"Thank fuck," Brian grunted when the doorbell to the loft rang again, still glowering at a hapless Theodore, who'd arrived all of ten minutes ago. 

The accountant rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Brian," he expostulated, "how could I have known th-"

No longer listening, the brunet yanked open the door to the loft and strode across the narrow space to the elevator. He tapped one bare foot impatiently against the cold cement as he waited for the clunky lift to make its way up to his floor. Once it arrived, he immediately opened the grate, relieved Cynthia of the cardboard container she was holding, turned on his heel, and marched back into his apartment.

"Good to see you too, boss," the blonde woman snarked, following after Brian.

Holding up a hand to forestall further commentary, Brian quickly removed the lid from a cup marked with a ‘B'. He took a sip, grimaced, added more sugar, sipped again, and moaned, "Fuck, that's good."

Behind him, he heard Cynthia say, "Hi. I'm Cynthia Moore."

"Ted Schmidt," came the prompt response.

"I know that look," the adman's assistant commiserated. "You've been dealing with growly bear Brian."

Theodore had the temerity to laugh. "He has been like a bear with a wounded paw," he agreed, "pissing and moaning since I got here."

Tired of people referring to him as a bear, the brunet emitted a suspiciously growly noise. He was entitled to be in a foul mood. Before he'd jumped in the shower this morning, he'd turned on his fancy DeLonghi coffee machine, planning to inhale a cup or two before Cynthia and Ted arrived to strategize about his new agency. He padded out to the kitchen a bit later, only to discover that the carafe had cracked, resulting in coffee spilling onto the counter and dripping down the cupboards before pooling on the floor. 

Brian had knelt in a wet spot while mopping up the mess, which necessitated changing his slacks. Worst of all, he'd been left jonesing for caffeine. He made a quick call to Cynthia, barking at her to stop at Starbucks on the way to the loft. Naturally enough, when the buzzer had rung the first time, he thought it was his assistant and ended up taking out his ire on Ted. "Where's my latte?" he demanded of the bewildered man when he'd realised the accountant wasn't Cynthia.

"Fucking expensive piece of shit!" Brian now complained, kicking the wastebasket which contained the defective coffee maker. He couldn't even blame this fiasco on the blond brat. Sure, his original coffee machine - a well-engineered Krups - had been among the burgled items, but Brian was the idiot who'd waffled about what he should replace it with. He fell for the spiel the salesman had given him while he was rogering the bloke in the warehouse. As an adman, he should've known better than to think with his little head; he vowed to himself that it wouldn't happen again. Now he was going to have to make time to visit the kitchen store again which, since the snow had yet to abate, meant driving across the Pitts and contending with the snarled traffic.

"Brian, what's this?" Cynthia inquired, pulling the tall brunet out of his morose thoughts.

"Oh, I recognize that," Ted declared in an excited voice as Brian turned around.

"Fuck!" Brian muttered. Afflicted by nostalgia the night before, he'd been leafing through photos and other mementos, stuff he normally kept hidden in the compartment underneath his bed. Now his sharp-eyed friends were scrutinizing the framed drawing he'd left on the coffee table.

"It's a remarkable likeness," Cynthia giggled, "but the proportions seem rather exaggerated in a key area."

Brian scowled. Nothing about his proportions was exaggerated.

"I think the artist was ‘under the influence' when he drew that anaconda," Ted commented drily. "Even the best-tailored trousers wouldn't allow room for it."

"‘Under the influence?" the blonde asked. "You mean drugs?"

"Under the Kinney influence," the accountant clarified. "It led the young man to misrepresent his subject."

"Aha." Cynthia smirked. "Would that young man be-"

Cutting the woman off before she could complete her question, Brian snapped, "You're here to work, not to admire Ju- er, my etchings."

The adman's fleeting hope that they hadn't noticed his slip of the tongue withered when both Theodore and Cynthia cast knowing glances at him. Fortunately, neither of them said anything.

"I got a cup for you as well," the blonde informed Ted, leading him over to the kitchen counter, removing a cup on which a C had been stenciled, and gesturing toward the container. "I didn't know how you take it..."

Both of them ignored Brian's mocking, "He sucks it down."

"...so yours is black," Cynthia concluded. "There's containers of half-and-half as well as low-fat milk, depending on your preference. Brian should have enough sugar, but just in case, I grabbed a few packets at the caff."

"Ta," Ted responded gratefully. "No sugar but I do like a dash of cream in my coffee. Um, which one's mine?" he asked, confused by the extra cup in the cardboard holder.

"Oh, the one without an initial on it," the blonde responded, turning around one of the cups so that a black ‘B' could be seen. "Brian's an absolute bear until he's downed at least two coffees, so I got a second one for him."

"That means hands off, Theodore," the maligned brunet grouched, sticking an arm between the two of them and removing the cup to safety.

"You wouldn't want it anyway," Cynthia assured Ted. "It's got enough sugar in it to give you at least three cavities."

"Christ, it's too early for the Abbott and Costello act," Brian scolded. "Could we get down to brass tacks and save the comedy for later?"

As the adman sauntered over to his computer desk, Cyn hissed at Ted, "Who are you? Abbott or Costello?"

"Dunno. Who's on first?"

Rolling his eyes at their juvenile behaviour, Brian gestured toward the coffee table, which was now memento-free. "You lot settle in there," he instructed. "I've run a multi-outlet surge protector over there for you to plug in your laptops, so for fuck's sake, don't trip over the cord."

Over the next few hours, the team talked about how to proceed, with Ted churning out cost analysis spreadsheets and Cynthia entering meetings and deadlines into an AOL calendaring program.

"So the loft will be our base of operations?" Ted queried, tilting his head from side to side to ease his strained neck muscles.

"Yeah," Brian confirmed, "but we won't meet any clients here unless absolutely necessary. There are usually conference rooms available at local hotels."

Cynthia groaned as she straightened up from crouching over her laptop. "If we're going to meet here every weekday morning to touch base and bring each other up to date, we need a better work surface," she complained.

"Acquiring a new dining table and chairs - which should suffice for a temporary work station - is on my to-do list for this afternoon," the adman promised, "along with replacing that piece-of-shit coffee maker."

"Tell you what," his assistant offered. "I know your taste, so why don't I go shopping for you?"

Brian narrowed his eyes in consideration. As far as the coffee machine, Cynthia could hardly make a worse choice than he had. The table though... 

he'd hate to be saddled with something that didn't meet his standards for fuck knew how long. All his funds were being earmarked for his new agency, so it wasn't like he'd be able to replace the dining set anytime soon.

"Can you see the gerbils scurrying?" Ted joked, nudging Cynthia.

"Ssh," she cautioned, smirking as she held an index finger to her lips. "This is a major decision for Mr Control Freak Kinney."

Brian pointed a finger at her. "Just for that, no, you can't help me pick out a fucking table."

The blonde snorted. "I don't want to help you pick out a ‘fucking' table, Brian, but rather a dining table."

The brunet didn't manage to hold back a snort. "One doesn't exclude the other," he commented, suggestively looking at the table Ted and Cynthia were sitting at.

Ted, who'd just taken a swallow of coffee, almost did a spit take. "You didn't!" he blurted, an appalled look on his face as he stared at the table.

Brian outright laughed. "Did you really think for one second there's a single inch of this loft that hasn't had jizz on it at one point or another?"

"Jesus," the accountant gasped. "That's fast work since you acquired your new furnishings so recently."

Not wanting to get into the details, the younger man shrugged the comment off and walked over to the kitchen. He was thirsty, and he was sure there was still a bottle or two of guava juice in his fridge. "Want some?" he asked, holding up a half-full bottle.

Cynthia scrunched up her nose. "No thanks. You've probably been drinking straight from that container."

With a wicked grin, Brian proved her right, knocking back a healthy swig. He then gave his assistant a tongue-in-cheek smile. "Is the little girl afraid I have cooties?"

"Hardly," the blonde huffed. "I just prefer not to have your spit in my drink."

"I don't backwash," Brian denied with an offended look.

"He really doesn't," Ted jested. "He's a champion swallower."

The younger brunet immediately agreed, "Damn right, I am! Now if you don't want any juice, get back to work. Enough chatter."

"How about you first tell us the name of your agency?" the accountant suggested.

"Surely you've decided to go with AdStud," Cynthia asserted, her eyes twinkling with merriment.

"Do I look brain-dead?" Brian deadpanned.

The blonde woman regarded him assessingly. "Not so much since you had your dose of sugar and caffeine."

Raising his eyebrows, Brian told her, "Then there's your answer."

"Christ, Brian," Ted carped. "We're going to be your employees. Don't we have a right to know the name?"

An idea popping into his head, the former Ryder's ad exec allowed, "I won't tell you, but I can show you the paper Justin gave me, and you can see for yourself."

Ted frowned. "What? You don't know how to pronounce it or something?" he asked.

Rolling his eyes, he pulled the paper with the name Justin had suggested out of his pocket. "Do you want to see it or not?"

"Yes!" Cynthia immediately cried. "Come on, gimme!"

Waving the small paper in front of their faces for barely a second, he stuffed it back into his pocket. "There."

"Oh, come on, Brian!" Ted loudly protested. "Enough with the teasing."

The adman was tempted to torture them for at least a couple more days, but going by the mutinous looks on their faces, he might lose their services if he did that. Slowly drawing the paper out of his pocket again, he dangled it in front of them.

"Wow, that's really clever," Cynthia breathed out in awe. "Simple but really catchy."

"Incredible," Ted concurred. "I can't believe how Justin came up with that on the fly."

Brian shrugged. "Twat's clever," he muttered. "He's got an IQ like 135 or something."

Cynthia smirked at her boss. "So it's because of his IQ that you asked him to help out?"

"I didn't ask him!" he immediately defended himself. "He just gave it to me by himself."

"Yeah," Ted snorted. "Like you weren't daring him to come up with a name."

The younger man shrugged and grinned. He was good at getting the best out of people.

