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Author's Chapter Notes:

We’re going back in time to read about Brian’s day leading up to the dinner at Debbie’s, so don’t be confused, girls and boys. Also, for purposes of this story, Gus is slightly older than he would be in canon - around eight months.

 

 

The delicious young blond was spread out underneath him, his body glistening with sweat and undulating seductively.

"Oh God, Justin," Brian groaned, sliding his hands up the boy's chest. He saw the blond's thick thighs squeeze his waist in rhythm with his thrusts. Fuck, that lad could move.

"Come on, stud," Justin urged him, pressing closer to Brian's body; "fuck me."

The brunet sped up his pace, trying to increase the much needed friction, but he must've prepared Justin too carefully, because the pressure wasn't enough. In fact, the stimulation was so weak that Brian could feel his dick softening a bit. "Jesus you're loose," he complained in a breathy whisper.

Justin scowled at him. "That's disgusting," he said in Mel's voice.

Wait, what? 

Brian's eyes shot open only for him to come face to face with Melanie, a revolted grimace on her carpet-munching face. It was then that he noticed the lumpy torture device he was lying on - that definitely wasn't his memory foam mattress.

"What the fuck am I doing here?" he asked, his voice harsh from sleep.

The lesbian threw him a cold look. "You mean except for stinking up our living room?"

Brian huffed, offended. "I don't stink," he said, sniffing at his underarm, "I just smell manly. You should know what that's like, having more testosterone than I do and all."

Melanie folded her arms across her chest. "Dead mature that," she said in a haughty tone, "now get your flat arse off our couch and take a shower. There is no way I'm eating breakfast with your ‘manly smell' permeating the air." And with that she turned on her heel and left the room.

Brian stared confusedly after her, his mind slowly catching up to his situation, when the memories hit him like a truck. He had been burgled. And he had the irresponsible blond brat to thank for it. He had never felt so violated before - everything he had worked hard to afford; every single thing he valued; every piece of what defined and reflected his persona; everything was gone. It felt like a slap to the face, like someone had just shat all over his success and laughed at him afterwards.

Not wanting to get too maudlin, Brian shook off the unpleasant thoughts and got up from the excuse for a couch, stretching his arms high above his head in a useless attempt to loosen the kinks in his back. He might as well take that shower Melanie had suggested, he thought to himself, since it might help his sore muscles. He walked up the stairs, ignoring the horrid wall decor consisting of family photos and a disgusting little plaque of a fertility goddess plastered on a floral wallpaper, and quickly reached the bathroom. He made sure to lock the door behind him - something Justin should probably take some notes on - and undressed. His morning wood had flagged upon being subjected to Melanie's presence, but now that he was alone again, his member was hesitantly hardening once more in anticipation of a morning jerk-off session. Too bad there was no one around to give him a hand.

Turning on the shower - taking his time getting the temperature right, so that it was just shy of scalding - he stepped in. It was an immediate relief to feel the water beating down on his body, soothing his frayed edges. Brian ran his hands over his skin, trying to wash himself as best as he could without the use of soap, as he refused to even contemplate touching the fruity shower gel that stood on a shelf next to the showerhead. It was humiliating enough to have to use a pink towel to dry off, no need to completely degrade himself.

Brian's right hand slid down to his crotch as if of its own volition, and he ran his fingers through his well-kept pubic hair. He could feel himself hardening steadily as he washed his sex and grinned in amusement. They could take away his money; they could nick all of his possessions; but they could never steal this from him.

Tightening his grip on his shaft, Brian held back a moan. A slight tremor rippled through his abdomen as he brought himself to full mast, and Brian closed his eyes at the feeling. Increasing his pace to achieve the right kind of friction, he leaned his head on the shower wall. The stud imagined slender, fine-fingered hands teasing his nipples and massaging his backside, as he swallowed back another moan and squeezed his hand a bit harder around his erection. The tip of one of those imaginary fingers ghosted along his crack, circling around when it reached his opening, before pressing inward. Maddeningly, it withdrew right away, his pucker having been barely breached. The hand then slid further down to cup his sac, nimble fingers proceeding to massage his balls in rhythm with Brian's own jerky movements.

