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Thursday morning found Brian wading through mountains of snow as he once again made his way to the Liberty Diner. There had been nothing in the way of breakfast at the loft and he didn't really feel like making his own coffee anyway, so he'd decided to go to the eatery. He'd have an egg white omelette and a big Americano, and he'd perhaps even bring a couple of lemon bars back to the loft for Theodore and Cynthia. The two were due to arrive at half past eight, which gave Brian about an hour before he had to be back home to let them in.

Stepping inside the diner to the jingle of the bell above the door, Brian immediately aimed for the bar. The joint was always full this time of the morning, overflowing with fags refuelling after a whole night of clubbing and lesbians getting ready for work. He refused to think what it said about him that he was a part of that second group today.

"Brian!" called a sugary sweet voice from behind him, followed closely by an excited screech of, "Babp!"

Turning around, he gave Lindsay a tongue-in-cheek smile. "Hello, Sonnyboy," he greeted his son, reaching out to take the tot into his arms. "And what brings you here? Refuelling after a night of partying, or are we ready to go to work?"

Lindsay sighed exasperatedly. "Brian!" she hissed, looking around. "Stop saying things like that - God knows what people will think."

He followed her gaze, meeting the amused eyes of several individuals. "That I was making a joke?" he suggested, before rolling his lips in between his teeth. A purple-haired dyke at a nearby table grinned into her cappuccino.

"Yes, well..." his childhood friend trailed off. "You never know."

"Bah bah!" Gus disagreed with his mother, waving his chubby arm at her in a chiding gesture.

Brian bounced him on his hip. "That's right, Sonnyboy, Momma is just being silly."

Lindsay rolled her eyes fondly - a skill that was a testament to her WASP upbringing. "Please, Brian, that just means he's hungry," she informed him with a smile, pulling a milk bottle out of her ginormous bag.

The brunet took it out of her hands, handing it to his son. "Is this what you wanted?" he asked him, watching as the little tyke clumsily shoved the rubber nipple in his mouth. Gus took a couple of pulls of the white liquid, before making a face. "Bah!" he exclaimed angrily and only Brian's quick reflexes prevented the bottle from landing on the floor.

Lindsay sighed. "He hates the soy milk," she admitted resignedly.

Brian sniffed at the milk bottle, wincing. "Why would you give it to him then?"

Shrugging, the blonde explained, "Our pediatrician said to give him different things to try. He likes fennel tea, cow milk, apple and carrot juice... but for some reason hates soy milk."

"Hi! What can I get you?" The Asian busboy who had been flapping to and fro around the diner the whole time Brian and Lindsay were speaking interrupted them.

Brian turned to him. "An egg white omelette, large cup of Americano, six lemon bars to go, and-" He paused, looking at the brat wiggling in his arms. "And pour some apple juice into the boy's sippy cup." Then he turned to Lindsay. "You want anything?"

The lesbian shook her head as she pulled out the cup for Gus and handed it to the busboy. "No, I already ate, thank you. That was thoughtful of you to remember Gus," she simpered.

He turned back to the waiter, ignoring Lindsay's comment. As if he would forget his own son. "That's all," he told the lad.

The Asian grinned. "Coming right up, Mr Kinney, sir!" he announced with a badly executed salute and a lewd wink.

Gus was not to be outshined. "Sah!" he cried out happily, clenching his little hand into a fist and wiggling it in front of his face. "Dada, sah!"

"I'm no sir, Sonnyboy," Brian corrected his kid, poking him in the belly gently. "I work for a living."

Lindsay sighed again - apparently in one of her sighing moods. "Brian, don't-" She cut herself off, before giving him a butter wouldn't melt in her mouth smile. "I wanted to ask for a favour."

Here it comes, thought Brian resignedly, speculating how much they ‘needed' this time. 

"I was wondering," the blonde continued as if Brian's face hadn't soured, "if you were willing to look after Gus for a little while on Sunday? Melanie and I wanted to have a bit of time to ourselves."

His son looked up at him imploringly. "Dada, bah gogh!"