"You know," Cynthia mused, "we're going to need artists, and we don't have anyone in mind yet. Maybe Justin would like to freelance for us?" With a humorous gleam in her eyes, she added, "Unless you prefer to poach Brad and Bob from Ryder."

Brian couldn't prevent a shudder at the notion of those two incompetent numskulls working for him. "Fuck, no!" he vetoed. "They can't even draw a dog that doesn't look like it has the mange."

"Whereas Justin..." Ted drawled meaningfully.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Yes, Theodore, the brat knows how to draw." Then sighing heavily, he allowed, "I suppose we could ask him to do some work for us if we're in need of some healthy and anatomically correct dogs or something."

Cynthia looked happier about his pronouncement than she had any right to. "That's great; the lad's a sweetheart," she noted.

The brunet narrowed his eyes at her. "How would you know?" he asked. "I don't remember you two ever meeting."

His secretary just shrugged secretively. "You hear things," she explained vaguely.

Ted's eyes twinkled as he repeated, "Things? Like the lad's name groaned lusti-"

"Enough, Schmidt, or you're going to be fired before you're properly hired," Brian threatened, glaring at the older man. 

The accountant simply shrugged, a lopsided smile on his face, evidently not in the least intimidated.

"Growly bear," Cynthia opined sagely.

Ignoring his insubordinate employees, Brian sauntered over to his desk, sat down, and stared at his computer screen. Dammit. He missed the teenager, and despite his negligence in regard to the burglary, he wanted him back, maybe for more than just a fuck. Made uneasy by that notion but glad all the same to have a reasonable excuse to approach Justin, he begrudgingly muttered, "I may have made a mistake in kicking the brat out. It would be more convenient to have him in the loft if he's going to be working for the agency."

Cynthia nodded in approval but didn't say anything, apparently succumbing to a coughing fit, while noises suspiciously like giggles escaped.

"That's great, Brian," Ted enthused. "So you'll ask Justin about freelancing for us?"

"Yeah," the adman grunted. He then sat up straighter, a sly smile on his lips as he imagined convincing the boy to work for him by fucking him. Heck, he decided, he could manage that without really trying.

"Not bad," Cynthia unashamedly stole Brian's usual approbation. Turning to Ted, she joshed, "I Don't Know is no longer on third; it's Justin."

Chuckling, the accountant quipped, "Um, I think that's actually Who's on first."

"Given that our boss would be Home Base-" Cynthia began, when Brian cut her off. Fuck. He didn't want to listen to more speculation on that topic.

Attempting to appear indifferent, the adman snarked, "Don't give up your day jobs. You two would never make it on stage."

Thankful when his minions momentarily fell silent, he then proceeded to warn them, "The agency name's not to be disseminated for now. I'd like to wait as long as possible."

"Yeah." Ted nodded. "You'll need to register the name and establish the agency as a legal entity."

"That's where Melanie will come in handy," Brian agreed. "We should probably have her firm, JKL, on retainer for legal matters, with Melanie as our primary contact."

"Good idea," Cynthia assented. "She sure as heck saved your bacon with Ryder."

"Once in a while, a bulldyke attorney does come in handy," the advertising exec acknowledged with a wry chuckle.

"Once we're recorded as a named legal entity," Ted volunteered, "I'll take care of registering the agency with the IRS and the Pennsylvania Department of Revenue."

Brian drily interjected, "That's where having an accountant comes in handy..."

"Chief Financial Officer," the older man primly retorted.

"We can negotiate your title, Theodore," the adman affirmed. "Your salary, however, is another matter entirely."

"It had better be generous," Ted joked, "if you don't want me to cook the books." When the younger man scowled at him, he cheekily amended, "Don't worry. None of that till we're raking in the millions, I promise. Boy Scout's honour."

"Christ. Were you really a Boy Scout?" Brian questioned as he looked at the accountant's three upraised fingers.

"Until I was thirteen," Ted confided. "But then I was caught kissing one of the other scouts..."

Brian winced. "Fuck. I bet that didn't end well."

"Got the shit kicked out of me," Ted admitted. "Tommy, though, escaped without a mark, since he claimed I'd attacked him."

"Jesus," Cynthia breathed out.

The older man shrugged. "I grew up fast, and I learned a valuable lesson about being cautious."

Brian exchanged a look of complete understanding with his friend.

"Anyway," Ted continued, "like I said, I can easily handle the tax registration."

Cynthia chimed in, "I can help with the paperwork for whatever licenses and permits we'll need."

"Most likely a building permit," Ted noted.

"Except for the minor issue of actually having a building," the adman scoffed. "None of the paltry real estate listings are worth a look."

"Hmm, maybe Ben will know of a place," Ted suggested. "We could ask him over dinner."

"We're not looking for student housing, Theodore," Brian chastised. He couldn't resist the opportunity to rile his friend, especially now that the normally mild-mannered accountant had found his balls and was asserting himself more and more.

An obviously miffed Ted glared at the adman. "He's a professor, Brian, not a student, and he has connections throughout the city. So, he may very well know of a site that would be perfect for the agency."

The younger brunet grinned and held up one hand placatingly. "All right, I concede. We'll ask Ben."

Nonplussed, Ted gaped at Brian, his mouth open.

"Good on you, Abbott!" Cynthia chuckled. "Between us - and Justin - we'll keep Home Base in line."

"Now all we have to figure out, Costello," Ted jested, "is What's on second, and the name of I Don't Know on third."

Brian yawned ostentatiously, remonstrating, "You two wise guys are overplaying that schtick."

"Nope," Cynthia demurred with a wicked smile. "We haven't even completed the first inning... eight to go."

Just as Brian feared he'd be reduced to begging for mercy, Ted looked at his watch and exclaimed, "Dammit! We're supposed to meet Ben for an early dinner in ten minutes. We'll never make it on time in this weather. We're going to be late!"

"Christ. Don't get your knickers in a twist," Brian commanded. "Use your brain - and your mobile - and give the man a call. Let him know we'll be a little late."

"More like a lot late," Ted grumbled as he pulled out his phone, moving over to the bank of windows for a bit of privacy.

"I'll just get going," Cynthia declared brightly, "and leave you men to handle your drama."

With her eyes sparkling and her shoulders shaking, Brian suspected his assistant was suppressing a fit of laughter. "The drama is all Ted's," he insisted. "I've never acted like that."

"Uh-huh," the blonde woman replied mockingly as Brian helped her into her coat. "Never... except every time a certain blond teenager was mentioned."

"That wasn't drama," Brian retorted. "I was understandably irate in each of those instances."

Cynthia patted him on the arm, as she condescendingly reiterated, "Uh-huh." She then pulled on her gloves and asked, between snickers, "See you here tomorrow at nine?"

Brushing aside her inexplicable levity, Brian confirmed, "Yeah," pulling open the door for her.

"Bye, Home Base," the exasperating blonde teased, a broad smile on her face as she moved the grate and stepped into the lift.

While he waited for Ted to wind up the phone call - wondering how it could possibly take so long to confirm they'd be there in a few minutes - Brian powered down his computer and neatly arranged his notes from the morning's meeting.

He overheard his friend state in a relieved tone, "Your final class today was cancelled because of the heavy snowfall? That's great, Ben. That means we'll have plenty of time to eat." After a brief pause, he confirmed, "We're on our way. We'll be there before they start serving dinner."

"Come on, Brian," Ted urged, closing the cover of his cell phone and grabbing his coat. "Ben's waiting for us at the Chef's Table on the Carnegie Mellon campus, but if we don't want to lose our reservation, we need to get there pronto. Shake a leg, would'ya?"

"Unless you drive like a little old lady, we'll be there in plenty of time, Schmidt," the irritated adman remonstrated.

"I'm driving?" the older man queried in surprise as they clambered down the stairs. "Unless you're out of your gourd, you're always the one behind the wheel."

"Since you nicked my parking karma, you can drive," Brian magnanimously declared.

"That's not gonna work to recapture the parking karma," Ted cautioned. "It's mine and I'm not giving it up."

"We'll see," the adman sceptically observed as they approached Theodore's sedan, which was - of course - parked smack dab in front of his building. He pouted slightly as he pondered how he might snatch his karma back from the accountant. "Huh," he grunted. "I didn't realize your car was a Mercedes."

Ted rolled his eyes. "I've been driving this car for years."

"I guess I thought it was a Ford or something," Brian muttered.

Motioning toward the prominent, three-pointed star, Ted quipped, "That Mercedes emblem is difficult to see."

"Ehm, I think you must've been parked behind a Ford... or a Chrysler, the few times I've seen your car," Brian lamely replied. Fuck, it was beyond embarrassing to mistake a Mercedes for a mundane American automobile.

Thankfully, Ted didn't needle him about his egregious blunder. Instead, after Brian slid into the passenger seat, he remained silent, first concentrating on easing the car out of the space and then competently manoeuvring it along the slippery, snow-covered streets.

Neither man spoke for a few minutes, and Brian was rather taken aback at how relaxed he felt as Ted chauffeured him toward the Carnegie Mellon campus. No inane chatter as there would have been if Michael were in the car with them. The only other person who he'd been in a car with for any stretch of time was Justin, and that only rarely; the blond muppet was ridiculously independent and usually insisted on taking the bus. The boy had, however, more than once asked to hone his driving skills by getting behind the wheel of Brian's jeep, which he was reluctant to allow.

One morning, to allow for shower sex and still get Justin to school on time, the brunet recollected intimating that he would let the teen practice driving his jeep in exchange for a blow job. The blow job had been stellar - peeved drivers honking their horns while Brian sat through two changes of green light at a major intersection - but Justin never received his compensation with the burglary happening just a few days later. He hadn't outright promised; still, he couldn't help but feel that he'd reneged on a deal... Hmm, there must be a way to fix that, he ruminated.

