Justin ran a hand across the expanse of the tanned back in front of him, kissing the dimple above his lover's ass. "You good?" he whispered, checking that the other man was still conscious after the long massage he had just given him.

Brian hmmed in contentment.

The blond chuckled warmly, sliding a finger down the taller man's spine. "Good," he murmured, kissing the tantalising dimple again. Then, patting the butt in front of him, he prompted his lover, "Ass up, come on."

Brian stretched his legs, whining a little at the back of his throat. "I don't think I can move right now," he disclosed, sounding rather amused at his own predicament.

Justin slid his hands over the globes of his lover's ass. "Sure you can," he chided softly, squeezing a handful of soft, plump skin in each hand. "You want to come today, you gotta work for it a little, Bri."

The brunet wiggled a bit, settling deeper into the mattress underneath them. "Nngh," he denied, the sound barely audible because of the way his mouth was pressed against the bedding. 

The blond patted one of the arse cheeks again. "Come on," he urged, voice still soft. He meant what he'd said - if Brian wanted to come at all that evening, he was going to have to work for it. "Get on your hands and knees."

Huffing a little at his lover's insistent nagging, Brian somehow managed to persuade his mostly liquid muscles to flex and get him up to his knees, presenting his behind to the blond. "Happy?" he mumbled, trying to make his relaxed voice sound as sarcastic as possible.

Justin smiled and ran a teasing finger down Brian's crack, enjoying the way his lover was on display in front of him. "Good," he praised him as the brunet shivered almost imperceptibly.

"Just get on with it," Brian said, forcing the words through his hazy brain and onto his tongue. He received another soft pat on the bum for his efforts.

The blond let the fingers of one hand rest over his lover's entrance, not exerting any kind of friction or pressure, and used his other to open the bedside table drawer and reach in to pull out their bottle of lube. 

Brian pressed his ass backwards, seeking any kind of stimulation but not getting it. "Jus," he breathed.

Justin shushed him, running his fingers down the older man's crack again. "Soon," he promised as he watched the pink hole flutter. Brian bit his lip in order to prevent himself from saying anything else. No way in hell was he going to beg.

The blond smirked at the other man's obvious impatience. It had been a while since Brian last bottomed and he was clearly desperate for it - no matter how much the man might want to deny it. Flicking the lube bottle open, he poured a little bit of the viscous fluid onto his forefinger.

"Ready?" Justin asked teasingly as he ran the tip of the slick digit around Brian's ring of muscle. The brunet wiggled his arse a little in answer, causing the younger man to laugh. He pressed against the hole lightly. "Good, then push back."

The older man felt an odd tingle in his lower abdomen at the words, as Justin's finger simply rested against the tight muscle of his asshole. Pushing back a little experimentally, he was able to increase the pressure, but since the blond wasn't helping him, nothing else happened.

"Come on, Bri," Justin prompted. "Push back."

Brian followed the instruction, pressing back a little harder, feeling the resistance of his muscles give slightly under his young partner's finger. It wasn't enough, though, the digit still just a teasing presence. He tried to relax a little more, pushing back again, and finally, the finger slipped inside - forcing a harsh exhale out of Brian. 

"That's good, Brian," Justin praised him. "Very good. Now move a little, to and fro - fuck yourself."

The brunet felt a spark of something flash through his spine. "Justin," he complained breathlessly, his inner muscles squeezing involuntarily around the intruding finger.

His lover ran a calming hand down his back. "Come on, I told you you'd have to work for it."

Not seeing any other way to get what he wanted, Brian moved forward a couple of inches, before pushing back again, a little harder this time. Justin's finger disappeared into him, barely brushing against his prostate. "Jus," he gasped.

"Move," the blond instructed, voice a little harder now. "Fuck yourself, Brian."

The older man repeated his movement, sliding off the finger inside of him a couple inches before impaling himself again.

"Again," Justin instructed, watching his lover's arse hungrily. 

Brian did as he was told, sliding forward and then pressing back, tilting his hips a little to get a better angle. The finger inside of him nudged his prostate, sending tingles of pleasure into his belly. He repeated the motion again and again, slowly building up a rhythm as he fucked himself on Justin's unmoving digit.

"That's it," the blond whispered, completely entranced by the motions of his lover's hips. "You're doing so well."

Brian's brain barely managed to discern the meaning of the blond's words, as the haze he had been fighting against ever since Justin finished with the massage enveloped him. He couldn't think properly as his body moved on autopilot, knees shaking and skin glistening with sweat.

"Fuck," he breathed, struggling to get the right amount of stimulation from the single finger. "More."

"More what?" the blond asked, voice raspy.

"Please, more," Brian begged, not even realising what was leaving his mouth. He'd be horrified if he were in control of his senses.

Justin gently slid his lover off his finger by pushing against his ass with the palm of his hand, shushing him when the man whined at the loss of stimulation. "Two fingers then," he told Brian, running his fore- and middle fingers around the hole, loosening up the muscle.

Brian pushed back reflexively, trying to impale himself again, but the blond stopped him. "Wait," he chided with an amused chuckle. "I'll add a bit more lube."

The brunet ignored him, pushing back. "Nngh," he whined in complaint when Justin stopped him again.

The younger man sighed. "Okay, have it your way," he told his lover, allowing him to move back.

Brian gasped at the slight burn of the two fingers sliding inside him, stretching his hole open. Geesh, maybe he should've waited for that lube, he thought, pausing to catch his breath. Justin rubbed his back in a comforting gesture. "You okay?"

The brunet nodded. "Yeah," he grunted, his inner muscles spasming. He was fine; he just needed a moment to breathe through the pain.

His younger lover wasn't sympathetic, though. "Come on, then." He patted his ass cheek. "Push back."

Brian followed the calmly given order before he even knew what was happening, sliding himself fully onto the two digits despite the burn. "Agh," he panted. "Fuck."

"Soon," the blond promised. "Start moving."

The older man eased off a little before pushing back again, muscles straining and limbs struggling to support himself. He couldn't stop the whine that escaped his throat.

"Shh," Justin soothed him, using his free hand to slide Brian's ass forward a little. "Push back."

The brunet did, only for his partner to nudge him forward once more. He pressed against the digits again and again, getting a comfortable rhythm going. "Justin," he gasped as he felt the blunt nails inside of him brush against his prostate.

The teenager scissored his fingers a little, still helping Brian move back and forth. "You're doing good," he assured his lover, who was grunting and gasping as he continued to push back, fucking himself on his fingers. "Can you go a little faster?"

The brunet picked up his pace instead of saying anything, shoving himself onto the intruding digits faster and harder, tilting his ass to get the right angle. He vaguely heard Justin praise him again, the words translating to gibberish in his foggy brain. He felt a little high.

Soon, Brian's cock started jolting with every brush against his prostate, his balls drawing up. "I need more," he pleaded with his lover, knowing he wouldn't be able to come just from the fingering. "Jus, please."

The blond kissed his left arse cheek, smiling against his soft skin. "Okay," he murmured, pulling out his fingers slowly. "Okay, I've got you." Running his hands over the quivering muscles of Brian's back and ass, he soothed his wrecked lover.

When the brunet's breathing calmed and the tremors of an unreached ecstasy wound down some, Justin pushed at Brian's side, turning him over. He arranged the taller man's legs so they lay spread apart, knees bent.

Leaning across his lover, Justin reached into the bedside table again, pulling out Brian's slim glass dildo. Slicking up the sleek shaft with plenty of lube, he settled himself between the brunet's obscenely spread thighs and ran the dildo up and down his crack. 

The older man's hips twitched. "Come on," he rasped. "Now."

Justin grinned at his lover, admiring Brian's sweaty face, pink cheeks, panting lips, and closed eyes. He slid the glass shaft inside a couple of inches, watching for any signs of discomfort. Seeing none, he pushed deeper and deeper, until the hand clutching the base of the dildo settled against Brian's arse.

The older man moaned loudly.

Kissing his lover's hip, Justin pulled the slim wand almost out, before shoving it back in forcefully.

"Fuck!" Brian shouted, back arching.

Justin did it again, eliciting another broken scream. Jesus, Brian looked so hot like this - spreadeagled on top of the dark green duvet, tanned skin shining, and tortured sounds escaping his lips. Unable to help himself, the blond slid up his lover's body - not stopping the movement of the dildo - and kissed Brian's mouth.

The brunet moaned again, panting against Justin's lips.

"Look at me," the younger man whispered, still tirelessly jabbing the glass shaft into the man underneath him.

Brian opened his eyes, his gaze glassy as he tried to focus on Justin. He groaned helplessly.

The blond smiled, the expression undoubtedly lovesick, but he couldn't care less at that moment. "You close?" he asked, voice like gravel as his own arousal pulsed insistently through his body.

Nodding weakly as a high-pitched whine ripped through his vocal cords, Brian allowed his eyes to slide closed again. Justin let him, pecking one pinkened cheek affectionately before moving back down the other man's trembling body.

Then, driving the sleek dildo mercilessly into his lover's prostate, he decided not to tease him any longer and quickly swallowed Brian's straining member, easily deep-throating him. 

The brunet's body strained towards the ceiling as another loud whine escaped his throat, and then Brian was coming - moaning and shuddering violently under Justin.

The younger man swallowed everything down, his hand still working the dildo in and out, wrenching every last bit of orgasm out of his lover. He stopped his ministrations only when Brian's muscles all suddenly gave out and the taller man flopped back onto the duvet, unmoving.  

That recollection was a much better way to wake up than chewing on his pillow, the brunet stud decided, carefully removing his favourite glass dildo and setting it on the nightstand. He haphazardly wiped himself off with a corner of the sheet before flopping down flat on the mattress.

Glancing toward the window, Brian frowned in puzzlement at how dark it was. There should be some light visible through the blinds, even with the slats closed and the lowering clouds. He scrabbled around for the clock, which he vaguely recalled knocking askew when he was dispensing lube into his hand. "Gotcha," he mumbled as his fingers closed around the object. He turned it back around so he could see the digital readout, staring in disbelief when 5:42 blinked at him.

What the fuck was he doing up so early on a Saturday? Oh, right, he thought as he was assaulted by memories of the loose-arsed escort from the night before. In an effort to compensate for that piss-poor performance, he'd obviously awakened to - and done his best to reenact - a particularly scorching encounter with Justin.

Brian shugged. Since he'd fallen asleep much earlier than was his wont, the brunet figured he might as well make an early start to his day. Throwing off the covers - those that remained on him after his energetic endeavours - he got up and padded down the stairs to the kitchen. He flicked on a light, not that he really needed it to navigate his way around his sparsely furnished loft, and then switched on the Braun coffee maker.

He grinned as he recalled bribing Cynthia to set up the machine before she'd left the previous afternoon. Brian was, of course, perfectly capable of operating the coffee maker by himself, but it was more fun to rile his blonde secretary than to admit that. His friend had had the last word, however, immediately picking up the phone and charging a box of chocolates - Lindt, this time - to Brian's AmEx, to be delivered directly to her apartment.

As liquid trickled into the carafe, Brian became aware of another pressing need and hotfooted it back up the stairs to the bathroom. He let out a relieved "Aaah" as he urinated. It seemed to take forever to finish, before he could shake himself dry and wash his hands in the sink.

"Gah!" the brunet stud grunted as he looked at himself in the mirror. His bedhead was much worse than usual; with most of it tufted atop his noggin, it appeared that he'd gotten some sort of weird mohawk do. Cupping water in his hands, Brian raised them to his head and attempted to flatten the recalcitrant hair, but he only succeeded in sending additional spikes shooting out to the side. "Fuck it," he muttered. He'd style it properly after downing a mug or two of coffee and showering.

Expecting the coffee to have finished perking while he was in the bathroom, Brian was disappointed to see that droplets were still splashing into the carafe. He didn't want to wait any longer, so he turned it off and started to remove the glass container to pour a cup - he'd let it finish brewing after that - but then the machine let out a strange gurgle and spit a droplet of brown liquid at him. "Fuck!" he screamed, hastily shoving the carafe back onto the hotplate and glancing down at the reddened spot on his torso. "Bloody coffee makers," he groused. 

Dampening a cloth with cold water, he dabbed at the spot, musing that if it had landed a little further to the right, it would've burned off his nipple. He thought he heard a tinkling laugh and a teasing "Drama queen!" but when he glanced around, no one was there. "You're losing it, Kinney," he muttered before bellowing at the imaginary voice, "It's perfectly natural to be concerned about a rogue coffee machine, Cynthia!"

Brian cautiously reached out and turned the coffee maker back on and then took a seat at the kitchen table, where he could observe from a safe distance as it finished percolating. He waited for a good five minutes after it stopped dripping - he did not want to be attacked again - before stumbling back over to the counter and reaching into the cupboard for his AdStud coffee mug. When he didn't find it, he figured it must be in the dishwasher, but it wasn't there either. Shit, he'd have to settle for one of the plain mugs he used for guests. As he opened the cabinet again, however, he noticed his AdStud cup sitting next to the machine with a note propped against it. "Too fucking early for things to be hidden in plain sight," he mumbled, picking up the note and looking at it through bleary eyes.

‘Boss,' the note stated in neat, joined-up writing, ‘all ready for consumption. Just add liquid, stir, drink, and you'll be sweetened in no time.'

"Wiseass," Brian grunted, peering into the cup, which did appear to contain a sufficient amount of sugar. He stirred as directed, quickly downing the first cup and then preparing another.

