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Justin snorted, starting awake as his head tilted and hit something hard and cold.

"Wha?" he mumbled, blinking his eyes open and looking around blearily. Before he could focus on anything, his whole world suddenly shifted, sending Justin's body forwards before violently jerking him back and knocking his head into something again. A squeaking sound, followed by a loud hiss and an onslaught of cold caused the blond to awaken enough to start using his brain and figure out he was sitting on a bus.

"Ouch," he complained, rubbing at the back of his head. He had banged it against the bus window when the damned thing stopped to pick up some early risers at one of the stops.

Yawning, he tiredly ran a hand through his messy hair. He was completely knackered after the night he'd had, what with dancing the first half of it and then having exhausting sex the rest of it. He'd thought about crashing on the bed with Eric for a couple of hours but decided against it. Although he liked Eric, he didn't want to start a relationship with him - leaving right away meant the kid wouldn't get a false impression, and Justin wouldn't have to ‘talk out' what had happened with a boy who was, essentially, a one-night stand. 

Don't get him wrong, he was honoured to have been the boy's ‘first,' but the whole experience was making him strangely uneasy. As he tried to pinpoint the reason for his anxiety, the idea that he'd cheated on Brian flitted through Justin's mind. He burst out in raucous laughter at that bit of utter nonsense, causing the matronly woman sitting closest to him to first look at him askance and then get up and move to a seat nearer the driver.

The blond teen glanced around the bus, noting that the other two early-morning passengers were also eyeing him with trepidation. He must've been making a spectacle, Justin realised - almost giving himself a concussion when he'd awakened, his hair flying every whichaway, his clothing rumpled, and guffawing for no apparent reason.

So as to reassure the other riders, he attempted to stifle his hilarity, but more laughter bubbled up. Really, where had that crazy thought about ‘cheating' on Brian come from? It wasn't as if his former lover was alone at his loft, pining away for him.

Another seventeen minutes passed, Justin's eyelids drooping to half mast again, when the bus came to an abrupt halt at the stop closest to Debbie's house, jolting him back to wakefulness. Thank fuck there was someone waiting to be picked up, the teen reflected as he staggered down the steps, or the vehicle would have just sailed right past his stop, without him even noticing. He was more than ready to be home and slide into bed for a morning nap. Everything else could wait until he'd had a couple of hours of shut-eye.

The weary teen trotted up the walkway to Deb's house a short while later, never more glad to see the giant rainbow flag, which hung vertically from the front porch eave, fluttering in the wind. Bracing one hand against the door, he fumbled with the key, his other hand clumsy with cold as he tried to insert it into the keyhole. Suddenly, the door was pulled open, sending him sprawling into Debbie's arms.

"Where have you been?" she yelled, clasping him tightly to her capacious bosom and rocking back and forth. "I've been worried sick! I always hear those old wooden stairs creak when you make your way up to your bedroom, but there was nary a sound this morning."

"Nngh," Justin mumbled unintelligibly.

"Sis," Vic's voice chided, "he can't answer with the way you've got him pressed against your tits."

"Oh, right," Debbie acknowledged, pushing Justin away a little, moving her hands to his upper arms, and giving him a shake. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Sunshine?"

"Uh, I-" the blond stammered, shivering as a tendril of icy wind flipped up the bottom of his threadbare jacket.

"For fuck's sake, Sis, let him inside," Vic recommended. "You can still berate the lad, but at least he can warm up while he explains."

Justin caught a glimpse of the older man over Debbie's shoulder. From the way his eyes were twinkling, Vic appeared to be more amused than upset.

Her focus changing slightly, the redhead placed a palm against Justin's cheek, critiquing, "Jesus, Kiddo, you're frozen solid. Take off your coat and get into the kitchen. The kettle's steaming on the hob, so the tea will steep in no time. You'll soon warm up once you have a cuppa in you."

After stripping off his coat and mittens, the blond followed Deb into the kitchen - something warm to drink did sound good before he sacked out.

"Sit that bubble butt down over there," Debbie commanded, pointing toward the kitchen table as she poured boiling water into the teapot.

The teenager joined Vic, who had just carried three cups and saucers, spoons, the creamer, and sugar bowl to the table.

"Now," the redhead commanded as she transported the teapot to the table and started to take a seat. "Tell me where-"

The loud chiming of the doorbell interrupted Debbie, who griped, "Who the fuck's that?"

Justin made to stand up and answer the door, but plonked back down onto his chair when the aggravated woman commanded, "Stay right there, Sunshine. I'll get it myself."

As she tromped out of the kitchen, Vic winked at the teenager, who was torn between feeling bad for worrying his surrogate mother and embarrassed to have her checking up on him. "This is a mild reaction, Kiddo; you should have seen how she used to be with Michael."

The blond boy's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. How could that be possible? 

Wincing, Vic muttered, "I may have spoken too hastily," as he looked toward the entrance to the kitchen.

The rumbling of a man's deep voice reached Justin, and he wanted to sink through the floor as Carl announced, "I see you made it home okay, son."

"Erm," the flushed, mortified boy stuttered, "I, uh, I-"

"Found someone to go home with, did you?" the bluff detective observed.

"Uh, yeah," Justin confessed, squirming in his chair.

"Maybe you should give Debbie a call the next time," the copper suggested, with a slight bite underneath the mild admonition. "It's always good for someone to know where you are. I was starting to get a mite worried myself, since I hadn't received another call from Debs - I asked her to call me back in the morning if you weren't home yet."

Shit. Carl was right, Justin realised. Although there'd ended up being no stalker, there were still lots of nutters around - he couldn't help picturing the weirdo who'd wanted a jizzed autograph. "I'm sorry," he apologised to his surrogate mum. "In the heat of-" He broke off, his blush spreading as he caught himself, rephrasing, "That is, uh, I didn't stop to think that you'd be concerned about me."

An equally pink-cheeked Debbie admitted, "Maybe I overreacted a tad, Sunshine." She began chuckling as she suggested, "Next time, just bring the guy home with you. Then I won't need to ring up Carl in the middle of the night."

"Plus, you'll keep me and Deb entertained," Vic teased.

As he took the seat Debbie had been motioning him toward, Carl murmured, "I intend to do a better job than that of ‘entertaining' you, Debs." 

The others turned to stare at the policeman in surprise at the light innuendo. Carl took it in stride, however, smirking a little.

Justin wanted to jump up and down in his chair and cheer the copper on, but he restrained himself to beaming at the man. Debbie, he noticed, was uncharacteristically flustered and silent, but the teen was pretty sure she was pleased by Carl's flirtation.

"Good for you, you sly dog," Vic opined, leaning over to clap the detective on the back. "Never woulda suspected you had it in you."

Remembering how Debbie and Vic had urged him to give as good as he got, Justin interjected drily, "Since I know who you'll be out with, I guess I won't need to worry about you, Deb."

The still-quiet woman turned to the blond lad, her jaw dropping as she gaped at him. "You cheeky, little git!" she accused, before a hearty laugh burst out of her. "Well done, Sunshine!"

Justin glanced at Carl from the corner of his eye, uncertain how the detective would respond to his raillery, relieved when he saw the man was smiling.

"Since we're all up bright and early, how about frittatas for breakfast, with bacon on the side?" Vic offered.

The blond teen had been about to excuse himself so he could go get some sleep, but at the mention of food, his stomach rumbled loudly.

"That's Sunshine-speak for yes," Debbie jested.

Everyone chuckled, Vic patting Justin on top of the head as he stood up to start cooking.

Justin yawned. "Do you need any help?" he asked the older man, blinking blearily at him.

"I'll pass," Vic responded drily. "Given how tuckered out you look, we'd end up with oranges in our omelettes."

"Oh, come on," the embarrassed teenager protested. "It was just the one time. The oranges were right next to the onions on the counter; I grabbed the wrong thing by mistake."

"Uh-huh," Vic chuckled, lifting an eyebrow at Justin. "And seeing how the texture of oranges and onions is so similar, that's why you cut into the orange?"

"Give it up, Sunshine," Debbie chortled, when Justin opened his mouth to object some more. "You're never going to live that one down."

"Not fair," he grumbled, shooting a look at Carl, who sat snickering next to him.

Once he stopped laughing, the detective allowed, "I'm not much of a cook - microwaveable frozen dinners are more my speed - but even I can tell the difference between an orange and an onion."

"You want to give me a hand then, Carl?" Vic inquired blandly. "You can chop the onions."

The copper blanched, looking completely nonplussed. "Uh..."

Justin started giggling. He'd bet Carl would rather be faced with a week-old corpse than have to prepare a meal.

"Victor Grassi!" Debbie remonstrated, "Carl's a guest; he only came by to check on Sunshine. You need help, I'll-"

"Right. No one else here the detective wanted to see," Vic hooted, doubling up with laughter.

"I may have had another motivation," Carl acknowledged, eyes twinkling as he looked at Debbie.

The redhead blushed and glanced sidelong at her beau, causing Justin to exchange an amused glance with Vic. The way Deb and Carl were dancing around each other was sweet, but at the same time kind of weird. It would be much simpler, the perplexed teen thought, to just jump into bed and fuck. But then again, what did he know about hetero dating rituals?


While Justin was sliding into bed for a much-needed morning siesta after having eaten a whole plate of Vic's frittata, Brian was becoming aware of a more pressing need. He slitted his eyes against the light streaming in through the windows - must've forgotten to shut the fucking blinds he thought sourly, rolling over to reach the edge of the mattress. "Ow!" he exclaimed. Rather than his bare feet finding purchase on the floor beside his bed, his derriere had landed on the wooden flooring, with his head thunking against the edge of the coffee table.

"What the fuck?" he cursed, looking around through unfocused eyes as he rubbed at the sore spot on his noggin. It took a few moments before he realised he'd fallen asleep on his Italian Moda sofa while watching porn on his laptop, the screen of which was now a solid black since the battery had run out of power hours ago. Brian remembered being irritated that the dicks and arses - the important parts - in the on-screen orgy he was watching had been so small, and determining that he needed to replace his Sony LED TV so he'd have a proper, life-size view. After that, though, everything was a blank, which meant he'd passed out before the action really got going.

"Fuck," he grunted, bracing one hand on the couch and the other on the coffee table as he leveraged himself to his feet. "Ow, fucking ow," he hissed, his joints popping and the aches and pains from his stint at the gym the day before making themselves known. He really shouldn't have tried to make up for his lack of exercise all at once, the brunet acknowledged as he staggered toward the bathroom. He couldn't even relieve himself comfortably, a muscle spasm in his left calf necessitating that he sway back and forth on his right leg as he aimed at the bowl.

Once he'd finished urinating, he lowered the lid of the toilet bowl and sat down slowly, massaging his calf in a gingerly fashion as he waited for the stabbing pins and needles to ease. Thank fuck that damned queen wasn't around to laugh himself silly, Brian thought irritably - he could almost hear Emmett's mocking, "I told you, Bri." The younger man probably wouldn't have stuck out his tongue, thumbs in his ears while wiggling his fingers at Brian, but it would have felt like he was doing just that.

His cramp assuaged, Brian exited the bathroom, reasoning that some stretches would keep further muscle spasms at bay. He reached under his bed for the exercise mat he kept there - it usually did nothing more than collect dust bunnies - only to remember that he hadn't replaced it after the burglary. The stud was tempted to skip the stretches, but then he decided he'd settle for ones he could do while standing - he didn't feel like getting down on his knees on the hardwood floor, not without a good reason to do so anyhow, like fucking the shit out of-

The adman hastily cut off that train of thought before he sprang more of a woody. If he gave in to the urge to whack off, he'd never work out the kinks from yesterday's gym session. Brian balanced on his left leg to perform a standing quad stretch - bending his right leg and grasping the ankle with his right hand and then bringing it as close to his buttocks as possible. When he started listing to the side, however, he hurriedly grasped the back of one of the kitchen chairs with his left hand so he'd stay upright. "Fuck," he groused out loud, "I shouldn't be falling apart yet; I've got a good eight months till I turn thirty."

Brian forced himself to maintain his position for twenty seconds before switching to his left leg. It wasn't nearly long enough, but it was the best he could do, his muscles protesting the unaccustomed abuse. Dammit, the stud thought, stretching had never been his favourite thing - he needed something to motivate himself. 

Turning his head slightly, he peered at the Braun coffee maker perched innocently on his counter. He'd cleaned the machine before he left the loft on Saturday morning, just in case he wanted to wrestle with making coffee for himself. During the cleansing process, he'd somehow or other ended up dropping the filter of used coffee grounds on his feet, which had been pretty gross, but at least he'd been able to shower it off before heading to Ript.

The brunet stud stared balefully at the coffee machine for a few moments before squaring his shoulders and stomping over to the counter. There was no way he was going to let a coffee maker - one Cynthia had described as idiot proof - get the better of him. "You'd better not spit hot liquid at me this time," he threatened the machine as he poured water into the tank. "Or dump coffee grounds on me," he added as he measured what he hoped was the right amount into the filter. Brian foolishly hadn't listened when his blonde assistant told him how much coffee to use for a full carafe; he'd been too busy pooh-poohing the notion of making only a cup or two, which Cynthia suggested might be all he'd want some days. The adman still couldn't imagine jump-starting his brain with a measly cup or two; he'd disregarded his employee's absurd claim that it was the sugar, not the caffeine, that he craved.