He automatically reached for his lube when he felt the hand on his dick start to chafe, but instead of a plastic bottle, he encountered a wall. Brian opened his eyes in surprise, looking dazedly around himself. His first thought, that his shower must've shrunk to about a quarter of its size, was immediately replaced by the rude realisation that he was in the lesbians' bathroom. Talk about a mood killer.

His shower finished very quickly after that as Brian harshly washed down the rest of his body before turning the water off and climbing out of the glass stall. He hesitantly reached for the pink towel that hung next to the shower and brought it to his face to smell it. There was no way he was using it if it didn't smell freshly laundered; God knew what parts of the female anatomy it might have touched.

Quickly drying off and putting on his yesterday clothes, Brian then followed the smell of pancakes into the kitchen. Lindsay was standing at the cooker, flipping the pancakes, while Melanie was feeding his son something yellow and mushy.

"Ba-puh," Gus greeted him, smacking his lips together.

"Hello, Sonnyboy" - he smiled - "what have you got there?"

His son narrowed his eyes at him, as if contemplating whether to answer or not. In the end, he deemed him worthy of knowing. "Ghaba," he informed him, mashing his hand into the gloopy mess around his mouth.

Lindsay smiled proudly. "Yes, that's right, Gussy. You like your ghaba, right?" she babbled at him.

Brian threw her a look. "What the hell is that?"

His blonde friend raised her eyebrows at him with a smile. "Really, Brian? That is clearly a mashed banana."

Brian shot her an astonished look. "Then why aren't you teaching him to say that? If you keep using baby talk, he'll never learn to speak properly," he lectured the blonde.

Melanie immediately jumped in to defend her lover, "He's too small to speak properly," she told him, "at this point, he just likes to use whatever combination of letters feels right to him. Besides, our doctor said not to worry, that Gus is developing normally. Lindsay's not doing anything wrong."

Brian stood his ground, though, folding his arms across his chest. "Not true," he opposed, "by the nine-month mark, he should be able to say at least something. Like ‘Mama' or ‘Dada' or whatever the fuck. The way you're speaking to him, you're hindering his speech development."

Melanie scoffed. "How would you know?" she queried primly.

From Justin, he thought. "Must've read it somewhere," was what he said.

There was a beat of silence, during which Lindsay turned off the cooker and then went to place three plates of pancakes in the middle of the table. "Do you think he's behind?" she asked Brian tearfully as she sat down.

The brunet sighed, already regretting saying anything. Damn Justin and his fucking public service announcements. "I didn't say that," he assured her, "I'm just saying you're not helping him. Every kid is different and Gus might not be as quick to pick up words as others, but you'll never know if you keep babbling at him."

Lindsay nodded, sniffling softly. Melanie shot him a look. "Are we seriously taking parental advice from Brian Kinney?"

The blonde shrugged. "He might be right, Mel. I mean the doctor did say that some kids already have a five- to ten-word vocabulary at the eight-month mark."

"He also said not to worry, that Gus was developing normally," insisted the lawyer.

Brian shook his head. "Whatever," he said. "Is he done? I'll go wash him up and then we'll spend some time playing in the living room, right Sonnyboy?"

Lindsay sniffled again. "But what about breakfast? I made you pancakes."

He shrugged. "I'm not hungry. I'd rather play with Gus."

Lindsay quickly agreed. "Clean him up and then you can take him to the living room. I had planned to draw with him for a bit today, so you can do that."

Brian nodded. It didn't matter to him what they were doing, as long as they were bonding. And drawing was fine; even Brian with his questionable talent couldn't mess that up.

Washing his son's sticky hands and face thoroughly, Brian then carried him over to the living room coffee table, where a set of coloured pencils already lay prepared on top of a stack of papers.

"So, Sonnyboy," started Brian, "how about we try our hand at drawing a few squiggly lines together?"

"Bapah guh," Gus agreed with a wave of his free hand, the other one busy tugging at his father's collar.

Brian seated the boy in his lap and pressed a red pencil into his palm. "You ready to start?" he asked him. Gus wiggled on his lap, waving the pencil around in answer.