Clearing his throat and trying not to look surprised, Brian immediately agreed. "Yeah, sure. I can do that." Then, just to be an asshole, he added, "Sonnyboy certainly doesn't need to be around while you and the she-devil are having a ‘bit of time' to yourselves - it would probably scar him for life."

Lindsay didn't rise to the bait, smiling at him sweetly. "That's wonderful, thank you." Then, noticing a table nearby clearing, she motioned her head towards it. "You want to come and sit down with me? We can chat while you eat."

Brian didn't have it in him to decline, as Gus was patting the side of his neck gently with a chubby hand, cooing, "Dada, sah bum," at him.

"Uh, Mr Kinney." The busboy returned as they were seating themselves, scratching at his head.

"Yeah, what is it?" Brian groused, still not thrilled at having been roped into breakfast with his son's mother. For all that he loved Lindsay, being regaled with the doings of her muncher household was something he usually deftly avoided.

He eyed the busboy warily as he continued to scratch. Did the kid have dandruff or some other kind of scalp condition? Brian would have to inspect his food carefully to make sure there were no flakes or strands of black hair in it before eating.

The young man gave him another flirtatious wink, which Brian ignored. He wasn't bad-looking, but not nearly as hot as Justin.

"Well, sir-"

Christ, there the kid went with the ‘sir' again, making the brunet feel ancient.

"Sah, sah, sah," Gus burbled, stretching out one hand and grabbing hold of his daddy's shirt with a drooled-on fist.

"I'm afraid I can't-"

"Spit it out, for fuck's sake," Brian growled, interrupting him.

Lindsay tittered, "That's not what you usually say," causing him to cast an irritated glance at the blonde.

The kid finally told him what the problem was. "I can't make you an Americano, sir."

"Why the fuck not?"

"We only have black coffee?" the kid explained, his voice rising so that it came out like a question. "I don't know how to do all that novelty shit."

Brian felt like he'd stepped into an alternate universe. He looked at the Asian waiter like he was an idiot. "You just pour some fucking water into an espresso," he growled at the kid. "Shouldn't be too difficult."

The busboy shrugged apologetically with a big grin. "Sure thing, sir. Don't know why you had to say it all fancy though."

Brian opened his mouth to further berate the annoying twit but found him already gone, cleaning up plates from a table of tired-looking queens in sequins.

When he left the diner forty minutes later, he knew he was running late. Lindsay hadn't stopped for breath the whole time and only left him alone once Gus became too fussy to be around other people.

Burrowing into his warmest winter coat and clutching a paper bag of lemon bars to his chest, Brian lengthened his stride in an attempt to erase some of his delay.

He was a street away from the loft when his mobile rang. Cursing quietly as he tried to simultaneously take off his glove, pull out his phone, and juggle the bag of lemon bars, he almost got run over by a swerving Beamer.

"Asshole!" he shouted as he pressed the green button to accept the call from an unknown number. "Learn how to fucking drive!"

"Brian?" came from the phone. "You okay?"

"Justin," the brunet rasped, coughing slightly from having just yelled in the freezing air. "I'm fine, just some imbecile with a driving licence."

The teenager hmmed in understanding. "Right, uh, I'm calling to confirm the meeting today?"

Brian winced. Were they really so far gone that they had to call each other to ‘confirm' a meeting? Should he jot down Justin's name in his planner? Or have Cynthia set up the meeting instead? "I thought we agreed to meet tonight?" he asked.

Justin sounded uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know. But you didn't specify the time and I thought..." he trailed off.

"Justin," the brunet said quietly, "I'll see you a little after eight at Debs', okay?"

"Okay," the teen answered equally quietly.

Brian repeated, "Okay," suppressing an eye-roll at how stupid they both sounded. They were only a step away from ‘you hang up' and ‘no, you hang up first.' "Listen," he said, looking at his watch. "I have to go. Theodore and Cynthia are probably already waiting for me at the loft."

The blond suddenly perked up, "You'll see Ted then? Have you already told him about the Michael thing?"

