice boy your age?"

"Respect works both ways, Mum," Justin declared. "Or at least it should. Besides, I don't see Craig accepting me dating any man, no matter his age."

Jennifer sighed in obvious frustration. "You don't know that."

Leaning forward, the teen decided to try a different tactic, "How old were you the first time you had sex? Don't tell me you were a virgin until you met Craig."

"I don't see how that has anything to do with-"

Justin interrupted her, insisting, "Mum! How old?"

A clearly agitated Jennifer muttered, "Sixteen."

Justin raised his eyebrows at her, snorting. "Now explain to me, how was it okay for you to fuck someone at sixteen, and then turn around and say I'm too young at seventeen?"

"There's no need for such crude language," his mother reprimanded him. Those were different times; children grew up faster back then."

"I'm not being crude," Justin snorted, "just calling it what it is - a fuck. Did you think you were in love with the first guy you screwed? So did I. But in the end it was still just a fuck." The teen avoided saying that it would always be more than a fuck to him, that he'd always be grateful Brian had been so kind to him that night.

"Keep your voice down," Jennifer hissed. "This is highly inappropriate - speaking to your mother like that. Besides, I told you it was a different situation."

Ignoring the pained look his mum sent his way, Justin continued in the same level tone, "I call bullshit. If anything, kids grow up faster now."

"That's not true," Jennifer denied.

"Whatever, that's irrelevant," the teen noted, not wanting to get into an argument about how older generations had it harder. "The point is, we both like dick. Did my grandparents take you to a therapist because of it?"

"Of course not," Jennifer replied, "but like I was trying to explain, those are two completely different situations-"

"You mean it was okay for a girl to like cock," Justin sneered, barraging her with more questions. "Did they ground you? Keep you from seeing the bloke you were fucking? Or did they treat you like an adult and let you make your own choices?" He paused, glaring at his mother. "You used to do that, you know? Up until you found out I was gay, that is. I mean, did you really think that suddenly grounding me at age seventeen was going to be effective? That it would keep me from seeing Brian?"

"It's an entirely different set of circumstances," Jennifer insisted. Then, clearly reconsidering her strategy, she went on the offensive again, "Honey, all I'm concerned about is your friend's wild lifestyle - all the partying, alcohol, and the drugs."

"Mum, let's stay on track," Justin suggested. "The issue is the double standard you're applying. It shouldn't be any different for me to have sex at seventeen than it was for you at sixteen."

Jennifer proved intransigent. "Stop throwing that in my face," she demanded. "You're just too young, Justin, and that's final! Boys don't mature as early as girls."

The teen's eyes narrowed as his mother's gaze skittered away. "What about the guy you slept with? Wasn't he too immature, then?" he questioned.

Jennifer was beyond angry. "He was older!" she cried out. "He was already twenty-three, so he knew what he was doing. You're seventeen, Justin!"

The blond gaped at her. "So it was okay for you to sleep with an older man, but it's criminal if I do it?"

Realising she had screwed up, Jennifer lowered her eyes. "Twenty-three is not as old as Brian," she protested.

"Just how old is too old?" Justin tilted his head in curiosity. "Seven years is okay, but twelve years isn't?"

"That's beside the point, Justin," Jennifer replied primly. "If only you'd just listen to me. Men like Brian aren't good for you - he's irresponsible and dangerous..."

"Fuck, Mum, I was lucky to get picked up by Brian that night on Liberty," Justin confessed. "I was safe with Brian from the moment I met him. You know you raised me to be responsible; you should trust my judgment. I wouldn't have gone anywhere with him had I thought there was a chance he would hurt me."

"But he is hurting you - exposing you to all sorts of decadent behavior, foisting drugs on you," Jennifer repeated for what seemed like the umpteenth time. What the hell had Debbie told her about Brian? he wondered.

The conversation clearly having reached an impasse, Justin sighed in resignation. "Mum," he requested, "could you just think about what I've said? I don't want to constantly argue with you. Maybe we could talk some more after Thanksgiving?"

