Justin glanced at the door when the bell jingled, glad to see Harry jog into the diner. He'd just worked a ten-hour day, serving everyone by himself from seven until nine o'clock that morning, while Debbie hit the early-bird specials at Target. Then he'd stayed past the end of his shift because both Kiki and Harry were running late as they also took part in the post-Thanksgiving buying frenzy.

"Take a look at this," Harry requested, pulling a mobile phone out of his jeans pocket.

"You have your cell phone," Justin deadpanned, "What's the big deal?"

"This is my new Nokia phone," the other waiter emphasized. "I waited over an hour at the Verizon store for the delivery truck to be unloaded and for the sales staff to enter them into their inventory."

Justin stared at him blankly.

"C'mon man, it's a different color from my old one," Harry complained. "I got to choose between azure blue, silver gray, carmine red, and black."

"Hmm," Justin considered the colour, "that actually looks like ‘cherry red' to me."

"Whatever," the Asian bloke replied dismissively, "red is rad."

Justin still wasn't sure why Harry was so excited. Maybe he'd gotten a Black Friday deal, he mused. "Was it on sale or something?"

"Of course not," the other waiter replied. "It's new on the market, just released here in the U.S."

"If it wasn't on sale, why did you brave the ravening hordes on the busiest shopping day of the year?" the puzzled teen asked. "Why not wait a coupla days?"

"Man, it's the latest and greatest," Harry enthused, dropping the phone into Justin's palm. "Feel that. It weighs only 3.4 ounces, as compared to the old model, which was 6 ounces."

"For 2.6 ounces you stood in line at the Verizon store? You're crazy," the blond assessed.

Harry threw his hands up in the air, accusing, "You have no appreciation for technology, you heathen. Don't expect to borrow Mr Carmine when you need to make a call."

Chuckling, Justin inquired, "Will you be okay on your own till Kiki gets here? I'm dancing at Babylon tonight, and I'd like to get off my feet for a couple hours before that."

The other man looked around the packed eatery, a few patrons waving their hands in an effort to flag down a server. "Go on with you," he ordered. "I'll be fine."

As Justin walked out of the diner, he heard Harry cheekily yelling, "Hold your dicks, gents. And you ladies grab whatever anatomy you prefer..." 

The teen had only walked two blocks when he started getting jumpy, the itch between his shoulder blades making him feel like someone was watching him. He'd forgotten all about his promise to take a taxi, which Deb had insisted on before she'd left the diner after her shift ended. Justin had protested that there was surely no need to take such precautions during the day, but his surrogate mother had been adamant that it was better to be safe than sorry, even pressing five dollars into his hand to cover the fare.

He walked briskly, his head swiveling from side to side as he kept a lookout for any suspicious characters, unable to enjoy the sunshine, which had broken through the clouds for the first time in days. The other pedestrians thronging Liberty Avenue were smiling and chatting, toting bags filled with Black Friday purchases.

"Fuck," the teen muttered, irritated with himself for behaving like a Nervous Nellie. If there were actually a threat, he'd feel much better if he could either confront it or avoid it. He hoped Horvath was correct that he'd be okay as long as he was careful. 

His rushed pace had him pushing open the door to Deb's house a few minutes later.

"Sunshine?" Debbie called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, it's me," the teen confirmed, his heart pounding as he shut and relocked the door, the crawling sensation finally easing. "Silly git," he chided himself.

"I saw you walking down the sidewalk. Why didn't you take a cab?" the redhead chastised as he entered the kitchen.

"I forgot all about it," the teen admitted, "until I was part way home." After opening the fridge, he snagged one of the Roundabout beers Brian had brought to the Thanksgiving feast, pried off the cap, and gulped half of it in one go.

"What's up, Kiddo?" Vic asked as Justin wiped the froth off of his upper lip before taking a smaller swallow. "I've never seen you chug beer like that."

"It's nothing," the blond mumbled, leaning back against the counter.

"I doubt nothing has you pale enough to pass for a ghost," the older man retorted.

"I wish Em had never shared those rumors about the mattress auction!" Justin blurted. "I'm sure it was just my imagination, but I had the crazy feeling someone was following me while I walked home."

"We're all going to worry until the rumors about Brian's mattress are resolved," Debbie commiserated as she carried a plate heaped with ham and turkey sandwiches over to the table. 

Vic followed his sister to the table with reheated stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce, cornbread, and freshly sautéed green beans. "Here, Kiddo," he advised, taking the milk from the fridge, pouring a glass, and exchanging it for the Roundabout. "This is better for you than beer. You'll need your wits about you if you're going to dance later tonight."