"What Michael thing?" Brian asked, playing dumb.

Justin made an unimpressed sound. "You know what I mean, Brian," he chided. "Have you told Ted that one of his closest friends thought it would be a good idea to make a move on his boyfriend?"

"Oh, that," the adman sighed. "No, not yet."

He could practically see Justin's disapproving expression. "You have to do it, Bri; Ted deserves to know."

"Yeah, yeah, I said I would," he assured the teen. "Now I gotta go. See you after eight."

"See you," the younger man chirped before hanging up.

Brian was left staring at his phone screen, the unknown number glaring at him. Where had the brat been calling from anyway? he wondered, saving the number to his phone absentmindedly. He might not be able to call the brat at that number, as God knew what sort of phone it was, but he'd at least know when it was the blond who was calling him if that number popped up in the future.

He started walking again, being careful to avoid any other swerving cars and trying to keep his balance on the icy pavement. Once he made it to his building, he saw both Theodore and Cynthia standing in front of the main door, looking like two human popsicles.

"For god's sake, Brian!" Cynthia forced out through chattering teeth. "Where the hell were you? I think I froze my butt off."

Brian handed her the bag of lemon bars as an apology. "I met Lindsay at the diner," he explained, before saying pointedly, "We talked."

A sympathetic look passed briefly over his secretary's face. "Well, open the damn door, so we can go inside," she told him, before wordlessly handing him a cup of joe from the upscale coffee shop near her house. 

"Thank fuck," Brian muttered gratefully. Uncaring that the drink was now more of an iced coffee, he took a gulp before opening the door to his building. "All I've had this morning is diner swill."

The trio made their way upstairs, entering the warm loft with insuppressible shudders at the change in temperature. Brian sipped at his coffee, while Ted and Cynthia split the lemon bars between the two of them.

"I brought the final financial estimates," the older man informed Brian once he was done eating. "Along with the stuff Cynthia brought, you should have everything you need to meet with Melanie."

Brian hmmed. "Good. Let's go over it one last time then, so that I can face the dragon."

Cynthia pulled a stack of papers out of her briefcase. "Let's do it. I have a couple errands to run today, so the sooner we're done with this, the sooner I can go."

"What errands?" Brian asked her suspiciously. He wouldn't let his secretary leave unless he was sure she wasn't just going out to buy a new pair of shoes or something.

The blonde gave him a stubborn look, crossing her arms across her chest. "I'm off to the insurance company to see what sort of package they would have to offer to our employees," she told him. "Any complaints?"

The brunet stud shrugged noncommittally. "No, go ahead. Better you than me," he told her.

Cynthia smirked, spreading the papers across the table. "You say that now, but once you're dealing with your lawyer friend, you'll regret it."

Brian went to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge in a useless effort to avoid doing the paperwork. "Please," he snorted, "I can deal with one lesbian."

Ted swallowed a chuckle, grabbing a folder to work on. "Sure thing, Brian," he teased. "We just won't tell Mel you said that."

The adman puffed up his chest in offence, before deflating quickly. Even the best had to be able to admit when they were in over their head. "Yeah, don't tell her that," he agreed. "I'd rather keep both of my balls, thanks."

 

By half ten, the trio had gone through all the paperwork and deemed everything to be ready for Brian's meeting with the she-devil. Cynthia had already left for her foray into the secrets of insurance packages and premiums, while Ted promised to stay behind and man the phone, fielding calls from the construction company, the bank, and - of course - Michael.

As for Brian, the brunet was currently running a little late for his meeting with Melanie. Damn Lindsay for screwing up his whole schedule for today.

"You're late," were the first words the lawyer greeted him with once he made it to her office. "Exactly five minutes."

Brian shrugged. "You know me, always fashionably late."

Melanie sighed sufferingly. "Just give me the damn papers, so I can look them over." 

The adman snicked open his briefcase, removed the paperwork, and placed it in the attorney's outstretched hand. Melanie immediately started scanning the top page, only looking up when another item appeared in her line of vision.

