"You're late," Brian exclaimed as soon as Cynthia alighted from the taxi that had brought her to the gym. "Seventeen minutes," he specified when the blonde didn't look sufficiently chastised.

Ted rolled his eyes. "If my memory serves, you were nine minutes late, Brian," he said. "We were supposed to meet at eleven."

The adman's brow furrowed. "I would've been on time had someone not parked in my spot," he answered with a meaningful look at Ted's car that was parked right in front of the Ript entrance. "I had to wade through snow from a whole block away."

Cynthia chuckled, taking off her thick wool scarf as the trio entered the reception area of the gym. "So you've already started on your cardio," she teased him. "What a horror."

Shrugging off his ridiculously expensive Loro Piana coat, Brian took a deep breath. "This is the last time I'm doing this," he informed his friends. "Whose stupid idea was it to come here together anyway?"

"Someone - who shall remain unnamed - said we need to exercise our bodies as well as our brains," Ted quipped, "or we'll all end up looking like the Goodyear Blimp."

"That sad sack must be awfully worried about cellulite build-up," Cynthia commiserated. "Probably from ingesting too much sugar."

"It's a serious concern." The financial wizard shook his head mournfully. "I understand the ounces can pile on overnight."

"Ha. Ha. Ha. You won't think it's so funny, when clients refuse to hire us because our agency is run by a bunch of fatties," Brian warned direfully.

"It's not like we're going to be in the adverts." Cynthia removed a long, puffy down coat, which had enveloped her from neck to ankles, displaying a long-sleeved tee, form-fitting leggings, and a pair of high-top trainers. "That's not to say that I wouldn't make an excellent model," she claimed, looking down admiringly at her svelte figure.

The adman looked her up and down, trying fruitlessly to find any imperfections - be it a shadow of a love handle or some kind of disproportion. Damned woman was pretty much perfect, though. He scowled, saying, "Then maybe you should consider a career change; I wouldn't want to hold you back from your dreams."

Cynthia pursed her lips and tapped a finger against them consideringly.

"Don't you dare jump ship!" Ted beseeched. "I lack your skills for dealing with his majesty's queen-outs."

Brian harrumphed. As if he'd ever do anything so ridiculous as to queen out.

"You're right," the blonde conceded after making the men wait a few long seconds for her decision. "It would be unfair to both you and Bethany. Heck, the girl would quit before an hour was out."

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Ted dramatised his gratitude, wringing his hands as his doleful expression morphed into one of relief.

Although he rolled his eyes at his CFO's theatrics, Brian was almost equally grateful. He shuddered mentally as he envisioned going through countless secretaries before he found one who would do half as well as Cynthia. Not that he had any intention of letting the blonde know just how indispensable she'd become...

"Bri," Ted hissed, interrupting his thoughts. "Say ‘thank you'!"

"What for?" Brian snarked.

Shaking her head in fond exasperation, Cynthia teased, "Don't worry, boss. You can make it up to me."

"Okay, fine," the ad exec grumbled, "you can charge another box of chocolates to my Amex." 

"Mmm, no," the blond woman declined his offer as he led the way to the front desk, waving his membership card at the receptionist as he signed Cynthia in as his guest, and announcing, "She's with me."

"Switching teams, Kinney?" the receptionist - who Brian recalled had a very mediocre blowjob technique - smirked at the stud.

Ignoring the ridiculous supposition, Brian rapped his knuckles against the counter. "A locker for the lady. Now," he emphasised when the moron didn't move.

"You know," Mediocre Blowjob batted his eyelashes at Cynthia as he slid the key to a locker across the counter, "I sometimes take a walk on the wild side."

"Don't," the adman warned him as he accepted the key and nudged his colleagues toward the back of the gym. "She'd eat you alive."

"Not to mention," the blonde woman murmured as they moved away from the desk, "that I like a bit of brain with my brawn."

"Me too," Ted agreed, his face taking on a dreamy cast.

"Who gives a fuck about brains in a hookup?" Brian groused. "It's all about getting in and out-"

"With the maximum of pleasure and minimum of bullshit," Cyn and Ted chorused.

The adman scowled at his uppity employees. He hated it when someone else finished his sentences. Except for a slender blond, whose physique hid a surprising amount of brawn... Irritated to find his thoughts again meandering to the little twat, he turned to his assistant just before they reached the locker rooms and raised an expectant eyebrow.

The bloody-minded woman countered with an eyebrow lift of her own.

"What do you want then?" Brian huffed. "Keep it reasonable," he warned when she smirked at him.

"Ask for a raise!" Ted recommended.

Brian smirked at the accountant. "Fine, Schmidt, I'll decrease your salary so I can pay my assistant more."

"Oh, please." Cynthia shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm already making almost as much as the financial wizard. I do expect a hefty increase when I finish my degree, though."

Well, Brian reflected philosophically, he did believe in recognizing accomplishments. Wait, shouldn't she have earned that blasted degree by now? Giving voice to his puzzlement, he snarked, "Weren't you supposed to graduate with your bachelor's in underwater basket weaving in May?"

"As opposed to underwater blowjobs?" Cynthia riposted.

"An essential skill for my tricks," the stud deadpanned.

"Every fag's dream," Ted inserted drily, "to major in blowing Brian Kinney underwater."

"I know, right?" Brian asserted smugly.

"What if they asphyxiate?" Ted wondered.

"They don't graduate." Brian shrugged indifferently.

"Good thing I'm actually majoring in Human Resources Management," Cynthia snorted. "Your people skills leave a lot to be desired, boss."

"That is what minions are for," the adman readily agreed, "to deal with the hoi polloi."

"The reason I haven't graduated yet," the blonde clarified, "is that I decided to fast track straight to a master's degree; I'll complete a two-year degree in one year."

Ted whistled, "That's quite an accomplishment, "especially when you're working more than full-time for an obsess-" In the face of Brian's glare, the older man abruptly stopped speaking.

"What was that, Theodore?" Brian asked mildly, curious to see how his friend would dig himself out of that faux pas.

"Obsessively brilliant ad exec," Ted finished insouciantly.

I'll be damned, Brian thought, he was clearly rubbing off on the accountant. The man was really learning to think on his feet.

"Did you actually want to exercise while we're here?" Cyn suddenly questioned.

"Of course not," Brian replied sarcastically. "Why meet at a gym to work out?"

"We've been standing here yakking for nearly fifteen minutes," the blonde observed.

"Shit," Brian grumbled. "Let's get changed. You can tell me whether you want chocolates, flowers, or a bottle of wine to get me back in your good graces."

"It's not going to be that easy, Bri," the blonde tossed over her shoulder with a laugh as she entered the women's locker room.

After changing into their sports gear, Brian and Ted returned to the main part of the gym, where Cynthia was already running at a good clip on a sharply inclined treadmill.

"Fuck, she's good," Ted breathed out in awe. "That machine must be set at, what, at least twelve percent? I've never tried a climb that sharp."

Neither have I, Brian mused sourly to himself as he watched Cynthia's thigh muscles move smoothly beneath her black leggings. What was the deal with everyone, even his slip of a blonde assistant, outperforming him in the gym of late? Fucking woman didn't even appear to be breathing hard, although it was difficult to tell since her head was turned away from him. Oh, fuck, no, he thought in horror as he realised who was on the neighbouring treadmill...

Ted broke into his thoughts, exclaiming delightedly, "Emmett's here!"

"No shit," Brian grumbled, pretending he'd been aware of the tall queen's presence the whole time. It wasn't as if Cynthia's slight frame could hide someone of that stature, but Brian really hadn't noticed him until a second ago. Christ, Em must have been serious about that regular ‘morning jog' he'd mentioned - at least until he picked up his trick du jour, or more likely du matin, Brian reasoned with a snort of amusement. He couldn't help admiring Em for being almost as successful as he was at pulling tricks.

Brian's good humour flatlined, though, when he realised the flamboyant man's treadmill was inclined almost as steeply as Cynthia's and that he was running as fast as the blonde woman, all whilst energetically flapping his arms and his gob. Could he be on steroids, the adman wondered? What other explanation could there be for an athletic Emmett?

"Let's go say hi!" the usually staid accountant urged happily, bounding toward his best mate like an overgrown puppy dog.

The younger brunet lagged behind, trying to appear as if he were canvassing the area for potential tricks. It wasn't very effective, however, considering that there was almost no one else in the gym.

A sudden "Brian, boyo!" overlapped with an enthusiastic "Hey, Bri!" startled the adman, causing him to drop the activity tracker that he'd been about to wrap around his wrist. He'd decided the day before that a fitness monitor would both motivate him to reach an easy goal of ten thousand steps per day and would quickly demonstrate that his fitness level hadn't dropped as much as he feared. Estimating that the paltry number of steps he'd take in his loft and on the way to Ript would be too few to be worth the bother, he planned to put on the wristband monitor when he got to the gym. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about his nicked parking karma - the thousands of steps generated by walking the length of that horrendously long block would have made a difference.

"What's that?" DC asked inquisitively from the treadmill next to Emmett. "Getting too sedentary, are you, laddie?"

"Oh!" Emmett interjected, his face brightening as if he'd just seen the light. "Was lack of fitness the reason you were wallowing around like Aunt Lula's Bessie? You know, Bri, your ass does look rounder than before."

"Who's Bessie?" Cynthia queried, avid interest sparkling in her blue eyes.

"I'll fill you in later," Em whispered loudly, pretending to quail at the fierce look Brian directed his way.

Brian was torn between scowling at the annoying queen, trying to figure out where DC had come from, and unobtrusively angling his head to take a look at his arse as he bent over to retrieve the activity tracker. Shit, maybe those extra ounces had settled in his glutes. He didn't want to lose the dimples of Venus that Justin had admired on more than one occasion, laving them with his tongue before moving lower...

"Need some help?" Theodore inquired teasingly, recalling Brian's wandering attention as he snatched up the wristband and handed it to him. "You've got to be careful not to overdo it, now that you're rapidly approaching the big three oh."

Since he wasn't about to admit how vulnerable he was feeling about his age, weight, and fitness, Brian ignored his older friend. There had to be some hope for him anyroad, he figured, since Ted was well past thirty and trimmer than he'd ever been. "What're you doing here?" he grouchily addressed DC. "I'm paying you to transform the bathhouse, not idle your time away at the gym."

"Now, now, boyo." The burly construction worker reached out and patted Brian on the head, earning himself a murderous glare. "I keep a spare kit at Ript so I can work out whenever I'm here. As for why I'm here," he winked as he continued to lope along at what looked like the treadmill's maximum speed, "I thought you might like to discuss inches before my crew really gets started."

Cynthia, Ted, and Em burst out laughing, causing Brian to transfer his ire to them. None of them seemed the least bit intimidated by his killer stare, unfortunately.

"Or we could just chat about what a great pick-up joint this is," Emmett suggested cheekily, confirming Brian's suspicion as to why the flashy queen was here.

"I would've thought you'd have the sense to exercise later in the day then, Honeycutt," Brian observed, a bit of malicious satisfaction lacing his tone. "After all, you crashed and burned with the only prospect last Saturday."

"I'd hardly call learning the man had a partner crashing and burning," the nelly bottom sniffed disdainfully. "It didn't really matter anywho, since I picked up the built chap who came in a few minutes later. You'd know that, Bri, if you'd watched a little longer instead of trying to prove that you could outmuscle Dr Dave."

Thank fuck Honeycutt hadn't seen him back out of that contest, Brian thought, or he'd never hear the end of it. "I guess the early morning is a good time to pull tricks," Brian conceded. "Less competition from studs like me. It certainly makes more sense than a bookstore, which wouldn't even be open at this hour."