"If you'll promise to think about what I've said too," Jennifer acquiesced.

Without actually responding to her request, the teen offered diplomatically, "I'd really like to see you again."

Jennifer nodded, silent. They stared at each other for a few seconds, before she stood, placing her bag over her shoulder, "Well, I guess that's-"

"Wait, Mum, did you bring my birth certificate?" Justin hastily asked.

"I still don't see any reason it shouldn't be kept safe and secure in our home," his mother replied haltingly. "Why don't you wait till you really need it?"

"Mum, your house isn't my home any longer," Justin bluntly declared.

Jennifer's face fell, but Justin couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for her. He waited patiently as his mother slowly reached into her handbag, then hesitantly placed an envelope containing the certificate on the table. Jesus, that had been like pulling teeth.

"Thanks," Justin acknowledged, hugging his mum, who held herself stiffly for a moment before eventually returning the embrace. As he watched her walk out the door, he reflected that although he still loved his mum dearly and he did want to see her again, it just wasn't like it used to be. His home was with Debs and Vic now, and he was happy.

 

The ringing of his desk phone interrupted Brian from his contemplation of the art department's newest attempt at a dog. He glanced at the offending device, noticing the small light next to ‘line 1' flickering, indicating it was Cynthia calling.

He pressed the speaker button, grunting. "What?"

"Brian," said his secretary's cultured voice, "there is Mr Ryder's assistant here to see you."

Brian snorted. Ryder's assistant? Since when did Ryder send his lackeys to deal with Brian? Would the woman he'd hired only for her prominent rack even remember what she was supposed to tell Brian? Well, if he wasn't good enough for the man to meet him personally and say whateverthefuck he wanted to tell him face to face, he wouldn't make it easy on him.

"Tell her I'm busy and take a message," he instructed her. Then he thought better of it. "Or you know what? Send ‘Big Boob' away and then later go over to Ryder's office and ask her what the message was. Or even better, send her away and then go over and tell her to come back here, so you can take her message. Or-"

"Thank you, Brian," Cynthia interrupted him snarkily. "That was very helpful." And with that she hung up.

The brunet huffed out a laugh, before sitting back in his chair and waiting for his personal assistant to come in with the message. She did, not even a minute later, with an amused smile on her face.

"I have a message for you, Mr Kinney," she intoned, fluttering her eyelashes, reminiscent of a sixties' bimbo secretary. Then, dropping the act, she finished, "Ryder wants you to meet with him and his legal bulldogs at ten tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Brian gasped, losing his relaxed mood. "Is the man completely doolally?"

Cynthia sighed. "He's clearly trying to put you under pressure, hoping you won't be prepared. It's a good thing you had an echo," she told him with a self-satisfied smirk. "Now you better get into contact with your own lawyer."

The adman rubbed a tired hand down his face. "Yeah, fuck."

His assistant gave him a sympathetic look. "I tell you what, you call your lawyer, and I'll go and get us something to eat, okay? Then we'll sit down and talk this through - Ryder will not catch you unprepared."

Brian nodded with a heavy sigh. "If Melanie's busy tomorrow, I don't give a fuck about what Ryder says, he's gonna have to postpone the meeting. I'm not going to be rushed when my career's at stake."

The blonde smiled. "You tell him, boss," she encouraged. "Now, I'm off to the new café that opened at the corner - I heard they have some wonderful French sandwiches and desserts."

The ad exec hmmed absentmindedly, already scrolling through the contacts in his mobile for Melanie's number. By the time his office door closed behind Cynthia's clacking heels, he was dialling.

"Jacobs, Knox, and Lopez, Melanie Marcus speaking," the dyke's voice announced over the line. Good, thought Brian, he had got her direct line.

"Melanie," he greeted her. "It's Brian."

"Brian who?" she snarked, causing the brunet to roll his eyes.

"Hilarious," he deadpanned. "Are you free tomorrow?"

"Depends," she answered. "Are you asking me on a date or do you need me professionally? If it's the former, I'm busy."