"I don't accept bribes," she drily remarked, even as the fingers of her right hand twitched towards the bottle of Jim Beam Black label that had landed on her desk. "Not even bourbon ones."

Like he'd be so stupid as to try bribing the bulldyke, Brian mused, feeling his balls draw in closer to his body. She really would emasculate him. Feigning indifference and hoping the beads of sweat along his hairline weren't visible, he shrugged and stated, "It's to thank you for being a good mother to Gus."

Her brow furrowing, Melanie shot him a baffled look. Brian could tell it was killing her not to ask what he was talking about - after all, he'd never given her any kind of gift before. He wasn't about to inform her that he felt a little guilty for necking the bottle she'd stowed away in her media cabinet at home. Plus, he was certain she no more wanted to be reminded of the compromising position they'd awakened in than he did. Thinking about it now was giving him the heebie-jeebies all over again.

"I should probably keep this here at the office for safekeeping," Mel commented as she curled her hand proprietorially around the bottle and drew it towards herself. "Last night, Linds threatened to pour a bottle of Merlot down the drain if I dared to open it. I only wanted one glass, but she's become awfully tetchy about anyone drinking alcohol around her."

"Huh?" Brian grunted in confusion. "Lindsay has always enjoyed wine, even the occasional beer."

"Heck," Melanie reminisced as she set the Beam to one side of her desk, "I can remember her chugging beer at a kegger or two, back in our college days."

The brunet hid a grimace as he recalled the experimentation that had resulted after one of those keggers, one Melanie hadn't been present at. He'd even given into Lindsay's entreaties for a repeat, although he had to get stoned first. After that, he'd forbidden her to bring up the subject ever again.

"It's this whole breastfeeding shtick," the bulldyke elaborated. "Linds is determined to hold out for an entire year. I keep telling her that nine months is plenty. Honestly, I can't imagine letting a kid suck on my tits for that long-" Melanie paused, her mouth pursed in disgust at the idea.

Brian briefly forgot where he was, instead recalling the last time Justin had latched onto his nipples. Fuck, but that had felt good, he thought as there was a stirring at his groin.

"Yeah," Mel resumed, shaking her head in refusal, "that's a no go, even with a baby as sweet and toothless as Gus."

Pulled out of his pleasant daydream and reminded of his son's toothless state, Brian frowned. Despite Justin's frequent PSAs about some babies not getting any teeth until they were over a year old, surely the nipper should have at least one tooth by now. "If Lindsay quits with shoving her tit in his mouth and switches to a bottle," Brian suggested, "maybe that will stimulate growth of his teeth." He didn't care if he was spouting bullshit. Gus must be fucking sick of having floppy mammary glands shoved in his face, so he'd better come to the tot's rescue.

"You want to propose that to Linds?" Melanie snorted. "If you think I can be determined, you've never taken on a hormonally driven mother. I've told Lindsay that I totally get the importance of breastfeeding exclusively for the first six months - to reduce the likelihood of problems like obesity and build immunities to illness and allergies - but there's no fucking reason she can't taper off now, or combine some bottle feeding with breastfeeding. It's not like we aren't giving him other things to drink and eat anyhow."

Brian quirked an eyebrow at the bulldyke. "That sounds like one of Justin's PSAs," he snarked.

The lawyer gave him a bit of a sheepish look. "Well, yeah," she admitted. "But I did double-check what he said. How the fuck does Justin know so much about babies anyway?"

The adman shrugged. Damned if he knew. The lad was a font of trivia, some of which was even occasionally useful. Uncertain how they'd ended up discussing boobs and breastfeeding - it was a nausea-inducing topic - Brian wisely decided to change gears. "What do you think?" he asked, waving at the papers in the lawyer's hands.

Melanie looked down, her face flushing a little as she realised she'd rolled the pages into a tube. She hastily flattened the paperwork, smoothing it with the palms of her hands, and began perusing it.

She glanced up at Brian a few seconds later. "Kinnetik," she murmured. "That's a fucking brilliant name. How'd you come up with that?"