"Listen up, Sunshine," the motherly woman demanded as she sat down. "You've got to be careful until Carl gives us the all-clear. So, Vic's going to walk with you to Babylon tonight and tomorrow night."

"Every Friday and Saturday for as long as necessary," Vic confirmed. "Granted, people won't be that drunk at eight o'clock, but it gets dark early at this time of year, and there's not much foot traffic in these wintry conditions. It's supposed to start snowing again this evening; if you're out on your lonesome, it's possible no one would notice if you were assaulted."

"Thanks," Justin mumbled, looking down to hide the tears in his eyes. He was warmed by their protectiveness but frustrated that it was necessary. "I still feel like a weakling, though. I should be able to protect myself."

"What? You think just because someone's big and strong they can protect themselves from a stalker?" Debbie protested. "Anyone who takes something like this lightly is a fool."

"Brian wouldn't need someone to protect him," the teen objected.

"Then he'd be what Sis just said - a fool," Vic responded firmly. "We all depend on each other in this family."

The teen didn't really believe them, but there was no sense in arguing about it.

"Eat," Debbie commanded. "Build up your energy since you insist on dancing."

Fucking maybe-stalker, Justin brooded to himself. This was making the already strong disapproval about the go-go gig more difficult to counter. "Lunch was hours ago," he belatedly acknowledged, "so maybe a bite to eat would help."

"How many hours this time?" Vic wondered.

"Haven't eaten since noon," Justin absently replied as he drenched a helping of stuffing in gravy, placed a dollop of cranberry sauce on his plate, served himself some green beans, added a piece of cornbread, and finally selected a ham and turkey sandwich from the platter.

"That must be a record," joked Debbie. "You've been fasting nearly five hours."

"How am I supposed to get my mouth around this monster?" the blond asked, pondering the multi-layered, double-decker sandwich.

Debbie's lips twitched. "Honey, I bet you've had plenty of practice with large objects."

"Easy-peasy," Vic jested, "since you can use your teeth. Now, open wide..."

The blond started laughing so hard that he had to set down his sandwich. 

As he lifted it again and wedged a corner of the sarnie into his mouth, a flash went off, and Justin looked up to see Debbie grinning as she set down the Polaroid camera. 

"Another one for our collection," the redhead declared, motioning toward the fridge.

Justin had to chew for a full minute before he could exclaim, "This is fucking good!" his tummy rumbling in anticipatory agreement.

"Why are you so surprised?" Vic chuckled. "Sis used freshly baked ciabatta, layering the bread with leftover turkey and ham, tomato, lettuce, onion, and provolone."

Harley paused in pecking at his birdseed, chirping, "Hello, Jushun!" making the blond giggle in surprise and boosting his mood.

"Did you pick that up from Gus?" he inquired, clapping in approbation.

"Hello, Jushun!" the budgie repeated, preening and ringing the bells on his cage.

The older man coughed. "I may have practiced with him a time or two."

"That's so sweet," Debbie cooed. "Gussy and Harley love their ‘Jushun.'"

After swallowing a forkful of green beans, the teenager remarked, "I get such a kick out of the way the little tyke - and now Harley - say my name. It's a heckuva lot better than what I'll hear come Monday at St James. I can't believe the Thanksgiving break has disappeared so quickly," he mourned.

"Kiddo, if the detectives' intervention doesn't improve matters with those bigoted bastards, what about taking the GED and getting out of that hellhole early?" Vic suggested.

"Yeah," Debbie chimed in, "wouldn't good scores on those equivalency tests, together with your stellar grades from St James, be worth as much as a high school diploma?"

"I don't want to give the homophobic pricks the satisfaction of quitting before I graduate," Justin stated, his chin jutting out stubbornly. "Not all the art schools I'm interested in accept the GED anyhow, or if they do, they don't really rate it as equal to a diploma, which would give other applicants an edge over me. I'd be doing myself a disservice not to get that diploma - as long as I can hold out against the bullies that is," he finished with a bitter laugh.

"We'll have your back, Sunshine, no matter what you do," Debbie asserted. 

"Yep, along with the two detectives," Vic concurred. "I was pleasantly surprised by what a decent sort of bloke that Horvath seems to be. Looks like you've found yourself a good mentor in that one, and Sis a fine beau."

Deb flushed and muttered, "Pshaw. We'll see."

The teen grinned slyly. "He's getting on like a house on fire with Kiks; he brought you flowers; and he's willing to take you on a date with the whole family tagging along. What more do you want?"

"He didn't get rattled by having dinner with the whole crazy family, either," Vic interjected. "From that lovely shade of pink your face has turned, I'd say you're smitten."