Brian spooned a perfectly reasonable amount of sugar into his AdStud mug and left it next to the Braun coffee maker. It was only when he'd resumed his stretches that he realised something wasn't quite right - he didn't hear the liquid dripping into the carafe. What was wrong with the bloody thing now? "German engineering, my arse," he growled as he stalked back over to the machine. The stud deflated, though, his cheeks acquiring a red tinge when he noticed that he hadn't turned the coffee maker on. Christ, he reflected, it was a good thing none of his friends were around, or they'd be laughing their heads off at him and speculating whether he needed an in-home caregiver. That mightn't be so bad, he mused, as long as it was a certain blond boy taking care of him; the kid could give him a blow job every morning and then make coffee...

 

As Brian was making a second pot of coffee later that morning, quite proud of himself because his first effort had been only a tad gritty, Justin woke up to someone calling, "Sunshine! Hey, Kiddo, you said you want to study-"

The blond lad shot up in the bed, the Captain Astro sheet and the comforter pooling around his waist, his vision fuzzy as he tried to blink the gumminess out his eyes. Recognising Deb sitting on the edge of his mattress, he blushed a bright red. He'd been having the most bizarre dream about Carl and Debbie's first kiss and was grateful to be awakened before they progressed any further.

"What's up with the crimson face, Sunshine?" the redhead chuckled, waggling her eyebrows at the teen. "Were you playing with BOB when you fell asleep?"

"Fuck, no!" Justin asserted, colouring an even more vivid red. He had considered giving BOB a whirl, but he was out before he could give his ‘boyfriend' more than a passing thought.

"Are you sure?" Debbie queried, tugging lightly at the coverlet as if to check for the toy. "I know there's no such thing as enough for a gay boy your age."

The teenager's thoughts immediately flew to Brian, which caused him to blurt out, "Not for a gay boy of any age."

"Or a straight one for that matter," Deb chortled, reminding Justin of his dream. Fuck, he did not want to think about het sex.

Fortunately, his surrogate mother gave him a break, patting his leg through the bedding and suggesting, "Best get a move on, Kiddo, if you want to study a bit before it's time to decorate."

"Erm," the lad stuttered, waving toward the door. "Please?"

"I keep telling you, Sunshine, it's nothing I haven't seen before," Debbie jested, reaching out to tousle his already messy hair.

"Erm," Justin repeated, blushing some more. "Still."

Relenting from her teasing, the redhead stood up, offering, "The coffee has just about finished perking. Want me to bring you a cup?"

"Ta, please," the blond boy responded eagerly. "Leave it on my desk? I'm just going to take a quick shower." 

"You betcha, Kiddo." Debbie leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead before leaving the room.

Hastily grabbing clean briefs, jeans, and a T-shirt, Justin trotted to the upstairs bathroom. After a night of dancing and sex, he knew he smelled anything but fresh, but he hadn't had the energy to shower before his nap. Even though he still felt groggy, he thought he could make it through decorating and dinner before crashing again. If everyone wasn't gone by nine-thirty, though, he was going to excuse himself and return upstairs to sleep; he was determined to sack out for at least seven hours tonight, which meant he had to be in bed no later than ten-thirty.

As he removed the tighty-whities he'd had on for far too long and stepped into the tub, sliding the shower curtain along its rod, Justin wrinkled his nose in disgust. Gah, he really did stink. He laved his whole body under the hot spray, paying particular attention to his groin and his pits, relieved to inhale nothing except his natural body odor and a hint of Irish Spring soap as he stood in front of the mirror and combed his hair after exiting the shower.

The blond strands flipped in every direction, resisting his efforts to tame them and annoying the teenager. Justin tugged at the ends, which were almost touching his shoulders, in dismay. His hair had always grown super fast, and he was going to need a haircut stat if he didn't want to end up in detention at school. The policy about male students keeping their hair short enough that it didn't touch their shirt collars was generally loosely enforced, but Justin knew the St James' administration would be only too happy to make an example of him. He hated to shell out the cash, but he didn't have much choice. Since he wouldn't be going to the barber near his old neighbourhood, he'd have to see if Vic or Deb could recommend someone.

Back in his bedroom, Justin was chuffed to discover that his surrogate mum had left him more than just a cup of coffee - the thermos that had accompanied him to St James the day before was on the desk, along with a plate of her scrumptious brownies. The blond boy settled in at the desk, pulling out the SAT preparatory manuals that Frau Rose had suggested might be of assistance to him. The librarian had informed Justin that the materials were supposed to be kept in-house, but she saw no harm in lending them to him since no one had requested them in the last two years. "They might be too rudimentary for you," she'd cautioned him, "but I'm unaware of any more advanced material."

Less than fifty minutes later, Justin yawned, utterly bored. The evidence-based, critical-thinking reading and writing sections, which tested reading comprehension, grammar, vocabulary, and editing skills ostensibly took an hour and forty minutes to complete. The blond teen had used only half of the allotted time, and as he checked his answers, couldn't find a single incorrect response. Geesh, he mused, the actual exam had better be more challenging, or he'd fall asleep during it. He'd have to tell his bestie that she shouldn't waste much time on studying for the English part of the exam - she'd have no more trouble with this simple stuff than he had - and concentrate on the maths portion instead. Justin had already marked some of the problems in the manuals to help her prepare. A review of algebra, geometry, and trigonometry with Daphne wouldn't hurt either of them, he reckoned.

The lad cast about for something that would help him get ready for the SAT, finally remembering the ‘optional' essay. Although he was confident that he could build a solid, persuasive argument, maybe he could use both the essay for his American Government final and the revision of his creative writing project to analyse his own writing, winding up with better papers for both classes. It might be especially interesting to use what he'd written for creative writing as a sample passage, critique whether it was effective, and then revise as needed. He'd write essays based on a couple of the passages in the SAT preparatory manuals, he determined, and then apply the same principles to his classwork.

Thirty-five minutes later, he'd completed a practice essay and was fairly satisfied that he'd presented a cogent, well-formulated analysis as well as arguments supporting his opinions. While he was considering whether to try one more topic or leave it till another day, Vic knocked on the open door to his room, announcing, "We'd better get a move on with the decorating, Kiddo, if we want to be done before dinner."

Justin glanced at his watch, startled to discover that it was already twelve-thirty. "Why didn't you interrupt me sooner?" he enquired, standing up and stretching a little to ease the stiffness in his limbs from sitting hunched over in the wooden chair.

"Your studies come first," the older man chided. "Plus, Michael's not here yet, although he rang and said he'll be over before one o'clock. I figured we could haul the reindeer, the lights, and the other outdoor decorations outside before he arrives."

"Okay," Justin readily agreed, picking up the empty thermos and plate. "I'm curious to find out how you attach Rudolph, Prancer, Blitzen, and uh-" He stuttered to a halt, blanking on the other reindeers' names.

In a pleasant tenor, Vic sang as he descended the stairs,

     You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen

     Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen

     But do you recall? 

     The most famous reindeer of all?

Justin giggled, joining in,

     Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

     Has a very shiny nose

     And if you ever saw it

     You would even say it glows.

Debbie emerged from the kitchen, singing the rest of the song with them in a raspy mezzo-contralto.

When they belted out the final lines,

     Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, 

     You'll go down in history!

Harley's voice overlapped theirs, only the budgie chirped, "Briaaan," instead of ‘Rudolph,' causing them to burst out laughing.

Vic chortled, "We'll have to tell Brian that he's going down in history for having a red nose-"

"Instead of a big dick," Deb interjected, sending them off into more gales of laughter.

Justin slyly suggested, "Maybe we could practice Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer with Harley, and then, at Christmas, we could sing it for Gus-"

"Fuck," Debbie wheezed, "We've got to do that. Can't you just see Brian's face if the tyke confuses his daddy with a reindeer?"

The teenager smirked. "We'll just have to convince Brian that possessing a big, red nose means you've got a..."

"...a big, red dick," the siblings chorused along with him.

"A glow-in-the-dark dick," Debbie deadpanned as she took the dishes from Justin. "Sounds about right for the Stud of Liberty Avenue."

Chuckling, Vic led the way to the coat rack. "C'mon, Sunshine. Let's put on our coats and gloves and lug the reindeer out of the living room."

"I'll keep you in cookies and tea," Debbie vowed, bustling into the kitchen when the oven timer buzzed.

"I'm glad we got these from the attic before I headed to Babylon last night," Justin observed a few minutes later as they manoeuvred one of the reindeer down the hallway, through the front door, and out onto the lawn.

"Yeah," Vic concurred, panting a little. "It was worth it, even if we couldn't watch the telly last night, with these life-size caribou taking up every square inch."

"Um," Justin questioned as they grabbed hold of the next one, "is everything about these beasties, er, life-sized and anatomically correct?" The teen could swear that a blunt object was prodding him in the thigh as they carried the reindeer outside.

"Well, I've never gotten up close and personal with a real caribou," Vic disclosed, "but I remember Sis burning the phone line between here and New York years ago, babbling about how these critters were supposed to be proportioned exactly like real ones." The older man paused for a moment, dragging in air before exhaling, his breath creating cloudy puffs that soon dissipated. "Christ, it's cold," he complained, coughing hard.

Concerned about the hacking cough, Justin suggested, "Maybe we should wait for Michael to lug the rest of these out of the house."

"Nah, I'm good," Vic jested. "Just not used to breathing fresh air."

The teenager was reassured by the steady cadence of the other man's voice and the healthy pink in his cheeks. He smiled at Vic, querying, "How do you tell these reindeer apart, anyhow?"

The older man shrugged. "Fucked if I know. I always figured the two largest were Donner and Blitzen, although I don't know which is which. I figure they're harnessed closest to the sleigh, so their weight can help pull it forward."

"Hmm, then these two must be Comet and Cupid," Justin guessed after they'd hauled the rest of the caribou out of the house.

"Yep." Vic pointed to the next pairings. "And there's Dasher and Dancer, with Prancer and Vixen at the forefront, right behind Rudolph."

It suddenly struck the teen that the littlest reindeer must be kind of lonely. "It hardly seems fair," he mused, "that Rudolph is the only one without a buddy."

Vic winked at him. "Personally, I've always thought he was getting it on with-" He broke off, his jaw dropping as a gaudy, metallic gold sports car rolled down the street toward them.

"What the fuck is that?" Justin wondered. Talk about bad taste in cars, he thought. It looked like a pimpmobile. When the vehicle pulled into Debbie's driveway and Michael stepped out, he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Dressed in a Captain Astro twinset - a garish jacket and tee - and high-water jeans, Michael didn't look in the least like he belonged behind the wheel of a sporty car, even one as tacky as this.

"Isn't it great?" the short brunet shouted as he trotted over to them.

Neither Vic nor Justin uttered a word.

"Uncle Vic!" His eyes glittering with excitement, Michael tugged at the older man's arm.

Vic snorted, rousing himself from his trance. "Why're you driving that-?" He stopped speaking, apparently at a loss for words to describe the Mazda.

Jiggling from one foot to the other, as if he needed to pee, Michael beamed at his uncle, reiterating, "Isn't it great? It's an early Christmas present from David - my Honeybun wants me to be able to get around when he needs his Porsche." The short brunet turned to gaze adoringly at his new car. "My Stud Muffin has such good taste, and he knew exactly what I'd want!" Michael shrilled.

Vic shot a pained look at Justin, the blond surmising it had as much to do with the nauseating endearments as with the pimpish vehicle. This must be the first time Michael had subjected his uncle to the pet names, Justin realised. He couldn't blame the older man for looking like he wanted to hurl; Honeybun had the same effect on him, whilst Stud Muffin made him want to laugh. If he and Brian were still together, he'd be tempted to use that endearment on his ex, just to see the man's reaction.

"Don't you just love it?" Michael enthused, finally succeeding in towing Vic a couple steps closer to the car. "No one else in the gang has anything like my Miata!"

Justin giggled. Brian, Ted, Emmett - none of them would be caught dead with that monstrosity. Em might drive something sassy and colourful, but it would be a fun reflection of his personality, like Vincent was for Debbie.

"I'll take you for a spin!" Michael crowed at his uncle, dragging him toward the vehicle.

Fetching up against the passenger door, Vic blocked his nephew's efforts to get him into the car. "Michael!" he yelled a reminder, "It's already the second Sunday after Thanksgiving. We have to get the Christmas decorations up. You don't want to disappoint your mum, do you? She's so excited that we're doing this together, for the first time in years."

A disappointed expression flitted across Michael's face before his shoulders sagged in resignation. "You're right," he acknowledged. "Besides, I can always take you for a ride later this week."

Vic glanced at Justin over Michael's shoulder, mouthing, "Over my dead body," making the teenager giggle again. This was definitely one of those times, he thought, when he was glad Michael didn't like him - the brunet wouldn't be issuing an invitation for him to go for a ride in the pimpmobile anytime soon.

Michael scanned the front yard, stating, "Oh, that's cool. You've already got the reindeer out here, Uncle Vic. I'll just get the ladder from the garage and some rope so you and I can hoist them up onto the roof."