"Hold your tongue, woman!" the brunet adman warned. "I think my dick's about to fall off just thinking about a date with you. As it happens, I need your services. Ryder's finally on the move; he's called a meeting for tomorrow at ten."

Melanie huffed, "Wishful thinking that you'd garner that expertise from me," before muttering, "Let me check my schedule for tomorrow. I know I don't have to be in court till the afternoon."

While he waited, Brian nervously picked at a hangnail - a terrible habit, since it ruined his expensive manicure, but one which sometimes emerged when he was feeling stressed.

"You're in luck," Melanie informed him moments later, "although only for my legal services. One of my partners has agreed to handle my client meetings in the morning."

"Can you be here by nine-thirty?" Brian requested. "I'll even spring for a cup of coffee - on top of your legal fees."

"I'll buy my own," Melanie riposted, "rather than drink that sugary sludge that you're addicted to."

"What the fuck is it with you and Ted disparaging my coffee habit?" Brian complained.

"Maybe because there's so little actual coffee involved?" the bulldyke lawyer suggested. 

"Hmpf," Brian weakly retorted, refusing to consider that his friends might have a point. "Kick a man while he's down, why don't you?"

"Listen, Brian, I've got to go," Melanie declared. "Larry Jacobs and I are finishing preparations for an important trial. I'll be at your office by nine-thirty tomorrow. Ryder's a fool for pushing to terminate you so quickly; we're going to take him to the cleaners, and we'll get you a heckuva payout in the process."

"Good," Brian snapped out. "The fucker has it coming."

After hanging up, Brian speculated as to whether Ryder was assuming the other account execs would be able to take over his accounts immediately. That would be ridiculous, not only given their own workloads, but also because Brian had done a great deal of research, established contacts, and generally put a lot of work into his accounts. It wouldn't be at all easy for someone to just step in and take his place, not when he was the one his clients trusted.

"Cynthia, get in here," he yelled, belatedly remembering his assistant had gone to get something to eat. To his surprise, however, she breezed into his office moments later, takeout containers in her hands.

"You bellowed?" she drolled. "I could hear you down by the elevators."

"Well, what's the point of yelling if you aren't going to hear me?" Brian enquired reasonably.

Cynthia rolled her eyes as she set one of the containers down in front of him. "Try this," she recommended. "It's blue cheese toast with honey. They were handing out samples of some of their dishes, and I thought you might like this."

"Sounds like a lot of calories," Brian scowled at the inoffensive carton.

"There are more calories in one of your cups of coffee," the blonde snorted as she sat down across from him, her own carton staying unopened in her lap.

Brian scowled some more. What was it with everyone dissing his perfectly ordinary coffee? The toast did smell tempting, though, so he finally flicked the lid up, unconsciously licking his lips when he saw the golden-brown sourdough toast, blue cheese crumbled on top, lightly drizzled with honey. Lifting a slice of the toast to his mouth, he took a small bite, chewing slowly while his secretary eyed him.

"Well?" she demanded when he didn't say a word.

"It's... edible," Brian allowed. "Why would you get this for me anyway? You know my usual orders."

"There's honey on it, so I thought you might like it," Cynthia replied, shrugging. "You do have something of a sweet tooth, even if you don't indulge it very often."

"No part of me is sweet," the ad exec grumbled. "Not even a tooth."

The blonde smirked at her boss. "You're right; you're anything but sweet, Mr Grumpy Pants. I thought you could use a bit of sweetening up."

The brunet opened his mouth to protest all those unnecessary calories once more, but then he recalled Ted asking if he ever ate anything and promptly shut his gob. "Mmm," he moaned as he took another bite, "not bad."

"Such high praise," Cynthia commented drily, although she was grinning at what truly was approval from Brian.

As he rapidly consumed his toast, Brian observed, "With Ryder likely to boot me out soon, we should strategize about how to handle this. What do you think, which of my clients might follow me to my new firm?"

Cynthia considered this, tilting her head to the left. "Well, Liberty Air only really signed because of you, so they might be amenable. Especially as their contract is about to expire," she mulled it over out loud. "It's a bit more complicated with Kofola and Iams - though you've brought them on personally, they would have to terminate their contracts with Ryder first."