"Time will tell if the man's really a bit of alright or not," Debbie mumbled, her face pinkening further. "He is off to a good start, though."

For the next fifteen minutes, the trio concentrated on eating, with Harley eliciting bursts of laughter from the diners as he rang the bells on his cage and alternatively squawked, "Hello, Jushun. Come eat," and "Hellooo, Briaaan. Come eat."

Justin managed to fit in two of the massive sarnies along with two heaping servings of the other fixings, before finally calling it quits. "I'm stuffed," he moaned, pushing his chair back from the table.

"No pie for you then, amor meus?" Debbie queried roguishly.

"Fuck," Justin muttered, reddening, "you did catch that."

"I didn't want to embarrass you during dinner yesterday," Debbie revealed, "so I didn't mention it. However, those were two of the easiest words in the poem to translate."

"What's it mean, exactly?" Vic interposed. "I know it's something about ‘love', but since Mama didn't insist that I go to catechism like she did with you, Sis, I never picked up much Latin."

"I can remember her cursing that you wouldn't have turned out gay if she'd just sent you to Sunday school," Debbie ruefully commented.

"Fat lotta difference that would've made," Vic retorted. "I'd just have lusted after Padre Beneventi."

"That priest did have a very fine tush," Debbie nodded, a reminiscent gleam in her eyes.

"The meaning?" Vic impatiently reminded her.

"My love," Debbie translated. "Sunshine called Brian ‘my love'."

"Mel must've figured it out too," the teen groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"I'm pretty sure she did," Deb readily agreed, "but the bulldyke would never give Brian a swelled head by telling him that.

As mortified as he was, Justin couldn't resist joining the siblings in laughing uproariously at the terrible joke. All three of them then found just enough space for slices of pumpkin and apple pie.

Not long after they'd finished eating, Vic and Justin were walking rapidly toward Babylon, snowflakes falling from the once again leaden sky. A slightly out-of-breath Vic quipped, "Maybe I should join you on one of those platforms, Sunshine, so I can work off the leftovers I've just gobbled down."

Justin glanced at the man who was a cross between a surrogate father and a fun uncle. He couldn't see much of Vic at the moment - just the reddened tip of his nose peeking out from above the folds of his scarf and his pale blue eyes gleaming beneath a knit cap. "You ready to strip down to your skivvies?" he teased. "You'd certainly draw a lot of attention."

"No one would be attracted to a washed-up has-been like me," Vic denied, "especially once they find out I've got Aids."

"Bullshit," Justin remonstrated. "You're a good-looking guy, and as long as you take precautions, there's no reason for anyone to fear they'd get the disease."

"Finding someone who's willing to take the chance would be nearly impossible," Vic countered, "unless they're HIV positive themselves."

"You'll sure as fuck never know if you don't put yourself out there and give it a try," the teen chastised. "Wait a moment," he requested when they were just short of the entrance to the club, unwittingly stopping under the street light where Brian had once picked him up. When he looked around and recognized the spot, he almost giggled; the lamp post had brought him good luck that night, so perhaps it would do the same for Vic. The positive karma would have to follow them into the club, though, since the older man's balls would turn blue if he waited out here.

"Did you forget something?" Vic queried, backtracking when he realised Justin was no longer next to him.

"No, but you did," Justin countered, pulling out his wallet and extracting the ID card for Babylon that Vic had given him a couple months earlier. "Just in case you're carded," he joked as he handed it to Vic.

"The clubs are for young men," Vic objected, but he sounded unsure to the blond.

"You're only as old as you feel," Justin insisted. "Besides, you don't want to miss out on the chance to watch me shake my thang," he teased, swivelling his hips and thrusting his pelvis forward.

"Oh, I might joke around with you at home," Vic allowed, "but I could never really perv on you, Sunshine... not when you're the son I never had."

Justin stared at him in shock before sputtering, "But you've got Michael. Brian too."

"I love both of them," the older man affirmed, his voice rather choked up, "but I lived in New York, so I wasn't around that much when the two were growing up. Even though I missed your formative years too, you're the one I'm sharing a house with, the one who's become my surrogate son."

"Blasted allergies," Justin sniffled, wishing he'd had the forethought to stuff a few tissues into his jacket. The teen finally gave up on his efforts to rein in his emotions, instead throwing his arms around Vic and vowing, "And you're like the dad I never really had. Thanks for being there for me."

"Watch the snot," Vic weakly joked. "I just got my overcoat back from the dry cleaner's."