The ad exec knew he'd have no difficulty persuading the blond brat both to be his fuck buddy and to freelance for his agency; therefore, it might also be convenient for the lad to use his jeep on occasion. Before he'd let the teen loose with his prized vehicle, though, Justin would have to become accustomed to driving in adverse conditions. Brian doubted he'd be a good teacher since he admittedly lacked patience; Theodore, on the other hand, might be just the right person. It seemed that his driving skills were almost as good as Brian's, although the younger man thought Ted might be driving a trifle fast, given the ice and snow on the roads. He worried briefly that his friend was reacting to the barb about driving like an old lady, but Ted was still able to stop on a dime, without skidding, as the upcoming streetlight turned red.

He'd just opened his mouth to broach his idea, when Ted announced, "I can hand in my resignation to Wertshafter tomorrow, if you'd like."

Temporarily setting aside the notion of Ted teaching Justin to drive in winter weather, Brian averred, "We've got a fuckton of work to do, so the sooner, the better. How long is the required notice period?"

"Two weeks, but I've got a shedload of vacation time," the older man responded. "Even if I take the notice period as vacation, they'll still have to pay me out for the excess."

Brian wondered, "Won't they want you to work at least part of that time to train your replacement?"

"I doubt it." Ted chuckled sardonically. "Old Man Wertshafter has recently been wandering around the firm and popping into everyone's offices at odd times because he suspects the employees are watching porn on their computers." With a one-shouldered shrug, Ted admitted, "He's right about me, but I only did that at lunch and on my breaks."

"Perfectly understandable," Brian asserted.

"For anyone except a straitlaced fogey like Wertshafter," Ted agreed. "Anyway, shortly after he started his inspections, he caught one of the straight guys watching porn, and even though it was the bloke's lunch hour, Mr Wertshafter fired his ass."

"That's an extreme reaction to a natural activity," Brian declared. "Men think about sex all the time."

Ted shook his head in resignation as he turned onto Forbes Avenue. "Wertshafter's too dried up to remember that straight men think about sex every twenty-eight seconds, while for gay men..."

"It's every nine seconds," Brian and Ted chorused together.

"After my colleague was booted out," Ted continued, "I didn't dare jack off to porn in the office."

"What'd you do?" Brian asked curiously. "Visit the can every hour?"

"Yep," Ted confirmed. "Of course, that prompted Wertshafter to ask whether I had a bladder problem."

"Ouch. Quite the thorny, ehm, horny dilemma," Brian sympathised with a chuckle.

"Thankfully," Ted concluded, "I'll no longer have to feign suffering from a never-ending, mysterious infection."

"Maybe I should put a rider in the standard employee contract that masturbating while watching porn is one of the perks of working for me," Brian joked.

Ted burst out laughing. "I wouldn't put it past you to do that, Bri."

"It would certainly test new employees' mettle," Brian flippantly mused. "Provided they read the contract before signing - and they'd be foolish not to at least do that - I'd know they either didn't pay attention to that detail, or it would otherwise be revealing of their character. One person might be too chickenshit to mention it, another embarrassed, and a third amused by the unusual job benefit."

"Um, you do realise that some of those new employees whose character you'd be evaluating will be female, right?" the accountant enquired, shuddering as he tightly gripped the steering wheel. "Hissy fits would almost certainly ensue." 

"It was just a fleeting thought," Brian hastily replied. "No female hysterics allowed in my office!"

"Right," Ted concurred with a wry smile. "The only permitted queen-outs are yours."

Brian was about to protest that he never queened out, but was distracted when he realized that they'd reached CMU, and that Ted was easily navigating his way across the campus. 

"How the fuck do you know where we're going?" he speculated. "You can't possibly remember Ben's directions so exactly."

"I didn't need directions," Ted smugly declared. "This is my alma mater."

How the fuck hadn't he known that? Brian wondered. Ted had been preparing his taxes for years; surely he should have known where the man went to university. "You got your bachelor's degree from CMU?" he double-checked.

"And my MBA with a concentration in accounting," Ted clarified.

Brian let out a whistle of admiration. An MBA from the Tepper School of Business was no small accomplishment. "Fuck," he marveled, "that probably rivals my MBA in marketing from the Smeal College of Business."

"Actually," the older man stated in a pedantic tone, "Tepper is ranked six places above Smeal nationwide."

"What the fuck" - Brian wanted to smack himself for sounding like a broken record - "have you been doing working at a two-bit firm like Wertshafter?"

"I needed a job," Ted explained slowly, as if to an imbecile, "and Wertshafter had an opening."

"Jesus, Theodore, you should be the head of the accounting department by now," the adman expostulated.

"Well, I'm about to become your CFO," Ted observed, "so I'd say I've reached that pinnacle."

At a loss for a comeback, Brian simply grunted, "Huh." Moments later, he again reiterated, "What the fuck?" as his friend pulled into a visitor parking spot - the only free space - in front of one of the residence halls. "No way am I eating cafeteria food."

"This from the man who eats at the diner at least once a day," Ted muttered. "No need to quee- ah, that is, raise a reasonable objection," the older man pacified him. "The Chef's Table is located inside Resnik House."

Ignoring Ted's snide mumble, the advertising exec commented, "What a bizarre location for an upscale restaurant."

"It's near Gesling Stadium," Ted noted. "The administration probably wanted a handy locale where they could wine and dine wealthy supporters of Mellon's major sports programmes."

Brian shrugged in acknowledgement. As they got out of the car, he queried, "Provided Wertshafter accepts your resignation, you're ready to start working for me right away, even though I don't have a contract for you to sign?"

They walked side-by-side toward the entrance to Resnik House, Ted verifying, "That's right." He held out a gloved hand toward Brian, prompting, "We're both men of our word, so why don't we shake on it?"

An actual gentleman's agreement, Brian thought, the concept seeming almost foreign after the way he'd been betrayed at Ryder. He'd been foolish to believe Marty's say-so that he was grooming Brian to become his partner. 

Ted had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, his hand still outstretched, and was looking at him with a wry smile, as if he were privy to Brian's thoughts. The adman felt honoured to be trusted to such an extent by Ted, but rather than say anything and risk sounding like a mushy lesbian, he simply stuck out his hand and shook on it.

As he opened the door for Brian to enter the building, Ted commented, "Listen, I'm pretty sure Ben reserved a table for us at the Chef's Table because he wants to make a good impression. I've never been here before - it only opened a couple years ago - but it's supposed to have some of the best cuisine in the city."

"Like that'd be difficult," Brian interrupted. "This is the Pitts, after all."

"Now who's the comedian?" Ted complained. "C'mon Brian, this place is really exclusive; it's only open on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and reservations usually have to be made far in advance. Ben called in a favour from a friend to get us in."

"I promise not to eat with my fingers or chew with my mouth open. Will that do?" the younger man teased.

"For Christ's sake, I know you're not Mikey," Ted replied as they neared the restaurant. "I'm just worried that you'll scare Ben off. I really like this guy - he might even be the one. Stop that!" he demanded when Brian looked at him askance. "I know you don't believe in romance, but I do. So, just... don't scare him off. Okay?"

"I'll be on my best behaviour," Brian said solemnly. "I'll even pass on fucking the waiter."

With a rueful chuckle, Ted acknowledged, "That'll have to suffice, I suppose." 

Brian was surprised to discover that every table was occupied when they entered the Chef's Table. "Huh," he grunted, "you weren't kidding about this place being popular."

"Can I help you?" a young woman in a natty uniform - probably a student - greeted them from the lectern where she was stationed.

"Ted Schmidt and Brian Kinney. We're meeting Benjamin Bruckner," Ted responded. "He's expecting us."

"This way, please." She motioned for them to follow her, and then confided with a wide smile, "Professor Bruckner has stopped at the service desk three times in the last half hour to check whether you'd arrived yet, Mr Schmidt. I've never known him to be so impatient."

Since Ted appeared to have been struck speechless, Brian asked, "You know Professor Bruckner?"

"Of course!" the girl exclaimed. "He's one of the most popular - not to mention hot- uh, I mean, handsome - professors on campus. I sure wish he batted for my team," she said, a dreamy expression on her face.

"Mmm," Ted murmured, an almost equally besotted look in his eyes, "I'm glad he doesn't."

Brian had to bite his tongue to hold back a snarky comment about both of them being silly girls as they neared a table in a windowed alcove. He frowned as the lone occupant glanced over at them, his familiar face lighting up with a broad smile when he espied Ted. Brian's frown deepened when he recognised the man as one of his past tricks. Damn. They'd fucked at the White Party a few years ago, and it had been bloody hot. Except for Justin, Ben was probably the best fuck Brian had ever had. 

Shaking his head slightly, the brunet stud decided to act as though he'd never met Ben. Mentioning the incident would only make Ted jealous for no reason, and he had promised himself he'd be supportive of his friend's new relationship - no matter how sappy or cringy it turned out to be.

As he made that decision, the hostess announced, "Your guests are here, Professor Bruckner."

Ben didn't respond, still beaming at Ted.

The young woman giggled, handed three menus to Brian, and told him that a server would be with them shortly.

"I'm sorry," Ben apologized, finally tearing his eyes away from Ted to greet Brian. "I'm Ben-" He stopped short, staring at Brian in shock. "Oh, uh, hi, we've met before..." he stuttered.

"You have?" a perplexed Ted inquired, looking rather hurt. "How... when did you meet?"

Both Ben and Brian chuckled. 

"Um, we didn't exactly exchange names or anything," Ben divulged. "You know," he stated awkwardly, "it was just a, uh, a..."

"Physical exchange?" Brian offered helpfully.

"Exactly," the professor gratefully acknowledged.

"You fucked," Ted concluded, a weird expression briefly crossing his face. 

Dammit, Brian thought. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen - for Ted to be hurt. He cursed the professor's bleeding heart for having felt it was necessary to be honest with his boyfriend.

"Theodore," Ben murmured gently, reaching out to clasp Ted's hand in his own.

The accountant huffed a soft laugh. "I shouldn't really be surprised," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, a hot gay guy like you? Of course, Brian fucked you..."

"That's all it was, though," Ben insisted. "A White Party fuck. Fun, but completely meaningless."