The brunet padded over to the window, staring out at the grey skies, which had barely lightened, while he consumed the caffeine and sugar boost. He frowned at his reflection, sliding his hand down his side to pinch at the flesh on his waistline. "Goddammit!" he growled. He was developing a fucking love handle! That settled what he'd be doing this morning - he'd be heading for Ript gym as soon as he'd showered.

Justin woke up only a little later than his former lover, the alarm blaring in his ears. Slapping a hand down on the offensive thing to turn it off, he glared through slitted eyes at the stupid Captain Astro sticker that adorned the face of the clock. He groaned as he leveraged his body off the bed, staggering into the shower, where he cleaned himself off cursorily before donning jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, athletic socks, and his sneakers. At least he didn't have to wear the hated uniform since it was a Saturday, he reflected. Maybe he and Daphne could have a celebratory bonfire at which they burned their fucking uniforms once they'd finally graduated. 

The blond lad slung his backpack over one shoulder and stumbled down the stairs, where a smiling Debbie awaited him. "Here, Sunshine, you look like you need this," she greeted him cheerfully, holding out a large thermos.

"Coffee?" Justin croaked hopefully.

"You betcha," the redhead said cheerfully. "And here's some brownies for your breakfast. I just whipped up a batch."

"You're a lifesaver, Deb," the teenager rasped. "Hang onto those till I get my jacket on, would'ya?"

"Sure thing," she agreed, following him to the entryway. "Uh, Kiddo," she teased as he struggled with the garment, "you're putting it on inside out."

"Fuck," Justin grunted, finally succeeding in turning the coat right-ways and donning it. He took the container with the sweets from Debbie and stuffed it inside his backpack before accepting the thermos flask. "I wish I was going to the diner with you," he grumbled, "rather than wasting an hour on the bus and then another hour listening to Dickhead Dixon pontificate about material I already know."

"A little extra studying won't hurt you," she chided. "It'll make it that much easier for you to ace your final and show up that homophobic prick."

"Yeah," the teenager acknowledged, "and I get to spend the morning with Daph. It doesn't get much better than that."

"That's the spirit!" Debbie encouraged him. "I'll fix you young'uns a proper breakfast when you get here later this morning. I'm working a short shift so I can get a start on my holiday baking."

"There won't be much left after Daphne and I make inroads," Justin joked.

The redhead chuckled and patted him on the cheek. "No worries, Sunshine. That's what it's for. I can always bake more."

"I'd better get a move on, or I'll miss the bus," the teenager commented after a quick glance at the clock. "Later," he said, leaning over to kiss his surrogate mum on the cheek before darting out the door.

Not ten minutes later, Justin clambered onto the bus, where the muscular, squat, female driver greeted him with a friendly smile. "I don't recall seeing you on my Saturday run before, lad."

"Special mandatory session for one of my classes at St James," the blond replied glumly.

"You know you'll have to transfer to get there, don't you?" the woman asked in concern.

Justin took a seat right behind the driver. "Yeah, I know. I take this bus during the week. Hey," he asked, "if I give you one of my brownies - they're still warm from the oven - would you wake me up at the transfer point? I don't think I can keep my eyes open."

"Keep the brownies for yourself, lad," the bulked-up woman insisted with a chuckle, her eyes twinkling as she pulled away from the bus stop. "I've got a lunchbox full of goodies" - she fondly patted a large, black, metal box - "I'll be glad to rouse you in any case."

"Ta," Justin responded gratefully. Unscrewing the cap from the thermos, he took a couple of swallows of coffee before removing a brownie from the plastic container in his rucksack and cramming it into his mouth. He'd just swallowed down the chewy treat when he fell sound asleep, the flask of coffee cradled in his arms, crumbs dotting his chin and jacket.

The next thing he knew, someone was vigorously shaking his arm, "C'mon lad. It's time to transfer. Your bus is right behind me. The driver's getting a mite impatient; he's only waiting because I paged him and told him I had a passenger for him."

"Shit. I'm sorry," the blond teen mumbled, blinking his eyes rapidly in an effort to unglue them. Gathering his things, he added, "Thanks so much for convincing him to wait." 

"Ah, no big deal," the woman replied. "Bloke's just gnarly in the mornings - don't take any guff off of him, you hear?"

Justin waved in acknowledgement as he hastened toward the other bus. "Ta," he gasped at the bus driver as he climbed on.

"Just sit your arse down," the man grouched. "You're putting me behind schedule."

The teenager rolled his eyes as he made his way toward the middle of the vehicle. The fellow clearly didn't operate on the principle of serving the public that he was there to transport, at least not until some point later in the day, based on what the kindly female driver had said.

The cat nap had done him a world of good, Justin reflected as he sat down. He felt himself becoming fully alert as he swigged more coffee and ate another couple of brownies.

When he got out in front of the school twenty minutes later, Justin suddenly worried that the doors to St James would be locked. It was a Saturday, not a weekday, so he wouldn't be able to have a chinwag with the friendly librarian... Fortunately, when he tried one of the doors, it opened easily under his hand, surprising the teenager. Must be some kind of athletic practice going on, he mused, as he trotted upstairs - the teams practiced at all times of day and in all kinds of weather.

His surmise was proved correct as he neared the calculus classroom, the door to which was propped open. "Do I really hafta be here?" he heard Hobbs whining. "My mates need me on the football field."

"They can get by without you for a couple of hours," Dixon tried to pacify him. "It wouldn't look right if you're not here for the mandatory session, even though you're passing the class with flying colours."

Flying colours, my ass, Justin snorted to himself as the maths instructor kept talking.

"Headmaster Perkins is breathing down the teachers' necks," Dixon elaborated. "He wants everything to be above board until the end of term."

"Why's that?" Chris queried sullenly. "I thought-"

He cut off abruptly when Justin appeared in the doorway, one blond eyebrow arched in interest. It would undoubtedly have been smarter to earwig the convo a bit longer, or at least wait outside the classroom until some of the other students arrived, but fuck that. He refused to act like a scared little faggot.

"Taylor!" the teacher barked. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm here for the mandatory session," Justin replied blandly, walking over to his usual desk. "I didn't want to be late, since I still have a lot to learn." Like avoiding non-standard solutions and writing ‘ones' that might be somewhat similar to his ‘sevens,' he thought.

Dixon curled his lip, sneering, "It's true you need all the help you can get, Taylor. Sit down and review the problems from the last chapter."

Justin barely managed to suppress a yawn. He'd already reviewed those problems a few times, especially since he wanted to help Daphne with any difficulties she was having. He nevertheless complied with Dickhead's demand, removing his textbook from his backpack and flipping it open. He figured the jerk would never notice what lesson he was actually working on, as long as he appeared to be studying.

The teenager tapped his pencil against his teeth and scribbled away, working on a chapter that they wouldn't cover until well into the spring term. He took a swallow from his thermos, only to hear Dixon clear his throat noisily. "No food or drink during class, Taylor," the teacher reprimanded him.

Raising his eyes from his worksheet, Justin questioned innocently, "But it's not class yet, is it, sir?" He glanced meaningfully at the grande-sized cup of Starbucks coffee that Hobbs had just raised to his lips.

Dixon's fingers tightened around the pencil he was holding, until it snapped in two, one piece clattering to the floor. "Put it away before eight o'clock," the instructor growled, "and don't spill any of it, or you'll be spending the rest of the morning mopping the floor."

He'd have to miss his mouth entirely and upend the flask to spill any of it, the lad mused, since he was swigging directly from the thermos. Justin stifled a laugh at the sour expression on Dixon's face, gratified to have so neatly flummoxed the man. He returned to solving problems, amused when the instructor suggested, "You might as well dig out your homework and have at it as well, Chris."

"What?" the athlete protested. "I already know the stuff backwards and forwards - flying colours, you said."

"It can't hurt to review," Dixon insisted, his tone mildly censuring. "You wouldn't want a poo-" the man paused and altered the pronunciation, "pupil like Taylor to show you up."

Fucker, Justin wordlessly cursed the homophobic prick, who'd cleverly insulted him for being a ‘poofter' without actually uttering the slur. He attempted to appear relaxed, not wanting to give either Dixon or Hobbs the satisfaction of seeing how furious he was.

"As if!" Chris guffawed. "No way could that pupil," he imitated the teacher's intonation, "outdo a stud like me, in any way, shape, or form."

Christ, what had he ever seen in the blowhard? Justin wondered. The guy couldn't hold a candle to a real stud like Brian, in either brains or beauty. Given Hobbs' build, he suspected what looks he had would quickly evaporate; once the jock no longer spent hours every day on the athletic field, he'd likely run to fat.

While Justin was giving himself a mental kick in the arse for ever being attracted to the jock, a couple more students shuffled into the classroom, looking like they'd just rolled out of bed. "Ms Brown," Dixon recommended in a dry tone, "if you need to go, you'd better do so now. You won't be excused while class is in session."

The full-bladdered girl directed a pitiful gaze at the instructor, but when his expression remained stern, she dumped her rucksack next to her desk and shuffled back out of the classroom.

"Mr Hudson," the teacher addressed the other student, "you'd better crack your book open, for what I suspect may be the first time this semester, considering your consistently poor results."

"Dickhead," Justin heard the boy mutter as he passed him on his way to the back of the classroom.

As the rest of his classmates slowly filtered in, Justin began to worry that something had happened to Daphne. Dixon would definitely hold it against his friend if she missed the mandatory session. Turning up late wouldn't be much better.

He stifled a sigh when Vanna Farley, the girl Dixon thought should consider a career as a beautician, since she'd never make a mathematician, claimed the desk to his right. She was also in physics with him, Daph, and Sydney, and had been pestering him to help her ever since she overheard the three of them talking about tutoring the day of the snowstorm. Justin had tried to rebuff her politely, but so far without any success.

A red-faced Daphne finally dashed through the door at three minutes before the hour, Sydney and another student right behind her. "I overslept," she griped as she sagged into her chair. "Didn't hear the alarm, and then I missed the first bus. Thought I was gonna be late, which would've been a disaster."

When Justin opened his mouth to commiserate with his bestie, he was distracted by the cheerleader demanding, "Shift over. Taylor's my tutor." 

The lad glanced to his right, hiding a grin when he saw that Sydney was evicting the Farley muppet. From the glimpse he'd had of Vanna's midterm, it looked like she hadn't solved a single one of the problems; Justin had no idea how to help someone who was failing so spectacularly and was grateful that the pom-pom girl had saved him from further entreaties.

The two blonds exchanged sly smiles as Vanna got up and reluctantly moved forward so that she was sitting in front of Syd, directly under Dixon's jaundiced eye. As the cheerleader sat down, Hobbs' glowering visage confronted Justin; the jock was clearly pissed off that his girlfriend wasn't sitting next to him.

"Ms Thompson," the instructor cautioned, "you'd do better to take your usual place next to Mr Hobbs. Unlike Mr Taylor, he has a thorough grasp of the subject matter."

Sydney insouciantly flipped her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. "I'd rather my parents not hear that I'm technically failing calculus, Mr Dixon, so I'll stay right where I am, ta."

"Your funer- that is, choice," the maths teacher gritted out. "Just don't come asking me for another chance after the final."

"I won't need to," the cheerleader asserted confidently, while the other students tittered at the way she'd made Dickhead Dixon back down.

"Brass balls," Daphne murmured in awe.

Justin nodded in agreement. He wished he could put Dixon in his place like that, but unlike Sydney, his parents wouldn't back him up. He'd just have to needle the homophobic bastard by getting the highest score on the final, as he had on every other exam this semester, he decided.

Dixon began calling roll, and had just noted Mr Ziegler as present, when another student hastened into the classroom. "Since you didn't show me the courtesy of being on time, Mr Antonich," the instructor stated coolly, "I'm marking you as absent."

"But, Mr Dixon," the boy spluttered, "It's not even two minutes past-"

"Your peers arrived on time," Dixon interrupted. "There's no reason you couldn't have done the same, Mr Antonich. I'm giving up my Saturday morning to drum maths into you ungrateful, boneheaded louts; I expect appreciation, which is sadly lacking in your case, in return for my kindness. You can still benefit from my instruction, however, so I suggest you take a seat."

"Thank fuck I wasn't late," Daph hissed, shooting a sympathetic look at the angry boy as he stomped to the back of the classroom.

"That would've nixed your Christmas bonus for sure," Justin whispered back.

For the next thirty-five minutes, Dixon droned on about basic equations and derivatives. Justin would have been bored stiff, if he weren't surreptitiously working on more advanced problems and doodling caricatures in the margins of his notebook - Hobbs brown-nosing Dixon; the full-bladdered girl squirming in her seat; Sydney battering Chris with her pom-poms; Dixon dressed in Severus Snape's robes, a pinched look on his face as he handed Daphne a test with 91% written in red ink at the top. 

Justin noted that even the students who really wanted to improve were struggling to pay attention, Dixon's monotone acting as a soporific. When his best friend's elbow started to slide off her desk, he reached out and propped her up before her head connected with the desk. Daphne glanced at him appreciatively from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, straightening up in her chair and blinking furiously in an attempt to become more alert.

"Now for a pop quiz," the schoolteacher announced, a malicious note in his voice, "to see if you've actually absorbed anything. I was underwhelmed by your efforts on yesterday's exam, so a revision is needed. Yes, Ms Watson?" he asked impatiently when the ginger raised her hand.

"Um, could we go over that test, Mr Dixon?" the girl requested timidly. "That would be a big-"

"There's no point," the maths teacher rudely interjected. "All of you are sadly lacking in the basics, which you should have had down pat by the end of the second week of school."