As he pulled back, Justin reflected that Vic must've spent more time around Brian than he was willing to admit. That response would be typical of the brunet, and Justin would have bet the expression was one he'd picked up from Vic. Chuckling at the man's sally, he asked, "Even if you're not looking for a hookup, there's no reason you can't enjoy a drink, right? Plus, there are lots of other go-go boys for you to ogle."

"Well..." Vic dithered, shuffling his feet, "...I have been thinking I ought to meet this Smythe fellow and impress on him how important it is that he ensure your safety."

The teen barely suppressed a groan of dismay as he moved away from the street light. How the fuck had they gone from Vic having some fun to him nannying Justin? He couldn't say anything, however, for fear he'd discourage Vic from ever setting foot inside the club. 

"Hey up, Oscar," he greeted the bouncer. "I've got the other ‘Vic Grassi' with me tonight."

"Are you sure you're old enough to get in?" the doorman jested with Vic. "You'd better show me your ID."

Vic dutifully pulled out the card that he'd just restored to his wallet.

"1952 must've been quite the year, producing gents like the two of you," Oscar acknowledged with a twinkle in his eyes. "Go on in."

"Ehm, Oscar, I wanted to ask you something," Justin mentioned, suddenly feeling a bit bashful as he stalled in the doorway. "There's a chance I've acquired a stalker," he explained, hastily amending, "a small chance," when the bouncer's eyes narrowed.

"What Justin wants to know," Vic intervened, "is whether you'd walk him home at the end of the night, since you both go off shift at the same time. You'd be doing him, me, and my sister, Debbie Novotny, a big favor."

"I know it's a lot to ask," the teen continued, shifting from foot to foot, "but Debbie's house is only a few blocks away."

"Debbie..." the doorman muttered, mulling it over, "you mean the redhead from the diner?"

"That's the one," Vic confirmed.

"I would've done it for you anyway, Justin," Oscar admitted, "but I'm even happier to help if it means looking out for one of Deb's boys. She made me feel at home when I first arrived in the Pitts, so I'm glad to be able to return the favor."

"Thanks, Oscar," the blond beamed up at the muscular bloke. "I'd better get changed so I'm not late for my shift."

"You do that," the bouncer replied. "I expect to hear all about this potential stalker when I walk you home later, mind you. In the meantime, I'll pass the word to the other bouncers and bartenders to keep an eye on you and to be on the lookout for trouble."

Vic clapped the doorman on the arm in appreciation, before they entered the club. "Where will I find Smy-" Vic began, only to be cut off when a young man, his eyes dilated, jumped down from one of the platforms, landing directly in front of them.

"Whoa, Sven," Justin caught the dancer before he toppled into him and Vic, hissing, "maybe you ought to cut back on the pills."

"Nah, I'm fine," Sven slurred, as he almost overbalanced in the other direction. "As long as I'm dancing, anyroad."

"Was there some reason for the exuberant greeting?" the blond inquired as the other dancer laboriously hauled himself back onto the platform.

"Huh?" Sven frowned down at Justin, before his puzzlement cleared and he informed the blond, "Arthur was looking for you. Said you should stop by his office before you change."

"Shit," Justin worried as he hurried up the stairs toward the owner's office, Vic on his heels. "I hope I haven't already made a bad impression."

"Rather the opposite, lad," a British-accented voice announced, as Smythe opened the door wider to let him in. "Can I help you, sir?" he inquired in a sharp tone when Vic made to follow Justin into the office.

"Vic's like a father to me," the teen quickly interposed, introducing the men to one another. "Vic Grassi," he motioned toward Babylon's owner, "this is Arthur Smythe."

"A pleasure to meet you," Smythe stated, firmly clasping the mittened hand that Vic extended. "Please excuse the rude greeting and make yourself comfortable; I thought you were hitting on Justin."

"I might," Vic leered playfully at the teen, waggling his eyebrows, "if he weren't part of my family."

"Um, are you sure everything is okay, Mr Smythe?" the teen uneasily questioned, reverting to addressing the man formally.

"Arthur," the manager reminded him, his eyes sparkling as he watched Vic divest himself of his outerwear.

Justin cleared his throat when Smythe's eyes remained glued on Vic.

That succeeded in bringing Arthur out of his reverie, the man blinking at the blond and declaring, "Right. I'd already been thinking of moving you to the bartop, and what I heard earlier this evening cemented my decision."

"What you heard?" Justin echoed.

"The rumors that someone may be stalking you," Smythe explained. "I don't want you to be in danger, young man, so that confirmed my plan to have you dance on the bar, where we can keep a close eye on you."

"I'd like to dance up there," the blond agreed, "but don't the other dancers have seniority?"

"This is a business, and my decisions are for the good of the business," Arthur declared. "It's up to me as to who dances where. If I didn't think you'd cut it on the bar, I'd leave you on the platform and have you watched there."