The brunet trotted over to the garage, opened the side door, and vanished inside, reappearing after a couple minutes, ladder in hand, rope looped over one shoulder, and a tool belt wrapped around his waist. "You want to be on the roof or down here?" he asked his uncle.

"I'll let you young'uns clamber around on the roof," Vic declared, "while I wind the rope around the reindeer."

"Huh?" Michael glanced toward the house, his countenance brightening. "Is Brian here to help? I'll go tell him we're ready."

Vic shook his head in fond exasperation. "Brian's not here, Michael. He and Ted begged off because there's lots for them to do before they can open Brian's new agency."

Michael peered around as if trying to find someone else.

Justin rolled his eyes. He might as well be invisible for all the notice Michael was taking of him.

"I meant Sunshine, obviously," Vic added drily, motioning toward the teenager.

"B- but," Michael sputtered, "it's always been you, me, and whoever else from the gang is free."

"Em got called in to replace a sick coworker at Torso," Vic explained. "And before you ask, the girls are busy with Gus."

Michael glanced dismissively at Justin. "I guess he's better than nothing, but don't you think it would be better if he stayed down here while we get the reindeer set up? The kid," he sneered, "would be next to useless on the roof."

Justin paled slightly. It hadn't fully dawned on him until now that he'd be climbing around atop the house, and he couldn't help feeling a bit of trepidation, especially since his sneakers wouldn't provide him with any traction on the slanted, slippery roof.

"Look at him," Michael jeered, waving at Justin. "He's obviously scared shitless."

"I am not!" the blond objected, embarrassed when his voice emerged at a higher than normal pitch. Even if he was a little freaked out, there was no way he'd let Michael show him up.

"Sunshine'll do fine," Vic insisted.

Michael still looked dubious, but he shrugged in acceptance. After arranging the ladder in front of the porch, he ordered, "Follow me," scampering up the rungs and onto the overhang.

Justin hesitated.

"Go on," Vic encouraged him, smirking at the teen.

The blond's eyes narrowed as he looked at the older man, suddenly suspecting Vic had orchestrated it deliberately so he'd have to team up with Michael.

"Are you coming, Boy Wonder?" Michael shouted.

The taunt got Justin moving, although he ascended the ladder much more slowly than Michael had done.

Once he'd joined Michael, the brunet tied one end of the rope to a hook on the edge of the roof, before dropping the other end down to Vic. They hauled up the reindeer one by one, until all nine of them were atop the porch eave.

"I'll start stringing the lights," Vic called out, "while you boys fix the caribou in place." The older man folded up the ladder and carried it toward one end of the house. "Let me know when you're ready to climb down, and I'll bring the ladder back."

"Okay," Michael shouted. He got behind one of the two largest reindeer, pushing it ahead of himself as he easily ascended the roof toward the chimney. "Bring the other big guy, would'ya?" he called over his shoulder.

Justin tried to imitate what Michael was doing, pushing the reindeer as he took a couple of tentative steps. But then he made the mistake of glancing toward the ground, which suddenly seemed really far away, and froze in place.

"Justin?" he heard Michael inquire long seconds later, his voice unusually gentle. "I guess you haven't climbed around on a roof before, huh?"

The blond managed to tear his eyes away from the frozen, snow-covered grass in Debbie's yard, turning his head to gaze at Michael. Dumbfounded by the unaccustomed kindness, Justin stared at him for a moment without saying anything, trying to determine whether the man had some sort of ulterior motive. After all, the man had been gloating to him about Brian's ‘other blond' not even twenty-four hours ago. "Not unless you count sitting on the ledge outside Daphne's bedroom window so we could sneak a cigarette," he acknowledged wryly when he didn't discern any antagonism in Michael's eyes.

"I kinda like it up here," Michael revealed. "Brian and I used to hang out on the roof, sharing secrets, smoking weed, pretending to be superheroes."

For the first time, Justin understood why Captain Astro must have appealed to a teenaged Michael so much. The comic book hero must've made the short brunet feel like he was capable of anything. If Michael was actually going to be agreeable, the teen decided he could make an effort to do the same, especially since it would please both Vic and Debbie. "Sounds like you had fun," he commented, smiling at the other man. 

"We did," Michael agreed, grinning at what was clearly a good memory, before suggesting, "Why don't you let me get ‘Donner' or ‘Blitzen,' whichever it is, fixed in place, and then you can hand each of the reindeer to me, going from the largest to the smallest? There's no need for you to actually climb up on the roof."

"Ta," Justin smiled at Michael gratefully, rather startled at how kind he was being. "Um, wait. Shouldn't Santa's sleigh be up there by the chimney?" the teen wondered. He hadn't realised until just now that it was missing.

"Nope." Michael elaborated, "Ma told me the sled wouldn't add anything to the ambience - not even if it was piled high with giant dildos. She toyed with the idea of getting the Santa who's falling into the chimney headfirst, with Donner or Blitzen snagging his pants in their teeth. But she decided no one wanted to look at an old, fat guy's hairy arse, so why bother?"

"Ugh," Justin chuckled. "That really doesn't sound appealing."

The process went fairly quickly after that, Michael showing him how to open and close the brackets that were bolted to the roof to hold the caribou closest to the overhang in place.

"Need this?" a voice inquired once all the reindeer had been bolted down.

The blond turned around, having gotten a little more comfortable moving around on the flat overhang, to see Vic peering at him over the edge of the roof, holding out a long, heavy-duty electrical cord.

"Yeah, I suppose." Michael heaved out a gusty sigh. "Ma won't be happy if the queers of Liberty Avenue don't drive by to rubberneck at Rudolph and his friends."

Justin tried to puzzle out what was going to happen as Michael ran the cord from one reindeer to the next, plugging it into the left, rear hoof of each critter, letting the remainder dangle over the edge of the eave.

"You should climb down first," Michael requested, motioning toward the ladder.

The blond boy held onto the sides of the ladder tightly, making his way down carefully, and letting out a relieved breath when both his feet were firmly planted on the ground. In contrast, Michael nimbly moved from one rung to the next, balancing easily on one foot as he leaned forward to affix the electrical cord to one of the posts supporting the overhang. Hopping off the ladder, he knelt down and plugged the cord into an outlet that was hidden by the post. "You ready?" he called to his uncle.

It was bloody maddening to have Michael be so much better at coping with heights, the teen thought, his lower lip sticking out a little. He immediately consoled himself that the spoiled git had to be better at something.

"Come over here," Vic urged Justin to join him on the sidewalk. "You can't get the full effect if you're too close to the house."

"Okay, power it up," Vic shouted to Michael.

"Holy shit!" Justin gaped at the display as Michael joined him and Vic. He barely noticed the rainbow of lights along the roof and around the windows, all his attention on the reindeer. The caribous' bodies were brightly illuminated against the cloudy, grey sky, with each of them sporting a large, pulsating dong in a different colour. Rudolph's shaft was red, of course, and matched his very shiny nose. "Whoa," the teen choked out, pointing at the reindeer's other glowing appendage, "it wasn't just Rudolph's ‘nose so bright' that guided Santa."

"I hadn't seen those reindeer since you were thirteen, Michael," Vic roared with laughter, "until Sunshine and I discovered them whilst cleaning the attic. I remember coming home from New York for Christmas, and seeing them prancing across the roof for the first time."

"Shit, don't remind me," Michael groaned. "I'd just realized I was gay, and was freaking out about it. Talking to you on the phone helped, Uncle Vic, but it wasn't the same as having you here."

Chuckling, Vic gestured toward the reindeer, "Deb wanted to show you it was nothing to be ashamed of. Sis told me later that she had received a catalog full of kinky holiday decorations, so she ordered these reindeer and had them mounted on the roof."

"Ehm," Justin spluttered, gawking at the well-endowed reindeer, "what a unique way to show her support."

"I was so fucking embarrassed," Michael reminisced. "I kept sneaking into the house via the back door, not wanting anyone to know I lived here. When Ma told me my balls were just as big as the ones these caribou are sporting, however, I did feel better about being gay."

"Uh-huh," Justin muttered, still staring in shock at the mammals' engorged pricks. He suddenly felt a surge of admiration for Michael. "You did have big balls," he stated in awe. "I would have flipped out if these dudes had been atop my roof when I was thirteen."

The teen mused to himself that although it would have been great to have his parents accept his sexuality, he might have run away from home if that had happened to him. Imagining the expressions on Craig and Jen's faces, however, he began to giggle helplessly. 

"You did become more comfortable with being gay," Vic pointed out, "and you'll have a great tale to tell your kids and grandkids." 

"How am I gonna have kids?" Michael gaped incredulously at his uncle.

"You can adopt, Michael, or have a surrogate carry a child. It's a lot easier for a gay man to have children now than it was ever before."

"Maybe the Merry Munchers would like to have you father a baby for them," Justin proposed. He strongly doubted either Lindsay or Melanie would want Michael's sperm anywhere near them, but you never knew with lesbians.

"Ew, gross!" The brunet scrunched up his nose, looking revolted by the notion. "If I have a daughter, I want one who's a proper girly girl, not one who's a butch mechanic."

Right, Justin mused, rolling his eyes discreetly. As if that was the way genetics worked.

"Given that the Miata is known for needing constant repairs, a mechanic would come in handy," Vic interjected slyly.

"That won't be necessary," Michael averred. "David has the money to have my Galaxy Lad regularly maintained at a garage."

"What?" Vic questioned, clearly shocked. "You didn't name your first car Captain Astro?"

"Of course not!" Michael retorted, incensed. "I'm a bottom, Uncle Vic!"

Justin's brow furrowed in puzzlement. What did being a bottom have to do with the name for his car?

Vic must've been equally clueless because he queried, "What do you mean?"

"I'm a bottom," Michael repeated, "like Galaxy Lad. So, my car has to be Galaxy Lad, not Captain Astro."

As if that made matters clearer, the perplexed teen mused.

"Huh." Vic looked between the car and his nephew. "I still don't get it, Michael."

"It's really simple," Michael stated earnestly. "I'm a bottom, so I can't take Captain Astro - a through-and-through top - for a ride." When both Vic and Justin continued to stare at him in confusion, he gestured at the blond. "It would be like Justin naming his first car something like TopAd. It would never work since that's a ewermism for Brian. Brian's a top, so Boy Wonder would never take him for a test drive."

Justin could barely contain his hilarity at the short brunet's mangling of ‘euphemism' and his oddball ‘logic'. The weird thing, the teenager reflected, was that Michael really believed what he was saying - for a change, he wasn't being malicious.

"Huh," Vic grunted again, shaking his head as if to clear away cobwebs. "You should certainly give your Miata whatever name you like best."

Michael beamed at his uncle, obviously considering that to be approbation of his choice.

"Well," Vic remarked, rubbing his gloved hands together briskly as he eyed the well-endowed reindeer. "We've made a good start. Shall we go through the rest of the Christmas decorations and see what we can add to help Santa find our house?" 

"I'm all in," Michael inserted eagerly as they trooped into the house.

"How about some cookies and milk?" Debbie offered, dusting flour-bedecked hands on her pinny as she came out of the kitchen, from which tantalising aromas were emanating.

"Aren't we supposed to save those for Father Christmas?" Vic quipped.

"Can't let them go stale," the redhead countered, setting a plate heaped high with four different types of sweets in the middle of the table before turning to face the three men. "Don't you dare!" she reprimanded Michael, who'd immediately reached behind her to snag one of the treats. "Wash your mitts first!"

"Christ, Ma!" Michael complained. "How'd you know what I was doing?"

"She inherited her psychic abilities from our Nonna," Vic jested. He'd used the distraction provided by his nephew to snatch one of the cookies for himself. With a wicked grin at his sister, he stuffed it into his mouth.

"Pshaw," the redhead cackled. "Like it takes a psychic to catch boys sticking their hands in the cookie jar."

Justin, who'd washed his hands while Michael and Vic were trying to get the best of Debbie, grabbed the milk from the fridge and began pouring it into the mugs she'd put on the table.

"Ta, Sunshine," Debs praised. "It's good to see one of you has manners."

"Suck-up," Michael accused, a genial smile removing any possible sting from the words.

Could there be an alien inhabiting the brunet's body? Justin wondered. Michael had been nice to him for hours; not only was it a record, it must be putting quite a strain on the muppet's psyche. Might as well enjoy it while it lasted, the lad decided, shrugging and taking a seat at the table. Now closer to eye level with the mugs he'd just filled, he blinked at the entwined figures on the bright red mug in shock. "Erm, is, uh," he spluttered, "is that Santa rogering one of his elves?"

"St Nick will diddle anything that moves," Vic chuckled. "Anything male, that is."

"Mrs Claus is just his beard," Debbie claimed, taking a seat across from the stunned blond.

"You must have the one with Bushy Evergreen," Michael interjected. "That elf is a total slut."

Debbie began to laugh uproariously, Vic and Michael soon joining in. "Christ, Kiddo," she marveled, "you should see your face."

"I never wanted to think about Santa getting it on," the pink-cheeked blond muttered, "whether it's with Mrs Claus, an elf, or-"

"A reindeer?" Vic inserted, turning his mug to face the aghast boy. "This one's my fave. Personally, I think Santa, Comet, and Cupid have a threesome going."