"You know, Em," Theodore inserted slyly as he climbed onto the treadmill next to DC, selected the settings he wanted, and started jogging, "maybe you should try looking under a streetlight. That seems to be surprisingly effective."

"Really?" DC inquired sceptically. "Does it need to be a specific lamp post, or will any old streetlight do?"

"From what I've observed," Emmett imparted in a hushed voice, "the one closest to the entrance to Babylon is best. Pretty much any lame line will get you what you want. Like, ‘How's it going? You had a busy night?'"

While Brian glowered at the grinning queen, DC let out a mighty guffaw, and Cynthia dissolved into giggles.

Casting a laughter-filled, knowing glance at her boss, Cyn gasped out between snickers, "Does that kind of trite pitch actually work on gay men?"

As if any of these laughing baboons would know a good pick-up line if they heard one, Brian mused crossly. Besides, those chat-up lines had worked like a charm in the past. Huh, maybe the blond twat would respond favourably if he recycled his lines from that first night? It was worth a go, Brian concluded, since nothing else had worked. 

Pleased to have sussed out a new approach to get Justin back into his bed, Brian decided he'd better get on with his exercise regime - he'd already wasted half an hour of his planned gym time - as well as discuss the remodel with DC. He contemplated starting his workout on the treadmill but changed his mind as he watched the foursome currently occupying half of the available machines. None of them were huffing and puffing as they merrily compared the best and worst pickup lines, and considering his dismal showing on Saturday, he didn't want to take the chance that they'd all show him up. Fucking Schmidt and his hare-brained idea about Kinnetik's employees exercising together at the gym, Brian thought morosely. The adman was never coming to Ript with his employees again.

Brian abruptly demanded of DC, "Leave the chattering magpies to their gossip and meet me by the free weights." As he stalked toward the back of the room, he heard Emmett murmur something about sows, so he shouted testily, "Now, dammit!"

"There, there, boyo," DC said as he turned off the machine and ambled over to join Brian, "no need to get your knickers in a twist." 

He fucking well did not wear knickers, but the adman couldn't come up with a retort that didn't sound childish, so he settled for scowling at the overly muscled man. DC disregarded his foul mood, giving him a pat on the back - which nearly made Brian fall face first onto the padded bench - and remarked sympathetically, "Don't take it so hard. There can only be one queen of the treadmill, and your tall friend has you outclassed."

On the spot, Brian resolved to visit Ript even earlier in the morning and to spend as long as needed to build up his stamina on the treadmill. He'd make sure not to encounter his flamboyant friend until he could outperform him - and every other fag in the Pitts - on the treadmill, and on all the other exercise equipment too. 

As he was plotting out his strategy, DC lazily began raising and lowering a twenty-pound barbell in one-handed bicep curls to warm up his muscles. After ten reps with each hand, he upped the weight to forty pounds. The brawny man's ridiculous ‘macho posturing' had Brian immediately revising his goals; he'd settle for usurping Honeycutt as the ‘treadmill queen.'

Shortly after Justin started his shift at the diner that afternoon and finished wiping down a couple of vacated tables, Fahad motioned to him from the kitchen pass-through.

"What's this?" the blond lad asked, taking a deep whiff of the steaming bowl of soup that Fahad had placed on the window ledge.

"One of Fahad's Persian concoctions, ashy something or other," Debbie yelled from over by the cash register. "It's far more than plain old bean and noodle soup, according to him, anyway."

Fahad stuck his head out of the window, frowning at the redhead. "Some people have no taste."

"For fuck's sake, you oversensitive buffoon," Deb complained, her tone exasperated as she bustled toward the back of the diner. "I didn't say I didn't like it - just that it wasn't my favourite."

Fahad sniffed disdainfully. "Ash-e reshteh will prevent you from getting sick - far better than chicken soup ever could," he asserted. 

"It smells terrific," Justin declared, attempting to avert a spat between the waitress and the cook. Fortunately, Deb's attention was diverted by a table full of dykes decked out in motorcycle leathers, and she bustled over to take their orders. The teen lifted a spoonful to his lips, startled when he crunched down on something that tasted like... "Spinach?" he inquired in surprise. He chewed some more. "Something else, too, but I can't tell what."

"You're right about the spinach. The other leafy green is beet leaves," the chef identified the foreign substance. "There's fried onions in there too."

The teenager slowly chewed another spoonful.

"Do you like it?" Fahad asked, looking a little anxious.

"I do," Justin confirmed, licking his lips to catch a stray droplet. "What did you use for flavouring?"

The cook beamed at him. "Mint oil and kashk, a fermented whey product," he elaborated. "It's sort of a sour yogurt. Both of those are popular in Middle Eastern cuisine."

"Tonight's special?" Justin wondered. 

"Yeah," Fahad corroborated. "I just needed a second, discriminating opinion before adding it to the chalkboard."

Justin chuckled at the on-again, off-again ‘friendly' rivalry between Debbie and Fahad. It had apparently been going on for years, each of them claiming to be the better cook and trying to one-up the other with various concoctions.

Nodding toward the table where Deb was jotting down the dykes' orders, Fahad quietly proposed with an evil smile, "I was thinking we could have a bit of fun with the mama's boy tonight. After the hullabaloo he made about the buggy rice..."

Oh, fuck. Justin began giggling uncontrollably. The muppet was bound to pitch a fit. "I'm in," he agreed, exchanging a high five with the chef.

"What're you boys up to?" the redheaded waitress inquired suspiciously as she delivered the lesbians' orders to the pass-through.

"Just appreciating all the facets of Fahad's Ash-e reshteh," the blond teen replied innocently.

"Don't go batting your baby blues at me, Kiddo," Debbie chided, sharking a red-taloned index finger at Justin. "That ‘butter wouldn't melt in my mouth' look doesn't fool me. You're up to something."

"Yeah," Fahad interjected sardonically, "the lad's eating - and relishing - my bean soup."

Her arms akimbo, Debbie claimed, "It's not got a touch on my Italian bean soup with kale. That's tasty. And the broth isn't an odd brown colour that looks like sh-"

Holy cow, Justin mused. Debs and Fahad looked like two prizefighters squaring off. 

"I dare you," Fahad growled when the waitress abruptly cut off the insult mid-word. "Just say it."

Her jaw still jutting forward pugnaciously, the redhead allowed, "Uh, no, your ‘ashy' soup isn't that bad."

"Faint praise," the Iranian chef snarled.

"Erm," Justin daringly intervened, hoping they wouldn't turn on him, "maybe you could have a cook-off at the diner sometime? I mean you're both great cooks, so the customers would be bound to flock in, right?"

"You know, Sunshine," Debbie mused, "I rather like that notion. But how would we determine the winner?"

"Especially since I don't trust you not to pack the place with your cronies from the Bloomfield neighbourhood," Fahad challenged.

"Oh, please," Deb pooh-poohed the notion. "Like those uptight, old school Italians would be caught dead on Liberty Avenue."

"The customers would try both, and then they could vote for either one, or for both if they like them equally well," Justin proposed.

"What if it's a tie?" Fahad wondered, scratching at the dark stubble on his chin. "Not that I think it will be, mind you. My ash-e reshteh is nonpareil."

"Well, maybe it could be turned into, like, a series of contests," Justin suggested. "For customers who are interested, maybe you could even teach them how to make some of your favourite ethnic dishes. I know I'd want to learn," the lad waxed enthusiastic.

"I still don't see how the winner would be determined," Fahad said doubtfully.

"Ditto," Debbie concurred, frowning at the teenager and waving one hand in the air. "Not that there'd be any need for a series, since my bean soup would win hands down.

Christ, Justin thought, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. They were like two kindergarteners arguing over who'd made the best mud pie. Flushing a little as he recalled actually having that argument with Daphne once, he diplomatically asked, "Does one of you have to win? I mean, if the customers rave about your dishes, which they're bound to do" - a little heavy-handed flattery couldn't hurt, Justin decided, as he saw from the glint in the protagonists' eyes that they were intrigued - "couldn't you agree that you're both wicked good cooks?"

"Well, I suppose," Fahad semi-graciously conceded, smiling a little at the redhead. "You are a dab hand at Italian cookery, Deb. You'd be hard to beat."

"I, um, I didn't mean what I said, you know," the redhead mumbled, looking quite abashed, "about, uh, your bean soup."

Thank fuck, Justin thought. Crisis averted. He wondered if something was wrong with Debbie; she wasn't normally belligerent, at least not without due cause, and an innocuous bean soup shouldn't have set her off like this.

As if he'd read the teen's mind, Fahad observed kindly, "You seem a bit out of sorts today, Debs. Is everything okay?"

The waitress glanced around to make sure no one could overhear, looking unaccountably flustered, before leaning closer to the two men and imparting, "I'm, uh, going on a date tonight, and I've got no idea what to wear. I haven't been on a date in decades!" she wailed, her voice escalating on the final words so that everyone in the diner heard her.

Justin punched a fist in the air, and whooped, "Go, Carl!"

"Ssh! Sunshine!" Deb remonstrated. "I don't want everyone to know."

"You mean outside of a ten-block radius of the diner?" Fahad teased. "You just announced that you haven't been on a date since, what, the seventies?"

"More like the sixties," the redhead sighed. "Fuck, I don't think I even have a dress that fits me anymore."

"You can borrow my motorcycle duds," one of the biker chicks shouted.

"Thanks, honey." Debbie laughed ruefully. "But I'd be lucky to get one arm into the jacket, much less my whole torso. And the trousers are a lost cause entirely."

"I could ask Big Bertha," the dyke amended her offer. "I'm sure her gear would fit you. You'd look right classy."

Justin grinned as he saw how tempted his mum looked. Debs must have been one wild teenager, he surmised.

"Perhaps another time," the waitress declined the proffered leathers. Slumping into a chair at the table nearest the kitchen window, Debbie sighed disconsolately. "I'm gonna look like a total frump. We should've just waited for the bowling tournament - then I'd know what to wear. A bit of privacy sounded good too, rather than having our wisecracking ‘family' weighing in with their two cents. Now I wish we hadn't been in such a hurry; he'll never ask me out again."

"Maybe your date would prefer that you wear nothing at all," Justin blurted, flushing beet red as the words came out of his mouth. Shit, he hadn't meant to say that. Maybe heteros didn't fuck on the first date. And now he had an image stuck in his head that definitely did not belong there. Parental units and sex. Gross.

Debbie's jaw dropped and she gaped at the teen in shock for a few seconds, but then she slapped the palm of one hand against a polyester-clad thigh and started cackling. "Fuck, Sunshine," she guffawed, "I don't put out until after I've been wined and dined, at least not on the first date."

Fahad smacked his lips in disgust. "I didn't need to know that," he muttered. Justin found himself in agreement with the cook.

"Maybe you should leave now, so you have plenty of time to get ready?" the blond then suggested. "I bet Vic would be happy to help you assemble the right outfit."

"That's not a bad idea, Sunshine," Debbie concluded after mulling it over for a moment. "Vic was a sharp dresser in his day, maybe even more so than Brian."

"So... scat," Justin playfully teased, snapping the dish towel he was holding at Deb.

"No stealing my moves, Kiddo!" Debbie joked as she took off her apron and handed it to Justin.

"That's such a unique gesture." Fahad chuckled. "Off with you, Debbie. The lad and I have it under control."

"Don't think you'll succeed in convincing everyone that your ‘ashy bean soup' is the best thing ever in my absence," the redhead deadpanned as she donned her coat. Her mien was so solemn that Justin couldn't decide whether or not she was still pissed off.

"Jesus," Fahad muttered as Deb pushed open the door and hurried down the sidewalk toward her house, "I hope she gets laid tonight. That's bound to put her in a better humour."