Justin pondered that a review of the basics might be a good idea, for most of the students anyway... provided the person imparting the information had any clue how to make it relatable to and interesting for his audience. Dixon made it a habit to regurgitate information from the textbook, without further explanation. 

"No one is to leave," Dixon continued his tirade, "until I have graded all the quizzes. Bring your test to me once you have finished and then return to your seat. Anyone who earns less than sixty-five percent will spend the next week in detention, studying hard so they can pass the final."

Groans and mutterings of "Dickhead" and "Fucker" came from all corners of the room.

Dixon rapped his knuckles on his desk. "Silence!" he commanded.

The class slowly came to order, although quite a few students still glared at the instructor balefully. For all that he couldn't stand the teacher's blatant homophobia, Justin was startled to find that he kind of agreed with the man. Dixon's teaching methods were generally deplorable, but he was forsaking his free time on a Saturday to teach them maths. He really did remind the blond boy of Professor Snape, acerbic and somewhat of a bully, but mainly strict, so that the students would absorb the subject matter and survive at university.

"Close your books and stow them in your satchels," Dixon ordered, waiting until the pupils had complied before passing out the quizzes.

Justin accepted the short stack of tests from the student in front of him, taking one and passing the rest back. He glanced at the questions and almost snorted at how simple they were. He took his time solving the problems, using the computer writing he was still practicing to carefully notate the solutions. When he came to the last item, which was similar to a problem on a recent test, he couldn't resist solving it in two ways, printing ‘non-standard solution' beneath one and ‘standard solution' beneath the other. Dickhead would probably dock him one or two points for being so cheeky, but the boy didn't care; he was fed up with kowtowing to the pillock.

Only ten minutes had elapsed when Justin stood up and carried his test to the front of the classroom. He was startled to see that Chris had already handed his quiz to Dixon and was strolling back to his desk, a complacent expression on his face. Was the jock smarter than he'd given him credit for? Justin wondered.

He was soon disabused of that notion, when he saw all the blank spaces on Hobbs' test. Maybe Chris had written the solutions in an invisible ink that only Dixon could read, he thought contemptuously, watching as the teacher scrawled a C+ at the top of the test.

The instructor started when he realised Justin was standing in front of him. "Sit down, Taylor!" he barked, a muscle jumping in his cheek as he ground his teeth. Dixon glared at the teen and snatched the quiz from his hand, shooing the student back toward his desk.

Justin smirked as he resumed his seat. Served Dickhead right to be caught red-handed in assigning a passing grade on the jock's mostly blank test. Maybe Dixon could jerk off on the quiz, he mused sardonically, to reveal the hidden answers.

The teenager considered retrieving his notebook from his backpack and capturing that image. He'd better not though - Dixon might accuse him of sharing crib notes with Daph so she could do better on the test. Justin's lips curved upward at the thought of how his bestie was going to surprise Dickhead with a steadily improving grasp of the subject matter. For an educator, he seemed strangely dissatisfied when his pupils demonstrated that they were learning; he apparently preferred to berate them for their pathetic, insufficient exertions.

Justin started to get antsy as the minute hand on the wall clock inched closer to nine o'clock. If he and Daphne weren't outside at ten minutes past nine, they'd miss the bus and would have to wait an hour and a half for the next one. 

At nine on the dot, one of the other students finally approached Dixon's desk to turn in his quiz, his rucksack dangling from one hand. He placed the test in front of the instructor and loped toward the door. "Where do you think you're going, Mr Ziegler?" Dixon reprimanded him.

"My dad's picking me up. We're going-" the boy tried to explain.

"Regardless of what you and your dad have planned," the teacher mocked, "you'd better head to the ER instead. You need your ears checked since you didn't understand my instructions."

Ziegler mutinously took another step toward the door.

"If you leave now, I'll mark you as absent and your test as incomplete - which means an F grade," Dixon threatened, picking up his red pen and placing the nib at the top of the quiz.

"Fine. I'll stay," the boy grumbled, looking defeated as he sat back down.

Three more minutes elapsed before four more students turned in their completed quizzes and resumed their seats. Justin glanced at Daphne, who was still working on her test, her forehead creased in concentration. Oh, well, he thought, resigned to missing the 9:10 bus - they could always hoof it to a caff on the bus route and have a bite to eat while they waited for the next one.

The other pupils gradually finished the test, trickling up to Dixon to hand them over. Daphne was the last to turn hers in, right behind Sydney. "You should've sat next to Mr Hobbs," Dixon snidely remarked as he accepted the test from the cheerleader. "Some of his smarts might have transferred to you by osmosis."

The pom-pom girl cocked her head at the teacher. "I'd never consider engaging in such a bizarre form of osmosis," she challenged, "unless I wanted to flunk, that is." She ambled back to her chair, a superior smile on her face, giving Justin a high five as she sat back down.

Dixon switched to glaring at Daphne, whose hand shook as she handed him her quiz. She scurried back to her desk, smiling weakly at Justin as she slumped in her seat.

"Okay?" the lad whispered to his bestie.

She nodded, her smile growing. "I think I solved them all correctly, mostly anyway."

Justin gave her a congratulatory grin. The other students began fidgeting and chattering as Dixon scrutinized the exams, slashing at each one with his red pen. "Silence!" the instructor thundered. "You're not to talk until I've finished grading."

Twelve excruciating minutes later, Dixon set aside his pen, the tests in two piles in front of him. He picked up the slightly thinner pile and began reading off names - one by one - concluding with, "Jessica Watson. Those whose names I've just mentioned," the maths teacher pronounced, "are to report to detention on Monday afternoon for an extra hour of study."

"Nooo," the girl with bladder issues moaned, jiggling in her seat. "I can't. I-"

"If you want to have a prayer of passing this class, you most certainly can," Dixon rebuked. "You're failing the class, Ms Brown, and you won't be continuing next semester if you don't bring up your grade."

"Can I go now?" the girl begged, a pained look on her face.

"Yes," Dixon granted permission. As the girl dashed for the door, he added, "I suggest you empty your bladder before detention, Ms Brown. You won't be allowed to leave during that hour."

Whether Brown heard him was debatable in Justin's opinion. She'd looked absolutely frantic in her rush to reach the loo.

"Before you ask," Dixon addressed the rest of the students, "I'll be returning your quizzes and yesterday's tests on Monday morning."

"What I was going to ask," an anonymous student quipped from the back of the room, "is whether we can leave now."

Dixon glowered in the direction the voice had come from. "Since every one of you who props up the back wall," he commented tartly, "scored under sixty-five percent and will be a ‘detainee' for the coming week, you should be eager to spend every possible minute studying."

Someone on the opposite side of the room whistled, "Not for a single second under you, Dickhead."

The students erupted in laughter, Justin joining in with a horrified chuckle of his own.

"Scram!" Dixon yelled, his face purpling. "You ungrateful brats!"

The giggling mass of students got jammed in the doorway as they all tried to escape at once. Justin, Daphne, and Sydney hung back slightly, waiting for the blockage to clear. "Thanks for the help, Taylor," Syd expressed her appreciation, smiling almost shyly at her tutor.

"Te gratissimum," the lad responded, remembering how oddly proud of his Latin competency the cheerleader had been.

"You sound so sexy when you speak Latin," Sydney sighed. "It's really too bad you bat for the other side."

"I know, right?" Daphne seconded the pom-pom girl. "Jus would be, like, the perfect lover."

His face crimsoning, the lad in question didn't say anything. For the first time, he wondered what he'd gotten himself into, offering to tutor both of them on the coming Wednesday evening. Daphne already outgunned him much of the time, so he could only imagine the double-barrelled trouble he'd be in now.

All three of them did their best to ignore the disgruntled muttering from Dixon's table, the only distinguishable word being castration.

Justin couldn't keep himself from flinching. The homophobic bastard probably wished all gays would be ‘fixed' via chemical castration.

"Forget Dickhead," Sydney advised, giving the lad a friendly bump with her shoulder. "He's just a closeted queer, I bet."

"Yuck!" Justin criticised, "I don't want him on my team."

That sent the trio into a fresh spate of giggles as they finally made it out of the classroom.

"Say hi to Harry for me, would'ya?" the cheerleader requested, giving them a jaunty wave in farewell. "I'm looking forward to seeing him on Wednesday."

"Who the fuck's Harry? Another fag?" the best friends heard Chris growl as he waylaid his girlfriend.

"Um, do you think we should intervene?" Daphne queried, casting a concerned look at the jock, who'd apparently been lurking outside the door.

"Nah," Justin dissented. "Syd could handle Hobbs with both hands tied behind her back."

"She is fierce," Daphne acknowledged as they trotted down the stairs. "Maybe I've misjudged her; she was pretty congenial towards you today. I need to see how she behaves from here on, though, before I can give her the Chanders seal of approval."

"I'll proceed with extreme caution until then," the lad half-joked. Given his own reservations about the cheerleader, he really would think twice about helping Sydney in the future if Daphne concluded she was untrustworthy.

As Justin held open the door for his friend so she could exit the school building first, he stared in amazement at the bus turning into the stop for St James. He tugged on Daphne's coat, urging, "Let's book! I can't believe we haven't missed the bus."

While Justin was suffering in calculus, Brian arrived for an early workout at Ript. The first person he saw as he headed for the lockers to get changed was David, who was performing a series of dips on the parallel bars. The chiropractor's chest, shoulder, and arm muscles rippled as he almost lazily lowered himself and then lifted back up again. Show-off, Brian thought as he watched Dr Dave complete a few more reps, before he switched to the chin-up bar, rising and sinking with as little effort as he'd shown on the parallel bars.

Brian made a mental note to avoid those apparatuses until David had left the gym. His form wasn't as good as the other man's, and he sure as fuck didn't want the doc giving him tips on how to improve. It was damned annoying that the much older man didn't appear to have an ounce of fat anywhere on his body. Rooting around in his exercise bag in the locker room, Brian pulled out his Nike trainers and athletic socks, a pair of shorts, and a sleeveless tee. He was glad he'd chosen a baggy T-shirt instead of the fitted one he usually wore - that would disguise the fat deposits at his waistline. The weight-conscious stud shuddered at the notion of having anyone near him when he finally stood on the gym's scales after his workout; he normally crowed about how many ounces he'd lost, but this time he'd have to slink away. He must've gained at least eight or nine ounces, though he should still be well shy of an extra pound.

Starting his own advertising agency was horribly time-consuming, and most of his activity had been far too sedentary. He'd schedule a daily visit to the gym from now on, Brian determined. Heck, he might as well take Ted and Cynthia with him at lunchtime - Ted wouldn't want to turn pudgy with a beau like the hunky professor, and Cynthia would have the time of her life drooling over all the fit men.

His gym bag and street clothes stored in a locker, Brian sauntered back into the main room and toward the currently unoccupied row of treadmills, climbing onto the one that would provide the best view of the other early-morning exercisers as well as pedestrians strolling by on the sidewalk. The stud sighed, missing his burgled Ironman treadmill - it would be much easier for him to stay fit if he could hop on that machine in the morning. What with funneling most of his available funds into his start-up, however, he wouldn't be able to justify the outlay for new exercise equipment for a while.

Since he hadn't run in over two weeks, Brian set the incline to just three percent and the speed at a modest four miles per hour. He wanted to warm up gradually, not make a laughing stock of himself by wheezing like an old man. Nevertheless, after a mere twenty minutes, with no change to the speed or incline, Brian was panting, sweat beading his brow.

"Are you okay, Bri?" a lilting voice inquired. "You look kinda feverish." The expression of concern was followed by a chuckle.

Brian wrenched his head to the side, to be confronted by Emmett's grinning visage, as the man pranced along on the neighbouring treadmill. "Of course... I look... fever... ish," he gasped out, a couple syllables at a time. "I am... exercis... ing." Heaving for breath, he belatedly demanded, "And don't... call me... Bri."

"Oh, pooh." The flamboyant queen flapped a hand at him as he peered at the settings on Brian's treadmill. "You're moving at half my speed, Bri," he asserted smugly, "but you sound like Daisy, my Aunt Lula's prize-winning sow, when she'd rush to the trough at feeding time."

Brian wasn't sure what affronted him more - that Emmett, who rarely did a lick of real exercise, was outperforming him, or that he'd just been compared to a pig. He was so stunned by his predicament that he stopped running and simply gaped at the taller man. Since he was no longer moving, the conveyor belt carried him to the end of the machine and dumped him off. He almost landed on his keister, only saving himself by windmilling his arms and stumbling a few ungainly steps.

His eyes dancing with merriment as he watched Brian's less than graceful departure from the treadmill, Em continued speaking. "Daisy's trough was maybe," he calculated, "five yards away from where she liked to wallow in the mud. Of course, she was preggers most of the time - she farrowed one sought-after litter after another - so that was bound to slow her down some."

The nonplussed stud's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He must look like a fucking goldfish, he mused. In the recesses of his brain, a neuron jabbered about how excited a certain blond would be to learn the word farrow, if the kid didn't already know it, despite being raised in the city rather than on a farm. Brian hadn't heard it before, although he could guess the meaning from the context; personally, he'd prefer to have never become acquainted with the term for a sow giving birth.

"Brian?" someone else questioned, sounding worried. "You don't look so hot. Why don't you sit down on the hack squat machine? No one's using it right now."

Recognising Dr Dave's voice, Brian turned toward the older man to stress that he was always hot, thank you very much, but then Emmett let out a shriek.

"Oh, sweetie!" he husked dramatically, leaving his treadmill with a sprightly hop. "I wouldn't have teased you, if I'd known you're actually unwell. Whatever are you doing at the gym? You should be home in bed."