Brian nodded eagerly. "Completely," he agreed. "Absolutely insignificant."

"Hmm," Ted made an unconvinced sound.

"Listen, you remember when you met Justin for the first time?" Brian asked.

"Huh?" Ted responded, confused by the apparent non-sequitur. "Sure. Why?"

"We were at Woody's, and the brat was stalking me. Do you recall what you said?" Brian asked, prodding Ted to see the parallel between the two situations.

Ted blinked, his brow furrowing. "Uh, that was too long ago," he admitted.

"You claimed, ‘That kid's hot. I'd like to tap that ass,'" Brian disclosed to Ben's obvious amusement.

"I did?" Ted squeaked, blushing.

"Uh-huh," Brian affirmed.

"See, it's a natural instinct when one hot gay man meets another," Ben claimed.

"You... you really think I'm hot," Ted said in disbelief.

Brian began chuckling. "He really does, Theodore," he asserted. "I now recall where I recently saw your hunky professor. It was at Debbie's garage sale, and Ben was blatantly ogling you."

"Only you," Ben concurred. "I was utterly blown away by how sexy you looked when you danced to that mock-up of In the Navy."

"The only one I could see was Justin, all tarted up in that fucking corset," Brian quietly confessed. "It was like watching an accident happen - you just can't take your eyes away."

"I guess I don't need to worry about you guys hooking up again." Ted let out a relieved sigh, finally starting to relax.

Brian raised his eyebrows. "You know my policy on repeats," he confirmed.

Ben grinned. "And mine on monogamy," he promised, giving Ted a tight, one-armed hug. 

Since he kind of liked the stupidly happy look on his friend's face, Brian refrained from muttering an acerbic ‘monotony' in response to the dreaded M-word. 

"So," Ben said, clapping his hands together once, "now that that's out of the way, are we ready to go and order?"

"It's not like we've had a chance to look at the menu," Brian drily retorted, "but I do know I could use a shot of Beam."

Ben rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what I meant. Just for that, I should not let you look at the menu at all and just order whatever I see fit."

Stymied for a comeback after being so neatly put in his place, Brian was glad when the waiter approached their table and inquired, "Would you like to hear our specials today?"

As the young man rattled off the specials - both the swordfish and the sirloin sounded particularly appealing - Brian caught the waiter sending flirtatious glances at Ben. For all that the server took notice of them, he and Ted might as well not have been at the table. Brian was puzzled at being so utterly ignored, until it dawned on him that the kid must be in Ben's class and attempting to flirt his way to a good grade.

Brian's certainty that the young man would otherwise have been all over him was shaken, however, when Ted leaned over and mildly teased, "Now you know what it feels like, not to be the cynosure of all eyes."

"He's obviously one of Ben's students," Brian informed Ted, "sucking up to raise his grade."

"I don't think so," the accountant disagreed. "The kid hasn't mentioned coursework at all."

Ted and Brian grimaced at one another as Ben began extolling the delights of tofu to the server, the student nodding in vehement agreement.

"Fuck," the adman griped, "I'd rather eat carbs after seven than ingest tofu turkey or some other wannabe-real-food soybean crap." 

"Soya beans are kinda slimy, as well as tasteless," the accountant concurred, scrunching up his nose in disgust.

"Oops." Brian laughed when his friend uttered that remark just as the server and Ben stopped talking.

Ben laughed good-naturedly too. "I hope to change your mind about tofu when you come over for dinner, Theodore. I cook a mean tofu stir-fry."

Shrugging in acknowledgment of his faux pas, Ted conceded, "I'll try it, but only because you'll be the chef. The couple of times I've eaten tofu, it really was quite..." He paused, searching for the most descriptive word, before settling on "...blech."

Ugh, poor Ted, having to sacrifice his taste buds like that, the younger brunet reflected. If Brian had been remotely interested in Ben as more than a one-time trick, being fed soybean paste would have killed the ‘relationship' before it had begun.

"I'll have you over sometime, too, Brian," the professor invited, smirking slightly as he looked at the adman. "I wouldn't want you to miss out on my tofurkey."

Shit, Brian cursed to himself. The man must've overheard his opinion of tofu as well as Ted's.

His supposition was confirmed when Ben lectured, "If you're watching your carbohydrate intake, it's an extremely good choice. You'll lose excess weight in no time."

Brian sat up straighter and sucked in his gut. He knew it! He must've put on at least half a pound, just looking at all that fattening Thanksgiving food at Deb's house. Even so, however, tofu would be a last-ditch resort... 

"With that inducement, I'm sure Brian would be delighted to join us for dinner one night," Ted opined, his eyes twinkling as he looked at the adman. "Right, Bri?"

Fucking Ted, Brian mused, narrowing his eyes at his friend. As dire ways to off the accountant flitted through his mind, the young waiter glanced at the adman and brightly inquired, "Does that mean you'd also like to have the Thai curry tofu, sir?"

Brian almost blurted, ‘Fuck, no!' but stopped himself just in time. He stuttered in his hurry to decline the fake meat. "Uh, no, thanks. I'll have, uh, the chimichurri-marinated sirloin with green beans."

"And to drink?" the young man disinterestedly inquired.

The advertising exec really wanted the shot of Beam he'd previously mentioned, but - despite planning Ted's demise moments before - he decided on second thought, it would be mean-spirited, what with Ted being unable to drink and then drive. "I'm good with water," he announced, gesturing toward the pitcher on the table in which slices of lemon floated.

"I'd like the pan-roasted swordfish in lemon-garlic sauce," Ted requested politely. "I'll also stick with water." The waiter didn't so much as glance at him, eyeing Ben seductively while jotting down Ted's order.

"So," the adman casually inquired after the young waiter had left their table, "he's one of your students?"

Ben nodded. "Yes," he admitted. "A good kid, if a little distracted during class."

"Could have something to do with the torch he's carrying," Brian mumbled under his breath. "He a good student?" he asked a little louder, determined to prove to Ted that his earlier assertion had been correct.

The professor, not having noticed the looks the other two men were exchanging, considered the question. "Well," he began hesitantly, pausing for a bit before finishing carefully, "he's not exactly one of my best."

"Colour me surprised," Brian snarked, shooting Ted a brief look.

As Ben glanced at the adman in puzzlement, Ted pushed for more information. "But he is passing the class?"

"Barely, I bet," Brian interjected.

Ben looked even more confused, glancing at one man, then the other. "Why all this interest in how one of my students is faring?" he asked.

Geesh, Brian thought to himself, could the professor be any more clueless? The adman always knew when someone was cruising him... and it was always because Brian was so smokin' hot, not because someone wanted to get ahead. His mouth open, about to hand the professor a clue - Christ, he felt like he was playing that bloody board game - he abruptly remembered the Kip Thomas debacle. Hurriedly closing his mouth, Brian decided to let Theodore handle this one.

"Well," an abashed Ted disclosed, "we've been debating the reason the kid was hitting on you. Brian's sure it's because he wants to raise his grade, but I think it's simply because he wants you."

"Hitting on me?" Ben parroted disingenuously.

Brian's eyes narrowed. Going by the twinkle in his eyes, the professor bloody well knew their waiter was all too sweet on him. Turning to look at his friend and seeing the carefully guarded jealousy in his brown eyes, he snorted. Well played, he thought. Well played, professor.

"Even if he was hitting on me," Ben shrugged indifferently, "it doesn't matter in the least, since it won't influence his grade. More importantly, I'm not interested in him, Theodore; it's you I have my eye on."

And that, thought Brian, was even more masterfully played. He almost wished he could say something like that with a straight face - it would probably do wonders for his relationship with J- ...people. 

"Right," Brian intervened quickly, "why don't we all stop gazing into each other's eyes soulfully and start behaving like normal, healthy fags?"

Ben chuckled. "Just how do ‘normal, healthy fags' behave in your opinion?"

"Not like lesbians," the adman instantly replied.

"That's it?" the professor asked.

"That pretty much covers it," Brian insisted. "It eliminates all the mushy, emotional, lovey-dovey garbage and leaves space for the hot and heavy sex, no strings attached."

Ted huffed a small laugh, rising from the table. "Well, I've heard that lecture a hundred times already, and I think I can repeat it word for word. Why don't I leave you two to it and use the opportunity to go and wash my hands?"

"That's a good example of how not to be a lesbian," Brian mock seriously stated. "A lesbian would need someone to accompany her to the restroom."

Shaking his head, Ted glanced at Ben. "Can you believe the bloke actually has friends? Some of them even female."

Once Ted was out of earshot, Brian sized the other man up. "So," he drawled slowly with a raised eyebrow.  

"So?" Ben asked, several long seconds later.

"So, you really think Ted is hot?" he asked without preamble.

Ben frowned slightly in surprise, sitting up a little straighter. "You don't?"

Brian shrugged. "I'm not the one who's dating him."

"You don't have to date a guy to think he's hot," Ben countered. "I thought we'd already established that."

"What I meant, professor," Brian snarked, stressing the last word with a curl to his lip, "was that my opinion is not pertinent. You supposedly like him, though, so you tell me what you think of him."

"There's nothing supposed about it," Ben declared. "From the moment I bumped into Theodore for the first time, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him." 

"Really?" the younger man asked skeptically. "What caught your eye - his ill-fitting suit or his effortless charm? I mean, let's be honest, Theodore is a good man, but he's kind of boring. And awkward."

"You really don't see it?" the professor asked, cocking his head at Brian in baffled curiosity.

Brian pushed a little harder, "Look, I know you're being nice - Ted can be kind of cute sometimes, and hurting him might feel like kicking a puppy - but don't you think you should just let him down now and be over with it? Why drag it out? He's not gonna get any funnier, or handsomer, the longer you spend with him."

Ben's face reddened. "You really are an arsehole! What kind of friend are you?" he accused. "Just so you know, I'm telling everything you've just said to Ted, so he knows what sort of jerkface... Why are you smiling?"

The younger man smirked. "You've just shown me that you really are interested in Theodore."

"You were testing me," Ben spluttered in realisation.