Even as he nodded in agreement, Justin grimaced. Damn Fahad for putting those images back at the forefront of his mind. Fortunately, Emmett pushed open the door to the eatery at that moment, calling out "Baby!" in a loud voice and distracting him from thoughts of hetero sex between parental figures.

"Hey up," he greeted his flamboyant friend. "Have you abandoned the customers at Torso to the tender mercies of your coworker, the one you complained likes to combine plaid with leather?"

"If they don't have the sense to know that's a disaster in the making," Em waved a hand in dismissal, "they'll soon learn better." He slid into the booth that the gang favoured and intimated, "We have something far more important to discuss than fashion un-forward fags."

"We do?" Justin asked, his brow furrowing in confusion as he slid in opposite his friend. The dykes' food wasn't ready yet, so he figured he could take a moment to chat.

"Yes, Sweetie, our shopping campaign!" Emmett enthused. "You told me you were getting paid today, remember?"

"Oh, right." Justin grinned back at his friend. "I've already deposited my cheques - stopped at the bank on my way to the diner."

"Cheques?"

"Yeah. Smythe gave me a choice as to when I wanted to be paid for the go-go dancing, so I chose the fifth. I picked up that cheque yesterday and deposited it with the one from the diner this afternoon." Justin rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. Slowly but surely, he was filling his bank account.

"Then it's time to get you some nice underwear," Emmett reminded him. "Something that showcases your assets properly."

"Erm, I don't know if that's what I should spend the money on," Justin waffled. Given how desperately he needed a new coat, gloves, and shoes, he'd been having second thoughts about using the small sum he'd set aside from his pay for underwear - even if he was heartily sick of his baggy white briefs.

"Honey," Em reached out and placed a hand across Justin's, stilling his nervously drumming fingers. "There is nothing more essential than form-fitting underwear, especially for a go-go boy. Just wait and see. Your tips will go up exponentially once the horny fags at Babylon get a proper gander at your package."

It did make sense, the teenager supposed, to invest in underwear before anything else, especially if it would net him more money. He let out a sigh as he realised he only had two more days before he'd again be atop the bar, dancing his ass off. He still felt worn out from the previous weekend; this go-go gig was depleting his energy a lot faster than he could have anticipated. He wasn't ready to give it up, though, considering how fast he was adding funds to his coffers, especially since he hadn't yet earned any money freelancing for Brian.

"Is there a problem, Sweetie?" Em inquired gently, pulling Justin out of his brown study.

"Uh," the blond floundered for a believable excuse, "I just have to be super careful with my money, you know? I really want to go to PIFA - if I'm accepted - but it'll be bloody expensive, even if I get a partial merit scholarship. There's no way I'll be eligible for any other kind of financial aid, considering my dad's income. Craig's paying for St James and claiming me on his taxes, so the admissions board won't consider me to be an independent wage earner. Heck," he continued despondently, "I've never even filed my own taxes."

"I know it sucks," Emmett commiserated. "I couldn't wait to turn eighteen, graduate from high school, and shake off the Hazlehurst dirt. But, Baby, you're almost eighteen; you'll graduate from St James in less than a year; you have a place to live; and in contrast to little old moi at your age" - Emmett bedazzled the forlorn teenager with his famous gap-toothed smile - "you're already living in the big city and have a circle of friends, of which I am the most fabulous. Right?"

Justin had started giggling helplessly partway through the southern man's speech and was now in a much better mood. He felt kind of bad about feeding Em the lie about why he needed to save money, but he didn't want to take the chance that anyone else would find out about his plans to repay Brian.

"That's the spirit!" Emmett encouraged his young friend, giving him another blinding smile. "Skimpy, tight, new briefs will make everything better. Don't worry about the cost, okay? A real queen can always ferret out the sales and knows how to dicker for the best price."

"Um, do you like second-hand stores?" Justin inquired hopefully.

"Honey, I've made some of my best finds in that kind of shop," the southern belle proclaimed. "My lavender boa came from a hole in the wall that, sadly, closed last year."

"Do you remember Marvella from the garage sale?"

Em frowned in puzzlement. "There were lots of people there, Baby. Which one was Marvella?"

"The one who snitched one of your cranberry muffins," the teen stated. Since that didn't lessen the southerner's confusion, Justin clarified, "The one you ‘wrestled' for that old Twister game."

"Oh, the nattily dressed drag queen!" Emmett now easily identified the woman in question. "We were never properly introduced, you know; I had no idea her name was Marvella."

When the blond opened his mouth to explain that Marvella owned a consignment shop, Em held up a hand in a signal to stop. "Just a moment, Baby. That Twister game is an original. You're lucky I rescued it."

"Ehm, okay," Justin allowed. He didn't get why his friend was so excited about the game, but whatever. "Anyway," he returned to the topic of second-hand stores, "Marvella owns a shop called Second Hand Job. I've-"

"Well, why didn't you say so, Baby?" Emmett asked, flapping a hand at Justin. "I've been meaning to check out that darling shop ever since it opened, just over a month ago if I'm not mistaken."

The teenager started laughing at the eager way Em had overridden what he was going to say.

"Oopsie! Did I interrupt?" his friend asked, laughing along with Justin. "I didn't mean to be rude, but I really am keen to check out that store. I just adore the striped awning, and that name is so clever. That's exactly what I'd call my shop, if I actually owned one, that is."

"I'd like to check it out when we go shopping," the blond managed to choke out through another burst of laughter.

"But of course!" the tall queen immediately agreed. "We can stretch our dollars even further there. No second-hand undies though, okay?"

"Ew." Justin scrunched up his nose in disgust. "I'd never."

"Praise Jesus." Emmett sat back with a sigh of relief. "I mean, new in the package would be one thing, but even then you couldn't be sure someone hadn't, um, tampered with them."

"You don't have to convince me," Justin assured him.

Apparently satisfied that his young friend wouldn't go that far in his quest to save money, the older man remarked, "It's a shame Marvella wasn't there when we performed In the Gay-rage."

"She would've gotten a bang out of it," Justin assented. "Heck, she'd probably have shown up all of us, kicking up her heels in those stilettos."

"Speaking of dancing in high heels..." Em murmured.

Uh-oh, Justin mused. He had the feeling he'd just stumbled into a trap. Maybe if he didn't say anything, Emmett would drop the subject?

No such luck. "You know the diner always has a big bash on Christmas Day, right?"

How could he not know? the teen wondered. The posters had already been plastered up and down Liberty Avenue for a week. "Hmm," he hmmed non-committally. 

The flamboyant man clapped his hands together in excitement. "That would be just the right occasion for us to reprise In the Gay-rage, don't you think? Only this time, all of us would wear spike heels."

Shit. Shit. Shit. There was no way he'd get out of this, but Justin gave it a try anyway. "Em," he protested, "I could barely manoeuvre in low heels. Not only would I break a leg if I wore spike heels, I'd probably poke out someone's eye. They're a weapon of mass destruction!"

"Stilettos can be dangerous," the southern queen acknowledged, "but only if you don't know how to wear them. And with our shapely, muscled legs? Fags will be lined up outside the door begging us to fuck them."

"I thought you preferred to be fu-" 

"What're you ladies gossiping about?" a smooth baritone cut in. An eyebrow hiked inquisitively, Brian slid in next to Justin and slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Oh, you know," Emmett replied airily. "Shopping. Dancing. Fucking. All the things that give you a hard-on, Bri."

The teenager glared at the queen in irritation. Brian was bound to think they'd been talking about him, dammit. Sure enough, the smug grin the brunet conferred on him confirmed Justin's supposition. "Budge over," he hissed. "I need to get back to work."

"You have to pay a toll," Brian teased.

What the fuck? He and his ex were barely on speaking terms, unless it concerned the adman's new agency. Plus, he was still royally pissed about the doppelgänger Brian had hired for a fuck.

"All it'll take is one kiss," Brian vouched.

The blond stared at his former lover in shock. Then, his eyes glinting with mischief, he leaned over to peck the brunet on the cheek.

"Uh-uh, Sunshine. It has to be on the lips," Brian elaborated, leaning away from the lad. "And it has to be a real kiss, not just a brush of your lips."

"Tongue?" Emmett interjected eagerly.

As Justin was about to growl a resounding no, the bell dinged at the kitchen window and Fahad shouted, "Orders are up!"

"You wouldn't want the food to get cold, would you, Sunshine?" Brian mocked. "It'd affect your tips, and since you've become such an avaricious little-"

Justin shut his ex up by mashing his lips against the brunet's. When the man's lips parted, he slipped his tongue inside after all, tangling it with Brian's before withdrawing long seconds later, nipping at his lower lip as he removed his mouth with an audible pop.

Brian looked at him through lust-glazed eyes and tried to reel him in for another kiss.

"One kiss," the blond reminded his ex. "Now move so I can get to work."

Hadn't the kiss meant anything to the boy? the dazed brunet wondered as he reluctantly got out of the booth. 

"Saturday afternoon?" he vaguely heard Emmett call out as Justin trotted toward the kitchen pass-through without a backward glance.

"Sure," the brat tossed in their direction as he began ferrying the full plates to a table of dykes.

"Fuck, Bri," Emmett exclaimed, fanning himself with one hand as they watched the teenager bustle around the diner, "that kiss was flaming hot."

For one of us, anyroad, Brian thought a bit forlornly. Since his impromptu, playful effort hadn't worked, he'd have to try another method to garner Justin's attention. His normal confidence returning despite the minor setback, he was certain he'd come up with something while he ate. If he could just get the little twat to talk to him, he'd know what to do to get Justin over his mad - and into his bed.

"Brian! You're here!" An excited voice intruded on his thoughts. "I haven't seen you in ages! Where have you been hiding?"

Christ. He wasn't really in the mood to deal with his childhood friend, but it wasn't like he had much choice as Michael squeezed into the booth next to him. Rather than have Mikey end up in his lap, he slid over toward the window, only to end up pressed against the wall as Dr Dave settled in next to his boyfriend. "Hey, Mikey," Brian greeted his friend, resigned to his fate. He stretched his right arm out along the smaller man's shoulders, intending to give him a sideways hug, but ended up recoiling when the doc's arm landed atop his, David's fingers caressing his arm.

"What the fuck?" the equally appalled chiropractor yelled, apparently forgetting his resolution to avoid cursing.

Michael, evidently not realising that both men had their arms around his shoulders, looked at his best friend in concern. "Have you put on weight, Brian? Your arm feels really heavy."

So much for the constant assurance that he'd always be young and beautiful, Brian mused wryly. Maybe he'd better do some of those bicep curls at the gym tomorrow, just to make sure his arms weren't getting flabby. Having already removed his arm - he had no desire to be up close and personal with David - he explained, "It's your boyfriend's arm that weighs a ton."

"Oh," Michael breathed with a peculiar look on his face. Then, looking from Brian to David and back, he sputtered, "I could've sworn- I mean, you always..." Trailing off, he smacked his lips in frustration. "I'm hungry, where's that blond Boy Wonder?" he cried loudly.

"Right here," Justin remarked from beside the table, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. "Hey, David. Ted."

"When did you get here?" Michael blinked at Ted in confusion.

"If you mean me," Emmett snarked, "I've been here all along. You really should have that tunnel vision checked out, Sweetie."

Michael looked affronted. "I saw you, Emmett," he claimed. "I said ‘hi.'"

The tall queen huffed quietly. "Not really, you didn't. You said, ‘Briaaan! You're here!'" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

"Obviously, you were included in the ‘you're here,'" Michael insisted.

"Uh-huh. Sure." Emmett rolled his eyes. "You know what, forget I said anything. It's like talking to a brick wall."

Watching the conversation like a tennis match, Justin blinked at the two men. He felt like he was back in kindergarten - for the second time that day. "Ehm," he cleared his throat. "You wanted food?" he interrupted hesitantly.