"Good."

Brian then watched as Gus put the pencil to paper and made a few light lines in the middle of the white paper. "Gooh," the boy commented on his progress.

A few swirls of the pencil later, Gus dropped the red and reached over for the blue. "Ghaba," he said.

Brian shook his head at the babbling. "That's blue," he corrected with a smile.

Gus threw him an impatient look over his shoulder - as if to say, ‘Don't bother the artist at work, Dad.'

Brian squeezed his son's sides in retaliation, making the tyke squeal. "That's what you get for being cheeky, brat," the older Kinney chided in a soft voice.

The wee lad looked at him intently, resembling a sixty-year-old college professor. "Do you understand, Gus?" Brian asked him with a teasing smile on his face.

"Bah," replied the boy, turning back to his masterpiece.

"Good," murmured the older man. He could swear it was almost like Gus understood exactly what he was telling him. And maybe he did; the kid was bound to be clever with the genetics he had.

The blue losing its appeal, Gus reached for a yellow pencil. He grabbed a green one along with it on accident and stared confusedly at the two pencils he was clutching. Brian waited with bated breath to see what his son would do. Would he choose one? Would he step outside the box and use both at the same time?

Gus took his time contemplating the situation, staring at the two colours. In the end he dropped them both on the table with a victorious, "Laba!" Brian was just about to say what he thought about that solution, when the nipper picked up the yellow again with his right hand and then grabbed the green with his left. He again turned his head to look at Brian inquiringly.

"That's right, Sonnyboy," praised Brian, "why choose one when you can have both?"

Gus - apparently pleased with Brian's reaction - turned back to his picture and started drawing with both pencils at once. Brian held onto the paper so that it didn't slide around and watched his little artist at work. There wasn't actually anything recognisable worth mentioning about the drawing, but Brian still felt like they had accomplished something.

"You're going to be a famous artist one day?" he asked his son, "Like Mama? Or like Justin?"

Gus ignored him, swirling the yellow some more before finally dropping it again. He seemed pleased with his artwork, going by the smug little smile he was wearing.

"Nice use of the canvas, Picasso," critiqued Brian, "though admittedly the composition could use a bit of work."

Gus wiggled in his lap, turning to look at him again. He stared at him with big eyes as if Brian held the key to all of the world's knowledge, the green pencil limp in his chubby hand.

"What? You want to learn how to paint like Justin, you have to accept the critique," Brian explained, intrigued by the tyke's expression.

Gus gave him an exaggerated nod. "Jushun," he mumbled out.

Brian's eyes widened. "What?"

"Jushun," repeated the toddler, stabbing the green pencil precariously close to Brian's eye.

The ad executive was speechless as he took the weapon out of Gus' hand and laid it back on the table. He wasn't sure if he understood the situation correctly, but it certainly seemed to him that Gus had just said his first real word. And what a word it was, thought Brian humorlessly. Justin.

Brian spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon playing with his son. They played with blocks, cars, marbles, and even some dolls. Brian made sure to talk to his boy a lot, sometimes trying to explain things so difficult that Gus' little brain surely had no idea how to wrap itself around them. For example, he spoke to him about Egyptian pyramids and how pharaohs used to be buried, or about the physics of aeroplane flying. Both topics that he himself had been educated on not too long ago by a certain little blond twat. He figured it couldn't hurt to talk to Gus like he would talk to an adult, the reasoning behind it being that if you challenge yourself, you learn and if you don't, you stagnate. And Brian was all for his son improving.

Soon, it was time for the brunet to go to the police station to submit the list he had composed for that overweight detective who called himself Horrocks - or something like that. He had to rewrite it during Gus' snack break, though, because the original list had a large ‘Justin' written across it - courtesy of Lindsay.

He drove downtown, dropped off the inventory with an underling since the chubby detective was away from his desk, and slowly cruised toward Debbie's house, stopping along the way to select a couple bottles of a wine that he knew would please his palate. He figured he might as well drink his dinner instead of the pasta that was bound to be saturated with fattening carbs. No way was he going to gain another three ounces, as he had the previous week.