"Don't be absurd. I'm not sick," Brian grated through clenched teeth. Casting about for something to take the spotlight off himself, he focused on Emmett's garish ensemble - a T-shirt with psychedelic swirls of purple and pink accompanied by bright orange shorts. "What the fuck are you wearing, Honeycutt?" he blurted.

"Isn't it fabulous?" the queen shrilled, turning in a circle so the other men could get the full effect. "We just got these outfits in at Torso." 

"No wonder I never set foot in there," Brian snarked.

Em waved a dismissive hand at him, claiming to David, "No need for us to worry. Bri's in fine fettle, other than being fashion challenged, anyhow."

The chiropractor dubiously eyed the queen's colourful garb but forbore criticism. Instead, he gestured toward the free weights. "I was just about to start my bench press routine. You guys want to take turns spotting each other?"

"Erm," Emmett quibbled, "I've just started my morning jog, so I'll pass."

"Morning jog," Brian snorted. "Since when, Honeycutt?"

"Whenever I can find-" Emmett abruptly stopped talking, his eyes acquiring an acquisitive gleam as a stocky man with a greying buzz cut entered the gym, a navy overcoat over one arm and a burgundy scarf draped around his neck. 

Something about the man tickled at Brian's mind, but he couldn't place him. The fellow did fill out his suit impressively - a Rubinacci if he wasn't mistaken - but he was too old for Brian, with a good five or six years on David. 

"That is a fine-looking specimen," Dr Dave concurred with Em's unvoiced opinion.

"I'll just go introduce myself," Emmett informed them. "Toodles, boys."

Brian grinned as he watched his friend swish his way over to the newcomer. It looked like the tall queen was about to make another conquest. Or not, he thought as the bloke glanced in their direction and it clicked where he'd see that overcoat, just yesterday in fact. It was the marine who, at the behest of his boyfriend, had rescued him from the ‘wouldn't take no for an answer,' importunate trick. This was the first time Brian had seen the marine without his much younger, strawberry blond partner, so it wasn't surprising that he hadn't immediately recognised him.

The marine gave Brian a barely noticeable nod, as he reached out to accept the hand that Emmett had extended. They spoke briefly before Em shrugged philosophically and led him over to the counter, exchanging a few words with George, one of the owners of the gym. It looked like the man was inquiring about a membership, so Brian figured he'd be seeing him again.

For the first time since the incident at Babylon, remembering it didn't engender an urgent need in Brian to leave and lick his wounds in private. He was happy about the change in his own attitude and took it as proof that he was finally getting over the assault. With a congenial smile, he informed David, "I'm up for a round of weightlifting. How much do you bench?"

"I'm transitioning to a more advanced load, or I would be, if I could just get past 165 pounds," Dr Dave replied ruefully. "It's tough trying to keep up with all those young, brawny football and ice hockey players. They won't have anything to do with a chiropractor who can't manhandle them, if it's necessary."

Christ, Brian mused in admiration, the doc must be lifting more than his body weight, since David was about an inch and a half shorter than him and - as much as it galled him to admit it - even more fit. He'd have to come up with some excuse when it was his turn to bench; he didn't want to look like an utter tool in front of the doc. 

Since he couldn't compete with David's prowess - he wasn't about to state how much less he lifted - Brian jested, "You don't get enough practice tossing Mikey around?"

"He's all of 140 pounds soaking wet," David chuckled, "so that'd be a no. I could bench press him all night long and come no closer to my goal."

Brian's thoughts veered to another lightweight, one he planned on benching as soon as he could engineer an opportunity. To his horror, his dick plumped up in his shorts - Brian didn't want David to think he was interested in him, for Chrissake, so he hastily redirected his thoughts to an image of the munchers having sex. His burgeoning erection immediately wilted.

A few minutes later, while he was spotting the doc, who was on his third rep at 160 pounds - the guy managed Brian's body weight with relative ease - the adman remarked, "Thanks, by the way, for the tip about the bathhouse. I'm looking into it as a possible venue for my agency."

David apparently saw right through him, pausing before beginning the next rep to chide, "There's no way you're not panting after that property, Kinney. You don't need to worry, though; I'm not going to say a word to anyone, not even Michael. He wouldn't be able to resist sharing the news with Em, and probably the girls, and from there it would spread like wildfire through Pittsburgh's queer network." The chiropractor completed two more reps before halting again. "No thanks are necessary, anyway, not from you. I might never have gotten back together with my Honeybun if you hadn't clued me in as to what I was doing wrong, as well as steering me toward what he really wanted for a birthday present. Michael's just the most perfect guy for me," he gushed. "Button nose, delicate ears, soft brown eyes..."

Brian winced at the sickening, lesbianic pet name - that one seemed to be a favourite - and stopped listening altogether as Dr Dave waxed enthusiastic about his childhood friend's attributes. He did not want to hear about Mikey's chest hair or his cute cock. Who the fuck called a cock ‘cute' anyhow? A guy's dick should be anything but cute.

Taking into account how enraptured Michael and David were with each other - at Woody's on Thursday night, his friend had talked his ear off about his wonderful ‘honeypie' - he couldn't help thinking that if he hadn't seen Michael hit on Ben on Friday evening, he probably wouldn't believe it had happened. Mikey had a hot bloke of his own, one who was head over heels for him. The whole thing didn't make sense to Brian; he was certain Michael didn't want to lose his first real boyfriend, and on top of that, he'd never known Michael be so cruel to a close friend. 

Dr Dave's voice startled Brian from his musings. "You want to take a turn?"

"Uh, I think I'm going to wait till later." The younger man scrambled for the excuse he'd forgotten to manufacture. "I was barely on the treadmill for any time at all when my phone buzzed" - a white lie wouldn't hurt anyone, Brian figured - "so I want to finish my run first."

"Good." David smiled gratefully at him. "In that case, I'll put off fighting past the 165-pound barrier and go relax in the sauna instead."

Brian alternately walked and jogged on the treadmill for the next hour, forcing himself to keep going, even though he'd much rather head home for a siesta. Then, after making sure no one was in the vicinity of the scales, he shambled in that direction and stepped on. "Fuck, no," he groaned when 161.4 blinked at him in large red numbers. He'd gained more than a pound, which was absolutely unheard of. Taking a deep breath, the brunet stud trudged back to the treadmill and climbed on again, determined to work off all that horrid fat.

Like Brian, who was slaving away on the treadmill, Justin was panting when he reached the bus in front of St James and clambered aboard, Daphne right behind him. The out-of-breath teen flashed his bus pass at the driver, puffing, "Did I misread the Saturday schedule? I thought the bus was due at 9:10 and was sure we'd missed it."

As Daphne fed money into the fare box, the man replied, "No, you had it right. The 9:10 bus had a broken axle, though, and it took the Port Authority a while to get a replacement vehicle underway. When I pulled up to the stop to collect the passengers from the broken-down bus, my colleague was fit to be tied. The bloke's not very sociable at any time of day, but he's an absolute bear in the morning. I thought the riders were going to lynch him, given the way he was barking at them. Last I saw of the bear," the man chuckled as he navigated away from the curb, "he was turning the air blue while he waited to be towed to the station."

From the description of the stranded driver, Justin suspected it was the same one whose bus he'd transferred to earlier that morning. The reference to him being a ‘bear' amused the lad, as he imagined how tricks would react to Mr Grumpy's attempts at seduction.

"What's so funny?" Daph quizzed once they reached the back of the bus and found two empty seats.

"Just the play on bear," Justin giggled. "I couldn't help thinking about how much trouble that grumpy driver would have scoring on Liberty Avenue."

Her eyes sparkling with avid curiosity, Daphne probed, "Speaking of the avenue, specifically the diner, what's going on between Sydney and Harry? Did she take a shine to him or something?"

"More like they were instantly attracted to each other," the blond boy revealed. "Harry delivered a plate of fries for us to nosh on during the impromptu tutoring session. The moment they laid eyes on each other, it was kaboom!"

"Sounds more like insta-lust than a real attraction," Daph muttered, a hint of jealousy in her voice.

"Uh..." Justin flailed around for something to say, wishing Sydney hadn't asked him to pass on her greeting to Harry. 

"It's like I told you," the girl despaired. "It's all about big boobs, which the pom-pom girl has in spades!"

"Uh..." the blond lad repeated. He did not want to have another discussion about mammary glands. Why was it that he ended up talking about tits with straight people? "I, uh, don't think he was looking at Sydney's chest," he offered weakly. "They just gazed into each other's eyes for God knows how long - you know, like Brian and I did when he approached me under that lamppost."

"Oh, please." His bestie rolled her eyes. "You and Brian were totally checking each other out - from head to toe."

"Well, yeah," Justin admitted, "but we weren't staring at each other's package the whole time."

"That's just because they were hidden underneath layers of denim and underwear," Daphne insisted, waving a hand toward his crotch to emphasise the point.

The boy flushed, remembering how, the morning after, he'd snagged Brian's jockstrap from the bed and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans, right before Michael hustled him out of the loft.

"Sydney's gazongas, however," his friend complained, "are, like, out to here." She extended her hands in front of her chest, until she touched the seat in front of her. "There's no way to disguise them."

Justin couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Drama queen much?" he teased.

"I just wish the cute guys would look at me," Daphne grouched, "instead of just the girls with big knockers."

"Ehm," the lad squirmed in embarrassment, "you like Harry?"

"Huh?" Daph stared at him in astonishment. "Whatever gave you that idea, Jus?"

Perplexed, Justin threw his hands up in the air. Girls, who could possibly understand them?

For the next ten minutes Daphne ribbed him for thinking she was sweet on Harry. "I mean, he's a good guy, Jus, but there's no connection between us." She playfully threatened, "Maybe I should tell Harry how you wanted to set us up."

The lad huffed - as if he'd ever entertained such a notion - but didn't say anything. At least they were off the topic of boobs, he thought in relief. Ten minutes later, he put a halt to her increasingly ridiculous rambling, announcing, "This is where we transfer," after tugging on the yellow cord.

It was freezing cold outside, causing the two friends to stamp their feet and clap their mittened hands together in an attempt to warm up as they waited for the next bus. A slanting, icy rain, mixed with snowflakes, began to fall, adding to their misery.

Daphne tucked her hands into her armpits, glancing at the shivering blond lad in concern. "You need a real winter coat," she remarked, "something with insulation that will also repel water. You're going to get soaked through if we're out here much longer."

"It's on my shopping list," he replied, teeth chattering. "Fucking thing's a mile long, though, so a better coat will probably have to wait."

Frowning at him, Daphne criticised, "Don't be an idiot, Jus. Flu season has just started - what are you going to do if you get sick, huh? Paying Brian back a day or two earlier shouldn't come at the cost of your health."

Justin didn't want his bestie to know how many things he needed - a winter coat, gloves, and boots; a new pair of sneakers to replace the holey ones; some underwear that actually looked sexy, which would bring in bigger tips when he danced - the list went on and on. He also needed to replenish his art supplies and stop by the pharmacy to refill his prescriptions. He couldn't take the risk of going a single day without his pills; otherwise, he'd be sneezing constantly, his sinuses would swell up, and his face would go all blotchy red.

Daphne was right, though, that he couldn't afford to get sick, so he begrudgingly allowed, "Em has been making noises about a shopping trip. I'll check at Second Hand Job when we're out; Marvella might have something that won't cost me an arm and a leg."

"You could always spare a pound of flesh from your tush," the girl joked.

Placing his hands protectively over the round globes, Justin glared at his bestie. "My booty is not on offer, Shylock. It's perfect just the way it is."

Daphne giggled. "Damn. I was hoping I could use it for my breast augmentation once I saved up for it."

Justin eyed his friend warily. "Uh, I thought you'd decided against that, Daph..."

"Gotcha!" his friend crowed triumphantly as their bus arrived.

The blond was left speechless. He'd have to come up with something good to get even with Daphne.

His friend dozed off, her head resting on Justin's shoulder during the ride to Liberty Avenue. Surprisingly alert in spite of the lack of sleep, Justin scritched away with his pencil on his sketchpad. He glanced occasionally at his bestie, wanting to capture the soft, trusting expression on her face, her fringe covering one eye. He'd add himself to the drawing later. Unless he had a photo to work from, he found self-portraits challenging; he thought it might suffice, though, if he looked in the mirror while he sketched himself.

Noting they were approaching the stop nearest Deb's house, he gently shook the girl awake.

"Go 'way, Mum," the girl mumbled, burrowing in against Justin.

This was almost too perfect an opportunity, the lad thought, an impish grin stealing across his countenance. Doing his best to replicate Mrs Chanders' officious tones, he pitched his voice higher than usual and barked, "Get your rear out of bed, young lady! No lazing abed - maths awaits!"

"What! I'm gonna be late!" Daphne screeched, jerking up in her seat before looking around in befuddlement. "You- you-" she spluttered at Justin as she recognised where she was, slapping the blond's arm.

"Gotcha!" he managed to spit out between giggles.

Still glowering at her grinning friend as they disembarked, Daph asked, "What time is it anyway?"

"You could look at the Cartier wristwatch your parents got you for your sweet sixteen," Justin suggested.

"Hmm... no," Daphne objected. "I don't want to expose even a sliver of skin to the icy air. Besides," she pouted, "your old Timex is much more reliable."

Justin snorted, "That's only because you dropped yours into the swimming pool when you were ogling Glenn."

"It was an accident!" the girl squawked. 