"My usual," Michael muttered, sending a murderous glare at Emmett.

"Which deep-fried vegetable do you want the double cheeseburger with - potatoes or onions?" Justin questioned.

The blond barely refrained from laughing as he watched the gerbils scurry around in Michael's brain.

"Both!" Michael finally shouted. "My Honeybun says there's hardly enough of me to hold onto, so I need to fill out."

Justin gagged.

"Are you okay?" Dr Dave asked, a look of concern on his face.

Fearing the chiropractor might stand up and thump him on the back, the blond lad backed away a couple of steps. "I'm good," he gasped, his nausea almost turning into a gust of laughter as he briefly met Brian's amused eyes. "So, uh, what's everyone else want?"

"You didn't ask what I want to drink," Michael interjected.

"You said your ‘usual,'" Justin patiently reminded him. "A large Coke, right?"

For a moment, his mouth hanging open, it looked as if the short brunet was going to be truly adventurous and change his soda of choice, but then he snapped his mouth shut and settled back on the banquette. "Yeah, that'll do."

After the rest of them had placed their orders, all of them opting for less caloric meals than Michael's, Brian again watched the blond boy trot toward the kitchen window, almost hypnotised by the swaying of the boy's derriere.

"What I wouldn't give to possess that bubble butt," Emmett commented wistfully.

"Not everyone can be as blessed as Justin and my Tootsie Roll," Dr Dave concurred, his gaze also avidly locked on the teenager as he flitted around the diner.

Brian growled, "Mine," immediately succumbing to a coughing fit in the hope of disguising what he'd said. With any luck, his friends would think he was mocking David, instead of being possessive toward Justin.

Michael's eyes opened wide and he latched onto Brian's arm tightly, "I'm your-"

"You're cutting off your best friend's circulation," came Ted's timely intervention.

If anything the pressure on Brian's biceps increased.

"Did you hear me, Michael?" Ted barked. "Let go!"

"I, uh, I thought Brian was going to choke to death," Michael excused his behaviour as he finally released his hold on his bestie's arm.

The studly brunet rubbed at the spot, certain he'd discover bruises underneath his long-sleeved T-shirt later on. He'd never have guessed the more slightly-built man had that strong a grip and wasn't entirely sure what had set Michael off... unless he'd thought Brian's inadvertent growl was meant for him? Fuck, please don't let that be the case, he sent out a mental plea.

"Huh. I didn't know there was an alternate way to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre," Emmett wisecracked.

Dr Dave's voice overrode the irritated queen's as he praised, "That was very sweet of you, Snookums, to try and help your friend."

At least he and the doc were no longer at loggerheads, Brian reflected. Both of them had the same goal - for Michael to be happy with the good doctor. If he had to listen to them spout nauseating pet names at each other for that to happen, so be it. He'd suffer in silence, well mostly, he thought, stifling a laugh at the twin looks of horror on Ted and Em's faces.

"Yes, Snook-" Emmett began in a derisive tone, when the clatter of silverware against their table silenced him.

"Oops, sorry about that," Justin excused the noise with a bright smile.

Brian had to suppress another laugh at the way the boy had derailed Em's spite.

After setting their drinks and then soup spoons in front of everyone - causing looks of consternation from around the table since none of them had ordered soup - the blond teen placed a steaming bowl containing a thick, aromatic liquid in front of each of them. 

"What the fuck is that?" Michael immediately kvetched, pushing his bowl toward the centre of the table before crossing his arms petulantly in front of his chest. "I didn't order this slop!"

"The ash-e reshteh is on the house," the teenager explained. "We're trying out some new dishes and are polling the customers to see what they think."

"I don't need to taste it to give you my opinion," Michael insisted, his lower lip jutting out ominously. "The colour's totally gross - it looks like vom."

"What's wrong with the colour?" Ted asked, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. "That's a pretty normal shade for a broth if you ask me. And it smells heavenly."

Without waiting for the others, Em dived in, slurping down one spoonful and then another. "It's delish!" he exclaimed, pleasure written across his face. "You've got to try it, Sweetie," he encouraged Michael, his irritation with his friend seemingly forgotten.

"It is good," David seconded Emmett's judgement. "What did you say it's called?"

"Ash-e reshteh," Justin enunciated slowly, pronouncing the ‘teh' at the end like ‘the'. "It's a thick Persian soup with a bean and noodle base."

"You really should try it, Cupcake," Dr Dave coaxed his boyfriend.

Across the table from Brian, Ted lowered a spoonful of the soup back into his bowl then curled the fingers of his other hand into a loose fist, motioning toward his slightly open mouth with his thumb.

Yeah. Brian nodded his agreement about the gag-worthiness of the endearments, his willingness to tolerate the cutesy pet names rapidly dwindling.

"I don't want to!" Michael nearly shouted his disagreement with the doc's suggestion.

"C'mon, my little Cutie Patootie," David urged in a sugary voice.

Pausing with his spoon midway to his mouth - he'd spew if he tried to swallow right then - the adman wished he had a pair of earplugs so he could block out the excruciatingly awful names.

"Remember your promise to expand your culinary horizons beyond hamburger and pasta," Dr Dave continued.

"I was thinking of, like, pork... or chicken!" Michael protested.

Brian heard a giggle from the end of the table but didn't dare look up since his mouth was currently full of soup. Wow! The others were right; it really was tasty. He'd gladly consume Mikey's bowl if his friend continued to reject it. Glancing over at Emmett and Theodore, both of whom were slurping down the soup as fast as possible, he realised he might have a fight on his hands...

Just then, Mikey conceded with a drawn-out sigh, "Okay, I'll try it." He dished up an extremely shallow spoonful, tentatively raised it to his lips, and sucked it in. His face screwing up in an expression of disgust, he spit the liquid back into the bowl, disparaging, "That ‘ashy rest of curds and whey' is way bad!"

The brunet stud let out a hearty sigh of his own. No one was going to enjoy a second bowl of the soup now it had Michael's genetic material in it. "Great," he grumbled. "Now it does look like regurgitated baby food, Mikey."

Michael yelled, "Bring me my burger now, Boy Wonder! And another glass of Coke to wash away the minging taste!"

The blond waiter merely nodded in acknowledgement, rushing into the kitchen, where he let loose the laughter he'd been repressing.

"Ashy curds and whey?" Fahad also fell about as Justin regaled him with the tale.

"I know, right?" the lad giggled. "I doubt he even knows what curds and whey are."

"Little Miss Muffet sitting on his tuffet," the cook snickered, "eating cottage cheese."

"To be fair, Michael probably doesn't like cottage cheese," the blond remarked, "regardless of whether he has a clue how it's formed."

"True," Fahad chuckled. A sly look entering his eyes, the chef said, "Listen, before you take out the meals the boys ordered, you should know that I doctored Michael's burger a little."

"Doctored how?" Justin inquired. Was he going to have to dodge boked burger? he worried.

"I mixed the ground meat together with a bit of the broth from the soup," Fahad clarified. "I'm betting the little pipsqueak will love it. Next time - tomorrow, that is - he won't understand why his burger is so bland."

"You won't be the one who has to field his complaints, you know," the blond teenager objected.

"Yeah, but think of the satisfaction you'll get from knowing Michael ate ‘ashy curds and whey' - and loved it," the cook said, his smile broadening.

Justin was still giggling as he returned to the main room, clearing away the dishes from a few tables before nearing the booth the gang occupied. His ears pricked up when he became aware that the five men were discussing the burglary at the loft.

Good, Brian thought, satisfied that the teenager was listening in as he wiped down the table in the neighbouring booth - a surface that hadn't been dirty to start with.

Picking up effortlessly on Brian's cue, Ted raised his voice a little as he asked, "Have you found out anything about like crimes?"

"Not really," the adman replied, also speaking louder than usual. "Just enough to freak out a little when I learned how much violence occurs during break-ins. It's apparently fucking dangerous to be at home."

"Too bad the little shit wasn't in the loft during the burglary," Michael sniped.

"How can you say that!" Emmett gasped. "Baby could have been killed."

"At least if Boy Wonder were gone, there'd be a decent fucking waiter in this joint," the short brunet groused.

That was a fairly mild complaint from his childhood friend, Brian supposed. Michael had a tendency to turn into a bitch when he was hungry. 

"Justin seems like a nice boy, Honeybun," Dr Dave commented a bit condescendingly, attempting to soothe his hangry boyfriend. "You should remember he's only a teenager - boys that age aren't the most reliable, especially when they're being driven by their hormones."

"And that makes teenagers different from older gay men how?" Ted quipped.

"It wasn't so bad having the boy around," Brian granted, steering the conversation back to the burglary. "I reckon it's a good thing he wasn't home when it happened." He peered at Justin, who was circling the same spot over and over again with a wet rag. Christ, he hoped the lad still knew how to interpret Kinney-speak.

The blond, however, didn't even look up from his useless cleaning. Theodore, thank fuck, tried again, "And the police are still investigating?"

Brian hmmed in agreement. "Yes. I got the feeling the burglary is a part of some sort of bigger case. Horvath asked me to look at some CCTV photos and such," he mentioned vaguely. "It might have been a professional job."

Michael's face screwed up in a pinched look. "I seriously doubt that," he jeered.

Emmett raised his eyebrows. "Oh, is that your professional opinion, Detective Novotny?" he asked snappily.

The man shrugged. "I just think the blond brat doesn't have enough money to hire - like - actual burglars. They were probably just some of his friends from school."

Everyone stared at him; even Justin stopped pretending to wipe the now obsessively cleaned table and just gaped at the back of Michael's head - stunned. "What a brainstorm," the teenager ridiculed, moving over to their table so he could look Michael in the eye. "You seem to forget, Novotny, that I'm not exactly swimming in friends at St James. Not that it makes any sense that I would have rooked those imaginary friends into invading my home in any case. But please, why don't you go present your theory to Detectives Horvath and Wen - I'm sure they could use a good laugh." 

With that sally, Justin stomped off to the kitchen, leaving Michael to wail, "Wait! What about my hamburger?" 

Shit. Brian berated himself - barely resisting the urge to strangle his childhood buddy - he should've said something in Justin's defense, especially since the lad wasn't entirely able to disguise the hurt Michael's accusation had engendered. But the blond boy had been so quick to leave the scene that Brian was pretty much still sitting there with his mouth open. "Jesus, Mikey," he castigated the man sitting next to him, "you can't be so naive as to believe that Justin instigated the burglary. At the most, he left the loft unlocked-"

"But, Brian!" Michael cut in, turning his puppy-dog eyes on his friend, "I'm just looking out for you. That's what a best friend does! I mean, even after you took him in - gave him a place to live - he betrayed you by letting robbers access your loft. You shouldn't give the ungrateful little shit the time of day!"

"Honeybun," Dr Dave tried to rein in his boyfriend as he watched Brian's countenance darken, "Don't you think you're being a little harsh? Justin likely left Brian's loft unsecured in a moment of inattentiveness. You have to remember that he's really young, not an experienced, mature man like you."

Despite how pissed off he was at Michael, that assessment of him almost sent Brian into a paroxysm of laughter. Loud coughing from the other side of the booth alerted him Ted and Emmett were having a similar reaction.

"You trust Brian, right?" Dr Dave asked his beau.

"Of course!" Michael's head bobbed up and down in agreement.

"Then you should accept that he probably has good reason for changing his mind about whether Justin was responsible for the robbery," David reasoned in a gentle voice.

"No," Michael insisted. "Brian's too" - he visibly searched for the right word - "gullible."

The adman heard Emmett snigger in a disbelieving tone, "Brian? Gullible?"

Also taken aback, Dr Dave eloquently responded, "Huh?"