"Hmm," Justin mumbled doubtfully. He'd been hoping to dance on the bar eventually, but he didn't want the other go-go boys to resent him.

"Your first night on one of the regular platforms was a test to see how well you would do," Arthur further elucidated. "I was impressed you got as much in tips as you did; the patrons of this establishment have to make more of an effort to ‘tip' the platform dancers than the bar dancers. Tell me, weren't you a trifle disappointed by your take last Saturday?"

"Uh, yeah," Justin confessed, "but I figured it'd be a while before I'd be allowed to dance on the bartop."

"Even though you were relegated to a platform, you still danced your arse off, shimmying and shaking it in front of all those horny fags," Smythe observed. "I wasn't the only one who noticed - MacAllister, my assistant manager; Freddie, the bartender you're acquainted with; and a couple of the other dancers commented on it. I'm therefore convinced that having you dance on the bar will be a win-win for both of us - more tips for you and more money spent on alcohol for the club."

"The boy's got a helluva work ethic," Vic chimed in. "School, his job at the diner, and this side gig - somehow he fits it all in. I don't want some obsessed fag to ruin it for him."

"We're in agreement, Mr Grassi," Smythe stated gravely. "We'll take every precaution possible."

"Ehm, I already asked Oscar if he'd walk me home," Justin revealed. "I hope that's okay with you."

"You pre-empted my own suggestion," Arthur chuckled, before allowing, "which I should've expected from a young whippersnapper like you."

Justin blushed but remembered his manners enough to say, "Thanks, Mr-, uh, I mean, Arthur."

"Keep working on it. You'll find my name trips off the tongue quite easily," the owner advised.

The teen found it interesting that Arthur was looking at Vic as he spoke, seemingly captivated by the other man.

"I'd better change," Justin reminded his boss.

"Hmm, yes," Smythe absently responded. "Ask Freddie to show you where to dance."

"Wait, I'll go with you," Vic interjected. "You can show me the area where you get ready for your gig."

The manager seemed rather taken aback, insisting, "Justin's perfectly safe here at the club."

"You just assured me that other employees would be keeping an eye on him," Vic commented in an even tone, although his eyes flashed dangerously. "How can they do that if someone doesn't accompany Justin?"

"Vic," the teen tugged on his surrogate father's arm, "I'm sure I'll be fine between here and the break room."

"Not good enough," Vic stressed.

"You're correct," Smythe shamefacedly admitted. "Justin, there should be at least one other employee around, no matter where you are in the club."

"Jesus," the teen muttered, feeling as if he were being smothered. "Is someone going to hold it for me while I take a piss too?"

"Only if your aim is off," Arthur quipped before addressing Vic again, "Mr Grassi, after you've seen the lad to the break room cum changing area, would you care to join me in a libation from my personal stock?"

"Sure," Vic responded, placing a hand against Justin's back and propelling him out of Smythe's office. "We can discuss my son's safety some more."

Justin couldn't help feeling warmed by Vic referring to him as his son. He was pretty sure he'd never hear those words pass Craig's lips again.

"I think Mr Smythe likes you," the lad giggled as he led the way toward the break room.

"Hmm," Vic murmured, "I'm not sure about Smythe yet - seems like a lot of flash but not necessarily any substance. Even though someone brought the rumors about someone stalking you to his attention, he doesn't seem to be taking it as seriously as he should."

Justin shook his head in mock affront. "I swear, you and Deb would only be satisfied if the police were escorting me everywhere."

"Now there's a notion," Vic joshed. "We could hire a rent-a-cop."

"Fuck, no," the blond groaned when they reached the dressing area, where another go-go boy was pulling off his clothes. "Go flirt with the bossman, okay? Malek and I will head to the bar together."

Vic admonished, "You'll make sure...

"...someone I know is always around," Justin finished. "I promise. Now go get that drink."

The teen heaved a sigh of relief as the older man vanished back into the club, before he began to hastily remove his clothes, hanging them in the locker assigned to him.

"Wassup?" the sleekly muscled, raven-haired Malek inquired, sauntering over to Justin after tightening the laces on the Nike trainers he wore for dancing. "Do you really have a stalker?"

So much for a moment without thinking about the situation, Justin mused. "Dunno," he shrugged, slipping his feet back into his beat-up sneakers whilst casting a covetous glance at Malek's Nikes. "I just hope the police can figure it out soon."

"The police?" Malek paled, drawing away from the blond. "I don't want the bobbies poking around in here."

"Relax," Justin advised. "They won't care about your stash, not unless you're dealing."