"You've scarred me for life," Justin grumbled. "I'm never gonna think of that tubby, old man the same way again."

"Santa deserves to get his rocks off, same as anyone else," Michael defended the Christmas icon.

"Uh, sure, I guess," the teenager agreed. "But I'd rather not visualise the old guy going at it."

"Don't be such a prude, Kiddo," Vic ribbed him. "Older people do it, too, ya know."

"Eww," Justin and Michael protested in tandem.

"Santa can't be jolly if he doesn't get his jollies," Debbie chortled. When the terrible pun produced a pained look on the men's faces, she relented, "Okay, okay. Enough of Babbo Natale's sex life-" 

"Does St Nick have a helper, uh, along for the ride?" Justin frowned in confusion, cheeks pinkening at furthering the risqué wordplay.

"No, Kiddo," Vic chuckled. "Babbo Natale is Italian for Santa Claus. And then there's San Nicolò di Bari for Saint Nicholas."

"Um, okay." The teen blushed more furiously. "I thought Babbo must be one of Santa's elves."

Deb, Vic, and Michael burst out laughing, the short brunet teasing, "You do turn an awfully pretty pink, Boy Wonder."

Shit. The curse of having such fair skin, Justin mused.

Fortunately, Debbie redirected everyone's attention, holding up two different cookies. "Let's talk about the other appetite men have. Would Santa prefer the anisette or the amaretti? I need to decide which ones belong on the platter we'll leave out for Babbo Natale."

Justin dutifully taste-tested the sweets. "You should include both. In fact, the amaretti..." He paused to make sure he'd pronounced it correctly, receiving approving nods from Deb and Vic. "...remind me more of macarons." 

He grinned when he got more approving nods and an appreciative, "Good taste buds, Kiddo," from Vic. 

"I've never tasted anything quite like the anisette one, though - maybe I should try another to be sure I like the hint of liquorice in it?" the boy suggested cheekily.

Before Debbie could respond, Michael recommended around a mouthful of a flat, waffle-patterned disc, "You've gotta try one of the pizzelles."

"That's about as Italian as it gets," Vic seconded his nephew's recommendation as Justin bit into one of the wafers. "You'll notice we use anise and almonds in a lot of our sweets, Sunshine."

"And our liqueurs," Debbie added. "We'll have to break out a bottle of amaretto after dinner tonight."

"Maybe we should take a vote on whether St Nick would prefer milk or amaretto with his cookies," Vic proposed, tongue in cheek.

"Nope," the redhead promptly vetoed that idea. "If Babbo got tiddly, we'd wake up to a fat man in a red suit passed out on our sofa, snoring and farting. And then everyone in the fucking Pitts would descend on us looking for their gifts."

"Father Christmas is a traditional sort of bloke, right?" Justin questioned, reaching out for the only cookie he hadn't tried. "So he'll want milk with his cookies."

"His stache does a good job of hiding the evidence, though," Vic observed, his eyes sparkling as he stared at the blond.

At first Justin worried that he had a zit forming on his face - he rarely got one, but when he did, it always looked like a meteor - then he realised he must have white residue on his upper lip. "Oh!" he exclaimed, sticking out his tongue and licking away the milk moustache, before taking a bite of the round cookie that resembled a doughnut hole. "Fuck, that's good," he moaned in appreciation, quickly consuming the rest of the treat. "What is it?"

"Zeppole," Michael responded, snatching one of the treats for himself. "It's got cheese in it."

"Ricotta," Debbie clarified. Tipping her head at her brother, she praised, "Vic, you make a version with pumpkin that's to die for. How about whipping up a batch?"

"I'll test them," Michael offered, grinning at his uncle. "Make sure they're worthy of Santa."

"If there are any left after the taste test," Justin volunteered, "on Christmas Eve, I'll show Gus how to arrange them, the milk, and the other cookies on the end table nearest the tree, so St Nick can find them."

"As long as someone warns the little guy," Michael teased, "that he won't get any pressies in the morning because his ‘Jushun' got hungry during the night and gobbled them all down before Babbo got his snack, causing the fatso to depart in a huff."

Debbie shook a scarlet-tinted fingernail at Justin. "Naughty blonds will be punished," she stated severely.

Justin blinked at her innocently before licking his lips salaciously. "How?" he inquired.

"I certainly won't ask Brian to spank you," Deb cackled. "You'd enjoy that far too much, Sunshine."

Justin blushed a fiery red. He might be royally pissed off at Brian, but that ‘punishment' sounded intriguing.

"Even if you couldn't sit down afterward," Michael kidded.

Justin was shocked that the sexual innuendo about him and Brian hadn't sent Michael into a tizzy. That was unheard of. If the man hadn't been possessed by an alien, maybe he was on drugs?

"You boys had better finish up the decorating, while I get dinner started," Debbie advised. "Time's a-wastin'."

"You're such a drill sergeant," Vic teased his sibling, nevertheless standing up and ferrying his empty dishes over to the sink.

"Hup, two, three, four," the redhead barked, chivvying the men out of the kitchen. 

"Okay, let's see what we've got," Vic said as they eyed the cardboard boxes he and Justin had stacked in the hallway the previous evening.

The three men crouched down and began opening the boxes, uncovering a plethora of LGBT-themed Christmas decorations - cock-and-ball wreaths, knitted rainbow snowflake ornaments, candy-cane dicks to embellish the yard, and a nativity set, which included two Marys as well as Joseph, a tow-headed Christ child nestled in rainbow-tinted hay, two wise women and one wise man.

"I'd say Joseph was living a straight bloke's wet dream," Vic snorted, "if it wasn't for the fact that he obviously couldn't get it up for either Mary. Instead of reveling in a ménage à trois, he ended up with two beards."

"That makes more sense than Mary being a virgin." Michael nodded sagely. "I mean, what kind of guy - straight or gay - would go without sex, unless he was a eunuch?"

"I know, right?" Justin giggled.

"Aha, here's Debbie," Vic commented gleefully, pulling out a colourfully garbed statuette of a matronly shepherdess with curly red hair.

Grinning at the figurine that did, indeed, resemble his surrogate mother, Justin remarked, "She is awfully good at taking care of her flock."

"Yeah," Michael chimed in proudly, "that's my Ma."

"Couldn't ask for a better sister," Vic murmured, stroking his thumb along the shepherdess' robes. "Don't tell her I said that," he then jested.

"Like she hasn't got a clue how you feel." Michael playfully poked his uncle in the ribs.

"Gotta keep it that way," Vic insisted gruffly, handing ‘Debbie' to his nephew. "Why don't you do the honours and arrange the nativity on the fireplace mantel?" he suggested.

"We should do it together," Michael replied.

"I could take a couple of photos of you with the Polaroid," Justin ventured. "Debs could put them on the fridge for now and then start a new scrapbook to go with the albums we unearthed during the attic cleaning. Extend the Grassi-Novotny pictorial saga," the teenager enthused.

"You found photo albums of the family?" Michael queried eagerly. "Were there any photos of my dad, John Michael Novotny? He was a lieutenant in the U.S. Army."

"Um, I don't know," Justin answered. "The one I leafed through mainly had photos of your great-grandparents and your grandda."

"Where are the albums?" Michael inquired. "I bet the one Ma's been searching for-"

Vic interrupted, "I'm afraid the photo album with the pictures of John wasn't among the ones we found."

Michael looked horribly disappointed, almost as if he might break down and cry. "Are you sure?"

Laying a consoling hand on his nephew's shoulder, Vic asserted, "There'd be no missing the cover on the album your mum mislaid. It was a wild explosion of flowers, with Groovy emblazoned across the front. Debbie bought it during her teenage hippie phase."

Something seemed off to Justin, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Maybe it was just that way Vic had paused for a millisecond before he said ‘John,' as if he wasn't quite familiar with the name of Michael's dad. Vic must've known the guy, though, since he was four years younger than Deb and would've been there when the lieutenant was squiring his sister around.

"It's hard," Michael sighed, "not having any mementos of my dad, except for the photo Mum keeps on the fireplace. I barely even know anything about him, other than that he died in Vietnam in 1970, two weeks after I was born, killed instantly when his jeep ran over a landmine. The purple heart medal draped over the photo frame is the one he was awarded posthumously."
Justin couldn't help feeling sympathetic. "Maybe you could get copies of photos, even a couple of small keepsakes, from your dad's relatives?" he suggested.

Michael didn't say anything, burying his face in the green sweater covering his uncle's chest and letting out a sound suspiciously like a sob.

Shit, Justin worried. He hadn't meant to make Michael feel worse, but he'd stuck his foot in it somehow.

"John" - again the blond lad heard an infinitesimal pause in Vic's voice - "was an only son and came from a very small family. Debbie never met his parents, who passed away a few years before he was shipped overseas." 

It seemed weird to the teenager that Debbie had never met any of John's relatives, distant or not, and the man must've had some friends. Surely, they would've been glad to share any keepsakes they had, for her to pass on to John's son. He didn't want to compound Michael's distress even more, however, so he decided he'd quiz Vic about it another time.

Patting his nephew comfortingly on the back, Vic urged, "The photos are a good idea. Let's get the other decorations up first, though; then it'll really look like Christmas."

"I'm so glad you guys have an artificial tree," the blond jabbered, attempting to take Michael's mind off of his dad, as he used a pen knife to slice through the tape holding shut an oblong box marked tree. "The live ones make my allergies act up something fierce - my nose runs constantly; my eyes water; and I get these dark circles under my eyes that make it look like I was stupid enough to get in the ring with Muhammad Ali, who ‘stung me like a bee'. Craig," he concluded bitterly, "always belittled me for being a ‘sissy,' claiming that live trees don't have mould spores and dust mites the way artificial ones do."

"Hey, maybe you should let me and Uncle Vic take care of that," Michael offered with one last sniffle. "You don't want the tree to set off an allergy attack."

"Um, okay." Justin smiled at the brunet. "I should be all right, though; my dad had it backward. It's the live trees that accumulate dust the easiest. As long as an artificial tree is stored in some kind of container in a dry place, dust mites won't collect. Never mind that artificial greenery doesn't spread pollen the way live trees and wreaths do."

"Michael's right," Vic observed. "There's no point in taking a chance. We'll wipe down the branches before we put the pieces of the tree together; that way we can be sure there's no dust on it."

"Did you want me to supervise - from a safe distance, of course?" the blond joked.

"Nice try, Sunshine," the older man joshed. "You can help hang the ornaments once the tree has been assembled. In the meantime, open the boxes labeled cock canes and erect them wherever it strikes your fancy in the front yard."

 

"Well done, boys!" Debbie lauded their efforts later that afternoon as she examined the bannister, around which greenery decorated with bright red ornaments had been wound, and then the living room, which was covered with holiday tchotchkes. "Let's go say ‘hi' to Rudolph and the other reindeer," she suggested, stepping over the sill when Justin held the door open for her.

The blond heard chuckling from behind him, but he had no idea what it was about until after Deb had grabbed him by the shoulders, planted a lipsticky kiss on one cheek, and then released him.

"What?" he grumbled half-heartedly, scrubbing at his face with the palm of his hand as more laughter resounded in the hallway.

"You were closest, Sunshine," she cackled, pointing above his head, where a sprig of cock-and-ball mistletoe dangled, apparently a companion to the wreath which he'd watched Michael place on the door only a few minutes ago. When he'd put up the mistletoe, however, Justin had no idea, but he was certain the other two men had set him up, so that he'd be the one to cross the threshold behind Debbie. Craning his head around, he maturely stuck out his tongue at the laughing uncle and nephew, before following Deb out the door.

"Vic?" the redhead called out, looking around the yard and counting, "Ten, eleven, twelve," her brow furrowing in puzzlement. "Didn't we still have a baker's dozen of the cock canes last year?"

"I thought they were all there when we packed them up, Sis," her brother confirmed. "I didn't count them, however, so one might have gone missing."

"Damn. Guess I can't blame the fags of Liberty Avenue for coveting those huge cocks," Debbie chuckled. "I'll just have to order a couple replacements."

Justin grinned to himself as they crossed the street to look up at the roof. Wait for it, he thought.

"Holy shit!" Deb shouted.

"Boy Wonder?" Michael's eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he looked between the roof and the teenager in astonishment.

"I couldn't let Rudolph be the only one without some kind of playmate." Justin shrugged nonchalantly. He was proud of himself for climbing on the roof and planting the thirteenth cock cane right in front of the smallest reindeer, making it look as if he were licking at a tasty treat.

"That's technically not in the front yard," Vic joked, clapping the youngster on the back. "Perfect placement, though - I'm amazed none of us thought of it before now."

"Thank fuck you weren't around when I was a teenager." Michael shook his head ruefully. "I'd have died of embarrassment over a prank like that one."

"You fit right into this family," Debbie chortled, "with that creative idea. Christ," she added as a gust of cold wind ruffled their clothing and hair, "we're a bunch of ninnies, coming out here without our winter gear. Let's get back inside and warm up."

"I'm going to take a shower," Vic announced once they were indoors, shivering and looking rather tired. "These old bones of mine feel the cold more than they used to."