At the Cork and Bottle, his favorite upscale wine bar with a separate storefront for off-the-rack purchases, Brian browsed not only for wine but also for tricks. He privately referred to the bar as the Cork and Screw, since he almost always found an attractive trick to satisfy his needs. He not only wanted to get off after his cock-shriveling experiences at the munchers' that morning, but he also had some time to kill before heading to Deb's. He would never be so pathetic as to arrive early and be subjected to more than the necessary amount of the gang's palaver.

There, he thought, that slender, medium-height man with shaggy, dishwater-blond hair would do. He refused to consider why he was atypically choosing a blond to shag, just motioning toward the alley behind the wine bar. The blond quickly finished making his purchase and exited the shop, Brian sauntering out with his bag shortly thereafter. In the passageway, Brian freed his cock from the confines of his jeans while the trick readily knelt down in front of him. He then grabbed fistfuls of hair - annoyed that the strands weren't as silky as those he usually handled - and guided the trick's mouth toward his rock-hard dick. "Shit!" Brian complained vociferously moments later when the blond's teeth grazed his dick, "don't you know how to give a blowjob?" 

The kneeling lad looked up at him with widened eyes, immediately slowing down his bobbing head to ensure his teeth remained covered.

Brian grunted in approbation and tugged more gently than before at the young man's hair as a reward. The blond then gradually swallowed more of Brian's dick, causing the stud's euphoria to ratchet upward. A blissful smile covered his face as he enjoyed the wet heat. Not a complete novice after all then, thought Brian. Just as he was about to find some relief from all the stress of the past day, the little bother's teeth rasped against his dick another time.

"Strike two, dipshit," snarled Brian, "That was your last chance; get off," he finished, pushing the blond's head away. 

"But," mumbled the trick, "there are usually three-"

"Not with me, there aren't," Brian informed the disconsolate twit.

Taking hold of his semi-erect cock, Brian restored himself to full mast with sure, deft strokes within seconds. He shot all over the kneeling man's face, immediately buttoning up his jeans and stalking out of the alley, his sexual frustration barely eased by the sub-par encounter. 

As he climbed into his jeep, he wondered in dismay if his day could possibly get any more maddening. He was tempted to uncork one of the bottles of wine and gulp it down then and there, but he decided he'd better wait till he reached Deb's house. The way his luck was going, he'd get pulled over by a copper, fail the sobriety test, and end up spending the night in the slammer.

Brian had to circle the area three times before he finally found a spot three blocks away from Deb's. Why the fuck was everyone in her neighborhood? he snarled to himself. And how had Ted, of all people, snagged a spot right in front of her house? Again? He was still muttering to himself as he sauntered up the walkway. If he could have thought of an excuse Deb would accept, he'd have skipped the obligatory Sunday dinner altogether, but he knew the fiery redhead would give him hell all week if he didn't show up. Reluctantly, he raised the knocker and rapped it against the door.

 

On the other side of the door, Justin was walking through the living room, cheeks flushed from cooking and drinking wine, a smudge of sauce on his chin. The blond was laughing in response to one of Emmett's tales about Aunt Lula as he pulled open the front door. His smile of welcome quickly faded when he came face to face with a pensive Brian, who Justin hadn't considered would, of course, be expected to attend the weekly dinner at Deb's house. He didn't even hear Michael joyously shout, "Brian! You're here!" or feel the short brunet pushing him aside. Justin simply gaped at the svelte brunet, unable to utter a word.

Brian's body instinctively inclined toward the blond's, and he almost stuck out his tongue to lick the sauce off his chin before he caught himself and pulled back. Bloody kid looked so delectable, he fumed to himself in frustration. Unable to decide how to react or what to say to the boy who'd been haunting his dreams - night and day - he simply shouldered past Justin and bestowed a quick kiss on Michael's lips.

The blond slowly closed the door, moving as if underwater. He wasn't ready for this, he realised. He could hear the family behind him greeting Brian, almost cooing at him as they offered their commiseration in regard to the robbery.