"Like I'd be that stupid," the other dancer sniffed in disdain as they made their way to the bar.

Glancing down at his tighty-whities, the teen wished he could afford a pair of the cherry-red, pinstripe-patterned Dolce & Gabbana briefs Malek was wearing. He consoled himself that while the dude had an adequate package, it didn't make the scrap of fabric bulge outward - unlike the way Justin's cock swelled the pouch of his otherwise boring white briefs.

"Go, Baby!" hooted Emmett a few minutes later, clapping as Justin gyrated his hips on the side of the bar opposite where he, Ted, Michael, and Brian were standing.

"Christ, but that kid has one fine package," Ted opined admiringly, as he sipped at his shot of Beam.

"Front and back," Em agreed, whistling in appreciation at the blond's moves.

Brian, who was leaning against the bar a little ways down from the others, couldn't fault his friends' taste. He slid down a little so he could see the teen better; unfortunately, the go-go boy who'd been shaking his flat ass in the adman's face pranced over so that he was once more directly in front of the brunet. When a withering glare had no effect on the dancer, Brian turned so that his back was to the bar.

"High school student to go-go boy within a coupla months," Michael stated contemptuously. "It must be the fastest downward spiral ever recorded."

"Uh, honey, he's still a high school student," Emmett observed. "It's not like he dropped out."

"He will soon," Michael asserted. "Everyone knows the only way you get to work the bar is if you blow the boss."

"Really?" a voice inserted drily. "Strange that I didn't have to do that."

"Huh?" Michael asked, looking around in confusion.

"I'm right in front of you," Freddie, the muscular barkeep, retorted.

"Oh, well, duh, I didn't mean you," Michael dismissed Freddie. "Bartenders do an honest day's work, unlike dancers."

"The go-go boys work just as hard as we barkeeps do," Freddie averred. "And no way did any of the employees here at Babylon go down on the boss in order to get a job. Mr Smythe wouldn't hold onto the club for long if that were the way he did business."

"I've heard it from more than one source," Michael declared self-righteously. "He's probably let the dude fuck him too; that ass must be looser than a goose's."

"Of course, you'd think it's ‘loose' if you've been having at a ‘goose' again," Ted wryly interjected.

"What?" Michael stared slack-jawed at the accountant. 

"Sweetie," Emmett recommended, "I think it's time for the birds and bees talk - goose and gander style."

"What?" Michael reiterated.

"The female is a goose, and the male is a gander," the tall queen explained, flapping his arms dramatically. "There's no wonder it was ‘loose' if you were fucking a ‘goose.'"

"No, not me. I didn't- What?" Michael spluttered as his friends, Freddie, and everyone around them erupted in laughter. 

Once the merriment had finally died away, Michael looked at Brian, stubbornly asserting, "I still say it's a good thing you dumped that irresponsible little tramp when you did."

"Regardless of my opinion about this dance gig," Brian replied offhandedly, "the kid's not taking any handouts. He's working his ass off - dancing," he emphasized.

"Yeah," Freddie concurred, turning his head to admire the lithe blond on the other side of the bar. "Justin doesn't need to give head to get ahead. If anything, the fags in here are lining up to suck his dick." 

Michael curled his lip, criticizing, "What do you know?"

Before Freddie could retort, a jovial voice distracted Michael, "Honeybun! Sorry I'm so late. I had to stay at the office to treat one of the Ironmen, who's having trouble with a slipped disc."

Brian didn't think he'd ever been so glad to see the chiropractor. He'd been about ready to punch Michael, even though the man's invective wasn't any more vituperative than normal where Justin was concerned.

Frustrated that he couldn't bring himself to trick, Brian was more on edge than usual, although he was doing his best to feign boredom and nonchalance. He'd started toward the backroom more than once, an eager trick in tow. Each time, however, he'd halted as he'd neared the portal to what had been his personal nirvana - remembering what had happened the last time he'd been in Babylon's backroom - and had ended up waving away a disappointed bloke. One of them had even offered to blow him right there on the dance floor, but Brian had declined since that was a surefire way to get booted out of the club.

Ted sighed as he sidled down the bar to Brian. "This is the second time they're playing ‘In the Navy.' We know we're gay; they don't have to constantly remind us."

Brian nodded and had to grin when he glanced at Justin. For the first time since he'd started surreptitiously watching the teen, he looked a bit awkward, simply swaying in place as he listened to the opening lines of the song. Evidently deciding he couldn't move in a sexy fashion to the lyrics, the blond began throwing in some ridiculous moves - squatting down and Cossack-kicking, doing a funky hop-pirouette on one foot, pretending to salute the customers with his dick, and generally making a right fool of himself.