Brian nodded. "Yeah, Ted warned me they might not want to pay the fees. It's understandable."

"Ted?" his secretary questioned. "As in your friend, Theodore Schmidt?"

"Yeah," the brunet admitted. "I asked him for advice the other day and he had some valuable insights - not that I'll ever admit to saying that, especially not in front of him. I asked him to work for me."

His assistant's eyes brightened. "Oh, did he agree?"

"Said he needed to think it over," Brian replied. "We were a bit drunk at the time, and he wanted a clear head."

Cynthia hmmed. "Speaking of potential employees," she began. "I was thinking we might ask Bethany from accounting to consider a job at the AdStud," she finished with a teasing grin.

"The what?" asked a horrified Brian. "I am not calling my agency that!"

His friend rolled her eyes. "It was just a joke," she explained. "You're really uptight today."

"You'd be too if you were about to get fired," the brunet mumbled.

Cynthia looked unsympathetic. "Isn't getting fired what you want?"

"Whatever," Brian shrugged it off. "What were you saying about Gertrude?"

The blond huffed. "You're doing that on purpose - there's no way you actually think that's her name. It doesn't even sound anything like it," she complained, before continuing, "I said, I was thinking that Bethany might be a good addition to our team. She's got a good head on her shoulders and likes you better than Ryder."

"That might have something to do with you giving her the last of your Godiva chocolates," muttered Brian.

"Ha!" Cynthia called out victoriously. "You do know who I'm talking about! Gertrude, my arse!"

"Of course I remember fucking Bethany from accounting!" the brunet admitted. "She cost me my chocolates."

"My chocolates," amended Cynthia. "So? What do you think?"

"I think I have a job to do - as long as I still have a job - and these accounts won't sort themselves," he said dismissively, waving the Kofola and Iams folders in her face.

His PA folded her arms across her chest. "Fine, you get back to work. I'm gonna take these chocolate-filled éclairs back to my desk," she said flippantly, grabbing her still-unopened food carton and promptly leaving his office.

"Éclairs?" Brian called out. "You never said anything about éclairs!"

Cynthia just cackled evilly. Women, the brunet thought in exasperated resignation. Thank God he was a fag.

With a heavy sigh, he returned his attention to his accounts. He didn't really feel like working on them if his efforts were just going to go to Ryder anyway, but he had a reputation to uphold, so he decided to suck it up. Opening the Iams folder, he stared at the newest dog design - it was by far the best attempt yet. Picking up a pen, he went on to make comments in the margins of the art department's proposal - he had to look like he was trying to keep his job at Ryder anyway, so why not do a good job on his last accounts?

 

Justin slowly sank back down onto the banquette, lifting up the flap of the envelope his mother had given him to check that it did, indeed, contain his birth certificate - not that he was sure what he'd do if it weren't there. It felt odd, doubting his mum like this, but she'd been so flaky lately that the teen found it hard to trust her. Once he'd ascertained that it was, in fact, the right document, he desultorily poked at the fried egg in front of him with his fork, then shoved the now cold food aside.

"Here, Kiddo, have a fresh one," Debbie's warm voice proclaimed, right before she slid a fresh English breakfast in front of Justin, the plateful of food still steaming slightly. "It doesn't look like you ate much," she chided, a concerned expression on her face as she took a seat across from the blond.

Justin gave her a one-shouldered shrug, mumbling, "I'm okay. I lost my appetite, is all."

"Sunshine, something's definitely wrong if you're not hungry for a full English," the motherly woman declared. "Did everything go okay with Jennifer?" she probed. "It looked like the two of you were having a pretty intense discussion. I didn't want to interfere, or I would've come over to say hello."

"Thanks for letting me talk to her on my own," Justin acknowledged. He then shrugged in resignation and noted somewhat bitterly, "Same old thing. Mum didn't really listen, since she's certain she knows what's best for me - which is pretty much diametrically opposed to the way I'm living my life."