Brian shrugged modestly. "A stroke of genius," he told her.

Melanie sized him up, narrowing her eyes. "Justin came up with it, didn't he?" she asked in a deadpan voice.

The adman refused to feel caught out. "That's what I said," he insisted, instead of denying her assumption.

The lawyer laughed. "Good save, Kinney. Good save." Then, shaking her head in clear amusement, she went back to the paperwork. "You already have a building then," she noted.

"Yeah," Brian nodded with a self-satisfied smirk. "An old bathhouse on Mulberry Way. Looks like a dump right now but I've already got people working on it." He reached into the pile that contained the construction details. "Here, this is what it looks like now. And this," he pointed, "is a draft of what it will look like once it's done."

Melanie inspected the two pictures, eyes taking in the details. "Well, one thing's for sure," she noted, sounding impressed. "You've certainly got balls."

Not sure how to react to genuine praise from the brunette, Brian chuckled. "There's a first time for everything, I guess," he remarked. "I certainly haven't had a lesbian compliment my balls before." He had a hazy recollection of Lindsay admiring his actual equipment way back when, but he hastily shoved the memory to the recesses of his mind. Not only did the memory mean nothing to him, it would only piss Mel off if he mentioned it - and be counterproductive to acquiring JKL to represent Kinnetik.

The lawyer rolled her eyes, though she was clearly amused by his antics. "A figure of speech, I assure you," she told him. "I hope you've thought it through, though. A place like that could potentially harm your chances with a certain type of client."

Brian nodded in understanding. "I'm aware. But I won't pretend to be someone I'm not. If a client can't look past that and appreciate my professional ability, it's more their loss than mine."

"Good principles," Melanie admitted. "I hope it works out for you. Now let's see the employee contracts you've sketched out, so we can finish the lot."

Brian pointed at a blue folder that held Cynthia's paperwork. "In there. Should be all in order."

The next hour and a half was spent going over every little detail of both the employee contract and the standard client contract, to be modified as needed. The process was fairly straightforward for Brian, as he had been involved in preparing such contracts for years.

Once they were done with all the clauses and modifications, Brian bid Melanie a good day and left the law firm with a spring in his step - an unusual occurrence after having spent time with Melanie. 

He stopped for a Chinese takeaway on the way to the loft, remembering Theodore wasn't overly fond of his usual Thai - he had to butter the man up if he was to give in to Justin's nagging and tell Ted about Michael's blunder with Ben. Shortly thereafter, as he slid open the metal door to the loft, Ted was in the process of hanging up the receiver to the landline, almost bent double with laughter. His eyes dancing, he gestured at the phone, gasping between chuckles, "That was DC. He said to tell the boyo that he and Norma have manufactured an additional six inches for your office - you should be able to squeeze in both your big and little heads now."

It took Brian a moment to make sense of the message; Ted was laughing so hard that he was mostly unintelligible. "As if either of my heads is that little," Brian huffed once he got it. Shit, he chastised himself; he should've known better than to take the bait - now his friend was creasing up even more, tears running down his face from laughing so hard. If he said anything else, it would just add fuel to the fire, so he stalked over to the counter in affronted silence and set down the bags of Chinese food.

While Ted disappeared into the bathroom, presumably to get his laughter under control and wash his face and hands, Brian removed the containers of orange chicken, rice, and vegetables and set everything on the table along with plates and chopsticks. Theodore reemerged as he was taking six bottles of Tsingtao beer from the last sack, placing two on the table and the spares in the fridge. The beer had been a last-minute addition to his order, the adman hoping the alcohol would make the upcoming conversation a little less awkward and more palatable. 

Fucking blond brat and his unreasonable demands, he groused to himself, prying the cap off of a bottle and handing it to Ted. Unfortunately, the older man's newly restored sobriety was destroyed the moment they made eye contact, a giggle escaping, followed by a strangled "inches," and then a hiccup.

"For fuck's sake," Brian growled, motioning to the beer, "put a stopper in it."