"It's the Boy Wonder's lardass!" Michael cried out. "It has bad mojo! It blinds him to what a little shit the kid is."

"It's true Baby's arse is magical," Emmett giggle-snorted, "but he only uses his powers for good."

"Get up," Brian ordered Michael.

"You aren't going after the mook, are you?" Michael inquired suspiciously.

"It's Brian's business, Honeybun," Dr Dave reminded his boyfriend, sliding out of the booth and pulling Michael off the seat as well.

The brunet stud nodded in thanks - the doc was proving quite useful - and strode toward the kitchen. Only Fahad was in there, stirring a large pot on the cooker.

Next Brian tried the break room. No Justin. That's when he noticed the door to the alley was ajar, and sure enough, there was the blond, threadbare jacket on, blowing smoke rings into the frosty air. "Hey," Brian greeted him, "can I bum a cigarette?"

The teen didn't look at him, but he removed a pack of Camels from his pocket and handed them to Brian. Tapping the pack against the palm of his hand, Brian extracted one, shivering as a blast of icy wind was funneled down the passageway. Fuck, he wished he could go back and grab his coat and gloves, but then he might lose his opportunity to talk with the lad. "Light?" he grunted.

Justin flicked his cheap, unbranded lighter, cupping his other hand around the flame until Brian's cigarette was lit. After they'd smoked in silence for a minute, the boy asked curtly, "What do you want, Brian?"

"You'd probably hit me if I asked for another kiss, wouldn't you?" 

The lad stared at him, obviously surprised by his response. Brian couldn't blame him; he hadn't planned to say that. 

"Do you really think I should work for you?" Justin questioned, sounding enervated and discouraged.

Where had that non sequitur come from? "I never do anything I don't want to," Brian reiterated one of his mantras, figuring that would reassure him.

Justin looked at him blankly for a moment before resuming, "Don't get me wrong. I know it's a great opportunity for an untested artist like me. I'm confident that I'd produce good work. But we'd be around each other all the time, Bri, and that might be too much of a strain for both of us, don't you think?"

"No, I don't think that," Brian objected, concealing a satisfied smile at the way Justin had, apparently completely unaware, used the shortened version of his name. He hadn't heard the lad call him Bri since the morning of the burglary. That - together with the hint that Justin was having a hard time resisting him - gave him hope that it wasn't too late to entice the blond back to his bed.

"Why?"

Shaking off a vision of the lad in his bed - where he belonged - Brian retorted, "Why not? You're a far better artist than any of the cretins I worked with at Ryder; I don't have to repeat myself ad nauseum for you to understand a concept; and together, we'll make an unbeatable team."

"And what happens when you find another blond artist?" Justin wondered cynically. "Will you exchange him for me?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" the bewildered adman asked.

"On Saturday afternoon," Justin related, "I started thinking I might have overreacted a tad to your invitation the previous day,"

Brian's heart leapt - well, one part of his anatomy did anyroad. Did that mean-

"not that I was going to take you up on it,"

Dammit. Along with something deflating, it felt like his heart had plummeted down to his stomach. Must be a touch of acid reflux, he decided.

"since I refuse to be just a convenient fuck," Justin concluded.

Brian scowled, tempted to say he'd heard the boy loud and clear on Saturday, but that would be counterproductive to getting what he wanted. Maybe he hadn't made it clear that he was open to more than a one-off?

"When I calmed down a little, though, I remembered an invitation for an overnight fuck is tantamount to confessing you care about me. You never ask a trick to stay the whole night; the only reason you've ever awakened to anyone besides me in your bed was because you were too stoned and drunk to kick them out."

Brian scuffed his feet against the asphalt and looked anywhere except at Justin. 

"So I was sitting there on the couch in Deb's living room, wondering how I could get you to man up,"

The brunet shot him an affronted look, but Justin took no notice.

"when Michael plonked down across from me and began crowing about how I was on the outs."

Even though the brunet had no clue how Michael could have bollocksed things up, he was going to strangle the man if he'd cost him the fuck of a lifetime.

"I really didn't give a shit when he kept nattering on about some blond trick you'd drilled. You've always been an equal opportunity fucker," Justin shrugged, "even if your preferred trick is a Kinney clone."

Brian smirked at the pun on fucker; even though Justin didn't let on, the brunet was certain it had been deliberate. He couldn't figure out where Justin was going with this tale, though. Why would he have let Michael rile him up over something that must've happened ages ago?

The blond turned his head to look directly at Brian, his blue eyes icing over, his voice bitter. "It was when Michael conveyed that the trick was practically a dead ringer for me and that he'd watched you welcome him into the loft on Friday night that I accepted I was wrong, that I don't mean anything to you - not when I'm apparently interchangeable with any other blond."

Well, shit. Bloody Mikey.

"Justin," Brian forced out of his clenched throat, "listen. It was just a fuck - with a guy from an escort service, for Christ's sake. It didn't mean anything."

"It was just happenstance that the service sent over a guy who looks like me?" Justin snorted in disbelief. "Michael said he thought at first that it was me."

Double shit. How the fuck had Mikey seen him welcome the escort anyway? He had seen neither hide nor hair of his so-called best friend that night.

"Well, I suppose he might've looked a bit-" Brian cut himself off, noticing Justin's skeptical look. "Right," he sighed, deciding to cut the bullshit, "so I might've been in a bit of a strife after you - uh - knocked me back." He paused, hoping he wouldn't have to continue talking and that Justin would just somehow understand what he meant to say. 

Unfortunately, the lad promptly dashed his hopes. "What the fuck does that mean? That you wanted to take out your frustrations on an imitation me?"

"Kind of," Brian acknowledged. "Well, not really," he blew out an aggravated breath. Why the fuck was talking suddenly so hard? He was normally brilliant at sweet talking someone into accepting his pitch.

"Well that explains everything," Justin muttered, pausing before tacking on a pointed, "Not." 

"I didn't kiss the guy, or even fondle him," Brian blurted out, desperate to make Justin understand. "I just wanted to get off, dammit."

"So why request someone who looks like me?" the lad inquired, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Because I wanted you!" the brunet admitted, stringing his words together, so they were barely understandable. He rushed on, "And I ended up with anything but you. That escort was one of the worst lays I've ever had."

"You got off though, I bet," Justin noted acerbically. "That's the same thing that would've happened if I'd taken you up on your offer."

Brian snorted bitterly. "Yeah, right. Like anything the two of us had could be compared to what that manky, loose-arsed blond provided." 

And wow, that was basically a love admission coming from Brian. Justin wasn't quite ready to let his ex off the hook, however. Now that a few days had passed since the escort incident, he wasn't as steamed up about it - even kind of flattered in a weird way - but... "What if he had a tight arse?" he snarked. "Would you have been happy then?"

"For fuck's sake!" exploded out of Brian. "I just said it was you that I wanted. I really wouldn't mind having you over now and then, capisci?"

"You wouldn't mind having me over," Justin repeated, his excitement at Brian's almost declaration of love dimming. "That's the best you can do? You'd better tell me flat out what you want. Have some balls, Brian!"

"Christ! I'm sorry I kicked you out, okay?"

Wow. Justin hadn't expected to hear that. He stared at his former lover, unsure how to respond. There was a time he would have flown into Brian's arms and started kissing him madly. But now... now he kind of liked being independent and having responsibility for himself.

"So, uh," Brian asked hesitantly, "maybe you could come over tonight?"

Fuck. The guy looked so fucking adorable - not that Justin would ever say that out loud. The timing just didn't feel right, though. "Not tonight," he murmured, grazing Brian's arm briefly as if to soften the blow. "I have school tomorrow and I need to study" - the studying part wasn't really true, but he figured it would make the rejection more palatable - "and that won't happen if I'm with you."

Brian couldn't deny he was disappointed, but he'd never want to interfere with the lad's studies. "Another night?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too needy.

"We'll see," Justin replied with a soft smile. Honestly, he wasn't quite sure if starting up with Brian again was an entirely good idea. They had just started tolerating each other after all; it wouldn't do to screw it up right away by adding sex into their newfound friendship.

"Now you're the one being cryptic," Brian accused, narrowing his eyes at the blond.

"I just think maybe we should take it slow, after everything that's happened," Justin stated quietly. "Sure, we had fun together and the fucking was out of this world good, but it seems like we never really got to know each other as, like, friends, you know?"

Brian had to bite his lip so he wouldn't say something stupid about not fucking his friends. If only he wasn't so desperately craving the feel of Justin's body against his, he might even agree with the lad, a little anyhow. "Okay," he heaved out on a deep sigh. "But while we're ‘getting to know each other'" - fuck, he sounded like a lezzie - "I'd rather not see Bobby around."

Justin couldn't quite contain a giggle, both at Brian's deliberate infantilisation of Bob and that he thought it was Eric's name. "Listen, I only fucked the guy once, but I like him and we're going to be friends. I don't see how it can work out between you and me, Brian, if you can't accept that."

Brian was oddly proud of the way Justin was standing up for himself, even though he really didn't want to see that Bob fucker ever again. The kiss between the two had looked far more than friendly, but he knew better than to mention it.

The blond boy finished with, "Neither of us wants to place restrictions on the other, right?"

No Bobs would do the trick, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. "As long as you're willing to work for me," he allowed.

"I'd like that." Justin gave him a bright smile, making Brian's cock jump in his pants.

Christ, the brunet thought, it was going to be sheer torture being around the boy without being able to fuck him. On the other hand, it would provide multiple opportunities for him to persuade Justin into his bed, especially once he had him inside the loft. He'd just have to be subtle about it. "Are you free tomorrow night?" he asked, his mind spinning with ways to make the blond just as sexually frustrated as he was. "I need to get started on the Wertshafter account. Maybe if we bounce ideas off each other, we can figure out a way to make taxes sexy."

"Sure, after my diner shift," Justin readily agreed. "We can work at Deb's kitchen table."

That wasn't the location he'd had in mind, but it would do... for now.

"Justin!" Fahad pushed open the door to the alley. "That little howler monkey is screaming for his meal. Could you deliver the burger to him before all of us go deaf?"

Bracing himself, Brian followed Justin into the diner. Not only was Mikey starving after taking only a small sip of the bean and noodle soup, he'd probably worked himself into a jealous fit - his ‘best friend' out of his sight for a good twelve minutes with the much-despised blond.

His head began to throb as he neared the table, Michael's "Briaaaan" and the sulky cast of the man's face warning him it was likely to be an unpleasant dinner. He was relieved when, instead of getting up, Dr Dave scooted over, pushing Michael toward the window, so that Brian could sit at the end of the banquette.

"Bu- but," Michael spluttered, "I wanted to sit next to Brian."

He was beginning to hate the sound of his own name, although at least Mikey hadn't elongated it this time, adding extra syllables. As Brian rubbed his temples, a plastic container with Bayer written in white lettering on a soothing blue background appeared in front of him. Next came clear glasses into which cold water was poured. 

"You guys should each take a couple of aspirin," Justin recommended as he placed a glass in front of each of the men. "The flu's going around, you know."

Clever little devil, Brian mused gratefully, reaching for the bottle and twisting the cap. "Fuck," he grouched when it didn't come off.

"Those child-proof bottles are ridiculous," Ted opined. "Adults can't open them, but children usually have no problem."

Brian noticed that Theodore was also eyeing the container of pain relievers anxiously, as if he also needed the relief they could provide.

"Here," Justin offered, snagging the bottle, "let me." He pressed down and twisted, easily removing the lid.

"Figures," Michael scoffed. "He's the only child in here."

The blond shook two of the tablets into the palm of Brian's hand, the brunet immediately motioning with his free hand for another. No way would just two pills be enough to see him through the evening. Once he had three tablets in his palm, he slugged them back, while Justin shook out pills for Ted, Emmett, and David. 