"The young'uns can warm up with an egg flip while you're showering," Debbie decided, patting her brother on the cheek. "I'll have one ready for you when you get out. That'll put some color in your face."

"As long as there's plenty of brandy and rum," Vic agreed, obviously cheered by the prospect of a healthy dose of alcohol.

Vic traipsed upstairs, and after filling two of the ‘wicked Santa' mugs with the beaten egg, milk, sugar, and alcohol mixture, Debbie shooed them into the living room. "Put on some Christmas carols," she ordered, "so I can sing along while I finish up dinner."

Removing a few albums from their covers, Michael fiddled with the record player, stacking the LPs on the turntable spindle. "Geesh," he carped, "Mum needs to enter the twenty-first century and get a CD player. These vinyl records are getting scratched, being stacked like this."

"Look at it this way," the teenager jested, "you could be cranking the Victrola we rescued from the attic. Great ambience, but your arm gets tired awfully quick."

Both Michael and Justin started laughing when the first song turned out to be Bing Crosby crooning Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

"You know," Michael imparted somewhat tentatively, "I've been meaning to thank you for that drawing you did for my birthday. It's so cool. I even got a photo of me holding it, with Captain Astro on one side and Brian on the other. Like Brian suggested, I'm having both the sketch and the photo professionally framed, so I can display them side by side."

Suspecting Brian had noticed details in the drawing that would have slid right by an oblivious, hero-worshipping Michael - and wondering if the adman had taken a cue from them - the teenager stifled a snicker. "I'd like to see it when it's done," he said honestly.

"Sure," Michael responded. "Maybe David and I can have you over sometime. You know, when you do come over, we could talk about producing a comic together. I'd write the dialogue - I've already penned some great lines - and you could do the artwork."

Shit. Justin felt a little bad about having to turn him down since Michael had been behaving fairly decently toward him this afternoon. There was no way he could add one more thing to his schedule, however; he was already stretched too thin. And ugh, the idea of being tied to the other man as a sort of business partner wasn't something he wanted to contemplate - he could only imagine the headaches that would ensue.

"I knew you'd want to do it!" Michael crowed when he didn't respond right away. "With me providing the dialogue, it's bound to be a success! The drawings don't even have to be all that great."

The teenager, who'd been trying to formulate a polite refusal, felt his sympathy ebbing away, with Michael diminishing the importance of the artwork by considering it secondary to the dialogue. "Um, I really can't do it, Michael," he belatedly replied, unable to bring himself to say he was sorry, when he really wasn't. 

"Whatta you mean, you can't do it?" Michael sneered. "If you can work at the diner, go-go dance, and freelance for Brian, you've definitely got the time to help me."

Justin noticed that Michael had left out his studies entirely; the man must not think they were important. Then again, from what he'd gathered, Michael might not have graduated from high school if Brian hadn't helped him with his homework. So, his schoolwork probably didn't rank very high with Michael.

"Look," the brunet spoke in a more conciliatory tone, trying to convince him, "you're not ready to work for someone as demanding as Brian. He'll never accept the art you produce, but I won't be as picky since it's just a back-up for what I write. You can develop your skills working on the comic, and who knows, maybe in a couple years you can create some halfway decent doodles for some mediocre advertising agency."

There was the Michael he knew and didn't like, the blond lad thought disdainfully. Either the alien bodysnatcher had fled, or the meds had worn off. Rather than defend his artwork, Justin wordlessly stood up and left the room, heading for the kitchen, hoping Debs might like some help after all.

 

After checking the dashboard clock to be sure he'd allowed plenty of time to make a couple of stops on the way to Debbie's house, Brian manoeuvred the jeep away from the curb. He actually wanted to be on time for dinner, maybe even turn up a little early, so he could observe Justin and better plan Operation Twat Retrieval. The brat should've gotten over his strife by now, the adman figured, and have started hankering after his cock; there was no way, after all, that a twink named Bob could possibly compete with Brian's magnificent nine inches.

It took less than ten minutes for him to reach Liberty Avenue's GLBT bookstore. He smirked when a vehicle pulled out of a slot right in front of the shop, musing that it was about time his parking karma returned. But then, an ancient, rusted VW bug zipped around him and slid into the space. Brian rolled down the window to cuss out the other driver, but hurriedly rolled it back up when the Volkswagen belched exhaust out of a tailpipe that looked like it was attached to the vehicle with duct tape. "Fuck!" he grumbled, smacking a palm against the steering wheel when the gray smoke cleared. The driver had already disappeared into the bookstore, and since he hadn't gotten a good look at the person, he wouldn't be able to track them down and ream them out like he wanted to.

Six more minutes ticked past while he drove around looking for a parking place, finally easing into one in the tiny lot of Cork and Bottle, the wine bar/emporium which was going to be his next stop. It probably would've been faster to walk from his apartment building to the bookstore and the wine shop, but he hadn't wanted to chance breaking the bottles if he slipped on the icy sidewalk. He also hadn't felt like bundling up to brave the arctic temperatures; even someone as hot as Brian found it hard to look studly when swathed in layers of clothing, like an eskimo. Bad enough that he'd had to dig out his Timberland hiking boots so he'd have a bit of traction on the slippery, snow-covered cement; he really hoped no one noticed he was wearing an off-brand shoe.

The adman hoofed it the eight blocks to the bookstore and was about to push through the swinging door when he realised that the parking spot in front of the bookshop was now free, as was the one right behind it. Brian stood there glaring for a few minutes, during which time no one claimed the empty spaces. "Fucking Murphy and his stupid fucking law," he groused as he entered the store. "What's a Mick doing giving my parking luck away to a kraut, anyway?"

As always, he grimaced at the cutesy, childish name emblazoned on the doors as he entered the shop, immediately beelining toward the adult magazine section at the back, where he chose the latest issues of Blueboy, Genre, and Gay Times. He tried to pick up the new editions of the monthly magazines for Vic as soon as they came out, the mix of gay porn, New York lifestyle, and general entertainment providing Vic with reading material - and visual entertainment. Debbie kept her brother supplied with Out and The Advocate, but the bookstore was the only place in town that carried the other magazines.

Returning to the front of the store, Brian stepped up to the counter, where a gangly, pimply kid was manning the cash register, and slapped the magazines down in front of him. The kid, who'd been chomping on a stick of gum stopped mid-chew, mouth agape, the piece of gum protruding over his lower lip, and simply stared at him.

The brunet stud's upper lip curled in disgust at the unappealing sight. "Are you going to ring these up?" he growled, tapping the topmost magazine with a manicured index finger.

The youngster continued to ogle Brian.

Christ, Brian thought, as if he'd ever fuck such a pathetic specimen of manhood - at least, he assumed that was what had the lad all agog. Losing patience, the adman tossed ten dollars onto the counter - he didn't give a fuck if he was overpaying - grabbed a bag, and stuffed the magazines inside before striding toward the door.

"Wait!" the kid shouted, finally coming to life. "You're Brian Kinney, right?"

"Yeah. Why?" Brian asked, one hand on the door. 

"Word is you're opening your own ad agency."

The adman cringed inwardly at the thought that the scrawny teen might want a job. He didn't bother to respond, just pushed at the door.

"Wait!" the lad reiterated. "We just changed hands, and my new boss would like to talk to you about running a campaign for him."

Huh. That sounded promising - and wasn't at all what he'd been expecting, given the way the boy had been eyeing him. It couldn't hurt to garner a bit more information. Brian sauntered back to the cash register and handed the package with the mags to the pimply kid, who rang up his purchases and handed him the change as well as a business card.

"That's my boss." The kid pointed at the name, Shane McFarland, in the center of the card.

Brian barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at having the obvious pointed out. "So how'd your boss hear about me?"

"Oh, right!" The boy jumped as if he'd been poked in the arse with a hatpin, before bending down and scrabbling around underneath the counter. When he stood up, he thrust a package at Brian.

The adman couldn't help wondering if the lad was all there. Quirking an eyebrow, he waited for an explanation.

"Shit. I, uh," the boy stuttered, "I'm not usually this much of a moron. But uh," he gestured at Brian, "you're-" He stopped, evidently struck speechless again.

Yep. Acne Boy was definitely attracted to him, even if that wasn't the primary reason he'd waylaid Brian. He smirked and arched his eyebrow a little higher.

"Duh." The kid smacked himself in the forehead. "You don't need me to tell you how hot you are."

"Why don't you just tell me what the deal is with this package - and how it relates to your boss knowing about me?"

"Uh, Shane apparently ended up chatting with a couple dudes who know you, while one of them was purchasing the book that's in that bag. He forgot the book when he left the store. We've been holding it for him, but he hasn't been back yet."

Curious, Brian pulled out the book, revealing the title, The Church and the Homosexual.

"Um, that's actually a really cool text even though it's kinda old," the boy continued. "It was, like, the first book produced by a Catholic priest that contended the Bible doesn't condemn homosexuality."

As if the real religious wingnuts - like his mum - would ever read a book like that, Brian thought sourly. Endeavouring to keep his face blank, he merely commented, "That still doesn't clue me in as to who purchased it."

The clerk coloured up again. "Uh, there's a credit card receipt inside. Maybe you can check the signature?"

Flipping the cover open, Brian found a receipt with a legible signature, Benjamin Bruckner. Could this purchase have been made on the day that Theodore and Ben met? he wondered, grinning to himself. He'd have to rag Ted about it, regardless of whether his friend had touted him to the new owner.

"I know him," Brian acknowledged. "If you'd like, I can see that the book reaches its purchaser."

"Um," the boy frowned, "I don't know if that'd be kosher."

The brunet really wanted to have the book in hand to give Ted this evening, so he could watch the man squirm. "What if I have the professor who bought it give you a call and confirm that he's received the book?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess that'd be okay," the sales clerk replied, his voice hesitant.

"Here," Brian offered, fishing out his wallet and extracting a card. "This is one of my old business cards, with my mobile number written on the back. When I talk with your boss about advertising options, I can confirm that the book reached Professor Bruckner."

The boy looked relieved at that reassurance. "Yeah, okay." He smiled at Brian, joking, "It's not like I don't know who you are and can't track you down if I don't get that call."

Moments later, both the bag with the magazines for Vic and the one with Ben's book safely stowed inside his coat, where the snow wouldn't dampen them, the adman hastened toward the Cork and Bottle. Even if he didn't end up creating a full-blown campaign for McFarland, he reflected, he could at least come up with a kickass name for the bookstore - something to replace the current, juvenile one. He'd even be willing to do that for free; he was that sick of Over the Rainbow

 

The brunet scowled at his Bvlgari Octo wristwatch as he rang the bell at Deb's almost thirty-five minutes after leaving the bookstore. Instead of arriving early for dinner so he could convince Justin that both of them wanted the same thing - lots of fucking with no strings attached - he was customarily late. He was both amused and appalled to be confronted by the tacky cock-and-ball wreath, which had graced Debbie's door every year since he first met Michael and his mum. He flicked his middle finger against one of the red ‘balls,' brooding that the color was wrong - given the state of his balls, they should be blue, not red.

Maybe, he mused, said blue balls feeling painfully full as he waited for someone to get their arse over to the door and let him in, Operation Twat Retrieval could begin immediately. He really couldn't imagine that the blond wasn't ripe for the plucking by now. Just as he was drifting off into an erotic daydream, in which he was emptying his balls into the most perfect arse he'd ever fucked, the door finally swung open.

"Sunshine!" Brian heartily greeted the blond, his face flaming as he wished there was some unobtrusive way for him to clamp down on the base of his cock. He was suddenly that close to erupting, and coming face-to-face with the possessor of his favourite bubble butt wasn't helping him regain control.

His libido took a hit, though, his erection dwindling when the teenager merely stared at him stonily. Be careful what you wish for, Kinney, the brunet thought. If only he'd arrived early, as planned, maybe he could've cajoled Justin out of his pissy mood, with the two of them adjourning to Michael's old room for a short while. Maybe for a pre-dinner protein digestif? That idea had him grinning lasciviously at the boy, but there was no return smile.

One beat and another passed before Justin opened the door fully. "Brian," he greeted the brunet in a frostily polite tone, stepping out of the way so Brian could enter. "Do come in."

The brunet stud couldn't figure out what was wrong. Surely Justin wasn't carrying a grudge just because Brian invited him over for a fuck the last time he'd seen the teenager. "What the fuck crawled up your a-" he started, when Emmett's voice interrupted them.

"Kiss, kiss!" the queen called out, pointing at something above their heads.

Glancing upward, Brian noticed the mistletoe that was almost brushing his auburn locks. Perfect. A steamy kiss would be just the ticket to beguile the brat out of his bad temper. He bent down, intending to treat the lad to a thorough tonguing, but to his dismay, Justin turned his cheek so that their lips didn't touch. 

"I'm not a fucking kewpie doll for you to fondle whenever you want," the lad hissed, turning around and leaving Brian gaping after him from the doorway.

"Are you coming or going?" Debbie shouted. "Either way, shut the fucking door. You're letting the heat out."

He definitely wanted to be coming, Brian thought peevishly. Unfortunately, it looked like he was going to have to mend fences with Justin before that happened. Not for the first time, he regretted kicking the kid out after the burglary; before that, all it had taken was a single look from him, and Justin was ready to fuck - unlike now. 