Ted complied, looking away from Brian and taking a long swig of the hoppy drink. Keeping his gaze averted, he managed to eke out, "You got Chi-" hic "nese?"

Brian shrugged. "It was that or Thai."

A smile forming on his lips, Ted glanced at Brian again. "Brian Kinney gives a shit," he teased. "He knows what I like to eat."

"Shut up and eat, or I'll dump this down the garbage disposal," Brian threatened, "and replace it with the spiciest thing the local Thai hole in the wall has on the menu." 

"Uh-huh." Ted smothered a laugh as he sat down.

Neither man said anything for a couple of minutes, Ted actually eating the food while Brian moved his around on his plate, searching for a way to broach the dreaded topic. "I, uh, could use a second opinion," he made his opening gambit.

"Yeah?" The older man deftly secured a piece of the chicken between his chopsticks before looking at Brian. "What about?"

"It's about Cynthia, so you've got to keep mum."

His brow creasing in concern, Ted murmured, "Of course. She's not sick or anything, right?"

"No, nothing like that," Brian hastened to reassure him. Fuck, for a man who could normally rely on a smooth delivery, he was making a complete hash of this. "I wouldn't usually get involved, but I'd hate to see her get hurt."

"Hurt how?"

Picking his words carefully, Brian related, "Cynthia has this on and off boyfriend that she hasn't seen in a while, but the other day she mentioned that he had called. I think they might be planning to hook up again." Christ, Ted was going to think he was turning into some kind of namby-pamby lesbian. Since when did he give a fuck about someone's ‘significant other'? He literally had no clue if Cynthia was even seeing anyone. Then again, he had vetted the professor for Theodore, so maybe the piffle he was spouting was somewhat believable.

Rather than looking startled by his out of character behaviour, Ted merely observed, "Cynthia seems like someone who usually exercises sound judgement. Where's the harm in her seeing the guy? As long as he's not on the lam or addicted to drugs or something."

It didn't help, Brian thought, that his assistant was so level-headed. Incredibly, his cobbled-together tale didn't seem to be stretching the bounds of Ted's credulity, so he pressed on. "The thing is, when the sometime boyfriend stopped by Ryder Advertising to visit her a few weeks ago, I saw one of Cyn's work pals hit on him as he was leaving the building. From what Cynthia indicated later that day, she had no intention of seeing him again - he'd done something to get her dander up - so I shrugged it off. Why stir up trouble between her and her work friend? It's not like I wanted to intervene in her personal shit anyroad. But now, if she's going to see the guy again, maybe I should tell her."

Ted hmmed non-committally.

Fuck. He was going to have to spell it out. "I don't do relationships, so I really can't decide how to proceed. What about you?" he asked, looking at Ted inquiringly. "Would you want to know if someone made a pass at Ben?"

Ted quirked an eyebrow at Brian's emphatic declaration regarding relationships but made no comment. Instead, he silently mulled the question over for quite a while before tilting his head and meeting Brian's eyes. "I suppose I would want to know something like that," he finally said. "Especially if it was my friend."

Brian nodded, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. Damn, he had half hoped that Theodore would just dismiss the conversation and be done with it.

Gathering his courage to say the next words, he was interrupted by his friend's next sentence. "What about you, Brian? Would you want to know?" he asked.

The adman snorted. "Now that's a stupid question if I ever heard one."

"Not really," the accountant shrugged, face sombre. "Imagine if Justin-"

"Justin and I aren't together," the younger man interrupted. "Nor were we ever, not like that."

Ted raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Manfully disregarding his friend's skepticism, Brian continued, "Besides, we were talking about you, not me."

"Were we?"

Brian halted. "Uh, I mean..." he trailed off, unsure about how to continue. He really didn't want to have this conversation.

The older brunet sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Just say it, Bri. Whatever you feel I should know, say it."

The ad exec watched the resigned expression on his friend's face and realised he hadn't actually been very stealthy about his questions. Ted probably already knew what had happened and was just waiting for the confirmation. His provocation about Justin was most likely just a stalling tactic.