"Yeah."

"So you don't really think all those things about Ted."

"No," agreed Brian, then paused. "Well, he is a little awkward."

"Aren't we all sometimes?" Ben shrugged in acceptance.

"Not me," the younger man denied. "It goes against my genetic makeup."

The professor shook his head but declined to dispute the matter. "So," he uttered drily, "was this your own version of the shovel talk, or is that still coming?"

Brian's eyes glittered. "You mean the one where I promise to tar and feather you and run you out of this damn city if you ever hurt my friend? The one where I assure my influence will make it impossible for you to work as anything more than a McDonald's burger flipper... or a sanitation engineer at the zoo?"

"That's the talk," Ben agreed, chuckling ruefully.

"Consider it delivered," the adman magnanimously declared, giving the professor a slight nod of approval as Ted returned to the table.

The accountant took one look at his boyfriend and shot Brian a suspicious glance. "What happened?" he asked, turning back to Ben. "You look weird."

"Nothing," the professor immediately dismissed his worry. "Brian here was just being a good friend."

Theodore snorted. "That would be a first," he mumbled, though he gave his friend a small smile to show he wasn't being serious.

The young waiter arrived with their meals as Ted sat back down. After placing Ben's tofu dish in front of the professor, he somehow managed to set Brian and Ted's plates in front of them without ever glancing away from Ben.

Brian glared in distaste at the professor's plate. "Are you really sure you want him, Theodore?" he asked his friend. "I mean, he's clearly nuts. You'd have to be to subject yourself to that soy stuff."

Their server instantly stepped in to defend Ben. "That ‘soy stuff' is delicious," he protested, batting his eyes at the professor.

"Uh-huh," the adman grunted sceptically. "So, teacher's pet, just what is your favourite tofu dish, and how do you prepare it?"

"Um, a tofu... tofu burger?" the kid offered with a hesitant look at Bruckner, as if to check he had answered correctly. Then, glancing at the plate he had just carried, he changed his mind, "No, a curry. Tofu curry."

Ben looked at the young man in disappointment. "Have you ever actually eaten tofu?"

"Of course I have!" the waiter claimed in indignation. "I'm just nervous to be put on the spot," he tried.

"Nervous," Brian snorted. "Right."

"That's not particularly believable, Simon," Ben chided mildly. "You were extolling the merits of tofu less than half an hour ago."

The kid turned his big pleading eyes at his teacher. "I can't help it if I'm nervous, professor," he insisted. "You'd be too if you were being interrogated in front of a man you- ehm, you know, admire."

Ted grunted. "Jesus, give the lad a shovel," he mumbled quietly to Brian. "That's a big hole he's digging for himself."

Right then, the hostess who'd greeted Ted and Brian when they arrived at the Chef's Table bustled over and hissed, "Simon!" When the server didn't respond, she repeated his name more loudly. "Simon! Other customers are waiting for their food. Quit trying to flirt your way to a higher score in Gay Studies. Professor Bruckner will never fall for your malarkey."

As the young man slunk away from their table, the hostess apologised. "Even though Simon has been getting on my last nerve, using his wiles to ‘earn' better grades, that was unprofessional of me. I'd appreciate it if you'd forget it ever happened."

Brian smirked at her. "Are you kidding? That was the most entertained I have been the whole day. Can you do an encore?"

Although he managed a serious facade, Ben's lips twitched as he remarked, "While you were undoubtedly provoked, Kristine, it would be best not to make a habit of such set-downs."

The hostess nodded, her cheeks pink.

Just loud enough for Kristine and the other men at the table to hear, the professor continued, his mouth curving into a slight smile, "Even if your delivery was absolutely perfect."

That thinly disguised approbation caused the young woman to grin impishly and murmur, "Thanks, professor," before returning to her workstation.

The men tucked in, humming in appreciation of the delicious food. "Would you like to try a bite, Ted?" Ben offered, holding out a spoonful of curry.

"Erm, that's okay," the accountant demurred. "I don't think the curry would go right with my fish."

Just as Brian was mentally congratulating Ted on cleverly avoiding the dreaded soybean stuff, the professor agreed, a sly glint in his eyes, "Maybe not. That excuse won't work, though, when you come to dinner at my place."

"It was worth a try," Ted husked out on a laugh. "I'm really not a tofu person, Ben."

"You will be," the professor stated confidently. "You, too Brian," Ben added, destroying the adman's fervent wish that the man would forget all about him in relation to anything tofu.

When Ted shot him a look that clearly expressed he wasn't going to let Brian off the hook - if Ted had to choke down soya, so did Brian - the stud grunted noncommittally. Where the fuck was it written in the ‘friend manual' that he had to sacrifice himself on the tofu altar? he wondered.

The adman was distracted from dreaming up more ways to murder said friend, when Ted suddenly broached the real estate topic. "We're looking for a location for Brian's new agency," he related, "but there seems to be a dearth of adequate properties. We were wondering if you perhaps didn't know of anything?"

"Not off the top of my head," Ben stated regretfully. "I can check with a colleague over in Business Administration, though. Sanjeet might know of something, since he's teaching a seminar on the local real estate market."

"Ta," Brian thanked the professor. "We'll go permanently doolally if the business is housed in my loft for very long."

"Yeah," Ted chimed in, straightening up in his chair, a distinct popping sound resulting. "I was hunched over the coffee table for too long today."

"You're getting old, Theodore," the adman joked, "making creaking noises like that."

"You try sitting at the coffee table tomorrow, and I'll take your desk," Ted retorted, reaching around to rub his lower back. "We'll see whose joints pop then."

"You'll soon be seated at a proper table," Brian placated his employee. "Although you should show more respect for my Mies van der Rohe coffee table."

"It could be Louis Quatorze, and it'd still be a torture device masquerading as a desk," Ted protested. Now massaging the back of his neck, he allowed, "Albeit, a dining table does not a desk make, it'll be a distinct improvement over that coffee table."

Had he instructed Cynthia to make sure his new dining table was sturdy as well as aesthetically pleasing? Brian suddenly fretted. Then he relaxed as he recalled referring to it as a fucking table cum dining table. It should be all right then, he reassured himself.

"So, do you also meet your clients at your loft?" asked Ben curiously.

Brian straightened his spine in horror. "Of course not! That would send the completely wrong message. Until we have actual premises, any client meetings will be in hotel conference rooms or at their offices."

"When do you plan to officially open your agency?" the academician probed.

"Preferably yesterday," Brian huffed out a laugh. "But considering we don't have a building yet or have any idea how much work it will take to make it habitable and functional, who knows?"

"Yeah," Ted wryly observed, "I can just imagine the look on the clerk's face at City Planning, if I enquired about a building permit and then just stood there like a moron, questioning, ‘What do you mean, what building? I need a building to obtain a permit?'"

All three men burst out laughing as they pictured that scenario. "Talk about putting the cart before the horse," Ben snorted.

"Or the sex before the condom." The brunet stud shuddered at the notion of engaging in unsafe sex.

At first, Brian assumed Ted and Ben had quietened because they were equally horrified by the mention of unprotected sex, but the silence lingered a little too long for that to be the case.

Finally, the professor, his face pale, bluntly confessed, "I'm HIV positive."

"Shit," the adman breathed out, shocked. He would never have made such a tactless remark if he had guessed, but Ben looked in the pink of health. His first instinct was to shake Ted's shoulders and tell him to run, but he forced himself to swallow down any panic. Grasping for something reasonable to say, he asked, "The cocktail you're taking - it's under control?"

"Now it is," the professor acknowledged in a strained voice, tightly clasping the hand Ted had extended across the table. "I went through a rough patch, both mentally and physically, after I was diagnosed, but my condition has been stable for over a year now."

Reaching out and quickly giving Ted's arm a squeeze, Brian stated quietly, "I'm sure you've talked through the ramifications and will behave appropriately, so I won't belabor the point." Pausing for a moment, he tilted his head to the side, musing, "You know, Theodore, you're probably the only one of my friends who could cope with an HIV-positive partner."

Ted smiled slightly, obviously pleased by his friend's observation. He mulled over what Brian had said and then, a teasing lilt to his voice, he asked, "Even the Boy Wonder?"

"Even Justin," Brian confirmed. "The kid would freak out and ruin any chance he had."

"I'm lucky," the professor murmured, smiling softly at his boyfriend. "But now, enough of this ‘lesbianic stuff' before Brian's ears start bleeding," he declared. His turquoise-tinted eyes sparkling wickedly, Ben planted his elbows on the table and recommended, "Let's discuss something important... like the upcoming ‘Long Schlong' competition at Babylon."

The main topics of conversation at the Liberty Diner that afternoon were similar to those being discussed by Ben, Ted, and Brian at the Chef's Table: Babylon's forthcoming ‘Long Schlong' contest - bets furiously being placed even before the entrants were known - and speculation about Brian's new advertising agency. 

When Justin had arrived for his afternoon shift, Debbie told him that she'd been spreading the word that Liberty Avenue's reigning stud was looking for a place to house his new agency. "This diner has been abuzz since seven o'clock this morning," she'd cackled. "Let's keep spreading the word, Sunshine. Brian'll have so many properties to look at, they'll be coming out his wazoo!"

As he cleared the table nearest the entrance, Justin noticed two men studying a flyer promoting the ‘Long Schlong' contest. One of them, a whipcord thin man, deliberated, "I wonder what he'll call it."

"Wait... when did Burt name his dick?" his shorter, heftier companion asked.

"Huh?" The thin guy turned to his friend. "Oh, I'm not talking about the likelihood of your roomie's cock winning the competition - which is nil, by the way. I meant Kinney's new agency. He's an adman, so he'll have egg on his face if he doesn't come up with something both clever and classy."

Justin smiled smugly, unable to imagine Brian finding a better name than the one he'd proposed a few days ago.

"Whatever Kinney calls it," the shorter man commented, "I hope he sets up shop here in the hood."

"Why?" his tall friend asked, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. "What difference would that make?"