"Uh-huh." The blond boy cocked his head at her knowingly.

"It was!" she reiterated vehemently. "And well, I thought the tosser would catch it before it hit the water." She pouted some more. "I couldn't believe it when I found out it wasn't waterproof; I haven't dared tell my folks I was so careless with such an expensive present."

"Why haven't you taken it to the jeweler's to get it repaired?" Justin wondered.

"My mum's too eagle-eyed," Daphne explained. "She'd be bound to notice and interrogate me if I don't have it on every day."

Justin gave his friend a sympathetic grimace as he pushed up the sleeve of his jacket. "It's going on eleven," he apprised Daph.

"Holy shit! Does the bus ride normally take that long?"

"Sometimes longer." The blond teenager shrugged. "It depends on how good the connections are. We got lucky that the 9:10 bus was running late - or we wouldn't have gotten here till the afternoon."

"Jesus, you must have to get up at the crack of dawn!" burst out of the aghast girl.

"Before dawn, it feels like," Justin disclosed as they skidded along the icy sidewalk. 

After opening the front door to Deb's house and ushering Daphne inside, Justin shouted, "We're here!"

"Hellooo, Briaaan," Harley chirped in response.

Wiping her hands on a dishcloth, Debbie emerged from the kitchen. "Harley only ever gives that greeting when you're around, Sunshine," she observed, chuckling when the lad's face pinkened.

"Harley's a smart budgie - he knows who rates with Jus," Daphne teased. "By the way," she shot a guileless look at the blond, "how's BOB?"

The redhead joined in the raillery, chortling, "There hasn't been much noise from your room of late, Kiddo. The poor fella must be feeling neglected."

It wasn't fair, Justin thought as his face went bright crimson, the way the women in his life were ganging up on him. A bloke didn't stand a chance of keeping up.

Although she maintained a poker face, Daphne's brown eyes sparkled wickedly. "Maybe I should check him out for you, Jus... make sure his batteries don't need charging."

Figuring it would be easier to contend with one laughing hyena instead of two, Justin motioned for Daph to join him as he headed for the stairs.

"I'll put the kettle on," his surrogate mum called after them, "since Vic and I have depleted the last one. I'll whip up a bite for the four of us to eat too."

Justin nodded at Deb and gave her a faint smile, still too mortified to say anything.

"Cat got your tongue?" the girl mocked, poking him in the back and almost treading on his heel.

The blond teen merely shrugged since he still hadn't come up with a witty retort. Smirking - his friend wouldn't know what had hit her - he pushed open the door to Michael's old room and waved her inside.

Two steps into the room, Daphne stopped dead, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head as she took in the decor. "Christ," she breathed out in shocked awe, "it's even worse than you described - one atrocity on top of another."

Justin sidled into the room behind his friend, dumping his backpack on the desk.

"You actually manage to study in here?" Daph queried.

"I wear blinders," the boy joked. That wasn't far from the truth, really; he had to block out the childish wallpaper, curtains, bedding - pretty much everything except the surface of the desk - to get anything done.

"Michael must suffer from arrested development," Daphne posited. "This room looks like it belongs to a ten or eleven-year-old."

"It's been frozen in time," Justin concurred.

"Yeah, like some sort of grotesque shrine to whatsit, his comic book hero," Daphne commented, flicking at one of the caped motorcycle riders with a peach-tinted fingernail. She halted as her finger bumped up against a framed picture, astonishment written across her features. "What the fuck?" she questioned, spinning around to look at Justin. "Why does Michael have tutu-clad women on his wall? They're kinda hard to see against the fugly wallpaper, but still..."

"I can't decide," Justin snarked, "whether they're Captain Astro's girlfriends - which would put paid to Michael's theory that his hero is gay - or whether it's the captain dressed in drag."

"I'll go with Ass-tro in drag," the girl drawled. "The women are butt-ugly enough to be men in disguise. "Oh!" she said a couple moments later, having reached the bulletin board jam-packed with various mementos. Daphne plucked a photo from the middle of the board, examining it more closely. "Oh, my God," she giggled, "Brian was such a geeky teenager!"

Her laughter was so infectious that Justin also started giggling, especially since he'd had the same thought about his former lover when he first saw the picture of Brian and Michael as young teens. "You'd better be careful not to say that where Brian can hear," he warned Daphne. "He really gets his dander up whenever anyone calls him geeky. He goes all ‘never was, never will be' about it." 

The blond zoned out for a few seconds, small droplets of perspiration beading on his skin as he remembered how calling Brian a geek had led to a night-long bout of steamy sex. Every time his former lover had started to fall asleep, Justin whispered "geek" into his ear, which necessitated the brunet stud trying to quell his cheekiness via another fuck...

The lad almost reached for the notebook on his desk to fan himself, halting when he recalled that Daph was in the room too. There was no way she wouldn't notice, which would provoke her to rib him some more.

"Michael was way cuter as a teenager," Daphne rendered her opinion. "He looks kind of like the sweet boy next door in this photo."

Grinning a bit maliciously, Justin remarked, "I hadn't stolen his ‘best friend' yet. That's what transformed him into a jealous shrew."

"Uh, you do realise that's an insult intended for a woman, right?" his friend asked, giggling some more.

"If the shrew fits..." the blond deadpanned.

Daphne groaned at the dreadful pun before pondering, "The transformative process must've started way before that, Jus, what with Brian stringing the guy along, making him think he had a chance. It's on Mikey, though, for refusing to get a clue and becoming so spiteful."

A delicious smell wafting up the stairs, followed by Debbie's shouted, "Come and get it!" ended the conversation.

Justin's stomach growled loudly at the notion of more food - it had been a long time since he'd eaten the brownies - setting off a sympathetic echo from Daph's midsection. The two teens practically galloped down the stairs in their eagerness to get to the fragrant-smelling lunch.

"Wash your mitts," Debbie ordered, pointing at them with a long wooden spoon as they tumbled into the kitchen.

Hurriedly cleansing his hands in the kitchen sink, Justin inhaled deeply. "Fuck, that smells good," he praised the cook.

"You mean it stinks good," Vic corrected from his seat at the table.

Debbie cackled, reminiscing, "Nonno used to make Nonna madder than a wet hen when he said that."

"Nonno did like to rile her," Vic agreed cheerfully. "Probably because it led to passionate make-up sex."

"Victor Grassi!" Debbie rebuked. "I don't want to think about our grandparents going at it."

"We wouldn't be here if they hadn't," the older man replied drily. "Besides, it's me, not you, who should be objecting to a mention of hetero sex."

"It's different when it involves our parents or grandparents," Deb insisted, shuddering.

Justin had to agree with his surrogate mum. He never wanted to imagine his parents ‘doing it'.

"Um, yeah. I'm with her," Daph intervened, obviously equally revolted by the idea.

"What did you think of my Michael's room?" Debbie inquired as she ladled heaping portions of sausage tortellini soup into bowls, handing them to Justin to place on the table.

"Erm," the girl stalled, searching for a diplomatic response.

"You're probably not into comics," Vic came to the rescue as he uncorked a bottle of pinot grigio.

"Not so much," Daph confirmed.

"I know, I know," Debbie forestalled Vic from saying more; "we need to redecorate that room. It's high time - Michael moved out over five years ago, and I doubt he'll ever return here to live." 

Justin blenched at the thought of sharing a house with Michael. One of them would undoubtedly murder the other before a week had passed.

After setting a basket of focaccia flatbread on the table, Deb gleefully rubbed her hands together. "In fact, he'll probably move in with David soon - I still can't believe my boy snagged a doctor."

Not that it stopped him from chasing after other guys, the teenager thought in disgust. From the corner of his eye, he caught Daph wrinkling her nose as if she had smelled something bad. They were, he suspected, on the same wavelength in regard to Michael's behaviour.

"Doesn't matter if it's a doctor or a dustman," Vic opined, "as long as he's happy."

Debbie rolled her eyes at her brother. "Sure, that's every mother's dream, for her son to bring home the local garbage man."

All of them burst out laughing. 

As the merriment died away, Vic held the wine bottle over Daphne's glass. "Your parents okay with you drinking a bit of vino?" he asked.

"Sure," she instantly replied. "They started letting me have a taste at dinner years ago. That was partly so I wouldn't be panting after alcohol, and partly so I'd learn what wine to pair with a dish."

"It's hard to have a proper Italian meal without wine," Debbie stated. "Pasta, pizza, seafood - it all needs a good vino to complement the flavour."

While they were slurping up their soup, Daphne commented excitedly, "Speaking of different types of jobs, how cool is it that Justin's going to be freelancing as an artist for Brian?"

"Sunshine!" the redhead squealed. She leaned over and squeezed the lad so tightly that Justin coughed his last spoonful back into the bowl.

Mortified, the lad stared down at the regurgitated soup in the nearly empty dish.

Vic bellowed through a gust of laughter, "Thank fuck Sis has found a new victim. The last time she hugged me like that while we were dining, I spewed my food all over the table and the other diners."

Debbie stood up, grabbed the bowl, bustled over to the sink, dumped the contents down the drain, took out a clean bowl, and returned to the table. "I don't know what you're fussing about, Vic," she chided. "All it takes is having a kid, with messes from both ends, not to get in a flap about a little spill."

If the tortellini weren't so tasty, Justin thought, he'd be put off his feed by that visual.

"Little spill, my ass," Vic muttered.

When the redhead unexpectedly clouted him across the head, Justin nearly had another accident, the soup he was ladling almost splattering onto the table. "What was that for?" Justin complained, rubbing at the spot as soon as he'd safely transferred the soup to his bowl.

"Why didn't you tell us you're going to be working for Brian?" the woman demanded, her fists planted on her hips, her red curls corkscrewing wildly as she shook her finger at him.

"Uh, Brian just asked me," the lad defended himself.

"I don't think so," Debbie disagreed, "or Daphne wouldn't know about it."

Daphne shot him an apologetic look for revealing the news before he'd told the siblings. It was his fault, Justin realised; he hadn't made it clear that she was the only person with whom he'd shared that titbit. 

"I honestly didn't think about it," he disclosed. "Brian just brought it up on Thursday evening. When I got home, the two of you were riveted to the telly, watching a movie. I didn't want to interrupt," he shrugged, "and I needed to study, so I figured I'd tell you later."

"Oh, right," Vic interjected. "We rented Gladiator - I snatched the last copy of the just-released VHS from under Marvella's nose at Blockbuster Video, when she made the mistake of turning around to talk to a built guy who must be her partner."

"Talking about guys who are fit, that Russell Crowe is a real dish," Deb announced, fanning herself with her napkin.

"Yep," Daphne averred, a dreamy expression on her face, "like I told Jus, I'd totally climb him like a tree."

As he hoovered up more of the soup, Justin felt a twinge of regret that he'd missed the film. Now, he'd have to wait till there wasn't a mile-long queue of queers waiting for a chance at it.

Vic, who must've noticed his crestfallen look, piped up, "We can rent it again, Kiddo. I wouldn't mind salivating over Crowe another time around."

"Me neither," Debbie promptly seconded. "Now, tell us all about this freelancing gig."

"I don't know much yet," Justin admitted, "not the number of hours or the hourly salary."

"Knowing Brian, it'll be generous," Vic commented. "He believes in rewarding quality work."

"I'm really happy for both you and Brian," the redhead declared, beaming at Justin. "You'll gain experience working in a professional capacity, and Brian will have the benefit of a talented artist working for him."

"I hope I won't disappoint," Justin murmured, remembering how underwhelmed Brian had been by his initial attempt at a company logo.

"You'll do fine," Vic asserted confidently. "Brian will make sure your hours fit in around your studies and-"

"You can't possibly work three jobs, though, on top of studying," Debbie intervened. A frown flitting across her countenance, she queried, "Are you going to give up both the dance gig and the diner? I'd miss your smiling-"

"I'm not quitting either one!" Justin yelled, feeling horribly picked on.

"There's no reason to get upset, Kiddo," Vic interposed in a calm tone. "Sis and I just don't want to see you work yourself into an early grave in an effort to repay Brian."

Justin stared at the older man. How could he possibly know about his plans to pay back every penny? He was certain Deb wouldn't have said a word.

Vic immediately affirmed his supposition. "No, Sis didn't say anything, but I'd have to be an idiot not to figure it out. There's no other reason for you to work yourself to the bone. Don't give me that crap about funding your higher education," he chastised before Justin could open his mouth to do just that. "Between scholarships, financial aid, and working, you'll be able to handle the tuition, even if you don't have much spare cash."

Placing a hand on her friend's arm, Daphne urged, "Please think about giving up the dancing, Jus. The money you'll earn isn't worth the wear and tear on you."

"I just want to give it a try," Justin said for what felt like the umpteenth time. "So please don't lecture me about what I should do, okay?" he beseeched, looking first at Debbie, then Vic, and finally Daphne.

"I won't make that kind of promise," his surrogate mum dissented. "No," she held up a hand, "we're not going to argue about it. I'll give you as much leeway as I can, but I take this in loco parentis business seriously, so if I see you making yourself ill, I'm going to sit you down, and we'll have a serious talk about what you are and aren't allowed to do. Capisci?"

"Yeah, okay," Justin choked out, tearing up at being so cared for by the motherly woman. He really had lucked out, having Deb take him under her wing, he reflected yet again.

 "Enough of this sentimental bullshit," Vic interceded with a wink at Justin. "It looks like you two have polished off the soup, so why don't you take some of those brownies Sis baked out to the living room to help fuel your studies? Thankfully, I graduated from high school years ago, so I'll indulge in a nap instead. I'm a bit tired."