Unused to being repeatedly thwarted by his prey, the adman barely resisted a childish urge to slam the door behind him as he entered the house and dumped his bags next to the coat stand. It turned out he couldn't shut the door at all, however, a weight pressing against it from the other side.

"What the fuck?" he griped.

"Geez, Brian," he heard Ted complain from the other side, "didn't you hear me calling out to hold the door open?"

Not about to admit that he'd been too busy sulking to hear him, Brian simply backed up, allowing the door to swing free. With Brian no longer pushing against the door, Ted stumbled ungracefully over the threshold.

A hand reached out and steadied Theodore before reeling him back one step. "Mistletoe," Ben murmured, directing Ted's attention to the sprig of greenery.

"We shouldn't waste-" Ted began, before Ben covered his lips with his own.

Brian felt an odd, painful tugging as he watched the scorching kiss, which neither man seemed in a hurry to end. There was no way he was jealous, so he figured it must be a hunger pang, caused by eating nothing more than an apple for lunch.

"Ooh la la!" Emmett exclaimed, fanning himself with one hand as he appeared next to Brian. "What have we here?"

The adman doubted either of the men had heard Em, since they remained liplocked. Brian shifted from one foot to the other, disturbed to realise he was becoming aroused from watching Ted - Ted of all people! - engage in a porn-worthy kiss with the professor.

"Why the fuck's the door still open?" Debbie bellowed a second later as she stomped into the hallway. "Shit or get off the pot, Brian!"

Brian stared in disbelief when Deb's stentorian roar failed to rouse the men from their kissing trance. How the fuck were they still breathing? He hadn't seen them come up for air once. He might have to query Ted about his breathing technique, he mused.

"Oh," the redhead's voice dropped to a whisper, a sappy expression crossing her face as she bulldozed her way in between Emmett and Brian, "Teddy's got himself a beau - and such a handsome one."

The good thing about having the woman he called ‘Ma' wedged up against him was that it instantly killed Brian's burgeoning hard-on. The bad thing, however, was the pornus interruptus, even if it was discomfiting to have discovered that Ted could be hot.

"Isn't it fantastic?" Em seconded Debbie's assessment, a dreamy look in his eyes, his hands fluttering about until he clasped them in front of his chest.

Jesus Christ. What a bunch of sentimental claptrap, Brian thought, rolling his eyes. He let out a piercing whistle, inquiring sardonically, "Are you gonna fuck in the doorway?"

The sides of Ted's and Ben's faces pressed together as they turned toward their audience, their lips parting, a dazed look in their eyes.

"Dammit, Brian," Deb elbowed him in the ribs, "why'd you hafta do that? That was the first hot flash I've actually enjoyed."

"Shit. What'd I miss?" Vic asked, joining the growing throng in the entryway.

Instead of becoming a stammering, floundering mess, Ted surprised Brian. A proud smile on his face, he stayed plastered against the professor. "Deb, Vic, I'd like to introduce my boyfriend, Ben Bruckner."

"Pleased to meet you," Vic greeted the newcomer to the household. Quirking an eyebrow and glancing at the mistletoe, he added, "Although I'm disappointed to have missed the man-on-man action." 

Downplaying how erotic the ‘man-on-man action' had been, Brian drawled, "It was just a kiss."

"No, no, no," Emmett immediately jumped in. "That was far more than a kiss. It was-"

"A bloody hot tongue-fucking," Deb finished his sentence. "Christ, Teddy, I thought Ben was about to perform a tonsillectomy on you."

"That would be one for the Guinness Book of World Records," Ben chuckled, shaking hands first with Vic and then Debbie. "No one has yet succeeded in sucking out another person's tonsils."

"You two seem awfully cosy," the redhead teased as she chivvied everyone inside. "How long have you been dating?"

"It's been a couple of months," Ted disclosed as he, Ben, and Brian shed their outerwear.

"Closer to three," Ben specified.

"That would be almost as long as Baby and the Big Bad," Emmett niggled Brian, giving him a sidelong glance as they entered the dining area, "if they were still together that is."

"Who?" Ben asked, obviously confused.

"No one," Brian grunted dismissively, glaring at the mischievous queen. "And they were never dating," he added for a good measure as they approached the table. Unfortunately, his words fell into a conversational lull, the blond staring directly at him. He worried that Justin would throw a hissy fit, which would make it even more difficult to get into his pants, but the blond simply turned away, laughing at something the girls were discussing. He held Gus securely in his arms as the boy batted at one of the bells on Harley's cage, while the budgie rang the one beneath his mirror lantern.

"Ha-ee," the tyke gurgled.

Brian smiled and moved toward Justin and his son, planning to put his arms around both boys. He hoped the blond wouldn't object to that, that he'd realise Brian wasn't being deliberately cruel; after all, Justin knew he didn't do romance in any form, especially not that heterosexual nonsense known as dating.

"Hellooo, Briaaan," Harley chirped. "Jushun. Come, Baby."

The brunet stud grinned. That cheeky budgie had its priorities in the right order - and it seemed to be on his side.

"That's disgusting!" Michael protested, tromping into the room with David right behind him.

"What is?" Emmett inserted. "Coming?"

"Huh? Yes. No. I mean, yes!" Michael shouted, almost stamping a foot against the carpet in vexation. 

"You don't like to come?" Em questioned innocently.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course, I like to come!" the short brunet retorted. "But-"

"Honey," Deb interrupted, averting a tirade that Brian was certain would have been directed at Justin. "Let me introduce you and David to Ted's boyfriend."

"We've met," Michael stated unenthusiastically.

Debbie narrowed her eyes as David stepped forward to shake Ben's hand. "Wait a minute. When did you meet Ben? In fact," she turned in a circle, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at Brian and Emmett, "now that I think about it, Ted introduced Ben to me and Vic, but not to you two."

Shit, Brian thought. Deb hated it when she was the last one to hear a new titbit.

"It was at the diner. At least, that's where I met the professor," Michael sneered, elongating ‘professor' so that it sounded like some kind of demeaning occupation.

"A professor, a doctor, and a cop in the family," Vic joked, trying to lessen the tension. "Now all we need is-"

"There's no cop in the family!" Michael shrieked, overriding his uncle's voice. 

"You should be fucking happy for me, Michael." Debbie scowled at her son, although Michael paid her no mind.

"Anyway," the short brunet ranted, "that's not important. What I want to know is why the professor was being so chummy with Brian at the diner. They obviously met before."

Crap. Michael's radar for ferreting out information about Brian was far too accurate at times. Noting the angry glint in his childhood friend's eyes, Brian realised Mikey wasn't going to let the subject drop. As he was trying to figure out how to defuse the situation, Ben spoke up.

"That's really none of your business, Michael," the professor observed mildly, Ted nodding in agreement.

Brian felt a headache brewing. Common sense was not going to work with Mikey, not when Brian was involved. Sure enough, that got Michael's hackles up.

"Brian's my best friend," Michael pontificated, crossing his arms over his chest, his lower lip jutting out.

"That doesn't make it your business," Ben rephrased his observation.

"Yes, it does," Michael insisted. "Brian and I look out for each other. Always have. Always will."

Fuck. Michael was like a dog with a bone, meaning this could go on for hours. It would be great if the news about how he and Ben had originally met could be kept private; there was no way that would happen now, however, what with everyone listening avidly. Since every single person who was watching this encounter would be pestering them for the details in any case, Brian looked over at Ben and then at Ted, silently asking for permission. If either of them looked the least bit uneasy, he wouldn't say a word.

Ben glanced at Ted, raising his eyebrows. Ted clasped one of his boyfriend's hands in his and nodded at Brian, appearing unruffled.

Brian shrugged at his childhood friend. "We met at a White Party, years ago," he disclosed.

"You fucked?" Michael screeched.

"That's what you do at a White Party, Sweetie," Emmett murmured, his head swiveling from Brian to Ben and back again. "Fuck, that must've been hot, hot, hot."

"Wish I'd been there," Vic joked. "I'd have paid for a ringside seat."

"How can you be okay with that?" Michael yelled at Ted.

Ted cast a blasé look at Michael. "What's the big deal? They tricked for a night, no strings attached. Fags do that all the time, including you, I hope."

"I'd never cheat on David like that," Michael asserted, wrapping an arm around the doc.

Right, Brian thought cynically, unless the right opportunity arose. He didn't dare look at Justin since he knew how strongly the lad disapproved of Michael's behaviour. What he'd told Justin still held true - there was no point in talking to Michael because his childhood friend would have reinvented what had happened to suit himself, and on top of that, would be sent into a lengthy fit of the sulks by a confrontation, making everyone around him miserable. He and Justin would just have to hope that the incident with Ben had been an aberration that would never recur.

"What cheating?" Ted asked in bemusement.

"Duh. Your professor slept with someone else," Michael scolded, speaking slowly, as if to a dullard. "That's cheating, even if it's with a stud like Brian."

Ted shook his head in exasperation. "Hardly, Michael. It happened years before I met Ben."

"It counts," Michael argued. "Ben'll never really want you since he's been fucked by Brian."

"Honeybun," David intervened, "it's wonderful that you're such a loyal friend, but Ted's right. If it happened before he met Ben, it should have no effect on their relationship."

"For fuck's sake, Michael," Debbie lectured her son, "Ben's not interested in Brian. Can't you see the way he's looking at Ted?"

"It's different when it comes to Brian," Michael persisted stubbornly.

"I know I'm irresistible," Brian teased his petulant friend, "but the glamour wears off for most guys after one night. Not just for me, but for them too, Mikey."

"It didn't for him." Michael jerked a thumb in Justin's direction.

"He's... different," Brian allowed, casting a surreptitious look at the blond. Dammit, he mused, the kid didn't seem impressed by the implied compliment. In fact, he didn't seem to be paying any attention to Brian.

"Shit!" Justin handed Gus to Lindsay and rushed toward the kitchen. "It smells like something's burning, Deb!"

"My chicken francese!" Deb wailed, immediately on Justin's heels.

 

A little later, everyone was seated around the dining room table, with Debbie apologising for the slim pickings. "I can't believe I burned the chicken," she mourned the loss of the main course. "I've cooked that dish hundreds of times. I should've been watching it, though, not hankering after the latest gossip."

"Hon," Emmett consoled her, "of course you wanted in on the latest goss. Besides, what chef doesn't occasionally have a dish go tits up?"

"Exactly," Vic concurred. "I've regaled you with enough tales of the disasters at that fancy restaurant I worked for in New York, Sis."

"The peas and eggs taste really good," Justin chimed in, spooning up another mouthful. 

"It's a poor man's dish," Michael disparaged the replacement main course. "You should've let David order pizza for all of us, Ma. A man needs meat to eat."

Justin wanted to kick the whining man in the arse. How dare he criticise his mother like that? the blond fumed to himself. That phrase about the meat, however, struck the teenager's fancy, the words ‘meat to eat' spinning around in his brain.

"Michael Charles Novotny," Debbie chided her son. "It was very kind of David to make that offer, but there's still plenty of good food to eat, even without the chicken francese."

"There should be something besides veggies." Michael pouted.

"Gee, I didn't know eggs were considered vegetables," Ted commented wryly. "I guess you learn something new every day."

"And then there's the cheesy garlic bread," Melanie quipped, "transformed into ‘veg bread' as soon as one pea touches it."

"Hahaha," Michael fake-laughed. "I'd just rather eat meat."

"I'm sure Dr Dave lets you eat his meat," Vic remarked, smiling slyly.

That was it! Justin thought triumphantly while giggling at Vic's bon mot. Change the pronoun and he had the perfect slogan for a steakhouse - Eat the meat. Even if he and his ex never became lovers again, the lad still wanted Brian's new agency to succeed and would do whatever he could to contribute to that success. Reaching around to the sideboard, Justin grabbed his sketchbook and pencil, tore out a sheet, made a rough drawing of a steakhouse with the slogan jotted down beneath it, folded the piece of paper, and pushed it under the edge of Brian's plate. 

Justin hadn't really been in the mood to chat with anyone since they started eating. He would have sat at the other end of the table so he could have fun helping feed Gus; however, he'd wanted Debbie to relax rather than jumping up to fill any last-minute requests. That had led him to claim the chair next to his surrogate mother at the head of the table, which meant he could be the one to get up if anything was needed from the kitchen. 

The blond lad wasn't sure why Brian had insisted on sitting next to him - they hadn't exchanged one word since Justin greeted the brunet at the door, the lad still too ticked off about the doppelgänger hustler to attempt conversation. It had been rather comical when Brian and Em nearly collided as they both went for the chair next to the teen, the flamboyant queen backing off with a smirk and subsiding into the seat on the other side of Brian when the slightly shorter man snarled at him.

"What's that?" Michael sneered at Justin from across the table as he placed the piece of paper under Brian's plate. "A love note? Haven't you figured out yet that Brian doesn't do love?"