"No," Michael declined the aspirin when Justin held the container out toward him. "Just bring me my food. The onions will fight off any virus germs."

"Honey," Em shook his head at Michael, "onion only helps in a natural decongestant like fire cider."

"Nuh-uh," the stubborn brunet insisted. "It's a cure-all. Ma told me."

"Honeybun," Dr Dave inquired, "are you talking about cutting the end off an onion, placing it on a plate, and leaving it out in whatever room in a house?"

"Yeah! Michael exclaimed. "That plus eating lots of onions works. I'm never sick."

Nonplussed, the chiropractor merely stared at his boyfriend, who beamed back at him. 

Watching as the blond walked over to the kitchen pass-through, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter, the adman placed a mental bet that David was worrying about when cut onions would start appearing around his house.

"Michael," Em began, "that's an urb-"

"Ssh!" Theodore elbowed Em in the side, whispering, "If he believes the urban legend, let him be. Do you really want him to kvetch about onions all night long?"

Emmett closed his mouth with a snap.

Thank fuck, Brian thought as blessed quiet reigned for a few seconds, before Justin returned with their orders, sliding Michael's in front of him first. Mikey didn't wait for the other men to be served, immediately chomping into the burger, juice sliding down his chin as he chewed with his mouth open. 

Everyone - even Dr Dave - looked away.

"Now that's the way beef should taste," Michael moaned, stuffing another bite into his mouth.

Justin's lips twitched and then a muffled giggle escaped.

Goddammit, Brian recognized that smirk. If the brat was pulling a fast one on Mikey, Brian should be in the know. He wouldn't at all mind a laugh at the little brunet's expense. 

Taking a break from the meat, Michael grabbed a handful of onion rings and stuffed them into his gob. "No u, she?" he proclaimed triumphantly.

Snorts of laughter came from around the table. "Given your predilection for onions," Ted remarked drily, "can we safely assume that meant, ‘no flu, see'?"

Michael nodded. "Zhackly."

As Dr Dave leaned closer to Michael, Brian feared for a moment that he was going to lick the spilled meat juice off of Michael's chin, but fortunately, he just used his napkin to wipe up the mess.

As Justin inquired, "Anything else, guys?" Brian noted the lad looked a little pale and shaky. He'd undoubtedly been as nauseated as Brian by the almost horror of David- Brian quickly shut down that train of thought; it was just too gross to contemplate.

"Yeth," Michael mumbled around his food.

Justin waited patiently.

Michael grabbed more onion rings and leaned across David, dumping the handful onto Brian's plate and announcing proudly, "Now you won't get sick either, Brian."  

The adman grimaced as specks of food flew from Mikey's mouth onto his cashmere jumper. Now he was going to have to take the sweater off before he could put on his Armani coat, or he'd have to do without his good winter overcoat until it, too, had been dry-cleaned.

"This past weekend when I didn't see you at Woody's or Babylon, I was worried you might be under the weather," Michael claimed, a sly glint in his brown eyes. "I tried to call you but you didn't answer. What - or should I say who - were you doing?"

Faced with a stony glare, Michael quickly withdrew, sheltering behind his boyfriend.

You'd better hide, Mikey, Brian thought, his clenched fist trembling as he sought to get himself under control and not punch the little troublemaker on the nose. Now that he knew Michael had seen the escort arrive at the loft, he was able to connect his interest in Brian's weekend doings with all the hang-ups on his landline; the man must have been hoping that he'd been occupied with the escort the whole time. He wouldn't confront Michael until he was less pissed off, Brian decided, but he was fed up with his friend's nosiness. It was high time that he backed off.

Before anyone else could say or do anything, the door to the diner opened - jingling the bell above - and hunky professor Ben entered. Brian watched as the tall man searched the diner briefly, before his eyes settled on the back of Theodore's head. Smiling like a love-sick fool, Ben then glided over to their booth and slid in next to his boyfriend, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Hey, babe," he murmured quietly, giving the accountant a peck on the lips.

"Hi," Ted replied in an equally hushed tone, eyes dopey.

Brian fake-gagged as he watched his friend fondly. It was really kind of disgusting how happy the two men looked to be together.

"Jesus," Michael complained in a rare pause in between bites of his burger, "you lovebirds are everywhere."

"Yes, we are, Honeypie," Dr Dave asserted, leaning down and planting a big, wet smooch on Michael's lips, lingering there for long seconds, apparently unbothered that his boyfriend's mouth was full of half-masticated burger.

The adman didn't have to fake his gagging this time. Turning away as to not lose his remaining appetite, he met Justin's horrified eyes as the blond walked over to their table.

"Uh," the young server began, eyes glued to the appalling scene that was playing out in the corner of the booth. Brian supposed it was one of those ‘can't look away from an accident' kind of things. 

Justin shook himself, turning to the newcomer, "Hi, Professor, what can I get you?"

"Please call me Ben," the hunky academician invited with a friendly smile.

"Um, sure, Ben," the lad said a bit diffidently. It felt a little weird to address a teacher by his first name, but he guessed it wouldn't be as awkward as learning to call the detective Carl.

"Any recommendations?" the professor asked. "Preferably something meat-free."

"I think Fahad has a bit of his ash-e reshteh left. Uh, that's-"

"Bean and noodle soup," Ben finished for him.

"Wow," Justin grinned at the professor. "You're the first one who's had any idea what that is."

"One of my colleagues is from Iran," Ben explained. "She sometimes brings in home-cooked dishes for us to sample."

"Cool. You can let Fahad know if his is up to snuff. Uh, if that's what you want to eat." Shit. Justin hoped he hadn't sounded presumptuous. "Uh, let me just go make sure we still have some of the soup." Justin waved vaguely in the direction of the kitchen before rushing away, his face flaming. Christ, the professor was going to think he was a total retard.

Moments later, he returned, balancing a steaming bowl of the soup and a glass of milk. Setting the items and some silverware down in front of Ben, he double-checked, "Is milk okay? I remember you drank that the last time you were here."

"The perfect accompaniment to most meals," the built man confirmed, taking a sip of the milk. "Hey, it's soy milk," he said in pleased surprise.

"I suggested to Debbie that we should stock it after your last visit," Justin related. "Not only do some people prefer soy milk, others are lactose intolerant. When we get new menus printed, it'll be listed in the drinks section."

"That's very thoughtful of you - and Debbie. Thank you." Ben couched his appreciation in a way that made it clear he thought the change wouldn't have happened if Justin hadn't spoken up. "You know, Justin, your friends and family speak very highly of you, how hardworking you are and how well you've handled yourself as an out gay student at a private school." Ben ignored the weird snicker-snort from Michael's corner of the table, continuing, "While you were studying after the meal on Sunday night, the rest of us - that is, most of us," he amended, "debated whether there's been any improvement in how gay students are treated by their peers and teachers in middle school and high school."

"I haven't had the easiest time of it," Justin admitted, "but St James may be at the extreme end of the spectrum. There's basically zero support for queer students. Less than that, really, if you consider how the administration silently supports bullying."

"You know I teach a gay studies class, right?"

Justin nodded.

"I can pretty much guarantee none of the students in my current class have ever experienced anything as excessive as what you're enduring. Those that are gay either stayed in the closet in high school - some of them still aren't out - or had enough of a support system that the bullies didn't harass them constantly. I know it would benefit them to hear your story; then they'd really grasp what it's like to try to survive in a homophobic environment."

Self-conscious, the teenager shrugged. It wasn't like he was some kind of hero or something. He was just trying to get through the hell that was high school.

Ben chuckled self-deprecatingly. "This is my long-winded approach to asking if you'd be willing to serve as a guest lecturer at one of the class sessions. It wouldn't be till spring, when I'll have a new crop of students, but the make-up of the enrolled students will be essentially the same as it is this term. If you want some time to think it over, that's fine, as long as you say yes," he finished with a charming smile.

"You go, Baby!" Emmett clapped his hands in excitement. "You have to do it."

Justin gave his flamboyant friend a tepid smile. He couldn't help feeling intimidated by the idea of standing up and talking about his personal experience in front of a group of college students, some of whom were probably juniors or seniors, with maybe even the odd graduate student thrown in. He'd definitely have to get more information and think it over before making up his mind. In the meantime, there was no harm in redirecting the conversation a little. "Um, I have a friend who's studying at CMU and only recently came out. I think he could really do with someone to talk to. Would you mind if I gave him your contact info?"

Brian, who'd been busily feigning indifference about Justin's friend, snidely interjected, "Who's that? The Bob Toy?"

A smirk crossed Justin's face, and Emmett started giggling. What the fuck? Had he missed something? Brian wondered.

"He's the most accommodating Bob I've ever encountered," the ebullient queen rhapsodised. "You shouldn't be so adamant about not spending another night with him, Baby."

The brunet stud snorted. What Justin needed was a challenge, not some boring, only passably good-looking, pansy. In other words, what he needed was Brian, and the adman was going to amp up his campaign to make the blond realise that. First of all, he needed to winkle out of Emmett everything he knew about fucking Boy Bob. There had to be a way to get the gossip queen to spill the beans... 

While Brian was mulling over how to put the squeeze on Emmett, the professor removed his wallet from his slacks and extracted a couple of business cards. "Since I serve as the faculty advisor to the LGBT club at Carnegie Mellon, it's one of my duties - although I consider it more of a privilege - to talk to students, queer or straight, irregardless of whether they're members of the club."

"That's super," Justin enthused while Ben jotted something down on the back of one of the cards.

"This top one's for your friend," the hunky teacher stated as he handed both cards to the teen, bestowing another genial smile on Justin. "He can contact me by phone or email. The other card's for you. I wrote my mobile number on the back - you can call me at any time if you have questions about being a guest lecturer, or even if you just want to chat about whatever."

"Sunshine, could you give me a hand?" Kiki asked, looking absolutely harried as she paused at the gang's booth. "That snooty bitch Tannis is here with her lapdog, Phillip. They're only eating here, I'd wager, because elections for the GLC leadership are coming up. Why they think dining here once every two years would fool us ‘undesirables' into voting for them, I have no fucking clue."

 "Uh," Justin asked warily - he hadn't been very impressed when he'd met Tannis and Phillip at the GLC art show - "what is it you need me to do?"

"Make nice?" the tranny replied. "Please. They get on my last nerve, carping about the restrooms being dirty, the food overcooked, the service lousy-"

"It is lousy," Michael attested. "I got this nasty curds and whey thing I didn't order; it took forever for my hamburger to be cooked; and I never got my second order of onion rings."

"Anyway," Kiki continued, ignoring Michael completely, "I'd really appreciate it if you'd deal with the bloody GLC queen bees tonight, Kiddo. I'll owe you one."

"No worries," Justin replied, thinking it couldn't be any worse than dealing with the whining Astro Boy. With a "Later, guys" for the gang, he put on his brightest WASP smile and headed over to where the sour-faced duo was sitting.

Later that evening, Justin collapsed into a booth next to the one the boys still occupied, folded his arms on the tabletop, and rested his aching head on them. Had he ever been wrong, he mused. Sure, Michael was a pain to deal with most of the time, but unless he was feeling particularly jealous of the blond, he just gave him the cold shoulder. Tannis and Phillip on the other hand had ridden his ass - and not in a good way - for well over an hour, demanding that he bring them clean silverware; return their salads to the kitchen because the greens were wilted and browning; and deliver hot tea, not lukewarm coloured water. Their complaints were endless, and with Harry running late - again - Justin had been stuck dealing with them even longer.