"I'll just help clear the table," Justin offered as he stood up. 

"The only thing you need to clear away," Debbie joshed, "is that crazy budgie. He's definitely a chip off the old block - acts just like Harley I." She gestured toward Harley's cage, where the budgie was preening in front of his green mirror lantern before batting at it with one claw, causing the bell to chime merrily.

As the lantern stilled, Harley chirped at his mirror image, "Hellooo, Briaaan."

Justin began giggling helplessly. "Could he possibly be more like Brian, admiring himself like that?" he wondered.

"It wasn't ‘Briaaan' that Harley the First took after, however," Vic teased, tongue in cheek. "It was Daa-"

"Hush, you," Debbie ordered, swatting her sibling with the dish towel.

The blond lad was dying of curiosity - could Vic have been about to reveal the name of a former boyfriend of Deb's?

"I'll tell you later," Vic murmured sotto voce as he brushed past Justin with dishes from the table.

"Who do you think Vic was talking about?" Daphne asked Justin a few minutes later, carrying a tray with tea and brownies as she followed her friend into the living room. "I had the idea that Debbie hadn't dated anyone in forever, like, I don't know, since she had Michael."

The blond teen mulled it over as they settled on the couch and arranged Harley's cage as well as their tea and dessert on the coffee table. "I got a chance to look through some of the family photo albums when we were cleaning out the attic, but the pictures were mostly of family members, as far as I could tell. Debbie was a real looker back in high school, though; I bet the boys were swarming around her."

"It's a shame that she doesn't have someone," Daphne sighed. "I mean, I know she's kinda old for sex, but she should have someone to cuddle up with."

"Um," Justin chuckled, "I doubt Debbie's too old for sex. I mean she's not even fifty yet, not if she had Michael before she graduated from high school."

"I guess not, but it's gross to think about it," the girl replied, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "She's our parents' age, so it's like what Deb said - who wants to imagine their mum and dad having sex?"

"Not me," Justin concurred with a grimace. "A bit of romance, though, that's different, right?"

"Well, duh." Daph elbowed him in the side, "That's what I just said, you numbskull."

The lad gave his bestie an irritated glance that quickly morphed into a smug smile. "Debbie just might have a beau," he drawled.

"What? Give!" the girl demanded.

"Remember me talking about Detective Horvath?"

Daphne looked at him blankly.

"The one who's investigating the burglary at Brian's loft," Justin elaborated.

"Oh, right," Daph responded slowly. "Isn't he the scary Asian detective's partner?"

Justin laughed, speculating whether Carl got that a lot - being referred to as Wen's partner.

"Is he still poking around?" his friend asked.

At that question, the boy laughed outright. "Detective Horvath wants to poke around Debbie," he divulged.

"How do you know that?" Daphne inquired, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"We've been getting to know each other a little," Justin explained, "since he questioned me at the diner, when he was following up on the robbery. Then I went to see him at the police station to report the torched locker, and-"

"Which you should've done a lot sooner," the girl interjected.

"Believe me, I've heard that from you and everyone else," the blond teenager acknowledged her concern. "Anyway, Detective Horvath said how I could contact him at any time - and since I was pretty sure he meant it - I called him the afternoon of the bad snowstorm, when I got stranded at St James."

"What? You never told me you got stranded!" Daphne squawked.

"I wasn't intentionally keeping it from you," Justin reassured her. "It's just that I missed the bus. It was fucking freezing outside, and it would've taken me forever to slog home through the snow that day. The only person I could think of who might be available to help out was the detective, so I gave him a ring. Carl, uh, he wants me to call him by his first name," the lad stammered, "couldn't possibly miss the way my stomach was growling-"

Daphne interrupted again, recalling, "Ugh. That's the day they served the undercooked potato and overboiled egg drenched in that horrid dill sauce."

"And neither of us had a snack to tide us over till we got home," Justin agreed. He resumed his tale, "I ended up admitting that I hadn't had anything to eat since the day before, and Carl insisted that we stop at a restaurant for something to eat. The detective, um, he was so interested and caring, wanting to know how I was doing" - the lad stared down into his teacup - "just like a father should be." He blinked to clear his eyes of the tears that suddenly threatened to fall, mumbling, "Like how Craig should be."

Scooching closer to him on the sofa, Daphne rubbed his arm comfortingly. "But now, you've got what, two dads? Vic and the detective?"

"I guess I'm pretty lucky after all, huh?" Justin choked out, looking at his friend through watery eyes.

"You are," Daphne concurred, smiling brightly at him. "Plus, you've got Deb, who has the biggest heart ever."

Justin nodded, blotting at his damp eyes with his shirt sleeve.

"What you've failed to tell me, though," the girl mocked gently, "is how you know that the detective's interested in Debbie."

"Oh, er, Carl's had his eye on Debbie since the first time he saw her at the diner, when he came to question me about the burglary," Justin elucidated. "I suspect he enjoyed her feistiness, the way she stood up for what she thought was right. He kept dropping by the diner, oftentimes with the flimsiest of excuses, and then he joined us for Thanksgiving after I invited-"

"For fuck's sake, Jus," his exasperated friend poked him in the side, "you're supposed to fill me in about what's going on with you - like the detective being there for Thanksgiving dinner."

Justin gave Daphne his best contrite look. 

"Oh, all right, I'll forgive you this once." Daphne laughed, joking, "I wouldn't want to be cut off from my source for baked goodies," as she stuffed a brownie into her mouth.

"Wanna concentrate on physics today," Justin asked, "so you'll be relatively prepared for the final exam?"

"You'll never make a punster, Jus," the girl accused, shaking her head in mock despair at the boy's tomfoolery. "That was pitiful."

"Mr Horner rewards relative preparedness," Justin punned again with an unrepentant, cheeky grin.

After they collected their textbooks, the youngsters buckled down, studiously poring over the material for nearly two hours, before Daphne croaked, "Enough. Information overload. I'm gonna call home and see if my mum or dad can come get me."

"Another cup of tea for the road?" Justin questioned as she pulled out her mobile.

"As long as I can visit the bathroom first," his friend giggled. "Otherwise I'll be like that girl from maths, crossing my legs, jiggling in my seat, and whining, "But I have to go!"

"The downstairs loo is over there." Justin waved toward the half bath that was tucked behind the staircase. He trotted into the kitchen with the empty teapot, returning a few minutes later with a fresh, steaming pot and more brownies.

"Okay, I'm ready for another cuppa," Daphne declared as she emerged from the WC, "now that I've made room. My dad won't be here for about half an hour."

While Justin was pouring tea for both of them, his eyes lighted on the oblong checkers box, which was resting on top of the telly. "Hey," he queried as he placed the refilled cup in front of his friend, "do I have ‘tells' when I play board games, especially draughts?"

"Uh," Daph hedged, her eyes sliding away from his, "what makes you ask that?"

The lad pouted. "Carl and I played a couple rounds while we were digesting our Thanksgiving dinner. I thought I was a pretty decent player, but the detective absolutely annihilated me. Then I remembered that you win most of the time when we play, so I thought maybe there was something to what he said."

"You do have a couple giveaways," Daphne admitted reluctantly, "but if I share them with you, you'll probably start beating me."

"Would a daily delivery of lemon bars next week convince you to reveal my tells?" Justin inquired hopefully.

"That is a pretty sweet bribe," Daph giggled. "Really all the tutoring you're giving me should be enough of an inducement, but I'll accept the lemon bars too."

Justin looked at her expectantly.

"When we're playing checkers," the girl disclosed, "you always have your left hand next to the board, and you have a habit of marking off with your index finger which stone, or at least which row, you're going to play next."

"Huh, I must be doing that unconsciously so I don't forget how I want to react, depending on what my opponent does," Justin mused.

"You could always tie your left hand behind your back," Daphne kidded.

"Or my right hand," Justin riposted, not at all bothered by his bestie's teasing. "I'm ambidextrous, after all."

Daph rolled her eyes fondly. "Like it's so tough to be ambidextrous when you're playing draughts, Jus."

"You try it," the blond dared the girl. "You won't find it as easy as you think."

"What for?" Daphne retorted, boasting, "I'm still the better player, so I don't need that kind of gimmick."

Not for long, Justin promised himself; his friend would be eating her words.

You're also predictable in how you react to some of my moves," Daph divulged. "You need to mix it up more, so I'm not as likely to capture your men."

"Geesh," the lad complained, "you make it sound like I hardly know how to play the game."

"Oh, please," she pshawed, "it's not like I decimate your stones in ten minutes flat or anything. If I know you, Jus," she conjectured, "the minute I leave, you're gonna grab the board I see on the telly and start playing against yourself, so you can hone your skills."

"Predictable again?" Justin mumbled sourly. He had been planning to do exactly that.

"Nope, just competitive," Daphne proclaimed. "Neither of us likes to lose."

They both glanced through the window when a horn honked outside. Quickly taking a last sip of her tea, the young woman rose from the sofa, toting her backpack to the door, where Justin helped her into her coat.

"Thanks for all the help," she said, giving the blond teen a firm hug. "I'm starting to think I can raise my final grade in physics to a B-."

"And it'll be As for both us at the end of spring," Justin announced.

"You betcha!" Daph answered, smiling as she left the house.

With Daphne gone, Justin - as they'd both predicted - played a couple games of checkers, pretending Harley was his opponent and consulting him on what moves he should make. He giggled when his left hand crept toward the board, sitting on it to make it stay still. Once the second game was over, he made himself stop playing and start on the schoolwork for his other classes.

A productive couple of hours later, the doorbell rang, interrupting Justin from working on the creative writing homework he had spread across the living room coffee table. He quickly jumped up, yelling at Debbie, who was in the kitchen cooking dinner, that he'd get the door.

He felt almost sorry he had, when he opened the front door and found himself face to face with Michael.

The brunet scowled at him. "What are you doing here?"

Justin stared at him in disbelief. Where the hell had this sudden attitude come from? "I live here," he deadpanned. "What are you doing here?"

Michael didn't respond, just pushed past him to get inside the house. "Ma!" he shouted. "I'm here!"

Debbie came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "I can see that, Honey," she remarked with an amused smile, giving her son a kiss on the cheek. "We didn't expect you, I don't know if I'll have enough of the goulash for all of us."

This prompted Michael to shoot Justin a glare. "The leech will just have to settle for a smaller portion then."

Debbie flicked the dishcloth at him. "Michael!" she admonished him. "Be nice and set the table, would you?"

The brunet huffed, reminding Justin of a mardy teenager. "Can't Justin do it? I mean, it's kind of his job."

Hands on her hips, the redhead narrowed her eyes at her son, "Michael Charles Novotny! It's no more Justin's job than it is yours. Both of you are part of my family. Now, if you'd quit whinging and set the table, you'll be done in all of five minutes. Then you can relax with Sunshine while I finish cooking. Capisci?"

"Yeah, okay, Ma," the short brunet sulkily agreed. He made a big production out of getting the dishes from the cupboard, putting the plates down with a loud clatter.

When Debbie ordered, "Be careful or you'll break those," the blond teen escaped to the living room.

Justin went back to his homework, trying to ignore Michael, who had just settled down on the sofa opposite him and was smirking at him smugly. Unable to concentrate on his homework, Justin lost his patience after a couple of minutes and threw his pen down. "Ok, what's going on?" he asked the older man.

The brunet snorted. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Justin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at Michael's immature behaviour. "Yes, I would," he said instead. "That's why I asked."

The older man leaned over the coffee table to smirk at Justin from up close, wrinkling some of the teenager's papers in the process. "I saw something yesterday."

The blond raised his eyebrows. "And?"

Michael grinned. "And," he whispered slowly, clearly enjoying himself, "you are finally on the outs."

Justin snorted skeptically. "What are you even talking about?" Could the muppet possibly be any more vague?

"He found a better blond!" Michael crowed.

Like that made it all clear, Justin thought, rolling his eyes. He had no clue what the little weasel was talking about.

"Brian, you idiot!" Michael screamed, jumping around in his chair. "Brian found a prettier blond than you! I know he fucked the shit outta that guy."

The teenager yawned. How could Michael think Brian fucking a trick in the backroom, no matter the colour of his hair, was newsworthy?

"Everything okay, boys?" Deb inquired, sticking her head into the living room. "It's getting kinda loud in here."

"We're fine, Ma," Michael simpered at his mother, gesturing vaguely at the TV. "Just an exciting game we were discussing."

Did he really think Debbie would fall for that? As far as Justin knew, Michael had zero interest in sports of any kind.

"Huh." The redhead eyed the remote control, which was on top of the telly, nowhere close to either of them. "Well, keep it down. Vic's not going to get any rest if you make a ruckus."

Frowning, Justin mused that Vic was indulging in an awfully long nap. He shrugged it off a moment later, though, figuring the older man must've had a restless night; Vic had said that happened sometimes because of his meds.

As soon as Deb left the room, Michael hissed. "Don't you get it? Brian found an improved blond, one who's not only better-looking than you but who also won't stalk him like a teenaged lapdog."

Justin snorted. If anyone was Brian's lapdog, it was Michael.

His face turning blotchy with anger at the younger man's disinterest, Michael taunted, "I was there yesterday evening, you little pissant, when Brian let the blond doublefinger into his loft. Like I said, though, he was much prettier than you. Brian couldn't keep his hands or his lips off the kid!" he finished triumphantly.