"It's business," Justin stated curtly, wishing the rapport they'd established that afternoon had lasted longer. Michael's mood had been deteriorating since he winkled out the truth about Brian and the professor meeting at a White Party. Then, he'd tried to sit in the chair Justin currently occupied - Emmett having already taken the seat to Brian's left - loudly proclaiming that he needed to be next to ‘his best friend'. Debbie, however, insisted that Michael move to the other side of the table, so he and David could sit together. Justin had mostly been keeping his eyes on his plate as he ate, rather than look at Michael's scowling visage.

"Riiight," Michael heehawed. "I bet it's a note begging Brian to fu-"

"As it happens, it is business," Brian drawled after opening the note. "Not that I'd mind if it were personal," he added, leering at the blond.

Justin stared back at his former lover, amazed that Brian would admit to that much in front of the ‘family'. Sure, it only amounted to Brian acknowledging that he wanted to fuck him, but considering it wasn't that long since Brian had thrown him out of the loft... The blond's head was spinning as he contemplated going home with Brian tonight - it was so very tempting. The interlude with Eric hadn't been nearly enough to sate his appetite after the month-long sexual drought, and sex with Brian was always special. But, he sternly reminded himself, sitting up ramrod straight, his expression icing over, he was nothing more than an interchangeable fuck toy for the brunet.

He was surprised when something that resembled sadness flickered in Brian's hazel eyes. He couldn't figure out why that would be, though; Brian could just avail himself of the ‘dial a hustler' service again.

"Hey," Michael interposed excitedly, pulling Brian's attention away from Justin, "did you see the car in the driveway?"

"Couldn't miss it," Brian deadpanned. "Which corner does it oversee?"

Michael beamed at his friend, clearly thinking he'd been complimented, although Dr Dave looked less happy about Brian's remark.

"I thought of parking in the driveway since someone nicked my parking karma" - Brian paused to glare at Ted - "but Fillmore Slim beat me to it. I had to park two-and-a-half blocks away."

Ted chuckled. "You can't blame it on me this time. I arrived after you, remember?"

Brian narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Where'd you park?"

"Whoever was parked in front of Deb's house pulled out as I was driving down the street," Ted responded with a nonchalant shrug. "There was just enough room for my car."

Ben commented admiringly, "You have mad parking skills, Theodore; I never would have tried to fit a vehicle the size of your Mercedes into that spot."

"What's the deal with the GLAX AD license plate, anywho?" Emmett inquired, flapping a hand at Michael.

"Yeah," Ted chimed in. "I thought I had a bowel movement coming on."

"You have bladder and bowel problems?" Michael screeched. "You really need to see a doctor, Ted. There must be something seriously wrong."

"Uh, Honey," Debbie interceded, "It's your license plate that's having an effect on Ted."

Dr Dave frowned, but then a look of enlightenment stole over his face. "Your mum's right, Dumpling. GLAX AD sounds like a laxative."

"Galaxy Lad is not a fucking laxative!" Michael shouted.

Everyone at the table burst out laughing. Justin was surprised when Michael's lips twitched as he caught on to the joke he'd made - maybe the dweeb's sense of humour wasn't entirely defunct.

"You should beseech Parkodité, the goddess of parking, to help you," Melanie quipped. 

"No," Debbie disagreed "You need some high-powered assistance. Try this prayer: ‘Mother Cabrini, Mother Cabrini, please find a space for my parking machiney.'"

Brian shot an affronted look at the redhead, snorting, "As if I have any trouble docking my ‘parking machine.'

"Deb's right," Vic averred. "That prayer works. I used it all the time in New York. If anyone can help you, it's Mother Cabrini, a genuine Italian-American, who's also the patron saint of immigrants."

"I'd settle for having my parking karma returned," Brian cavilled. "Theodore can have the prayer."

"Come, Briaaan," Harley chirped. 

"See, even the budgie agrees that you should give it back." The adman folded his arms across his chest and shot a look of vindication at his friend and employee.

Feigning regret, Ted shook his head and adopted a pious expression. "I can't return something Mother Cabrini wants me to have, Bri."

Justin giggled at the way Ted had outfoxed Brian, earning a dirty look from his ex.

"Maybe you should just admit defeat," Lindsay teased, "and have a funeral Mass for your dead parking karma. Then you could accept that it's gone-"

"And get used to walking three to four extra blocks every-fucking-where I go? No way," Brian grumped.

"Speaking of Mass," Debbie mentioned, "remember how we used to attend Midnight Mass with Nonno and Nonna every year, Vic?"

"The pomp and circumstance of High Mass in Latin, the finest priestly vestments, the full choir, the hand-carved nativity scene..." Vic waxed nostalgic.

"Nonna was fit to burst with pride the Christmas you were selected to be the head altar boy," Deb reminisced. "You were only fourteen years old, and there you were, leading the procession, swinging the censer."

"I was only chosen to replace the thurifer who normally carried the censer because there was no acolyte available, and I was the tallest of the altar boys," Vic recalled, chuckling. "I could barely keep the blasted thing off the floor, and I was scared shitless I was going to set my robes on fire."

"You were an altar boy?" Justin questioned, startled.

"Yep," Vic confirmed. "It's still common for boys who grow up in practising Catholic households. Both Michael and Brian were altar boys too."

The teenager had even more trouble picturing Brian as an altar boy.

"Fucking hated it," Brian growled. "Father Cedric of the foul breath and roaming hands was always trying to corner me. He even had my mum half convinced that I had the makings of a priest."

"You got even with him, though," Michael giggled, "using what you learned in chemistry."

"Best use ever for synthetic come." Brian grinned. "Father Cedric was glued to that toilet seat for hours before the janitor finally heard him crying for help from the loo in the rectory."

"That was you?" an astounded Debbie yelled. "How come you never told me?"

"Vic knew," Brian revealed, "and he made sure Father Cedric kept his hands off me after that."

"Next thing to a paederast," Vic condemned the man. "He should have been defrocked. At least I put the ‘fear of God' into him enough that he requested a posting at a different parish. We were well rid of him."

"Did he ever bother you, Honey?" Deb inquired, glancing at Michael in concern.

"Nah. He only wanted the prettiest altar boy," Michael replied.

"I was handsome, not ‘pretty,' Brian huffed.

Justin started laughing. It figured that that distinction was what mattered most to Brian. He had to agree with Michael, however - geeky, teenage Brian was more pretty than handsome.

"Shut up," Brian muttered, bumping their shoulders together, although Justin noticed that he didn't look all that offended.

"You know, Sis, we should go to Midnight Mass this Christmas," Vic suggested. 

"I'd like that," Debbie immediately agreed. "We can sing all those lovely old hymns, celebrate the birth of the Baby Jesus, and light candles in memory of Nonna and Nonno."

Looking at the way Debbie's face had lit up, Justin realised she was a fairly devout Catholic in some ways, although she obviously despised the Church's stance regarding queers. "Can non-Catholics attend?" he inquired, thinking it might be interesting to observe the panoply of a Midnight Mass. His surrogate mother's excitement about the hymns also sparked an idea about another Christmas present - a calligraphic rendering of a sacred hymn with a border comprised of portraits of the ‘family,' including Deb and Vic's grandparents and parents. He'd ask Frau Rose to help him research popular Catholic hymns so he could choose the one he thought Debbie would like best.

Beaming at him, the redhead reached out and squeezed one of Justin's cheeks, replying, "Everyone's welcome at Midnight Mass, Sunshine! Heck, lots of Catholics only attend Mass on Christmas Eve."

"Too bad you're too old to serve as an altar boy." Vic winked at Justin. "Otherwise, we'd convert you and put you through the same torture Michael, Brian, and I endured."

"Fuck, no!" Justin blurted. He didn't really have a clue what duties an altar boy had, other than possibly carrying a censer, but it didn't sound like something he'd enjoy. Unless, perhaps, he had a companion in crime like Brian. He couldn't help feeling a little envious of the experiences Brian and Michael had shared as teenagers.

"I'll second that," Ben let out a deep laugh, "if not quite so vehemently. My parents were nominally Catholic, but they weren't particularly observant. We attended Mass once or twice a year, at Christmas and sometimes for the Easter Vigil, but Mum and Dad saw no need for me or any of my siblings to take catechism or go through confirmation."

"Huh." Ted looked at his boyfriend in surprise. "I wouldn't have guessed you're Catholic."

"I can't say I am a Catholic, even if I've been baptised." Ben shrugged. "Really, I'm not much for organised religions. I'd rather meditate, work out in the gym, or go for a run, than sit in a church on Sunday morning."

"I'd rather worship in another way entirely," Emmett remarked, waggling his eyebrows at the professor.

"Hmm. Since someone was being a slugabed this morning, I thought I'd save that for my post-run cool-down," Ben joked.

"A hot, sweaty Ben," Ted joined in the raillery, grinning at his beau, "does not have a cooling effect on me, for some unknown reason."

"There'd be something wrong with you if it did, Teddy," Em contended, fanning himself with his napkin.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you interested," Ben emphasised, leaning over to bestow a steamy kiss on Ted.

Once their lip-lock ended, Ben resumed, "This morning as I was cutting across campus, I saw another early riser emerging from the dorms. I thought at first that one of the students was also a jogger and was thinking of asking if he wanted to join me for my morning constitutional, but then I realised the kid was staggering toward the bus stop."

Shit. Was it possible the professor had seen him leaving Eric's dormitory? Justin wondered. 

"Drunk or fucked out?" Melanie speculated.

"Or both," Lindsay murmured, her cheeks a rosy pink.

"The good old days," Mel laughed.

Justin felt his stomach lurch as he prayed that they wouldn't talk about lezzie sex.

"No talking about what munchers do at night," Brian demanded, shuddering.

"I'd guess the student was just tuckered out, although I was too far away to make an accurate assessment," Ben returned to the original topic.

"What time did you see the kid?" Debbie queried, an interested glint in her eyes.

"Sunrise," Ben stated firmly. "I might not have noticed the boy if a ray of sunshine hadn't pierced the clouds right then, haloing his blond hair."

So much for keeping his one-night stand private, or at least just between him, Vic, Deb, and Carl, the teenager reflected. He hadn't thought to request that they keep it quiet, not that it would have done any good, but he also hadn't calculated that Ben would raise the subject over dinner. 

"Who gives a shit about some drunk college kid?" Michael asked.

"Not a college kid, and not drunk," Vic chuckled.

"How do you know that?" Brian questioned sharply.

"Because it was me," Justin revealed, trying to take command of the situation. Better that than simply let everyone rag on him mercilessly.

The professor winced and mouthed a ‘Sorry' at him, making it clear that he hadn't recognised the blond, or he wouldn't have put him on the spot like that.

Brian's head swiveled toward the teen. "Were you visiting Bob?" he probed, a nasty edge to his voice.

"Not possible," Debbie chortled, clearly delighting in Justin's predicament. "Bob was here."

"Double-timing your boyfriend, Boy Wonder?" Michael sneered. "Sounds like something a slut would do."

Although Michael's slur made the teenager furious, he was also bewildered by it; he'd have thought Michael would encourage him to fuck other men, since that would keep him away from Brian. Suddenly, however, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation struck him, and he began laughing helplessly. He could feel Brian's eyes boring into him, but he refused to let it get to him. Why bother to defend his right to trick or his ‘relationship' with a dildo, for fuck's sake?

"There's nothing wrong with tricking," Vic censured his nephew. "Justin," he chuckled, "never promised fidelity to Bob - or to anyone else, for that matter."

"Darned tootin'!" Debbie concurred. "Sunshine should have fun while he's young."

A muscle spasmed beneath Brian's left eye as he glared at the blond. How dare the brat blow him off for mere boys, who couldn't possibly compete with his own attractiveness and prowess? "Christ, Sunshine," he griped, "can't you keep it in your pants?"

Everyone at the table goggled at the brunet stud, Justin looking particularly nonplussed. It was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. Brian could hardly believe he'd uttered such a hypocritical, idiotic statement and was at a loss for how to extricate himself from the mess.

Fortunately, Em broke the silence by flirting outrageously, "Ooh, were you being all toppy, Baby? You can always practise on me, you know."

Another pang of something unidentifiable assaulted Brian. Maybe it was heartburn?

Michael rolled his eyes and scoffed through a mouthful of food, "That's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard. Two complete bottoms trying to get it on? Absolutely nothing would happen."

Emmett didn't bother to refute his friend's allegations or remind him that there was more than one way to ‘get it on'. Instead, he gave an eyeroll of his own, scrunched up his nose, and mocked, "Ew, Michael, Sweetie, no one wants to see the half-chewed peas on your tongue."

Brian mused that for all Michael's carping about the peas and eggs, he couldn't seem to get enough of the not-meat. His sour mood lifted a little as he patted the pocket of his jeans, feeling the piece of paper with the slogan Justin had suggested crinkling beneath his fingers. Eat the meat. Christ, he couldn't wait for the blond to do just that.

Shoveling in another forkful, Michael protested through the half-masticated food, "I'm hungry. Ma was such a slave driver with the decorations. She barely let us stop for a cuppa."

"Michael!" Debbie reached over and slapped her son upside the head. "That's not true. What is true" - she laughed fondly and patted her ample belly - "is that you inherited my appetite."

"And your wide jaw," Michael proudly claimed, flecks of food spewing onto the table.