Bracing himself, Brian looked straight into Ted's eyes and blurted out, "Michael made a pass at Ben."

The accountant released a pained breath, face twisting into a grimace. Brian hoped he wouldn't start crying; he'd have no idea what to do with a blubbering Ted.

His friend surprised him, however, by how quickly he got a handle on his emotions. He took a deep breath, shoved aside the now lukewarm beer, and wiped at his face half-heartedly before meeting Brian's gaze again. "You got something strong in that liquor cabinet of yours?" he asked him in a raspy voice.

The adman jumped up, glad for something he could do that didn't involve hugging or whispered platitudes. He poured the man two healthy inches of his best Beam - the poor sod deserved it - and brought the glass back over.

Ted downed it.

"Hey! What's wrong with you?" Brian snapped. "You don't just throw back a tumbler of whiskey that good."

The other man huffed. "What's wrong with me?" he growled. "One of my best friends made a pass at my boyfriend, you asshole."

The younger man shut his mouth, swallowing down the insults that appeared readily on the tip of his tongue. "S'rry," he mumbled indistinctly, looking out of the loft window. He knew he should've kept his conk out of it, but Justin was such an insistent do-gooder he wouldn't leave it alone. "Shouldn't have told you."

"No!" Ted disagreed. "I'm glad you told me, just... are you sure that's what happened? I mean, maybe it was just a misunderstanding," he suggested with a hopeful expression on his face. Though the empty tumbler in his hand implied he didn't give much stock to the possibility.

Brian sighed. "Justin and I saw it happen, Ted. There's no way we misunderstood the situation, trust me." He paused before continuing, "He - uh, Mikey - he wasn't nice about it."

The accountant shook his head in disbelief. "Of course he wasn't," he said resignedly. "I mean, he's been a dick to you for ages; I should've expected it would soon transfer to the rest of us."

Feeling more and more uncomfortable with the conversation by the minute, Brian stood up to refill his friend's glass - pouring one for himself while he was at it. "Now don't just neck this one," he warned Ted as he handed him the tumbler.

The older man rolled his eyes but did only take a small sip as the loft fell into an uncomfortable silence.

An hour, three glasses of Beam, and exactly five words later - if you could count I'll, uh, yeah, thanks, and hmm as words that is - there was a knock at the door, and Emmett's enthusiastic voice filtered through.

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in!" the queen trilled. "Or I'll huff and puff, and blow your house in."

Brian slid the door open forcefully. "Who are you calling a pig, Honeycutt?" he snarled, perhaps a bit too harshly, but being compared to that bloody sow of Aunt Lula's was getting old fast.

The tall man looked a little taken aback. "O-kay," he said with hands raised in an apologetic gesture. "I come in peace; I'm just here to chat about the gala Teddy called me about."

The adman hurriedly waved him in. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Come on in before you shout it at the whole neighbourhood."

The younger man took off his fluffy violet winter coat and hung it on the coat rack next to Brian's own, causing the label queen to wince. There'd better not be any fucking purple hair on his Vince Camuto.

"I'll have you know, Mr Kinney," Em told him, "I can keep a secret."

"You're not the only one," Ted muttered from where he was sitting on the couch, nursing his fourth glass of Beam.

Their flamboyant friend raised his perfectly plucked eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Ted just took a sip from his drink, shrugging half-heartedly.

Brian forced himself not to roll his eyes. "Ignore him; he's drunk," he informed the tall southerner.

The accountant shot him a look before he obnoxiously knocked back the rest of his tumbler. "Bite me, Kinney."

Emmett's head swivelled between Brian and Ted. "Okay, what's wrong?" he asked, putting his hands on his hips. "You're acting weird. Did you two fuck or something?"

Brian sputtered. "What? Are you out of your fairy mind, Honeycutt?"

The queen waved his hands around exasperatedly. "Well then, what happened? Teddy's not normally this grumpy."

Ted sighed, heaving himself up. "Don't mind me, Em," he told his friend. "I'm just in a bad mood. I'll get out of your hair."