After Shorty proclaimed, "Duh, it'll bring more business to the gayborhood." Justin stopped earwigging the conversation, suddenly concerned as to what effect it would have on him if Brian worked even closer to the diner than he had while at Ryder. He might drop by more often, which wouldn't be good for the teen's peace of mind. Sure, they were sort of talking now - Justin even felt the occasional protective vibe - but at other times, his ex either gave him the cold shoulder or acted hostile. They were hardly friends; heck, Justin had dismissed out of hand the idea of calling Brian when he was stranded at St James yesterday afternoon, preferring to walk home if it had come to that.

Justin hauled the tubful of dirty dishes to the kitchen and returned to the main part of the diner to greet a new inrush of customers, one of whom he was surprised to note was none other than Dr Dave. The teen barely knew the man, but he'd gotten the feeling that the chiropractor wasn't all that keen on the eatery, that he'd maybe prefer a more upscale place to eat.

"Hello, Justin," David acknowledged him affably, but he didn't actually look at the teen, instead gazing toward the back of the diner.

Figuring he must be looking for his boyfriend, Justin told the doc, "Michael's not here-"

Dave interrupted him rather brusquely, "I know that. It's Debbie I want. "Wait, there she-" He stopped speaking, flushing as he realised he'd mistaken Kiki for Deb.

"Want to take me for a test drive, doc?" the tranny purred suggestively as she approached. "I can outperform your current model, I guarantee."

Justin coughed in an effort to disguise the laugh that had bubbled up at the outraged expression on David's face. Didn't the man get that Kiki was just having a bit of fun? Huh, he mused, Horvath - the totally straight detective - was more at ease flirting with Kiki than the uptight doctor.

Since Kiki was starting to look rather pissed off at the doctor's obvious repugnance, the blond diplomatically intervened, "Um, maybe I can help?"

"Maybe," David replied slowly, clearly doubtful. "When I stopped in this morning for some lemon bars - my receptionist has quite the sweet tooth - she told me Brian is looking for real estate for his new advertising agency. She asked me to keep an eye out for suitable properties, and to let her know if I discovered something."

Geesh, Justin thought, the man was really kinda pompous. The doc made it sound like he was the only one Debbie had shared that information with.

Evidently Kiki was of the same opinion. She rolled her eyes and tossed her head, the curls in her bouffant hairdo bouncing as she announced, "Yeah, you and every other fag in this burg. Every single one of them wants to be the one who finds the ideal location for Brian." She inquired of Justin, "You've got this, right, Sunshine?" and at his nod, she sashayed over to serve the recent arrivals.

The blond lad glanced questioningly at David when he heard him mumble something that sounded like ‘trash'. Was he referring to Kiki? Justin wondered, starting to get angry on the tranny's behalf. When the older man didn't utter anything else disparaging, however, the teen calmed down, thinking he must've misheard.

"You know," David proposed, "you could give me Debbie's phone number, and I'll call her directly. I need to get back to the office, since I only have a short break between patients."

Arrogant prick, Justin thought. He refused to show his annoyance, however. "Hmm," he countered, "why don't you just tell me where the property is? We'll make sure to pass on the information to Brian." When David opened his mouth, presumably to protest, he offered, "We'll make sure you're given the credit if Brian likes the place."

The chiropractor's eyes lit up at that, causing Justin to give a mental eye-roll. So that's what the doctor had been after with all that hemming and hawing.

"Well," the doctor hedged, "the building is probably in rather disgusting condition...."

Jesus, doc, the lad thought, just spit it out, would'ya?

As if in answer to his unspoken plea, the man finally revealed in a hushed voice, "It's the old bathhouse, the one over by the waterfront that's been closed for nearly a year."

Immediately seeing the possibilities, Justin smiled widely at the doc, David grinning in return. He could understand better now, why the older man had wanted to impart this news himself; the bathhouse idea was brilliant. 

"Do you know if it's listed with a realtor?" he asked. Brian would want to know who to contact.

"I don't think so," the chiropractor responded. "There's no sign posted out front, and it's not in a desirable location... for most people."

"Ehm," Justin coughed, "not many will have regarded it as a ‘home away from home'."

"Their loss," the doc deadpanned. Glancing at his watch, he then swore, "Fuck. I'd better get back to the office. My next client gets really stroppy if he's kept waiting."

"I'm going to call Brian right away," Justin promised. "He's gonna owe you one for this."

"No," Dr Dave waved it off, "it's me who owes him a favour." With that, he rushed out the door to attend to his patient.

Justin looked after him in bemusement, curious as to why the doc owed Brian. He shrugged - he might never know the answer to that mystery - and looked around to ensure there were no customers in need of immediate assistance, before stepping behind the counter, lifting the receiver of the wall phone next to the cash register, and dialling Brian's cell. When the phone rolled over to voicemail after just one ring, he muttered, "Fuck," in frustration. Of all the times for the adman to have set his phone to silent.

"Brian," he spoke quietly into the mouthpiece so no one could overhear, "Dr Dave has discovered the perfect location for your new agency - the waterfront bathhouse that was closed down months ago. You should drive by and check it out. Oh, yeah," he finished lamely, "this is Justin. Bye."

Way to sound like a total numpty, Justin chastised himself after hanging up. Say who you are at the end of the message, when the man will have already figured it out. The blond jiggled in place, wanting to talk to Brian about the bathhouse right now, too excited to think about anything else. Fuck. He wished he and his ex lover were on better terms; then he'd know where to track the adman down.

"What's going on?" Kiki's voice penetrated his excited daze. "You're hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean."

"Uh, I think Dr Dave's actually found the perfect place for Brian's agency," Justin disclosed.

Her jaw dropping in disbelief, the tranny exclaimed, "That pompous asshole? Dammit!" She stamped her foot in frustration. 

The teenager tsk-tsked. "His social skills definitely need polishing, but this place really is ideal."

"Okay, okay. If he's done Kinney a good turn, I'll forgive his behavior... this once." Kiki allowed. "Well?" she prodded a few beats later. "Where is it?"

"Kiks," Justin pled, "uh, it's probably better if I don't say."

The tranny narrowed her eyes at the blond, before she surprised him by laughing uproariously. "You're worried this gossip queen can't keep mum?" she gasped.

Squirming in embarrassment, Justin didn't dare say a word. Kiki didn't seem upset, but he didn't want to inadvertently set her off.

"Kiddo," she wiped away a tear from laughing so hard, another chuckle escaping, "you're absolutely right."

The lad hesitantly smiled at her. "Ehm," he bounced in place, "do you think you could cover the diner for about thirty minutes? There's no placard posted with a realtor's number, and I want to take a closer look to see if I can get some contact info for Brian."

"Ah, it's in the neighborhood then." The woman nodded approvingly. "Go to it, Sunshine. We've hit the early evening lull, anyhow, so it's pretty quiet."

With a quick, "Ta!" and a bright smile, Justin grabbed his jacket and mittens from the break room and dashed out the door, the apron he hadn't bothered to remove flapping around his legs. "Brr!" he complained to himself as the cold air sliced through the thin material of his coat, prompting him to settle into a steady jog. He reached the bathhouse about ten minutes later, trotting down the walkway to the door.

That's when the teenager realised that although there was some kind of paper taped to the inside of the door, he couldn't read it. The streetlamp on the corner didn't cast enough light, and it wasn't like he had a cell phone that he could use as an improvised flashlight. Resigned to jogging back to the diner, locating a flashlight, and then returning, Justin started to turn away, right as a car drove down the street perpendicular to the entrance, its headlights shining on the door. 

Delighted by this stroke of luck, Justin quickly read the number printed beneath, ‘Direct inquiries to,' jotting it down on the notepad he'd pulled from his apron pocket. He then hoofed it back to the diner, where he called and left Brian another message. It was starting to get busy again, the bell jingling as more people streamed into the diner, so the lad tamped down his excitement about the bathhouse - there was nothing more he could do anyway - and resumed serving the customers.

"No more ‘buggy rice'?" Justin joked a couple hours later. "I'm disappointed, Fahad."

The chef chuckled. He'd been vastly entertained by Michael's reaction to his baghali polo. "I'm saving that for the bloke who likes crawly critters so much."

"You have competition, you know," the teen confided with an earnest expression on his face. "The Finn conjured up ‘beetle spinach'."

Fahad had just opened his mouth to reply, when Justin heard Kiki announce loudly from somewhere behind him, "Oh, Princess, you look like you're on the wrong side of the town!" Turning around slowly from the kitchen window, hands full of steaming plates, he searched for the source of his colleague's amusement. His eyes slid over a couple chattering trannies, a group of rowdy teenagers that were probably on Liberty to experiment, and a pair of butch lesbians with three screaming kids, before he finally found it. There was a small blonde in a designer coat with a petrified expression on her face standing uncertainly in front of the bar.

Justin smirked. This was clearly her first time anywhere near Liberty, he deduced, as she was staring at Kiki in stunned horror. Setting down the food on the appropriate table, Justin threw the girl another look. Wait, he narrowed his eyes at her; the girl was actually somewhat familiar now he thought about it. If he could only remember-

Holy mackerel on the stick! If that wasn't Hobbs' little cheerleader girlfriend standing in the middle of the Liberty Diner, then Justin would go and fuck a vagina.

"Sydney?" he asked in surprise. What the fuck? He hadn't even recognised the girl at first in the diner setting, not ever having expected to see her anywhere outside of school. What the hell was she doing here?

The girl turned to him. "Taylor!" she let out in obvious relief. "I was starting to think you were just having me on and that you weren't actually here," she complained, walking over to him. "Let's start then, shall we?"

Justin gaped. For a wild second, he thought she had somehow read his mind and was offering her own vagina to him. He shuddered internally - now that was a thought he'd never wanted to have. 

Clearly tired of him uselessly standing there with a blank expression, the cheerleader snapped her fingers in front of the blond's face. "Hey! Pay attention! Are we doing this or not?"