"Buck up, Kiddo," Debbie encouraged him. "You've got me and Vic in your corner." With a wink and a snap of her gum, she portentously intoned, "So that means you definitely must be doing something right, dontcha think?"

The young man could feel his spirits reviving as they chatted, and he was soon chowing down on bangers, fried egg, bacon, baked beans, mushrooms, and hash browns, with his surrogate mother nodding approvingly, "Now that's more like it."

"Mum did bring my birth certificate," Justin shared the news in between bites of rashers and beans, pointing to the manila envelope.

"That's wonderful," Debs exclaimed. "Now you won't have any problems setting up your bank account once you turn eighteen."

Justin grinned at the redhead, feeling more like his normal self. He shouldn't have gotten discouraged by the talk with his mother, he mused; it wasn't as though anything unexpected had happened.

"I hate to ask, Honey, since I know you haven't had a free afternoon in weeks," Debs relayed, "but Kiki just called in sick."

"You want me to take her shift?" Justin eagerly jumped in, not waiting for her to finish.

Debbie chuckled fondly. "That's exactly right, Sunshine. I was thinking of working a short shift myself - I'd like to stop at the market to pick up some items for our Thanksgiving feast. We're ridiculously shorthanded right now, unfortunately, with one other gal out sick and another server off snowboarding in Vermont."

"Please go," Justin urged. "I wouldn't mind earning a bit more of the ready." Although he didn't mention it, he figured it would also be a good distraction after his chat with Jennifer. All in all, he'd much rather work than visit a museum or fiddle with his IT project.

"Harry had the same reaction," Debbie commented, "so he's agreed to work a double shift. I guess everyone wants some extra spending money with the holidays rapidly approaching."

"Cool, I like working with Harry," Justin responded.

Ten minutes later, Deb waved as she headed out the door, jesting in a loud voice, "Don't you boys let Fahad burn the place down."

"Like these two could stop me if I wanted to raze this old eatery," the chef shouted, sticking his head out the pass-through.

The three men laughed as Deb shot the finger at Fahad whilst grinning broadly.

"Only Debs could make that gesture look so cheerful," Harry remarked cheekily as the redhead disappeared from sight.

"I'll give you more than one finger," an irate man yelled, "if you don't deliver my brekkie soon."

Fahad cocked an eyebrow at the fuming customer, cautioning, "You'll get your meal when I'm good and ready to give it to you, buddy, not before." He then vanished into the kitchen.

After grabbing the carafe of coffee from its hotplate, Justin trotted over to the disgruntled man, offering with a winning smile, "Here, let me top that up for you."

"Sorry, lad, didn't mean to take it out on you," the bloke apologised. "I've got a job interview later today, and I'm kinda nervous." 

"I'll just have a word with the chef," the blond suggested, "and see if I can't get you your meal pronto." Feeling a surge of sympathy for the profusely sweating customer, he volunteered, "The cook's a great guy, unless he feels like he's being harassed..."

The sweaty dude nodded at him gratefully, and when he departed forty minutes later, he left behind a twenty-dollar tip.

Beaming, Justin slipped the tip into his apron pocket. Harry clapped him on the back, opining, "You earned that one, Jus. Good work handling Mr Overactive Sweat Gland."

"He wasn't so bad," the blond replied. "I hope he gets the job he's interviewing for."

Harry shuddered, "As long as he's not working here..." making Justin giggle.

"That would be a bit much," the teen agreed with a shudder of his own. "It must be horrid to sweat like that."

The two young men spent the rest of the day bantering with each other, the kitchen staff, and their customers, until their replacements - a couple of dykes Justin didn't know very well, but who liked working the night shift together - arrived at ten p.m.

He must not be the only knackered one, Justin decided when he got home fifteen minutes later. There was a night light on by the stairs, but the house was otherwise dark, Harley's cage covered, and no light shining from underneath either Deb or Vic's doors.

After a quick session with Bob, the teen fell asleep, a sated smile on his lips...

 

Chapter End Notes:

 

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