"If I tried that, I'd either break a leg or pull a muscle," Ted stammered, gawking at Justin.

"Hmm," Brian noncommittally responded, unwilling to admit that he wouldn't fare any better. He'd never be so foolish as to imitate the blond, knowing even groin-to-groin contact wouldn't enable him to dance like that.

When ‘In the Navy' ended but then immediately began to play again, he and Schmidt shot each other what-the-fuck looks. Ted gestured toward Justin, and the adman looked in the teen's direction, noting that a crowd had gathered around that side of the bar, with the fags pushing and shoving at each other as they attempted to slip bills under either the waistband or the leg elastic of the brat's hideous white briefs. Apparently, his dance improv was a big hit with the horny denizens of Babylon.

Brian scowled, but realizing the accountant was watching him, hastily smoothed his features into a mask of indifference. Ted quirked an eyebrow at him but thankfully remained silent. As Justin performed some more zany moves - was that a variation on the cancan? - the brunet mulled over what Vic had said while they had polished off a couple of doobies on Debbie's stoop the day before.

Was Vic right? Would he be missing out if he just let the teen go? Maybe it would be worth it to try and reconnect with Justin to some extent, even if Brian couldn't trust him. He was still pissed off at the kid for leaving the loft unlocked - and allowing his personal space to be violated - but he wasn't as angry as he'd been three weeks earlier. In fact, he was surprised at how long he had managed to hold onto the anger, as he wasn't normally one to hold a grudge. He had also never been robbed before though. Brian supposed he could look at it as a learning experience for both the teen and himself. It was doubtful that Justin would ever be so irresponsible again, and certainly, Brian would never be so foolish as to once more leave the blond alone in his loft.

The ad exec's brow furrowed as he realized the teen would actually have to be in his loft for that to be a possibility. Well, why not? he mused. Christ knew, he was already spending an inordinate amount of time looking out for the brat - he might as well reap some benefits too. Especially since he'd done something so out of character as talking to Smythe earlier this evening regarding the rumors about someone stalking Justin, all because he had felt a bit bad about the fiasco resulting from the mattress auction. He wasn't convinced the owner of Babylon had taken the matter as seriously as he should, so he planned to follow up with the man later tonight.

Although the teen would never know about Brian's ridiculously protective behavior, there was no reason Justin couldn't repay him with a shag, was there? The muppet did know how to fuck - after all, he'd been taught by the best - so there'd be no harm in having him over solely for that purpose. The teen would also be reminded that he couldn't find better than Brian Kinney, and he'd surely drop Bob like the pathetic wannabe stud he undoubtedly was. There was one other reason to try and mend fences with Justin, although Brian was hesitant to fully acknowledge it; the stud wouldn't have to keep looking over his shoulder since he'd be safe with Justin. Safe and an easy solution to his blue balls, he concluded.

With that settled to his satisfaction, Brian motioned to Freddie for another Beam, letting out a long-suffering sigh when Ted raised an eyebrow and holding up two fingers to indicate he wanted two shots. Then he amended his order to, "And a cosmo for the dancing queen," when Emmett sashayed up to him.

He glanced around for Michael and Dr Dave, but shrugged when Emmett yelled over the loud music, "They're on the dance floor."

The three men toasted each other, Emmett lifting his glass toward Justin and enthusiastically yelling, "Keep shaking that delectable derriere, Baby!"

By the end of the night, Justin was heartily sick of ‘In the Navy,' which he'd danced to seven times. "What was up with playing that fucking song every time I was dancing?" he groused at the deejay, when he ran into the dude in the break room.

"Guys kept coming up to my booth and requesting the song," Dashonte explained. "Once I saw your kooky dance steps, I figured out why the tune was suddenly so much more popular than ever before," he teasingly clarified.

"Fuck," the teen muttered. "Hey, could you maybe lose that song in case anyone asks for it tomorrow night?" he suggested hopefully.

"No can do," the disc jockey replied. "The bossman wants me to keep the customers happy so they'll spend their money on drinks. You shaking your ass to ‘In the Navy' makes them happy."

Justin grunted in understanding as he pulled on his clothes. He had earned some awfully good tips dancing to that piece of drivel, so maybe he should come up with some different steps to make the song more tolerable and keep the moolah flowing.

"Hey, wait," a voice called as the teen exited the break room with Dashonte, heading to the bar to wait for Oscar.

Justin glanced at the unfamiliar man. "Yeah?" he inquired of the stranger once he'd reached the counter, where Freddie and Rico were tallying the cash in the registers.

"I just love the way you move... your body," the man gushed. "You're so fucking hot."