If he weren't so horror-struck, Justin mused, he'd laugh at Michael's latest malapropism, mangling doppelgänger into ‘doublefinger'. Instead, he sat frozen in place, Michael's announcement reverberating in his head. He wouldn't have cared if Brian had fucked a trick in the backroom at Babylon, or even at the loft - both were pretty much standard operating procedure for the stud. But for his former lover to procure another blond - a rent boy who must've borne a strong resemblance to Justin - mere hours after propositioning him to come over for an all-night fuck, was another matter entirely. He was so pissed that he couldn't see or hear anything for a few long moments.

When he became aware of his surroundings again, he saw Michael's mug hovering in front of him, malicious pleasure in the brunet's eyes as he jeered, "Guess you're not much of a Boy Wonder after all, huh? Now that he's had better, Brian will never fuck you again."

Justin refused to give Michael any further satisfaction by reacting strongly. If it wouldn't show how upset he truly was, he'd retaliate by saying it was far more likely that Brian would fuck him again, than that he'd ever fuck Michael for a first time. Somehow, he found the wherewithal to reply mildly, "Brian can fuck whomever he wants; we're not together any more."

"Come and get it boys!" Debbie yelled from the kitchen, sparing Justin from having to listen to more vituperative remarks from Michael. 

"That looks really good, Debs," the blond complimented his surrogate mum, whilst wondering how he could force down a single bite. It was one of the few times in his life that he could remember his appetite deserting him.

"Thanks, Sunshine." Debbie beamed at him. "I'm afraid it's nothing special, though; I just threw some of the leftover ingredients from lunch together with a few other items to create a goulash."

Worried that his stomach might revolt at any moment, Justin tried to take a small helping, but the redhead would have none of that, nabbing the serving spoon from him and ladling a larger portion into his bowl, cackling, "Don't forget you're a growing boy, Kiddo."

The blond lad swirled his spoon around in his bowl, hoping Debbie wouldn't notice he wasn't actually consuming any of the stew. If it would erase Michael's smug grin, he'd be tempted to catapult some of it onto the brunet's face.

"Why didn't you bring Dr Dave with you, Honey?" Deb asked her son. "I hope he knows he's always welcome here."

Michael pouted a little. "He was supposed to cook for the two of us, but then he got called in to attend to an injured Penguin. I dropped him off so I could use his car."

"So that's why you came over?" the redhead asked, quirking her eyebrow at her son. "Because David wasn't available to cook for you?"

"Well, yeah. That's what mothers do, right?" Michael claimed. "I know it makes you happy to cook for me, Ma."

Justin stared at the spoiled brat in shock. He would never have dared say something so rude to his mum; if he had, no one would have been able to find his body.

"Michael Charles Novotny!" Debbie called out in outrage, rapping his knuckles with the wooden serving spoon. "I'd better be more than a short-order cook who supplies the food you shovel into your gob!"

"Ow!" Michael protested, snatching his hand away. "That hurt."

Justin barely suppressed a laugh. Too bad Debbie hadn't applied more of that kind of discipline when Michael was growing up.

"You can be polite, Michael, and show some appreciation for a home-cooked meal, or you can go home and rustle up something for yourself," the irate woman commanded.

"I'll stay," the brunet mumbled as he shoved another large spoonful into his mouth. "The only ready-to-eat thing at my Honeybun's is a can of tuna, and I don't do seafood."

The blond boy guessed that passed for appreciation from Michael.

"Yes you do, Honey," Debbie cackled. "You see food, you eat food." 

Justin grinned to himself. He adored Deb's brash sense of humour.

Shaking her head in resignation, the redhead mused, "How you can be part Italian and not eat fish, I don't know."

"I bet Brian would like this stew," Michael proclaimed a few minutes later, scooping up another helping of the goulash. "Since your lodger isn't eating, I should take some of it over to him."

"Sunshine? Are you feeling all right?" Debbie asked in motherly concern, reaching over to press the back of one hand to Justin's forehead.

"Yeah." Justin gave her a sheepish look. "I think I may have eaten too many brownies," he prevaricated.

The redhead glanced at him in puzzlement. "A little dessert has never lessened your appetite before, Kiddo. It doesn't matter if you're not hungry right now, though; the stew can be reheated."

"Ma!" Michael objected. "I just told you I want to take some of this over to Brian."

"Don't be ridiculous," Debbie retorted. "You don't even know if Brian's home, and regardless, he eats like a fucking bird - he'd bitch and moan about how much fat there is in the goulash. I'm not having it go to waste."

A sullen expression on his face, Michael opened his mouth to argue some more.

"Oh, speaking of Brian," Debbie announced, "have you heard the good news that Justin's going to be working for him?"

"What? No way - he's just gotten rid of the little shit," the brunet objected loudly.

"Brian knows quality when he sees it," Deb proudly asserted. "Sunshine's going to be freelancing as an artist for Brian's new agency."

"No way!" Michael reiterated, pushing back his chair and standing up. "He can't want to have that irresponsible brat working for him. I'd better go talk some sense into my best friend."

"Sit down!" Debbie ordered. The fiery redhead waited until her son had complied before stating, "You know very well, Michael, that Brian never does anything he doesn't want to do, so if he's hired Sunshine, it's because he's seen what a strong work ethic Justin has, and he knows the artwork Sunshine produces will meet his exacting standards."

Justin felt warmed by Debbie's defense of him and was especially gratified to observe how Michael's earlier smugness had faltered. His appetite beginning to return, he spooned up some of the goulash, doing his best to ignore the other man's denigration of his character.

The short brunet didn't deign to look at the teen as he gesticulated wildly with his arms, ranting, "He's a complete tosser! He's already proven how irresponsible he is, leaving Brian's loft unlocked so that thieves could burgle all of his stuff. The little knobhead will probably end up doing the same thing at his new place of business. Don't you see, Ma? I've got to warn Brian before he makes a huge mistake!"

Although he was seething at indirectly being called a mistake, Justin didn't try to exonerate himself, afraid he'd say something unforgivable to Michael. He doubted any comment he made would bother the older man, but he might hurt his surrogate mother's feelings, which he didn't want to happen. So he stayed quiet, letting Debbie defend him.

"Michael, I'm ashamed of you!" the redhead castigated her son. "Justin is a member of this family, same as you. He is not a mistake."

"But, Ma," the brunet whined, "it won't be good for Brian's reputation to have a go-go boy working for him. What will his clients think?"

"I wish Sunshine would quit dancing," Debbie replied, her tone sharp, "because I think he's exhausting himself by taking on too much. But," she chuckled, "I don't see how his go-go dancing could possibly harm Brian's agency. How would his clients find out about it anyway? And if they're the kind of customer who'd actually visit Babylon and watch Justin swivel his hips" - Debbie waggled her eyebrows - "that would probably just make them eager to have Brian and his multitalented artist handle their accounts."

The blond was bewildered by Michael's plan of attack. If the man wanted him to keep dancing, thereby making him an undesirable employee, shouldn't he be encouraging Justin to remain a go-go boy? Instead the nitwit seemed to be suggesting that if Justin didn't stop dancing, he was being ungrateful.

"I'll just get us some dessert," Debbie offered, rising from the table. "Maybe that'll tempt your appetite, Sunshine."

"Um, I think my appetite has already returned." Justin smiled at his surrogate mum, holding out an empty bowl.

"That's great!" The redhead beamed at him. "Now, how about a slice of pecan pie?"

"Yes, please," the blond responded eagerly. "Can I do anything to help?"

"Always so polite," Debbie noted, chucking him affectionately under the chin. "Why don't you start a pot of coffee?"

The teen set about measuring the grounds and pouring water into the coffee maker, doing his best to ignore a glowering Michael. He'd had a surfeit of the man's petty behaviour for one day and hoped the brunet would leave as soon as he'd consumed a piece of the pie.

Once the coffee had percolated, Justin filled three mugs and rejoined the others at the table, salivating as he eyed the ginormous piece of pie in front of his chair. "Did you give me half the pie?" he teased Debbie.

"Sure, Kiddo," the redhead joked in return. "Gotta fuel you up for your dance gig tonight."

Michael again muttered something about him being an ungrateful brat, but that was hardly a new slur, so Justin didn't pay attention.

"Golly," Deb suddenly spoke up, "I can't believe I forgot to remind everyone - tomorrow the Christmas decorations have to go up. Because of the garage sale, we've already deviated from the Grassi-Novotny tradition of decorating on the first Sunday after Thanksgiving; we can't put it off any longer. You're both all set to help, right?"

"I'm looking forward to putting up all those decorations we unearthed from the attic," Justin readily acknowledged.

"Sorry, Ma, no can do," Michael responded. "I'm supposed to spend the day with David."

"Nice try," Deb laughed at her son. "But it won't fly since I chatted with Dr Dave at the diner yesterday. He said he has to be at the game the Ironmen are playing in the afternoon, in case any of them require his services."

"But I was going to-"

Justin never heard what excuse Michael was going to give next, since Debbie put her foot down. "It's a family tradition," she emphasised. "We've been doing it this way ever since Nonno and Nonna purchased this house; it's not going to change now. Besides, this year," Debbie smiled warmly at Michael and then at Justin, "I have two sons to help out."

The blond felt himself getting all misty-eyed at being counted as one of Deb's sons. He decided he could even put up with Michael's spiteful attitude if he had Debbie for a surrogate mother.

While Justin was doing his best to tolerate Michael, Brian was busy cruising down Liberty Avenue. Following his torturous run on the treadmill, he'd been only too glad to drive back to the loft and crash on his bed for a couple of hours. He even forwent the sauna at Ript, too tired to care about how much it might've relaxed his sore muscles.

Then, invigorated by his nap, Brian had showered, replaced the soiled bedding - which was beginning to reek after the session with the sub-par escort last night - and settled in front of his computer, trying to come up with sexy ad copy for the Wertshafter account. Unhappy with the results, he gave up a few hours later and decamped to Woody's for a drink, and maybe a trick to suck him off. Multiple offers and a few beers later, with none of the potential tricks appealing to the brunet stud as much as the blond teenager who'd rejected him the day before, he decided it couldn't hurt to implement the first step of Operation Twat Retrieval a little earlier than planned. He'd just drive by Debbie's home and drop in for a chat with Vic. No one would suspect he was really there to see Justin.

Brian frowned in consternation when he noticed Dr Dave's car parked in front of Deb's house. If he went inside, Michael and David were bound to be cooing at each other, and he'd had more than enough of such ridiculous behaviour. He recalled again how Mikey had hung all over him at Woody's, while babbling about his ‘mookie-pookie bear,' the nauseatingly cute endearment making the stud's stomach roil. Plus, it would be difficult for him to shake off Michael - his childhood friend almost always seemed to know exactly where he was and what he was doing when they were in the same place - so he probably wouldn't be able to engineer a private moment with Justin, especially if the blond was still pissed off about the previous day's contretemps.

Sighing, the adman turned his jeep around and headed back to the loft. He refused to contend with the other horny fags at Babylon for the blond brat's attention while he was dancing; that meant he'd have to settle for jerking off to porn or a movie star in one of his favourite films.

After dancing for over four hours that night, Justin was still totally peeved at Brian and stewing about how his ex had first tried to fuck him and then substituted him with some rent boy. It felt like Brian had only wanted to scratch an itch, not actually sleep with Justin. Obviously, any blond would do to satisfy the brunet's needs.

The teenager barely noticed his surroundings or the hands that pawed at him lustfully as the patrons slipped money under the bands of his white briefs. Finally, however, Freddie's shouted, "Justin, it's time for your break," penetrated his angry haze. "Jesus, kid, what's with you tonight?" the bartender asked as he helped him down from the bar. "The fags are loving the way you're shaking your booty like the fucking Energizer Bunny, but you need to rest occasionally, or you're going to collapse."

"Ehm, I've just got some stuff going on," Justin fumbled for a reason to explain his unusual level of energy.

"Whatever, you need to hydrate," the kindly barkeep persisted in caring for the boy, pushing a bottle of cold water at him. "Even if you want to hang out behind the bar rather than going to the break room, you should wipe off the sweat," he added, tossing a towel at Justin, "and cover up, or you'll get chilled."

As sweat streamed down his body, the lad found it hard to imagine being cold, but he knew Freddie was right about catching a chill, so he toweled off before donning the T-shirt and sweats the man threw at him. The sweatpants swam on him, but at least that made it easy to pull them on without removing his trainers.

"Have you noticed your new admirer?" Freddie spoke into Justin's ear as he served drinks to the men pressing up against the bar.

"Huh?" That got the blond teen's attention, his head whipping around as he looked to see whether the creep who'd wanted a jizz-o-graph was nearby.

"Relax," Freddie chuckled. "The guy's harmless, kinda cute, not much older than you, I'd guess. He looks like he's scared shitless; he started to approach you a couple of times, but then he backed off."

"Which one is he?" Justin queried, beginning to get curious. It was nice to have a distraction from his dark thoughts about Brian.

"You'd better not be obvious about checking him out, or he'll probably duck behind that pillar again, the one to the left of the bar," the bartender advised. "He's the dude wearing street clothes, a denim jacket over a dark green T-shirt - makes me wonder if he's ever been here before since it's hardly typical clubbing attire."

Raising his hands above his head, Justin stretched, working out the kinks in his back as he casually looked toward the area Freddie had indicated. He quickly located the boy, his plain clothing making him stick out amongst the nattily dressed queers. "Is it okay if I nab a bottle of water for him?" the blond teen asked.

"Of course. Help yourself," the barkeep answered as he handed drinks to a couple of customers and collected their payment.