The disagreeable pair kept him busy addressing their grievances, which meant he hadn't been able to wait on any other tables and lost out significantly on the tips he usually raked in. To cap it all off, Tannis had claimed there was a snail in her salad, hurriedly flinging the supposed escargot to the other side of the diner before Justin could confirm its existence. "We're not paying for these inedible, mollusc-ridden excuses for salads," the infuriated woman loudly proclaimed.

Unable to grin and bear it any longer, the blond waiter had snapped. "Take your pinched faces, flat derrières, and rotten attitudes out of here, then," he roared. "No one in this diner" - he swept his hand around the eatery - "is going to vote for you to be on the GLC council. You don't give a rat's ass about us, and we sure as heck can't stand you!"

The diner exploded in a round of applause and whistles, someone shouting, "You need an attitude adjustment, lady. Go get laid, if you can find someone who wants a dried-up old prune like you."

"I'll be taking this up with the manager," Tannis threatened, her tone icy.

"Please do. Her name's Debbie Novotny," Justin had stated calmly.

Now, a few minutes after his confrontation with the woman, Justin chuckled wearily as he remembered how Tannis had blanched. She must've somehow forgotten who was in charge at the Liberty Diner, so when confronted, she immediately backed down. She stalked out of the eatery, Phillip scurrying at her heels, neither of them issuing any more threats.

"Taylor," a female voice accused, "are you taking a nap when you're supposed to be tutoring me?"

Justin tilted his head to the side, slitted his eyes open, and grinned. "Hey, Syd," he greeted the cheerleader, happy to see a friendly face. Just when had Sydney turned into a friend? he wondered, a little bemused.

"Well," the pom-pom girl challenged, "snap to it!" adding a snap of her fingers for effect. 

"You've got it wrong," someone else interposed. "It's hop to it!" Justin's bestie came into view, demonstrating with a small hop and a giggle.

"We're all studying together?" Syd asked. "Cool," she added, her eyes sparkling with mischief, when the other two teens nodded.

Uh-oh, Justin mused. He wouldn't stand a chance if the girls ganged up on him.

"Can we start with physics?" Daph beseeched, taking a seat opposite Justin. "I thought I was getting it, relatively anyhow. But when I was reading through the textbook earlier, it was like it all got sucked into a giant black hole. If I can't suss it out, I'm gonna tank the course and lose my bonus."

The cheerleader looked at her quizzically. "What bonus?" she asked before waving a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. We've got to start with calculus, so I can prove to Dickhead - and Chris - that blonds aren't rubbish at maths."

Amused, Justin lifted an eyebrow, not bothering to state the obvious - that at least one blond was bloody brilliant at maths.

Daphne scowled at the pom-pom girl. "Who says you get to decide? You wouldn't even be here if Jus hadn't taken pity on you."

Her eyes narrowing in outrage, it looked like the cheerleader was about to lay into the other girl. 

Before it devolved into a physical contest - which he was sure Daph would surprise Sydney by winning; she had a mean right hook - Justin considered suggesting a coin toss to resolve the matter.

An intervention wasn't necessary, however, as Sydney visibly forced herself to relax. "I've been swotting up on that wretched theory of relativity until my head wants to burst," the cheerleader bemoaned, "and I still don't get it, unlike calculus, which I'm actually starting to get the hang of. So, yeah, I want to study physics with you and Jus too."

Clever, Justin mused, the way she'd included Daphne in the equation. Even though Daph would see right through the manipulation, it would probably make her more sympathetic.

"So, what's the big deal?" his bestie asked, her tone less confrontational.

"One, I want to show up my boyfriend before I kick him to the curb - that'll make my rejection of the wanker sting that much more," Sydney explained. "Two, and more importantly, I want to stick it to Dixon. If I get a B or better on the final exam, that'll raise my grade for the semester to at least a C+, which will chap Dickhead's arse."

"Then he won't be able to accuse you of being a beautician," Daphne surmised.

"I'd have to off myself if he did that," Sydney agreed. "There's no way I'm going to be lumped in with that twit Farley, or even worse" - she shuddered - "be sent down to eleventh-grade maths."

"That would be a fate worse than death," Daphne acknowledged, paling.

From her pallor, Justin guessed that his bestie was envisioning herself suffering that terrible fate - and having to tell her parents what had happened. "None of us is getting sent back a grade," he asserted. "Let me grab-"

"Like you're in any danger of that, Jus," Daph interrupted.

"I know, right?" Sydney joined forces with Daphne, rolling her eyes at him.

"Is this how it's going to be all evening?" the beleaguered lad asked.

"Yes!" the girls chorused, Syd sliding into the booth next to Daph.

Moments later, his rucksack retrieved from the break room, Justin stopped at the counter long enough to pile a platter high with lemon bars and to snag three small plates, mugs, saucers, spoons, a creamer, and the carafe of coffee. He eyed the Mr Coffee askance as he collected the items - the java it brewed was far inferior to that produced by the kaput coffee maker. A proper machine was supposed to be delivered tomorrow, thankfully, since all the waitstaff had been fielding complaints about the poor quality of the joe for the last two days.

"Yum! Gimme!" Daphne demanded when Justin deposited the sweets on the table. "You have to try these," she urged, nudging the plate toward Sydney.

The cheerleader took a dainty bite out of one of the lemony treats, humming in delight and promptly biting off a larger piece. "Good thing I have cheerleading practice tomorrow," she commented as she polished off the first lemon bar and immediately lifted another off the platter before pausing to mix cream and sugar into her coffee. "The pounds would be glomming onto my hips otherwise."

She sounded just like Brian, was Justin's first thought. Then he remembered how she'd talked about being pudgy until a few years ago - she was probably terrified of ever again being overweight.

"Really," Daphne joked, "the only reason I come to the diner is because of these lemon bars."

"I'm right there with you," Syd deadpanned. "I mean, it's just a bonus for Justin that we're giving him the privilege of tutoring us."

Justin shook his head in resignation. It was going to be a long evening. Removing a page from his notebook, he placed it in front of the teasing scamps. "The ‘privileged one' has prepared some problems for you to solve. Have fun," he finished, smirking when the girls groaned in dismay.

Forty-five minutes later, the frustrated cheerleader wadded up the page that contained her latest efforts and threw it at Justin. "Fuck. I'm gonna go down the pan and end up working in a beauty parlour," she wailed.

Justin suppressed an inappropriate urge to giggle. She was such a drama queen - she could even give Brian a run for his money. The exasperated lad was almost at his wits' end - Sydney had ended up making almost no progress, partly because she kept trying to cut corners with working out the solutions, but mainly because she wasn't concentrating. After half-heartedly working on a problem for a couple of minutes, the scritching of her pencil would halt, and she'd regale them with the latest bit of gossip or ask Justin questions about his sex life that he had no intention of answering.

Wait... maybe that would motivate her, even if Syd was bound to ask cringe-worthy questions. "Let's make this fun," the boy suggested.

Daphne, who'd been slowly but steadily making her way through the problems, echoed the cheerleader's derisive snort. "Calculus, fun? Get real, Jus."

"I can make it fun."

"How?" Sydney challenged.

"For every answer you get right," Justin offered, "I'll answer one question."

Her eyes rounding, the blonde girl stared at him speculatively. "Any question?"

"Yep," Justin confirmed. "But only one per correct answer."

"You won't prevaricate?" the cheerleader probed.

"I wouldn't dare," Justin responded, chuckling ruefully. "My fact checker is sitting right next to you."

"That's right. I'll keep him honest. Anyroad, since I've already solved eight of these," Daphne burbled, "I want to know-"

"Whoa! Hold on a sec, Chanders," Justin rushed to restrain his friend's enthusiasm.

Daph gave him a mutinous look. "You better not be saying I don't get to play."

And he'd been thinking that Syd was a drama queen? "What I meant," Justin stressed, "is that I'll only answer one question per problem. I don't care which of you asks the question but if, say, you both get number five right, you don't get to ask two questions."

Daph pouted, resembling Molly right before the little girl would throw a tantrum.

"You won't lose out," Justin reassured his bestie. "It's just that the first twelve questions on the worksheet are a little too basic for you. You haven't been coasting that much, Daph; you were just distracted for a while."

His friend puffed up at the praise, only grimacing at the thought of what had distracted her.

"You should focus on solving the last group of more complex problems," Justin recommended. "That way, you'll not only get to ask me questions, you'll also be better prepared for this Friday's test - and the final."

"Okay," Daph conceded with an impish grin. "It's not like I don't already know most everything about you anyway, Jus."

Fuck, Brian thought from the neighbouring booth, where he'd been unobtrusively watching the blond and straining to hear as much of the conversation as possible. He wished there was some way he could jot down some questions and slip them to the blonde girl before they got to the Q&A portion of the study session. Maybe he could talk the professor, who was sitting directly behind the cheerleader, into switching places. Then he could accomplish his goal through a little sleight of hand. But what reason could he give for the switch? Fuck, he couldn't think straight - that Bob fucker had his normally incisive thinking all muddled.

"Yo, Bri!" Emmett's voice penetrated his daze.

"Christ, Honeycutt, you don't have to shout," Brian grumbled. "I'm not in my dotage yet."

"Hmm," the queen disputed, a doubtful look on his face, "I think that stage of your life has already started. I called your name three times and was about to wave my hand in front of your face."

"Well, you've got my attention now. What did you want?"

"Just to have you hand me the napkin dispenser from the table behind you." Emmett pointed to the one on the table between him and Michael. "Ours is empty."

"I was thinking about an important account," tripped off of Brian's tongue. That wasn't really a lie; Operation Twat Retrieval was essential to the well-being of Kinnetik - and its owner. 

"Why don't I get a damp washcloth from Fahad?" Theodore offered, nudging Ben so that the professor slid out of the booth first. "Then Brian can keep taxing himself with ideas for the account." He shot his boss a knowing look, his eyes twinkling merrily as he strode over to the kitchen window, Ben ambling along beside him. Emmett scooted out too, beelining toward the men's room.

Wait. Why was Ted getting a washcloth? Brian looked back at the empty paper napkin dispenser, this time turning his head toward Michael and Dr Dave, both of whom were dabbing ineffectually at red splotches on Mikey's Batgirl T-shirt. Snorting as he realised the short brunet had somehow squirted ketchup on himself, Brian again shut out the yammering at his own table, so he could eavesdrop on what was happening at the neighbouring booth. He'd still have to pump Emmett for information about Bob, but there'd be no need to sweat answers out of the man that he could acquire now...

"Okay, you each get two questions," Justin informed the girls after perusing the sheets they'd shoved at him.

Brian grinned, mentally rubbing his hands in glee. Despite having Daphne for a best friend, he doubted the lad had any idea what he was in for. It was his experience that no one was as nosy about and entranced by gay sex as a straight woman...

"So do you top or bottom?" Sydney dived right in.

"I'm ambidextrous, uh, I mean versatile," Justin hastily corrected himself.

Christ, the kid sounded like the nervous virgin Brian had collected from under a lamp post.

Both Daphne and cheerleader giggled as the boy turned beet red.

He wouldn't be losing that blush anytime soon, Brian reckoned.

"Do you really like taking it, you know, up the ass?" Sydney pressed, the hitch in her voice betraying both her eagerness and her lack of knowledge about the topic.

"I said I was versatile," Justin hedged.

You're not gonna get away with that non-answer, Sunshine, Brian mused.

"What does that mean? You just lie there and take it because it makes your partner feel good?" the blonde girl scoffed, her voice rising. "You can do better than that, Taylor."

"Keep it down!" Justin demanded, casting a quick glance at Brian, who pretended to be absorbed in the various efforts to make Mikey feel better about the damage to his one-of-a-kind Batgirl tee. "He's got ears!"

"He?" Daph teased. "Do you mean ‘The Face of God'?"

Brian preened. That had to be him, right?