Emmett didn't usually feel much sympathy for the snarky stud, but he could imagine how he'd react if all his fabulous togs were nicked, so he reached out and squeezed one of Brian's biceps, murmuring, "Whatever will you wear to work, Bri, and - even more importantly - to go clubbing?"

At Brian's incredulous stare, the tall queen added, "Oops! That was rather insensitive of little ole me, wasn't it?" With an introspective smirk, he looked Brian up and down and generously offered, "You can borrow some of my duds, if you'd like. We are just about the same size, even if I am an inch taller and several inches slimmer."

Brian was so taken aback by Emmett's temerity, that he simply stood there with his mouth agape for a moment. Slimmer? How had the flaming queen come up with that egregious assumption? The incensed brunet flailed mentally before starting to unbutton his jeans. "Slimmer! We'll see who has the smaller waist. Here, I'll trade you."

Amused snorts and peals of shocked laughter came from all corners of the room.

"Now, now, boys," Deb interjected before the situation could escalate, "you're both fine-looking men, why don't we leave it at that?" 

Brian agreed with Deb that it was best to put a halt to the madness, just in case there was the slightest chance Em might be proven correct and mock-graciously declared, "I'll cede the contest to Queen Emmett."

Debbie pursed her lips, stifling a chuckle as she motioned Brian and everyone else who hadn't yet pulled up a chair towards the set table.

Justin heard Debbie's voice calling, "Sunshine? Come join us, Honey," startling him out of his stupor. As apprehensive as if he were facing a firing squad, Justin nodded sluggishly and followed Debbie's considerable behind over to the table. He sat down next to Emmett, who had pulled out a chair for him on his left. He was grateful to have ended up right opposite Ted, since he could've easily been across from Brian. Or even worse, Michael.

Michael, who was currently leaning forward and piercing Justin with one of the ugliest looks that had ever graced his face.

Justin tried to return the glare with a level look of his own, not wanting to seem rattled, but Michael just kept staring.

Debbie passed along a bowl of creamy pasta right underneath her son's nose, but he barely even blinked. Just when Justin was starting to get really unnerved, the older man finally spoke, "Are you happy?"

The snide question didn't go unnoticed by the other occupants of the table, who all turned to look at Justin.

The blond's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Are you happy that you've weaseled your way into my mum's house after what you did to Brian?" Michael inquired in disgust. "You always seem to find someone to save your ass." 

If not for Emmett rubbing soothing circles into his back, Justin wasn't sure he could have maintained his composure. He absolutely didn't want to break down in front of everyone.

At that moment, Brian rolled his eyes, "Give the stupid kid a break, Mikey. I'm the one who was burgled, not you." 

Justin's hackles rose at Brian's intervention. He wasn't sure if he was more irritated with the stud or his shorter sidekick. Brian certainly hadn't done anything to defend him to Michael the previous day, unceremoniously kicking him out of the loft.

The blond didn't have a chance to say anything, though, before a babble of voices rose from the table as everyone chimed in with their opinions, Emmett hotly defending his ‘Baby' and Michael disparaging Justin's character. It was only when Gus, whose highchair had been placed beside Lindsay, started wailing that the commotion momentarily ground to a halt.

Justin wished that he, too, could cry like that in public without anyone judging him. He couldn't wait till the meal finally ended, so that he could escape both the pity and condemnation.

"Well I'm team Brian," exclaimed Michael after Gus had quieted down, folding his arms across his chest petulantly, "had Justin been reliable, this wouldn't have happened."

Melanie shot him a cold look. "I am team Justin then," she retorted, "because there's no way this isn't Brian's fault somehow."

"What is this, Twilight? You're going to start printing out fan T-shirts next," Brian snarked, annoyed that his friends were taking sides. It wasn't like he and Justin were getting a divorce and fighting over who got the kids on the weekends.

"You wouldn't be saying that if you weren't in the wrong. In fact, you'd be designing your own T-shirt right about now," pointed out Melanie.

Brian's blood boiled. "If I wasn't in the wrong?" he asked in an angry astonishment, "I wasn't the one to leave the fucking door unlocked!"