Justin sauntered toward the kid - he might be a little older than him, but his uncertainty made him appear younger. Once he was next to the other boy, he propped a shoulder against the post and casually inquired, "Want some water?"

The brown-haired lad jumped a little, clearly startled. "Who, me?" he asked

"Yeah, you looked like you might be thirsty," Justin replied, holding out the extra bottle of water.

"Uh, thanks." The boy blushed as he accepted the bottle.

"I'm Justin," the blond offered, holding out his hand.

The other lad fumbled with his bottle, before he managed to extend his right hand to shake Justin's. Clearing his throat, he squeaked, "Erk, uh, that is, Eric. I'm Eric."

Justin couldn't prevent himself from grinning. The kid reminded him of himself, that first night he'd set foot on Liberty Avenue. 

Eric sighed, smacking himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand. "I sound like such a dolt."

"I think we all do... the first time," the blond teen remarked gently. Considering the other boy's clumsy hesitancy, he was beginning to suspect he might be a virgin, although he probably wasn't as inexperienced as Justin had been a couple months ago.

The other boy winced. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only because I acted the same, not all that long ago," Justin explained.

"How old are you?" Eric blurted, hastily tacking on, "I don't mean to be rude, but you look like you're maybe fifteen. A, uh, really hot fifteen."

"I'll be eighteen in a couple of months," Justin enlightened him. "How about you?"

The boy shuffled awkwardly in place, finally untwisting the cap of the bottle and breaking the seal. He slopped water down his front as he went to take a sip, exclaiming, "Shit!"

"That's not an age I've heard before," the blond teased. In the back of his mind, he could hear the embarrassing ‘rocket launch' countdown he'd gone through with Brian, before finally halting at seventeen.

His face turning red, Eric stammered, "Uh, I'm nineteen, almost twenty."

"So what do you think of Babylon?" Justin asked, trying to put the other boy at ease.

"It's really cool," Eric asserted, eyeing the throng of dancing men. "Er, do you ever dance with the customers? I've been watching you for a while, but I've been too chickenshit to approach you. It's hard to compete with some of the guys in here, who are, like, all over you."

Justin glanced down at himself before smiling at Eric, "Not when my pants are about to slide off and trip me up," he joked.

"Maybe later?" Eric asked hopefully.

"I can't. I dance until the club closes at two o'clock," the blond stated. "Some night when I'm not working, though, sure."

"Um." The other lad visibly gathered his courage. "If I waited for you, would you like to go home with me? I live in a dorm over at Carnegie Mellon, but my roommate's away for the night, so we'd have the place all to ourselves."

Justin blinked, not having expected that invitation. He examined Eric more closely, liking what he saw - a lean body, pleasing facial features, and - best of all - the way the boy so openly admired him. Why should he wait around for Brian any longer? Justin mused, acknowledging to himself that he'd been doing exactly that. It was pathetic, especially since it appeared that he was interchangeable with any other blond his former lover could find. Plus, before the burglary, he'd been getting rather tired of dealing with Brian's stubborn refusal to think of him as more than a convenient fuck, even though his actions said otherwise. 

"I won't be off for almost two hours," Justin cautioned. "Are you sure you want to wait that long?"

Eric gave him a radiant smile. "No problem. I'll just watch you dance."

As promised, Eric watched Justin all the way through the final song for the night which, unsurprisingly, was In the Navy. The blond danced to the song more enthusiastically than he had earlier, hamming it up for the boy he'd be going home with. When the last note faded away, Justin jumped down from the bar and made his way over to Eric. "Wait here," he requested. "I just need to get changed; I'll be back in a few minutes."

Justin slipped into his clothes and then checked his wallet for the condom and packet of lube he kept stashed inside. He wanted to be prepared in case Eric didn't have supplies on hand. The blond trotted back to the bar, stating, "I'm ready," and grabbed Eric's hand, tugging him toward the door to the club.

The two lads laughed, jostling against each other in their haste to get outside. Eric held up a hand to hail one of the taxis that was waiting for departing clubgoers, urging Justin into the backseat. Inside the cab, Eric clutched his hand tightly, as if fearing the blond would vanish if he let go.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi pulled onto Margaret Morrison Street and stopped in front of a cluster of dorm buildings. After Eric paid the driver, he gestured toward a multistorey dormitory. "I'm in here," he commented, his voice cracking.

Justin grabbed the other boy's hand again, rubbing his thumb across Eric's knuckles in an attempt to soothe his obvious nervousness. It wasn't as effective as he'd hoped, Eric dropping his key twice as he tried to fit it into the keyhole once they reached his room. "Hey," the blond teen husked, removing the key from Eric's hand and opening the door for him, before following him into the room. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to, okay?" Although he'd be disappointed if they only necked a bit, Justin didn't want the kid to feel pressured.

"Could we just talk for a minute?" the other boy asked timorously, pointing toward one of the two beds. "That one's mine."

"Sure," Justin replied, sitting down next to him and bumping his shoulder with his own.

"Um," Eric confessed, looking Justin in the eye while he knotted his hands together, "I've never done this before."

"Fucked, you mean?" Justin requested clarification.

"Anything, really." Eric swallowed hard. "Until tonight, I've been so scared to approach anyone that I've, uh, barely even kissed another guy."

The blond couldn't help wondering what had prompted Eric to visit Babylon - that was a huge step for an inexperienced queer. Although he and Brian had exchanged countless kisses, Justin had never wanted to kiss anyone else. Something about Eric, however, made him want to share a kiss with the other boy. It was a heady feeling to have the inexperienced lad desire him so strongly.

His mind made up, Justin offered, "That's easily rectified," cupping Eric's chin in one hand and gently pressing their mouths together. A few seconds later, the other boy's lips parted, and Justin swiped his tongue along the seam, allowing it to dart inside a little ways.

Eric hummed, his tongue hesitantly touching the tip of Justin's. The blond gradually deepened the kiss, until their tongues were tangled, their mouths fused. Long moments passed before he pulled back, smiling at the dazed boy, who was heaving in air.

"Again?" Eric beseeched, turning his body more fully toward Justin's.

The blond felt proud to have provoked such a reaction in a relative neophyte. Leaning forward, he kissed Eric again... and then again, losing track of time.

When their lips finally parted, Eric asked, "Can I touch you?"

"That's what you're doing," Justin teased gently, placing his palm over the hand Eric had pressed against his chest while they were lip-locked.

"Uh, I mean your skin." Eric flushed. "I so badly wanted to run my hands all over your body while you were dancing."

The grinning blond didn't say a word, simply pulling his tee over his head and discarding it on the floor.

Now that his wish had been granted, Eric looked nonplussed. "Where do I start?" he inquired, eyeing the alabaster expanse of Justin's torso.

Justin reached out and placed Eric's hand on his chest, where it had previously been clutching his shirt. "Pretend you're touching yourself," he suggested.

The brown-haired lad slowly smoothed his hands over Justin's skin, his thumb brushing over the younger boy's nipple at one point. Correctly interpreting Justin's sudden inhale as a sign of pleasure, he rubbed his thumb over the sensitive nub again.

"Try pinching it," Justin rasped, moaning when Eric did so. The boy proceeded to tweak his other nipple without being prompted, alternately rubbing it and then pinching, until it was a stiff peak.

Wanting to reciprocate and show Eric just how good that felt, Justin eased his hands under the boy's T-shirt and nudged it upward. Once Eric realised what he was doing, he assisted in the process, leaning back and almost tearing the cotton in his eagerness to remove his tee.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned when, instead of using his fingers, Justin leaned down to flick his tongue across one areola.

The blond smiled at the reaction, remembering the first time he'd elicited that reaction from Brian, applying what the brunet stud had taught him. Shaking his head, Justin tried to banish thoughts of his ex; he needed to concentrate on Eric, to make his first time special. His tongue flicked over the boy's nipple again, before he bit down gently.

Almost levitating off the bed, Eric let out a wordless moan. Justin pushed on his chest, until the boy's upper body was flat on the bed, and began to caress and kiss his way down the older teen's torso. Eric threaded the fingers of one hand through Justin's hair, tugging at the blond strands as Justin pleasured him, his other hand grasping at the rumpled bedspread.

When he eventually reached the place where skin was covered by denim, Justin glanced up questioningly. "Should I keep going?" he asked, his fingers itching to release the button at the waistband of Eric's jeans. 

Eric lifted his head and shoulders, nodding, before dropping back down onto the mattress with a thump.

Quickly undoing the button and unzipping the fly of Eric's jeans, Justin slid off the bed onto his knees, tugging on the denim, laughing a little when he realised he'd forgotten to take off the boy's shoes. Apparently recognising the obstacle, Eric helped him get rid of the footwear, toeing off one shoe and then the other while the blond lad pulled at them.

Jeans and shoes gone, Justin peppered Eric's legs and inner thighs with lazy, sloppy kisses until he reached his goal, the erection which was tenting the other boy's underwear. The blond giggled, noticing that Eric favoured the same tighty-whities he wore.

"Wha-" Eric slurred.

"Just admiring your taste in underwear," Justin joked, before running a couple of fingers under the elastic on one of Eric's legs while also mouthing his straining shaft through the fabric.

"Shit!" Eric warned him. "I'm not going to last if you keep that up."

Justin smiled wickedly - he didn't want Eric to come in his underwear during his first blowjob. Sitting back on his heels for a moment, the blond carefully lifted the damp fabric away from Eric's shaft before stripping them off and tossing them over his shoulder. He then returned to his self-appointed task, swirling his tongue across the tip of the boy's cock and sampling his pre-come, before slowly sinking down until his nose was nestled in springy, brown curls. He swallowed once, twice, and then Eric was shooting down his throat.

After he let Eric's softened flesh slide out of his mouth, the only sound for a few minutes was the brown-haired boy's panting breath. Eric finally groaned, "Fuck, you're good at that. How'd you ever manage to get my entire dick into your mouth?"

"Practice," Justin responded. "Plus, I'm a natural at sucking cock."

"I'm not sure I'm ready to try that just yet," Eric said, his face stained with embarrassment.

"That's okay," the blond assured him, willing his erection to subside. While he was giving Eric the blow job, his arousal had been growing. It was so long since he'd had anything except BOB to play with that he'd worried he might come in his pants; now it looked like he might not get to come at all. Since he wasn't sure he could be in the same room with Eric and not pounce on him, he stood up and reached for his T-shirt, wondering if he had enough money for a taxi back to Deb's place.

"Wait!" Eric protested as he inserted his arms into the sleeves, gesturing toward Justin's groin, where it felt like all his blood had pooled. "I didn't mean I don't want to do anything else, just that I'm not ready to, uh, suck your cock."

Even frotting would be better than nothing, Justin supposed, sitting back down on the bed. "What do you want?" he asked.

Eric looked at him bashfully. "I'd like you to fuck me," he stated quietly.

"Are you sure?" Justin asked, gazing at him doubtfully. "I work at the Liberty Diner, so you can always find me there. We could hook up later on."

"No. I'm ready now," the boy insisted.

His arousal returning full force, Justin removed the condom and lube from his wallet before shedding his sneakers, cargo pants, and briefs. "It's going to hurt some," he cautioned. "It's unavoidable."

"I know," Eric replied, "but I don't care. I don't want to be a virgin any longer."

"If you roll over onto your side and I enter you from the rear," Justin disclosed, "it'll hurt less."

"Could we do it face-to-face?" Eric husked. "I want to look at you while you're inside me."

"Okay," Justin acquiesced. After all, he'd wanted the same when Brian fucked him the first time. He tore open the lube and condom packets, sheathed his painfully hard cock, slicking it with some of the lube before smearing more of it across his fingers and onto Eric's opening.

"That's cold," the boy gasped.

"It'll warm up," Justin promised, hearing echoes of his and Brian's voices.

Despite his eagerness to be inside Eric, Justin took his time, slowly sliding one finger into the boy. He waited for the slight grimace to subside and the lad's cock to become fully engorged, before adding another digit and then a third, shifting his fingers around until he located Eric's prostate. When he brushed against the bundle of nerves, Eric arched up from the bed and demanded, "More!"

The blond scissored his fingers, making sure to stimulate Eric's sweet spot again. He knew he'd prepped the boy as thoroughly as possible when Eric protested the removal of his fingers. 

"Put your legs over my shoulders," Justin instructed. His cockhead probing at Eric's opening, he added, "Breathe out and push down; it'll hurt less."

As he'd expected, the boy still tensed up, but Justin soothed Eric by rubbing one palm gently across his stomach. This also served as a slight distraction, allowing him to press forward steadily until his balls slapped against Eric's skin. He halted, giving the older teen a chance to adjust, before easing out, making sure to drag across the lad's prostate, jabbing at it as he plunged back in.

"More," Eric demanded again.

Justin acceded, arousal sweeping over him as he pistoned in and out. It felt so fucking good. It had been so damned long since he'd had sex, though, that he worried that he wouldn't be able to hold on until Eric had come. His vision whiting out, he groped for the boy's cock, sliding his fingers up and down, Eric's arse tightening around him as the boy spurted into his hand.

His pleasure cresting, Justin unloaded into the condom, dropping down onto Eric as the last pulse flowed out of him. Long seconds later, he roused himself, pulling out of the other boy as gently as he could. He glanced at Eric, who was out cold, a soft snore tumbling out of his open mouth.

A sated Justin staggered from the bed into the bathroom, tying off the condom and tossing it into the wastebasket under the sink. After washing his hands, he stepped back into Eric's room and pulled on his clothes. He glanced at the boy once more, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead, slipping out of the dormitory as dawn was breaking across the horizon.