"Daph!" the outraged blond boy protested. "That's privileged information."

"You only need to give a one-word answer, Jus. I'm taking it easy on you."

"Yes."

The adman stored away that titbit, the wheels spinning as he contemplated how to reinstil that awe in Justin.

"Now answer my question," Syd insisted, remorseless in her pursuit of information.

"It feels fucking amazing," the lad confessed. "With the right person, it, uh, makes me feel complete."

What the fuck? Had Justin done some kind of comparison fucking? Who was the right person anyway? An outraged Brian started to rise from the table, intent on shaking the answers out of Justin if need be. 

"You know, Bri," Emmett, who was now sitting across from him, advised quietly, placing a hand atop the brunet's, "you should sit back down if you don't want to draw everyone's attention."

Shit, the man was right. If he confronted Justin in the middle of the diner, it would be all over Liberty Avenue before midnight. Bad enough that the flashy queen had caught him eavesdropping and reacting like a- Brian's thoughts stuttered to a halt, since he couldn't figure out what to compare himself to. Certainly not a boyfriend since he didn't do those. And he wasn't jealous. Absolutely not.

"Besides," Em continued, winking at the stud as he sank back onto the banquette, "if you wait, maybe one of those girls will ask the question that's burning on the tip of your tongue."

"Does it feel better to be the, er," Daphne floundered about for the right word, "the whatchamacallit, you know, the fuckee rather than the fucker?"

Both blonds burst out laughing, while Daph crimsoned in embarrassment. 

"Get with the program, Chanders," the cheerleader snickered. "It's top and bottom, not fucker and fuckee."

"Like you're so well versed in gay sex," Daphne retorted. "You wouldn't need to ask Justin if you knew what was what, now would you?"

"Crap," Emmett muttered, "I hope there's not going to be a catfight. I'm not about to get in between two girls with long fingernails."

Brian glanced at the other men at their table, breathing out a sigh of relief when it seemed that they were engrossed in discussing Supergirl versus Superman - what a no-brainer - and remained unaware of the question and answer session in the next booth.

"You're right," the brash cheerleader admitted, surprising Brian; he'd thought the blonde was like him, not the type to concede graciously. "I, uh, I," she stammered, "may have logged onto my dad's computer and done a bit of research."

"You got to watch gay porn?" Daphne inquired breathlessly.

"I wish," Sydney replied, "but the rents have the good stuff locked down with one of those annoying parental controls. I was only able to do a little bit of research about terminology and suchlike."

Daphne made a moue of disappointment.

"So, Taylor," the pom-pom girl returned her focus to Justin, "answer the question, do you prefer to top or bottom?"

"No preference," the lad promptly responded. "Different but equally rewarding sensations, especially when you sync with your partner."

He was certainly right about that, Brian agreed, his dick filling and pressing uncomfortably against the restrictive denim of his jeans.

"What kind-" Daph tried to sneak in another question.

"Nice try," Justin chided. "You'll have to solve more of those problems if you want more answers."

Both girls immediately went back to work.

Brian groaned in irritation, drumming his fingers restlessly against the table. He tuned in briefly to the ongoing superperson debate but quickly grew bored. What the fuck was taking those damned females so long, anyhow? Finally, after what seemed like hours but was actually less than twenty minutes, the girls again passed their worksheets over to Justin to check.

"Well done," the boy declared, appearing pleased with the results after carefully reviewing their solutions. "You each made a few mistakes but it won't take me long to show you how to fix those. I'll be magnanimous - three questions each. Go ahead and grill me."

"Um, Chris, um," Sydney dithered before blurting out, "that handjob you gave Chris, did he get hard?"

Chris? Who the fuck was Chris? the bewildered stud wondered. He mustn't have been much of a trick if all he got was a handjob - not that Brian would refuse one if the lad offered.

"Yeah, Sydney," Justin replied, his voice gentle. "He got off pretty darned quickly, and I don't think it was because of the... girl he was talking about."

"Not me, I take it."

Justin shook his head.

The cheerleader slumped in her seat. "He really must be a closet case. He can barely get it up for me, even when I give him a blowjob. You'd think any warm cavern would do..." she trailed off. After a beat of silence, however, she rallied, declaring, "Fucking Hobbs. Some people should've been ejaculated into a pillow."

Brian was too stunned to chuckle at the girl's witty sally. The pom-pom girl was Hobbs' girlfriend? What the fuck was Justin doing tutoring a girl who must at the very least, have turned a blind eye to some of the bullying? He was going to have a stern word with the lad at the first opportunity.

"My turn," Daphne intervened, lightening the tense atmosphere when she inquired, "Do you actually have to shave, Jus?"

"Wha-" The boy blinked at her, clearly thrown by the non-sexual nature of the question.

"I mean, whenever I visited your house, I'd see this electric razor on the sink that always looked like it was new out the box, as if it was only on display to prove that you were old enough to shave. And like, even though it's been hours since you got up this morning, I can't see any stubble on your chin."

Justin's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out as he imitated a goldfish.

Brian looked at Emmett and then quickly away, both men biting their lips so they wouldn't start laughing.

"Aw, you're just a baby face," the blonde girl cooed, reaching over to stroke her hand along Justin's cheek.

"Stop that," Justin objected, batting her hand away. "I do so have to shave-"

Brian bit down harder, a muffled snort escaping anyway as he recalled Justin lathering up his face and shaving at non-existent hair. Christ, he really missed having the lad at the loft.

"Methinks you doth protest too much." Daphne dissolved into giggles, with Sydney following suit.

Justin folded his arms, let out an irritated huff, and pointedly stared out the window.

"If you're more comfortable with questions about gay sex, Taylor," Sydney giggle-snorted, "that's fine by me."

Christ, Brian thought, his shoulders heaving with silent laughter, the lad sure had gotten himself into an untenable situation.

After a few seconds of waiting for the cheerleader to frame her next inquiry, Justin broke down, barking, "Well?"

"Have you ever had sex with a virgin?" the girl managed to gasp between giggles.

"He has," Daphne jumped in, answering for her friend, more laughter welling up so that she could barely be understood, "with a B- BOB."

Justin looked at the laughing girl in bemusement for a beat before saying, "Oh! That one!"

What the fuck? There were so many Bobs that the little shit couldn't keep track of them? Brian wondered incredulously. The fuckers must be breeding like lice.

"The other guy," Daphne murmured, before she suddenly stopped speaking.

What was with the weird emphasis on ‘guy'? The baffled stud couldn't figure it out. Eavesdropping on a conversation shouldn't be this difficult, he thought, shaking his head in irritation, but the teenagers were communicating in some sort of code.

"Did you make it good for him?" the girl finally asked, her tone wistful.

"I had a good teacher so, yeah, I think I did."

Goddammit. He hadn't shared his skills with the lad so he could turn around and use them on Bobby Boy.

At that moment, someone tapped out a melody on their car horn, just outside the window where the three teens were sitting. 

"Someone's playing your song, Justin," Sydney mocked. "You know, ‘Shave and a Hair-cut, Two Bits,'" she recited, rapping her knuckles against the table in a matching rhythm.

Brian chuckled, appreciating the girl's sassy humour.

"Crap! Daphne exclaimed, standing up and shoving her books into her backpack. "That's my dad. I've gotta book or he'll have a bloody fit."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Sydney apologised, glancing at the clock and moving out of Daphne's way. "I really didn't mean to use up all the study time on calculus and never get to physics."

"It's all good," Daph shouted over her shoulder as she rushed out of the diner. "It's always fun to torture Justin."

"How about I give you a lift home, Taylor?" the cheerleader offered with another cheeky smile. "It's the least I can do since you've tutored me on two subjects - maths and gay sex."

Brian left the diner at half past ten, wrapped from head to toe in his warm winter coat. He refused to feel discouraged that he didn't even get to ask to give Justin a lift - especially seeing as that blonde's four-by-four had been parked right in front of the diner, while he'd have to walk two streets over before catching a glimpse of his own car.

Steeling himself for the long trek in the snow, he buried his nose in his collar to keep it from freezing right off. He reckoned not even he could pull off the Voldemort look, and then his hopes of ever getting back together with Justin would be well and truly dashed.

As his mind spun fantastical images of noseless people, he wasn't paying attention to where he was going, and it was therefore inevitable that he would bump into someone.

"Sorry," he gasped, feeling like he'd just hit a wall. He hadn't noticed the couple of fags that were making out on the side of the pavement and ran straight into them, knocking the air out of his lungs in the process.

The younger of the two grinned. "No problem; we weren't really paying attention," he allowed, giving his partner a look. The man was attractive - tall, slim, reddish-blond, pink-cheeked... and familiar.

"Oh, hey, it's you," the redhead exclaimed once he took a good look at Brian. "From the backroom at Babylon?"

An uncomfortable memory of insistent hands wrapped in a haze of drugs and alcohol flashed across his mind. Fuck, of course. "You're the guys who, uh, sent the idiot packing," he muttered, not meeting their eyes. The redhead and the marine - he should've recognised them sooner.

"Yeah, that's us." The younger man smiled, somehow managing not to look either pitying or patronising. "I'm Donald," he introduced himself, outstretching a gloved hand.

Brian shook it. "Brian. Uh, nice to meet you." God, he was being awkward.

The ginger then pointed at his lover. "And this is Raymond."

"Right. Raymond." Brian shook the marine's hand as well. "We saw each other at the gym the other day."

"Indeed, we did," Raymond confirmed. "I exchanged a couple of words with your friend. An interesting man," he added in a carefully neutral voice.

Donald raised his eyebrows playfully, a gloved hand tangling in the other man's coat lapel. "Oh yeah? Was he the one you told me about? The one that kept hitting on you?" he asked, voice light but the tight grip he had on his partner's coat belying his jealousy.

The older man patted his lover's cheek in what Brian thought was a bit of a condescending gesture. "Oh, hush, Donny," he chided. "Emmett is delightful, but he's not a patch on you."

Brian winced. Seriously, what was it with loved-up couples today? "I, uh," he spoke up, voice stupidly uncertain. He'd better put a stop to their exchange before he became a witness to yet another disgusting make-out session. "I wanted to say thank you," he ground out.

Donald - or Donny, he thought in amusement - gave him an inquiring look.

"For - you know - helping me out and all," he clarified. "At Babylon."

The redhead smiled sympathetically. "It was our pleasure, trust me. We just did what we thought was right." Then, glancing thoughtfully at his lover, he altered it to, "Well, Raymond did what I thought was right."

Brian snorted, uncomfortable with the whole situation. "Right, well... I'd best be going and leave you to it," he told the couple. "It was, uh, nice meeting you again." Christ, he sounded like a complete dolt, stuttering practically after every other word.

"Likewise," Raymond tipped his hat slightly, effectively dismissing him, before turning to his younger partner. "Now where were we?" he muttered, voice deep and gravelly as he pulled Donald closer by his waist. "I still have plans for you."

Brian hurriedly left them to their own devices, ignoring the high-pitched whine that escaped the ginger's throat at whatever the marine was doing to him behind Brian's back. Good God, he was sick of seeing all these happy couples, while his own relationship with Justin was basically nonexistent at the moment.

Speaking of Justin, he had yet to figure out how to get Emmett to tell him everything he knew about the Bob - or should that be Bobs? - Justin was fucking. He wasn't above a bit of blackmail if necessary. Since the flamboyant queen wanted the job catering Kinnetik's gala, the adman would just employ a little arm-twisting when Em stopped by the loft tomorrow afternoon, garnering any details that hadn't been revealed during the girls' inquisition of the boy. Then, when he and Justin worked on the Wertshafter account later in the day, the adman would be prepared to counter the undue influence Bobby Boy was having on Brian's blond.