Completely flabbergasted, the teen lad looked around to make sure he hadn't somehow travelled to some alternate reality and noticed Kiki giving him a strange look. "Uh, what?"

"The study session?" she reminded him. "Come on, Taylor, get with the program!"

The proverbial light bulb flickering to life above his head, Justin shook himself out of his stupor. "Right," he said. "Right, there's a free table by the window over there," he told her, motioning for her to go sit down. "I'll join you when my shift finishes in ten minutes."

The girl went and did as she was told, giving the other patrons weird looks on her way. Justin shook his head. Now that he thought about it, he was seriously impressed the girl hadn't run out screaming. More amused than irritated by her bossiness, he decided her gumption had earned her some slack and didn't call her on her attitude. Maybe he wouldn't even tease her about showing up a full day after the one his ‘invitation' had been meant for.

The promised ten minutes later, at exactly eight o'clock, Justin took off his pinny, washed his hands, grabbed a tuna sandwich to eat, and went over to a still waiting Sydney.

Noticing him coming, she huffed, "Finally, Taylor. I'm not getting any younger over here." Then she continued griping, "Did you know I had to drive myself over here? I tried to make Chris do it, but he refused to go anywhere near ‘that part of town'. Can you believe it?"

Figuring that saying, ‘Yeah, I can, because he's a homophobic prick,' wouldn't really go over well with the grumpy cheerleader, Justin just hummed in acknowledgment.

Clearly feeling encouraged by that, Sydney continued, "So here I am, alone, in the middle of a strange neighbourhood with people of dubious gender looking at me like I'm a leper."

Justin couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at her. Five points for eloquence, ten points for assholeness, he thought. "It might help not calling their gender dubious," he suggested carefully, weirdly worried he'd run her off.

She shrugged at him. "Whatever, but applying makeup so you end up looking like a circus clown doesn't make you a woman."

A red-headed queen in a neighboring booth, the light shining off her sparkly gold eyelids, took offense. "Maybe you should remember that pretty is as pretty does," she advised.

A stare-off ensued, making Justin think of gunslingers in the old west. He snorted, imagining them drawing mascara wands instead of pistols. Both women immediately transferred their glares to the hapless lad, so he hunkered down, busying himself with pulling his textbooks out of his backpack.

After a good minute more of the uncomfortable staring match, Sydney bit her lip and then offered a little snootily, "You should try blue eyeshadow instead of that gaudy gold."

Another beat of silence and then the queen, "You think?"

"It would go with your hair," Sydney shrugged.

Justin could see the redhead's eyes light up at that. "Really? And what about green?" she asked, clearly interested.

This spurred the blonde student into a long-winded lecture on how the colour of your eyeshadow could bring out some of your features or how it could seemingly alter the colour, shape, or size of your eyes. The queen was lapping it all up eagerly. This might be the start of a beautiful friendship, Justin thought a little hysterically.

When the girls moved on to contouring and how to use a highlighter, the teenage boy felt he had to step in, though. "Uh, Sydney?" he called out. "Calculus?"

She started, her blonde hair whipping around as she looked at him. "Oh, right, sorry," she mumbled. "I guess we should get on that. I need to get at least a C on the next test if I don't want to fail - Dixon is really riding me hard this year."

Justin gaped at her. "Uh, he is?"

"Yeah, can you believe he told my parents that he could no longer justify giving me a C because, apparently, I'm technically failing? I mean, Chris hardly ever gets a single point off on any of the tests, and his average is C+ and I'm supposed to make do with a D? My father was just about ready to kill me when he came home." 

"Huh," Justin grunted, amazed that Chris brown-nosing Dixon wasn't having a beneficial effect on Syd's grade.

"You thought Chris had sweet-talked Dickhead into raising my score, didn't you?" she asked, a defeated note to her voice.

"Mmm," the lad made a non-committal noise. That was exactly what he'd thought.

"Yeah, you and everyone else," the girl sighed. "That was even true in maths class last year. But at the beginning of this year, when I realised I didn't understand the material, I wised up. It's just... no matter how hard I try, I haven't been able to catch up."

Justin was shocked to find himself actually feeling sorry for the girl.

"When I complained to Chris," she continued, "he told me to forget about it because a housewife doesn't need calculus. As if I want to be a housewife," she spit out.

"What a fu-" the young man hastily cut himself off. Disparaging Hobbs wouldn't help matters. He was starting to think, though, that Syd deserved far better than that cretin.

"Fucktard? Fuckwit?" the pompom girl bitterly supplied. "Chris is all of those."

His brow furrowing, Justin bluntly inquired, "Then why are you dating him?"

"Because his parents are friends of my parents? Because the head cheerleader is supposed to date the best jock?" She blushed as she added, "Because he's hot, and erm, because his family's got heaps of money. He's always giving me things."

Sydney flicked the bauble in one ear with a pink-painted fingernail, drawing Justin's attention to it. 

Unsure what to say, the lad raised his eyebrows in question.

"No, it's not worth it," she declared. "I'll get rid of him soon enough. But for now I need to concentrate on improving my grades, especially in physics and calculus. I refuse to fail. So, yeah, that's where you come in, Taylor," she announced, smiling saucily at Justin.

The blond lad found himself smiling back, the sassy cheerleader beginning to grow on him. "Why don't you try to solve these sample problems?" he suggested, sliding over a sheet with the same ones he'd used to help Daphne. "Then we'll know where to start."

"Shit," the girl moaned forty-five minutes later, "I've barely got through five of these. And I don't know where I'm going with that last one."

"Maybe this will help," a voice offered, as a steaming plateful of fries appeared in front of them and two glasses of Coke were set down.

Justin looked up at Harry - who'd come on shift when the blond finished for the night - to thank him, only to decide he might as well be invisible. The normally cheeky waiter was simply standing there, mouth agape, looking directly at Sydney. Syd was equally dumbstruck.

He'd never seen such an instant attraction, the blond lad thought. Curious if either of them would notice, he reached out for a fry and munched on it.

The crunching noise seemed to wake them up. Harry pushed the plate closer to the blonde girl, still taking no notice of Justin. "Grease helps get those synapses firing," he claimed.

Bullshit. Justin could almost hear Brian pontificating, ‘And clog your arteries, make you fat, give you zits... in other words, make you utterly unfuckable.' all whilst swiping fries off the blond's plate. He giggled at the image, which caused his Asian friend to start. "Oh, Justin, there you are."

"Quid mirum," Justin muttered, shaking his head fondly.

"You want to give me a million quid?" the cheeky waiter jested.

Finally tearing her eyes away from Harry, Sydney asserted, "Justin's always spouting something or other in Latin." Shooting an oddly proud look at the blond, she boasted, "He's at the top of the senior class, you know."

Perplexed, Justin stared at his fellow senior. How could she be so certain? he wondered. Class standings wouldn't be posted until all grades had been tallied at the end of the semester. 

"Sunshine's always got his nose buried in a textbook or a sketchpad," Harry confirmed.

"Oh, fuck," Justin muttered.

Sure enough, barely a second later, the pom-pom girl screeched, "Sunshine?"

"Look at the boy," the Vietnamese bloke urged, ruffling Justin's hair. "He's all blond up top, and he's got a killer smile."

His killer scowl had no effect on the two laughing hyenas, unfortunately. In response to his beseeching gaze, Syd assured him, "No worries, Taylor. I won't call you Sunshine at school - as long as we get along, that is. Outside of school, though, is another matter entirely."

It could be worse, Justin decided. He quite liked the nickname Debbie had bestowed on him, although he usually heard it only from friends. Surprisingly, it seemed Sydney might fit into that group.

"Yo! Harry!" Fahad called from the pass-through, the impatience in his voice suggesting he'd been trying to get the server's attention for a while. "This food's getting cold."

Harry jumped as if he'd been jabbed with a hatpin. "Catch you later," he promised, before scurrying over to grab the plates from the ledge.

"That's his name?" Syd questioned. "Harry?"

"Yeah," Justin confirmed. He'd have to tease Harry about failing to introduce himself or obtain Syd's name. The dude was definitely off his game.

"Uh, he's not gay?" the cheerleader asked uncertainly.

Since Harry was openly bisexual, the blond didn't hesitate to reveal, "He's bi."

Justin was impressed and pleased when Sydney wasn't fazed by that titbit. "Awesome," she murmured, her eyes following the waiter as he bustled around the diner. "Does he have a boyfriend or girlfriend?"

"You'll have to ask him," Justin recommended, "although you'll probably want to tell him your name first."

"Bollocks!" Sydney spluttered. "I made a right hash of that, didn't I?"

"No more than Harry," the blond lad chuckled. He was so going to rib his friend about this. "Why don't we eat some of these fries and review the problems you've completed? Then you can give a few more of them a go."

After fifty-five minutes of intense study, Sydney suddenly shouted, punching her fists in the air, "Oh my God! I get it, Justin! I can do that!" 

Justin beamed at the girl, who was bouncing in her seat. He'd been about to give up, unable to think of another way to explain, when suddenly it clicked for the cheerleader.

Rather than try to flag down Harry - the diner was hopping now, with more customers pouring in - Justin jumped up, plated some lemon bars, grabbed the carafe of hot water, a bowl with teabags, cups, saucers, and spoons, and carried everything over to the table. "Here," he offered, setting a plate in front of Syd, "the diner's lemon bars are the best in the Pitts. You deserve a reward for figuring out that thorny problem."

"I slayed that bitch!" Sydney bragged. 

"You did," Justin confirmed.

As they devoured the lemon bars - Justin trotting over to the counter for more - Sydney rued, "I should have never listened to Chris in the first place when he said I wouldn't have to do anything and I'd still get a C."

Justin realised he didn't want the blonde to beat herself up any more. "Hobbs will eventually fall flat on his face," he predicted. "What is it he plans on studying? Engineering?"

"Civil engineering," Sydney specified. "He's always boasting that since his older brothers are complete numbnuts, he'll be the one in charge of his dad's construction company after he graduates."