"Of course you weren't," chimed in Michael, his voice grating at Justin's already abused nerves, "you'd never be so irresponsible."

Brian raised his eyebrows at Melanie as if to say, "See? I'm right."

"Oh, come off it, Michael," Emmett interjected, ignoring the noodles dangling from the short brunet's mouth, "it could have been any one of hundreds of tricks who burgled the loft." Turning toward Brian, he surmised, "It can't have been too hard for your ‘guests' to memorize the alarm code while watching you drunkenly punch it in. Plus, you probably have spare keys in a kitchen drawer - just ready to be nicked."

Brian winced as Michael slurped the noodles into his gob and growled, "What the fuck are you babbling about, Honeycutt?" He was irritated all over again as he remembered the parade of visitors who had recently passed through his loft. He wasn't about to even consider, let alone admit, that Emmett might have a valid argument.

Ted, who was sitting between Mel on one side and Michael on the other, broke the tension by declaring, "I am Switzerland," which made almost everyone chuckle.

Michael threw him a confused look but didn't ask what the accountant meant since he didn't want to appear ignorant.

Vic, in an effort to make peace and redirect everyone's attention, took another bite of pasta, hummed appreciatively, and commented, "This mascarpone-spinach sauce is delicious, Sis."

"Thank you" - she preened - "Sunshine was a big help." Then, ladling another serving of pasta onto Vic's plate, she urged her brother, "Here, have some more," before passing the bowl down the table. "Help yourselves, everyone!" she exclaimed. "You're all way too skinny."

Justin was grateful that everyone had stopped staring at him and that his culpability for the burglary was no longer under discussion. His appetite somewhat restored, he grinned at Deb as he took another helping.

"That's right, Sunshine," the redhead encouraged him; "show everyone how to appreciate good cooking." As she looked fondly at her new housemate - who was still wearing the shirt he'd had on that morning - she was reminded that his wardrobe was sadly lacking.

"Oh, Honey." She turned toward her son. "You know those T-shirts you left upstairs in your old room?"

"Yeth, whadda 'bout 'em?" Michael mumbled through a mouthful of pasta.

Emmett, who was sitting directly across the table from Michael, looked away, revolted by the half-chewed food, but continued stuffing his own mouth. Justin, who hadn't had as many years to accustom himself to the brunet's eating habits as the others at the table, turned a bit green - suddenly regretting that additional helping of pasta.

"Dammit, Michael, are you ever going to learn to masticate without putting all of us off our food?" a disgusted Mel questioned.

Brian found himself in a rare moment of agreement with the bulldyke lawyer, although he didn't comment.

"Mashticate?" Michael sputtered, mouth opened wide after shoveling in another forkful. Frowning, he chastised, "How rude. It's not polite to talk about such things at the dinner table."

Most everyone had to hastily muffle their amusement at that absurd response. Deb's shrug expressed a mixture of exasperation and affection at Michael's ignorance and his atrocious table manners - which she had long ago given up on correcting. "Anyroad," she exclaimed in an effort to return to the topic of her son's tees, "Sunshine is in dire need of some additional clothing, so you don't mind if he wears some of your hand-me-downs, do you?"

Ted almost choked on his last bite of pasta from amusement, hard put to say whether Michael or Justin looked more appalled at that solution to Sunshine's apparel crisis.

"Maaaa!" Michael complained, "Those are my Green Arrow and Green Lantern tees. They're collector's items!" he protested further, gesticulating wildly and nearly backhanding Mel across the face. "The least you could have done was check with me before asking the brat to move in and offering him my clothes."

"I did try to call you - repeatedly - but you didn't pick up," Deb replied a bit sharply.

"Oh, yeah," the little brunet mumbled, "I was in the middle of a really important transaction."

Emmett snickered, "Is that what you call bidding on eBay?"

"Were you spying on me?" Michael squawked, angry that his roommate had spilled the beans.

"Spying?" Emmett scoffed. "You hogged the computer all night and all morning. I missed my weekly chat session with usemyhole27 on ‘Let It All Hang Out.'"

Michael brushed off his friend's irritation. "Whatever, Em, I won the coolest Avengers' dildo set. I can't wait to try-" he paused, blushing, "uh, you know."