"Sis does have a big mouth," Vic cheekily interjected, making everyone chuckle. "But a jaw and a mouth-"

"It's a really good thing to have," Michael interrupted. "It's because of my wide jaw that I give such fantastic blowjobs."

"What?" Dr Dave asked, his forehead creasing in confusion. "I think what Vic was trying to say is that just because your jaw is wide, it doesn't mean-"

"My fellatio," Michael cut his boyfriend off. "You said my skills are beyond compare."

Brian's bad mood dissipated some more. Michael's ignorance, sometimes endearing and sometimes annoying, almost always provided comic relief. 

"Well, that's true," David finally replied, grinning smugly, "but-" 

"The size of your jaw makes for good blowjobs?" Melanie wisecracked. "God forbid I should end up mouth to dick, but I don't see how having a large jaw would help."

"The width of your jaw doesn't directly correlate to the absolute volume of your mouth," Ben pedantically inserted. "Even if you have an unusually wide jaw, your mouth may be smaller than the norm."

Michael bristled, "Fat lot you know, professor."

Fuck, Brian thought. Here we go again. If someone didn't intervene soon, this wasn't going to end well. Michael clearly had bruised feelings after being brushed off by Ben earlier in the week, and - as Brian had suspected would happen - he didn't even seem to realise that he should never have come on to Ted's boyfriend or have tried to ‘cheat' on David like that.

Before the situation could escalate further, Dr Dave mitigated it. His cheeks red with embarrassment, he confessed, "It's probably your lack of gag reflex, Dumpling, and not the width of your jaw that makes the difference."

That seemed to appease Michael. "Yeah," he reflected, "I've heard that most men have trouble with that gag reflex thing. I've never had any trouble, though."

As the tension eased, Michael suddenly boasted, "That makes me the best cocksucker in Pittsburgh, right?" 

"Sure, Michael, you're a maestro," Ted commented drily, causing Em to hiccup with laughter, the imp beside Brian to giggle, and most everyone else to fall about.

Theodore and Brian exchanged a wryly amused look. Michael's cocksucking skills might be impressive, but the brunet stud had no desire to observe those skills - he suspected it would be deflating.

 

Shortly after the discussion about jaws and cocks ended, Justin stood up to clear away the plates that had largely been scraped clean. "I've got it," the lad stated when Debs began to rise to help out. "I'll just rinse these and put them in the dishwasher, and then the dessert should be ready. Who'd like some?" he inquired of the table at large.

"I can always make room for dessert," Emmett promptly answered, giving Justin a gap-toothed smile, whilst rubbing his slightly distended belly with one hand.

"Me. I'm still hungry," Michael complained. "Peas and eggs aren't very filling. Give me a big helping of whatever it is."

Inconsiderate twit, the blond teen thought when he noticed Debbie's crestfallen look. Justin was tempted to point out that there wasn't any ‘meat' in the dessert, but that would just start Michael carping again about the meatless meal, even though there was no way the man could still be hungry after all the food he'd shoveled into his maw.

"Bamama!" Gus carolled, banging his pudgy hands down on the tray of his highchair, diverting Justin's attention from Michael.

Justin grinned at the nipper. "No banana, but I promise you'll like it, Gussy."

"Bah, Jushun!" the tyke signalled his agreement.

"You shouldn't encourage him to develop a sweet tooth," Brian stated, glancing disapprovingly at the girls. "Too many carbs aren't health-"

"He has yet to develop a tooth of any kind," Melanie noted, using her napkin to wipe away a spot of drool from the cherub's mouth.

"And you're not exactly one to talk about carbs," Lindsay teased her friend, "considering the many cups of caffeinated sugar you down every day."

"Hmpf," Brian grunted, apparently realising he wasn't going to win the argument. "No dessert for me. I don't want to get fat."

The teenager laughed to himself as he ferried the empty dishes into the kitchen. He'd seen the way Brian sucked in his gut as if hiding flab, while glancing at Dr Dave. What that was about, beyond being hyperconscious about a nonexistent ounce of ‘fat,' Justin wasn't certain. Sure, the doc was in good shape, but Brian was nuts if he thought the older man was serious competition for ‘top stud' status.

"Ooh, is that a cranberry pie?" Emmett asked as Justin deposited a pie and a tub of vanilla ice cream on the table. "It looks yummy." 

"We're trying out all things cranberry during the run-up to Christmas," Vic confirmed, "starting with a basic pie. Sunshine's getting to be a dab hand with the crust."

Justin's cheeks flushed with pleasure. "Erm, I wouldn't want to make a pie without Deb or Vic's supervision."

"You'll be ready before Christmas," Vic stated firmly, "when you'll be solely responsible for at least one of the pies. Now, why don't you dish up that pie you helped make?"

The boy gulped, suddenly feeling a little sickly as he cut up the cranberry pie, added a dollop of ice cream to each serving, and passed the plates around the table. What if his Christmas effort was inedible?

Emmett winked at him. "Just remember to ply all of us with plenty of alcohol, Baby, and it won't matter if the pie has been burnt to a crisp."

The teenager grinned at that sage advice, returning the carton of ice cream to the freezer before reseating himself at the table. His grin broadened as he glanced toward the other end of the table, seemingly listening to a quiet conversation between Ted, Ben, and Vic, even though he couldn't hear a word. In actuality, he was surreptitiously watching as Brian scooped up a bite of ice cream drenched pie from Justin's plate and raised it to his mouth. It really was weird, the lad mused, the way his former lover would eat off his plate, apparently without ever realising what he was doing.

As he unobtrusively nudged the plate a little closer to his ex, he noticed that Michael and David were trading off with spoon-feeding bites to each other and exchanging sloppy kisses as they chased after dribbles of cranberry and ice cream that ran down their chins. Justin had been vacillating all day about saying something to Michael in regard to the way he'd hit on Ben at the diner. Now, seeing that he and David seemed happy together, he decided to let it go. Who knew? Maybe Michael's jealousy of both Ted and Ben - Ted for having hooked the professor, and the professor for having been fucked by Brian - would take some of the heat off of Justin, since it would give Michael someone else to focus his enmity on.

Not long thereafter, Lindsay stood up and moved around to release Gus from his high chair, opining, "If the pie you make for Christmas is anywhere near as good as this one, there won't be a crumb left, Sunshine."

Melanie slurped down one more forkful before joining her partner. "Sorry to eat and run," she apologised, "but I have to be in court early tomorrow."

"Why don't we send the rest of the pie home with you," Debbie suggested.

"Fuck, no," Melanie groaned. "I'm already going to have trouble squeezing into my suit in the morning." 

"I'll see you out," Justin offered, figuring this was a good opportunity to excuse himself from the table.

While the girls shrugged into their coats, he bundled Gus into what seemed to be a snowsuit onesie, with legs, attached mittens, and a hood. "You look like a miniature snowman," he informed the nipper, tweaking his button nose.

"Give him here," a deep voice commanded from behind Justin, making him jump. "I'll settle him into his car seat for you," Brian said.

Moments later, the teenager closed the door behind Brian and the girls, making sure that the latch didn't accidentally flip over - it was kind of hinky - and lock the older man out. Then he jogged upstairs, bypassing the dining room. He'd already told Debbie and Vic that he wanted to study some more tonight, so they wouldn't be expecting him to rejoin them. All he really wanted to do, though, was crash and maybe catch up on some of his lost sleep.

Justin shut the bedroom door behind him, peeling off his clothes and dropping them willy-nilly onto the floor, and slid into the bed. After being so sleep deprived, he expected to drop off immediately, but instead he tossed and turned, suddenly wide awake. He toyed with the idea of actually studying, but he didn't feel like getting out of the warm bed and cracking one of his books. 

Well, he reflected with an amused smile, there was always his loyal boyfriend. He slid open the nightstand drawer, assuming his fingers would immediately close around the thick object, but his hand came up empty, even after he groped around in the far corners of the drawer. Puzzled, but too lethargic to turn on the light and see if it had fallen to the floor and rolled underneath the bed, the teenager flopped down on his back, his eyelids drifting shut and his lips curving upward as he imagined ordering Brian to "Eat the meat."

 

Where the fuck had the brat got off to? Brian wondered after re-entering Deb's house, brushing ineffectually at the damp patches the snow had left on his Armani pullover. His hope that the kid had picked up on his signal that he wanted to talk and would be waiting for him was dashed - either he'd been too subtle, or Justin wasn't in the mood to talk to him. The brunet stud was more than a bit put out since he was actually willing to talk, long enough anyroad to find out what had the blond so pissed off, before towing him back to the loft for a fuckathon. To heck with having Operation Twat Retrieval drag on for aeons; Brian was horny now and wanted some satisfaction.

His eyes lighting on the bags he'd left by the coat rack, the adman realised he'd not only forgotten to give Vic the magazines and Ben his book, he hadn't given the wine to Debbie either. "Fucking twat," he grumbled; "it's all your fault."

Bags in hand, Brian stormed past the dining area into the kitchen - no sign of Justin, dammit - and set the wine on the counter. Deb and Vic could drink it during the week or save it for next Sunday's meal. He stomped back to the table - no blond teen there either, must be on the can - where he handed Vic the sack with the mags. Deciding he'd rib Ted later on about how he and the professor had bonded over such a dull tome, sometime when Michael wasn't around to get offended by Ted and Ben's ‘romance,' he then plunked the bag with the book down in front of Ben, grunting, "This belongs to you." 

"Huh?" Ben replied less than eloquently, frowning at the package from Over the Rainbow.

"Grazie, ragazzo." Vic beamed at Brian as he pulled the glossy magazines out of the bag and began riffling through them.

"Want to trade?" Ben joked as he removed his book.

"I'll pass," Vic objected, his eyes flicking over the title, The Church and the Homosexual. "Debbie and I bought a copy of that for our mum back when it first came out; it was no help whatsoever in convincing her that homosexuality isn't a sin, especially since the Vatican revoked its permission for the book to be printed under its imprimatur less than a year later."

"It was pretty much a joke in the gay community," Deb chimed in, "even if Father Whatsit meant to help queers be accepted by their fellow Christians."

"Hmm," the professor mused, "I'm hoping it will spark discussion in my Gay Studies class - talk about what has improved for queers as well as changes that still need to be made."

Brian snorted. "Like equal pay; affordable medical treatment for those with HIV; the right to retain our jobs if our ‘superiors' find out we're homos; the right to hold hands as we walk down the street - should we want to engage in such ridiculous behaviour - without being spit on?" he asked acerbically.

"All of those and more," Ben responded equably. "Most college kids today are accepting of homosexuality, and that's the attitude they'll pass on to their kids."

The debate raged for nearly an hour, the professor maintaining that things were improving, even with the jackass currently in the White House. Ted tried to back his boyfriend up, although he didn't look all that persuaded by Ben's arguments. With Michael and Dr Dave too busy making out at their end of the table to be aware of the debate, much less participate, Debbie moved to the foot of the table and vociferously voiced the opinion that she, Vic, Emmett, and Brian shared.

"Uh-huh," Em scoffed in regard to straights becoming more accepting of gays. "You need to talk to my Baby. He can give you the real scoop."

Brian emitted a growling noise before he could stop himself - Justin did not belong to Emmett. 

"Your Baby?" a bewildered Ben questioned. "Who's that?"

"Oh," Emmett flapped a hand at the professor whilst smirking at Brian, "that's my pet name for Justin. He can tell you - and your students - exactly how little improvement there has been for bullied high schoolers, whether you live in the Bible Belt or here in the Pitts."

"That's a mint idea," Ben enthused. "An articulate, passionate teenager would make the ideal guest lecturer." He paused and looked around. "Um, where is Justin? I'd like to find out if he'd be interested in visiting my class."

"He wanted a little study time," Debbie divulged. "He's so hardworking, doesn't take enough time for a bit of fun."

Brian harrumphed. That might be true, except when it came to setting up a rendezvous with a fuck buddy. He'd have to re-enforce that someone much better than a scrawny, acned kid awaited Justin only a few blocks away, a stud who was always ‘up' for that kind of activity.

"Sis and I are so proud of Sunshine," Vic declared, shooting a pointed look at Brian. "He's the most responsible teen I've ever met."

"I take it Sunshine is another moniker for Justin?" the professor presumed. "I can totally see that, given his bright hair and sunny smile."

"That's what I dubbed the kid the first time I met him," Deb revealed, "before I learned his name."

"I'll go see if the brat wants a break from his studies," Brian stated nonchalantly. Of course, it might be a while before they made it downstairs, if the lad's mood had improved. Before anyone could agree or disagree, he jumped up and climbed the stairs, taking them three at a time. Surprised to find that the door to Mikey's old room was closed, he rapped on the wood lightly before opening the door, only to be greeted by a dark room and soft, snuffling snores.

Well, shit. He couldn't bring himself to awaken the teen, who must be completely tuckered out to have fallen asleep before nine o'clock. With no option other than to postpone Operation Twat Retrieval for another day, he stepped into the room, bent down over Justin's supine form, kissed him on the brow, and whispered, "Sleep tight, Sunshine."

 

Chapter End Notes:

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The FanDoc includes a link to KaBrynn's Guide to BritSpeak and Americanisms. You can also access it here: Crazy English.

 

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