"Hmm," Justin speculated, grinning evilly, "he may get into university on an athletic scholarship, but there's no way he'll survive the mathematics that's part of the curriculum. In fact, he'll probably have to take remedial courses."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer person," the girl snickered. Flicking her blond curls, she announced, "I'll have kicked him to the curb by then, Chris having served his purpose."

If she were talking about anyone but Hobbs, Justin reflected, he'd feel sorry for the guy. Her callous attitude reminded him, however, that he should tread carefully with the cheerleader.

The two teens were quiet for a few minutes as they sipped their tea and polished off the lemony treats. "You know, Taylor," Syd mused, "you're not a bad guy, even a little bit cool for a fa-"

The blond narrowed his eyes at the pom-pom girl, reminded again that she wasn't to be trusted.

Heeding the frown on his face, Sydney stumbled to correct herself. "For a freak, uh, I mean, geek. I even told Chris that."

"You told Chris that?" Justin uttered in shock. "Why?"

"I didn't use those exact words," the blonde girl admitted, but he got the message loud and clear when I told him the cool little fa-" the cheerleader stopped speaking abruptly. "Anyway," she resumed, shrugging off her blunder, "Chris got the message when I told him I was letting you tutor me, and that by the end of senior year, I'd have a better grade than him."

"Thanks, for letting me tutor you, Sydney," the young man gritted out.

"Oh, come on," the cheerleader remonstrated, "don't get all pissy. You want to help me."

"What makes you think that?" Justin growled. What had happened to the girl he was beginning to like? the teen puzzled. Right now, Sydney was behaving like the bitch he'd always taken her for.

A smug smile on her face, Sydney conjectured, "You're hoping some of my popularity will rub off on you, that you'll become less of a social pariah at St James, that maybe I'll ask Chris to get off your case. Why else would you tutor me after I basically trapped you into it, and then had the audacity to show up after the day you agreed to help me?"

Well, Justin thought, that would teach him not to underestimate the cheerleader. She was bloody clever, even if her reasoning was warped.

Taking his silence for assent, Sydney expounded, "There's no way I can hang out with you at school, Taylor - I'm not gonna endanger my social standing. I can have a word with Chris though, even - her face scrunched into a moue of distaste - give him a blowjob, if necessary."

Justin wasn't about to give the girl the satisfaction of knowing how thoroughly she'd duped him. "Don't sacrifice yourself on my account," Justin stated flatly, closing his textbook with a thump. "You don't need to let this faggot help you any more either."

"Wait!" Syd pleaded as he shoved his book into his bag and stood up.

The blond looked down at her coldly. "Since you're so fond of cool faggots," he sneered, "you might as well know that Chris got off big time on the handjob I gave him."

"Ha- handjob?" Sydney squealed.

"Yeah, your boyfriend's a closet case."

"You're making it up," the blonde accused.

"Believe that if you want to." Justin shrugged and stepped away from the booth.

"No... wait... Taylor... Justin, please," Sydney begged, reaching out and tugging on his hand. "I really thought that's why you were helping me, to improve your status at school."

"Yeah, well," the boy snapped, "I'm not you."

"I get that now. Promise," Sydney earnestly claimed. "It's just I haven't always been popular - you don't know what that's like."

"Really? I don't know?" Justin shook his head in disbelief at the flustered girl but - surprised that she wasn't harping on about the handjob, and curious as to what she'd say next - he sat back down. 

"No, you don't," the cheerleader insisted. "I swear I didn't lose my baby weight until I hit puberty. I got so tired of being called fatty. At best I was ignored, at worst bullied."

"Huh," Justin grunted. That would be pretty traumatic, he supposed.

Sydney reminisced, "I was thirteen when my parents enrolled me at St James, and the boys were finally noticing me. Not you, though. This cute, popular, blond guy, a star soccer player, who sailed through all his classes - he never noticed me or the massive crush I had on him."

Well, the part about not noticing was certainly true, Justin thought.

"So," the cheerleader continued, "the day a jeep with ‘faggot' spray-painted in hot pink on the side came screaming up to St James and you got out, I thought, so that's why Taylor never looked at me."

"That's why you turned into a bitch and started disparaging me all the time?" Justin skeptically inquired. "Because you found out I was gay?"

The blonde girl flushed. "Not exactly. It was more that when I saw how being, uh, gay, made you into an outcast, this intense feeling of schadenfreude swept through me. I was happy that you knew what it was like."

"Jesus, Sydney, that's fucked up."

"Yeah, I know," she said in a small voice. "I just didn't know how to stop ragging on you, ya know? I mean, it's a thing most of us do - pick on the outcasts so that we don't end up becoming rejects ourselves."

"Not me," Justin stated firmly, standing up again. He'd had enough of this bullshit.

"Please," the cheerleader implored. "Give me a little leeway, okay? I won't make nasty remarks at school any more - I'll even say ‘hi' to you."

Justin watched as Sydney swiped a finger under her eyes while gazing at him beseechingly. "Okay," he reluctantly agreed, not sure why he felt sorry for the girl. "That'll do for now. But you'd better not boast about how you hoodwinked me into helping you. I hear anything like that, and we're done."

"It won't happen," the cheerleader vowed, shaking her head vehemently.

"Keep working through the problems on the sheet I gave you," Justin suggested, pulling out a couple of library books and a notepad. "I'm going to work on my paper for American Government, but you can ask me questions if you get stuck."

An hour and a half later, Syd rested her head on her textbook, mumbling, "That's all I can take. My head's so stuffed full of equations, it feels like it's going to explode."

"I'm ready to wrap it up too," Justin agreed, stuffing everything into his backpack.

"Um, could we study together again?" the blonde cheerleader inquired as they gathered up their books. "I need a lot more help before I'll be up to speed in calculus, never mind physics."

Justin hesitated, unsure whether he could handle another study session with Sydney. 

"Please," she importuned. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

Somewhat begrudgingly, the boy offered, "Daphne and I are going to meet here next Wednesday night at eight o'clock if you want to join us." 

"Heck, yeah! I'll let you tutor me anytime," the blonde sallied, smiling to remove the sting.

Chuckling at her sass, Justin was about to offer to walk her to her car, when he saw Harry headed in their direction. "See you tomorrow, Syd," he said as he looped his backpack over his shoulder.

With a mischievous grin, Sydney promised, "You betcha, Sunshine."

"Ben's great, right?" Ted asked as he pulled up in front of Brian's apartment building.

"Hmm?" the younger man absently mumbled, fishing his mobile out of his coat pocket.

"Ben?" Ted prompted.

Brian again didn't pay attention, exclaiming, "How the fuck can I have so many messages?" as he held the phone up to his ear and pressed play. "I only had the blasted thing turned off while we were at dinner. Can't anyone in this burg get along without me for a couple of hours?" He skipped past the three messages from Mikey, one from Lindsay, and stopped on the first one from Justin.

"Turn around," he ordered as he listened. "We need to drive by the bathhouse."

"One of your tricks getting impatient?" the accountant joked as he obligingly turned around and drove back down Fuller.

Not deeming Ted's teasing worth a response, Brian listened to Justin's second message, phone pressed to his ear. He did so twice, the second time so he could write down the information the blond had provided. When he was done, the adman glanced up and kvetched, "Fuck, Ted, you've gone past it. We want the bathhouse by the waterfront."

"But that place has been closed for months," the other man objected, even as he turned around again, automatically following his friend's instructions. "It's empty."

"Yeah," Brian agreed, grinning broadly. "And who do you know that's in need of an empty building?"

Ted sat in stunned silence for a moment, before querying, "A bathhouse? Shit, Bri, I don't know if that's genius or insane."

"It's perfect," Brian proclaimed as they drove up to the abandoned building. "Just the place to give my agency that all-important edge. Damn," he muttered, stepping out of the car as soon as it had stopped "I wish I could look inside right now."

Ted eyed the derelict building. "Yeah, I don't know. It's probably still too steamy to see anything," he joked as Brian walked up to the door. He watched the younger brunet shine his phone at the door so he could read the paper that was stapled to it. 

Checking that the number Justin had given him was indeed correct, Brian then dialled it.

After eight rings, a grumpy voice finally answered, "Hanson." 

Adopting a disinterested tone, the advertising exec drawled, "This is Brian Kinney. I understand you're the point of contact for the abandoned building on Mulberry."

"You're interested in that white elephant?" the man responded eagerly. "I've been trying to offload the property for ages."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Brian snarked. "One of my colleagues thinks it might be worth a look, although I'm not sure why. It's got to be pretty dilapidated, but I decided to humour him and give you a call," he finished in a bored tone.

"I'll cut you a deal you can't turn down," Hanson pledged. "When would you like to see the place?"

The ad executive hmmed in pretend consideration. "I suppose I could free up an hour tomorrow morning," he offered with feigned reluctance. "The sooner it's over, the better."

"You've got it! Would nine o'clock fit into your schedule?"

Pausing as if he were checking his itinerary, Brian waited a couple seconds before confirming. "Yeah, I can squeeze that in."

"Great! I'll be outside the building at nine sharp!" the man enthused. "Uh, I'm Fred. Fred Hanson."

"Whatever." Sounding utterly bored by the prospect of meeting Hanson, Brian pressed ‘end call' without leaving his phone number.

"How'd you stay so calm and collected?" Ted asked admiringly. "You're drooling, you want this place so badly."

The young stud actually reached up and swiped at his mouth, just in case his friend wasn't jesting. "Very funny, Theodore," he groused when the glove came away dry. "You forget who you're talking to? I know exactly what to say and do to get what I want."

Ted just chuckled, shaking his head.

After finally arriving home - Ted having dropped him off successfully - Brian kicked back on the sofa, bare feet on the coffee table, a tumbler of Beam in his hand, admiring the slip of paper with the name of his new agency. The small piece of paper was propped up against the sketch which had made his employees so inquisitive.

Eyeing the sketch critically, the adman smugly proclaimed, "Perfectly proportioned."

Brian drifted off to sleep imagining how he'd fuck the blond artist into working for him. It might take a while... his new furniture needed christening.