Emmett let out an amused puff of breath. That was just like Michael, easily enthused, inconsiderate, and with an uncontrollable tendency to stick his foot in his mouth.

Ted's thoughts went in a different direction, "So that's why I heard the news about the burglary from Mel rather than from you," he murmured. "I should've known that you wouldn't miss the opportunity for anything less than a comic collectible."

Melanie snorted, certain Ted was spot-on with his assessment, while Vic quickly turned his gust of laughter into a pretend coughing bout. The others just nodded and smirked while Michael flushed even a darker red, embarrassed at being caught out.

Deb silently agreed with Ted. She knew Michael didn't care much for Justin, convinced the blond had stolen Brian from him, and she was sure that had he not been otherwise occupied, he would have rushed over to her house to gloat about the teen's misfortune the second he found out. Figuring she could use that to her advantage, since her son wouldn't want to look even more petty in front of his friends, she wheedled, "But you're glad to share your clothes with Sunshine, right, Sweetie? Those tees really haven't fit you since you were fourteen."

"Deb, no, I'm good," Justin speedily interjected. At Deb's doubtful look, he assured her, "I bought some stuff while I was out this afternoon." 

Michael glared at Justin. He was made up that the teenager wouldn't be wearing his precious shirts, but was still worried that he'd damage his Captain Astro decor - his sheets, bedspread, curtains, wallpaper... As soon as he had the chance, he'd have to lay down the law to the blond trespasser.

Later that evening, everyone lounged around the living room, chatting and enjoying post-dinner libations while they digested their meal. Debbie, already a little trolleyed after necking one of the wine bottles almost by herself, outstretched her arms towards Lindsay and a wiggling Gus. "Come here, baby boy, give your gram a smooch," she coaxed the tot.

Lindsay smiled at her, before tickling her son on the side. "What do you say, Gussy? Will you give grandma Debbie a kiss?"

The little tyke babbled something along the lines of ‘badabam gaca babuh' and grinned a toothless smile at his blonde mother. Lindsay picked him up off her lap with a fond look on her face and plopped him down in Debbie's arms.

"Well, hello there, cutie," the redhead said with a strong, lisping inflection; "give us a kiss."

Brian suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his surrogate mother's behaviour, finishing off his glass of white. No wonder Michael had turned out the way he had, not even knowing what ‘mastication' was. His vocabulary probably still consisted of words like ‘munch' and ‘nosh' and ‘yum yum.'

Emmett, who had settled down on the floor near Debbie's armchair, reached upward and chucked Gus under the chin, cooing, "Aren't you the sweetest..." 

"What's with all the baby talk?" Michael complained, bored with talking about the little tyke. He wanted to return the conversation to the robbery, so that he could get in some more digs at the damned blond without appearing overly spiteful.   

Emmett huffed in indignation. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Michael, I barely said a word."

Brian, on the other hand, was startled by his best friend's astute observation, especially after the discussion he'd had with Linds and Mel that morning. He wouldn't have expected Michael to be so knowledgeable about babies or so concerned for Gus' welfare. However, Justin, who'd immediately discerned Michael's true intentions, barely stifled a laugh at how badly the man's plans misfired when Lindsay expostulated, "Oh, we were actually just debating whether baby talk hinders an infant's development this morning." Concerned, she then turned to Debbie, "What do you think, Deb?"

"Pshaw," Debbie immediately dismissed that notion, "it's natural to indulge in a little baby talk; you and Mel are just letting Gus know that you love him." She glanced proudly toward her son and declared, "It didn't do Michael any harm." 

Lindsay flashed a hesitant, slightly guilty smile toward Brian at hearing that, while Melanie's eyes almost bugged out of her head. If Debbie was trying to put their minds at ease, she failed. Melanie immediately made her own conclusions about any correlation between baby talk during a child's infancy and its lasting effects in adulthood. Shit, she reflected, if she and Linds ever had another child, Michael was definitely out of the running as a potential father. He was clearly a case of double jeopardy since he'd apparently been smothered in baby talk as a child, and it was probably not only encoded in his genes to do the same to any child of his own, it had also left some lasting aftereffects.