"Uh, thanks," the blond replied uneasily, trying to get a better look at the guy. A good part of his face was hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, and he had a scarf wrapped around his neck, his chin tucked into the folds of fabric.

"Could I get your autograph?" he inquired, thrusting a copy of Out magazine at the teen.

"Mr Taylor doesn't give autographs," a deep voice announced, Oscar suddenly materialising next to Justin.

"Really not?" the bloke asked, disappointment lacing his voice. When Justin shook his head in agreement with the bouncer, he then rhapsodised, "Well, in that case I would totally settle for you autographing my torso in jizz. Do you think we could hook up sometime so you could do that?"

"Bugger off," the bouncer growled, advancing threateningly toward the man.

"Just think about it," the autograph seeker called as he scurried toward the exit.

"Jesus, what a fucking nutcase," Justin muttered.

"I wish I'd gotten a better look at him," Oscar commented. "I probably shouldn't have chased him off like that. I can't give the police much of a description as it is."

"Do you think he could be the stalker - if there actually is a stalker?" the teen questioned, rubbing his hands up and down his arms in an effort to dispel the chill engendered by his encounter with the creep.

"Maybe. He could just be a fucking weirdo," the bouncer replied. "Let me know if he approaches you again, okay?"

"I will," Justin vouched, suddenly feeling drained not only by the rumor-fueled tension but also from having worked a full shift at the diner, followed by the dance gig. The blond was going to have to reprise the whole thing tomorrow, and he considered for the first time that this might not be as easy as he'd expected.

As Oscar and Justin walked out of Babylon just after two a.m., a patrolman pulled up in his squad car. Rolling the window down, he inquired, "Are you Justin Taylor?" When Justin nodded in the affirmative, a little worried at what the copper wanted with him, the man continued, "I'm Officer Reyes. Detective Horvath arranged for me to pick you up and drive you home after your shifts."

"There's no need," Oscar remarked in a wary tone, approaching the cop car. "I've already agreed to accompany Justin when he finishes work on the weekends."

"It's not out of my way at all," the policeman cheerfully insisted. "I go near his house on my way back to the precinct."

"The lad's in good hands with me," Oscar boasted, flexing his biceps beneath his skimpy denim jacket. "It's already pre-arranged that I'll see him home."

Reyes grinned at the bouncer, flexing his own muscles beneath his uniform. "He'd be safe with me too. Safer, perhaps, since I have a car."

Justin, who was completely made up that Carl was so concerned about his well-being, wanted to laugh at the macho display; however, he elected to end the discussion by assuring the bouncer, "I'll be fine, Oscar. Detective Horvath's a friend," and climbing into the patrol car on the passenger side. 

"See," the patrolman joked, "a warm car trumps slogging home through the snow every time, even with a companion like you."

Given the way the two brawny men were eyeing each other, Justin wondered if Officer Reyes might be gay. If so, the poor bastard probably didn't get many opportunities to be himself, the blond reflected, not in the conservative police force.

"Can I give you a lift too?" the patrolman asked Oscar. "I might have to put some handcuffs on you, though, since people in the back have to be cuffed."

The bouncer eyed the caged back of the squad car appraisingly before begging off, "That's an enticing offer, but I live in the other direction."

The teen was grateful that Officer Reyes was giving him a ride; it would have been a real imposition on Oscar for the genial bouncer to walk him home.

"I'll pick you up at the same time tomorrow," the patrolman informed Justin when he dropped the teen off in front of Deb's house a few minutes later, waiting until Justin had let himself in before waving and driving off.

The blond hoofed it up the stairs, pulling off his clothes and tossing them about helter-skelter before climbing into the bed and promptly falling asleep.

As the patrol car was pulling away, Brian was just exiting Babylon. He'd had another conversation with Smythe about Justin's safety, his concerns somewhat allayed when he'd learned that Oscar would walk the teen home at night. The brunet had intended to ask Justin over for a fuck but had ditched that plan, since the teen had already left. He'd have to engineer another opportunity, maybe even the next night.

Brian's worries flared up again when he encountered the bouncer on the sidewalk, staring after a vehicle which must've just pulled away from the club. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he snapped at the bouncer. "You're supposed to be walking Justin home."

"Some detective sent a patrol car to pick up Justin," Oscar explained. "The lad said he knew the detective, so I figured everything was copacetic."

"Detective Horvath?" Brian queried sharply.

"Yeah, that was the name," the bouncer agreed.

"The brat'll be fine then," Brian confirmed. "He does know the bobby."

With a halfhearted wave at Oscar, the brunet stropped off toward his loft, frustrated at having to rely on his hand and his glass dildo for another night...