Although no one else ruminated about Michael as a possible father, their thoughts likely mirrored those of the lesbians. Brian wryly chuckled at himself for briefly thinking that Michael was conversant with current child-rearing practices. He now suspected that Michael had simply wanted to change the topic but fortunately had not been successful. He didn't want his pleasant buzz from the wine to be eroded by further wrangling about the burglary. 

Justin, who could almost see the wheels turning in everyone's brains, decided it was time to rescue Gus from excessive coddling and gushing. He moved over to Deb and suggested, "Why don't you let me take him for now, so you can show Em your fancy new espresso machine and brew some coffee for anyone who wants to sober up before driving home?"

Emmett clapped his hands, exclaiming, "Oh, please show me! Did you get the model we drooled over at Lechters last month?"

The queen's excitement was, however, overshadowed by Gus crowing, "Jushun!" as he held out his arms toward the smiling blond, who promptly scooped him up.

"What!" Lindsay cried out, her head swiveling toward Gus, who was now gurgling away happily in Justin's arms. "Did he just say, ‘Justin'?"

"Tha... that's his first word," the normally eloquent Melanie stammered, a stunned look on her face.

Brian refrained from telling them it was the third time that day that Gus had said ‘Jushun.' He was annoyed to discover that he couldn't tear his gaze away from Sunshine as he walked around the living room, holding an animated conversation with Brian's son, seemingly not aware of the gang's reaction.

Justin was beaming from ear to ear. He couldn't believe his name was Gus' first word. All the lousy crap from the last couple of days, which had been weighing him down, vanished. At that moment, nothing could have made him happier than the little guy calling him ‘Jushun.'

As he watched the blond with his son, Brian's conflicting feelings almost overwhelmed him. He wasn't sure how he felt about Deb opening her house to Justin. He supposed he was glad the boy had a place to stay, but Brian would have preferred not to see him so soon. He was still feeling on edge about the burglary, and the hullabaloo the family had raised had only exacerbated his irritation. Rising from his chair abruptly, he turned to Michael and said, "I'm off to Woody's. You coming?"

His friend scrambled to stand up and join Brian, the rest of the visitors taking that as their cue to also depart.

"Aren't you even going to say goodbye?" Deb yelled at the two men. "How about thanking me for the meal?"

Michael was jiggling in place, impatient to be off, but he chuckled ruefully and leaned over to give his mother a kiss.

By that point, everyone else was in the entryway, too, shrugging on their coats, getting Gus settled in his stroller, and making their farewells. Brian, who'd waited for Michael, could no longer make an immediate escape, now that the door was blocked by other guests getting ready to depart.

"We'll meet you at Woody's," Ted stated, making Brian roll his eyes. Just what he needed, more of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Michael, he knew, would commiserate with him and take everything he said as gospel. Ted, on the other hand, was likely to skewer him with that dry, barbed wit, just to see how he'd respond. Emmett would undoubtedly also chime in but would be even worse than Ted since he was clearly on team Justin.

The man in question chose that moment to plant a lingering kiss on Justin's lips, winking at his favorite blond and inviting him, "Baby, let's go to Babylon later this week. We'll dance up a storm and hook up with some hot tricks."

Brian mocked scathingly, "How nice to be able to afford a night out. Must be because none of his shit was stolen." He conveniently ignored the fact that Justin had no money.

Noticing that Deb appeared ready to jump in and defend him - most likely by revealing his plan to repay Brian - Justin shook his head at her in a silent signal not to say anything. The redhead didn't look happy but complied with Justin's wordless request.

Determined not to let Brian see how much his remark had hurt, Justin pasted on a grin, "Thanks, Em, that sounds like fun. How about Friday since that's not a school night?"

Em squealed, kissed Justin again - quite enthusiastically if you asked Brian - and exclaimed, "It's a date!"

Brian - beyond pissed off at the situation, since he couldn't even justify peeling Honeycutt's hands off Justin - just shouldered his way through his friends and out the door.

 

Chapter End Notes:

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