Emmett looked bewildered. "But I thought-"

The older man interrupted him. "I have to see a man about a chair," he told them vaguely as he began putting on his winter attire. 

Brian chuckled. "You do that." He didn't know which one of the two was supposed to be Michael, but for his best friend's sake, he hoped he was the ‘chair,' while Ben was the ‘man.' If it was the other way around, it could very well be detrimental to Mikey's health.

Ted was already almost out the door, when he paused, turning back around to look at Brian. "Um, Bri?" he asked.

The younger brunet tilted his head questioningly. "Yeah?"

"That thing about Cynthia-?"

The adman shook his head. "Made it up; don't worry about her."

"Right. Good."

As Ted disappeared down the stairs, his footfalls rather erratic, Emmett voiced his concern, "Uh, should Teddy be driving wherever he's going? He seems a little unsteady on his pins."

Brian reached into his slacks and fished out a key ring, the keys and the attached phallic charm jangling as he tossed them on the counter. His friend had been in such a brown study that he didn't even notice when Brian got up, sauntered over towards the door, and extracted his keys. "Theodore won't be driving anywhere," he grunted, "and by the time he either calls a cab or walks over to Liberty Avenue, he'll have sobered up some."

Em stared at him for a beat, mouth part way open, before he pressed the palm of his right hand against his chest and dramatically intoned, "You so care about Teddy. You-"

"Can it," Brian ordered. Christ. It was almost like the flamboyant queen was echoing Theodore's earlier claim. Just because he was observant - and looking out for his employee's well-being; after all, he only had two staff members - that didn't mean he was some kind of sentimental, dewy-eyed lesbian.

"Pshaw. I can see the gerbils scurrying around as you try to convince yourself that you were only acting out of self-interest, Bri. It won't work, though," he claimed, sashaying over to the counter and perching himself on one of the kitchen stools. "I'm on to you."

Along with almost everyone else, Brian thought sourly. When had he become so easy to read? He eyed the bottle of Beam thoughtfully; although Theodore had made a significant inroad, there was still plenty left. Maybe a shot - or three, whatever it took - would loosen Emmett's lips in regard to that Bob fucker. Carrying the premium-grade alcohol, he ambled over to the liquor cart, grabbed a couple of clean tumblers, and headed toward the other man. He set the glasses down on the counter, immediately pouring amber liquid into one of them. Waving the bottle at Em, he started to offer, "Bour-" but halted mid-word, appalled by the bright pink tote bag from which the other man was removing a notebook. "What the fuck is that?" he blurted.

"Isn't it marvelous?" the southerner trilled, holding the bag out so Brian could see it better. "It's just a knock-off - I could never afford a genuine Vuitton man purse - but it matches my coat so well that I had to have it."

Momentarily forgetting all about his intentions to butter up the man so he could milk him for information about Bob, Brian snorted. "A purse is a woman's handbag, Honeycutt. That one's pink and it's hid-" Taking heed of the way Emmett's eyes had narrowed dangerously, he almost bit his tongue in half as he abruptly stopped speaking.

The colourful queen glared at him for a few seconds before sniffing dismissively. "As if someone like you would have any idea what constitutes fashion. Your clothes are boring, Bri."

"What?" Brian squawked. He was the most stylish fag in the Pitts, dammit.

"He's right, boss," Cynthia agreed, walking through the still-open door, having returned from her insurance policies adventure. "Your suits are always impeccably tailored and fit you perfectly, but your sense of colour is so monochrome - everything is a shade of grey or black, with a white shirt." Sauntering over to the two men, she paused to admire Emmett's shoulder bag. "You should at least vary your shirts with another colour, like the vibrant shade of pink used for this man purse," she suggested.

"You're out of your cotton-picking mind," the brunet stud muttered, shooting an affronted look at his secretary.

Cocking his head inquisitively, Em challenged, "Afraid to wear the so-called feminine hues associated with fags?"

Brian huffed. No way would he confess that the flashy queen might be right.

"You think you have the queers in this burgh hankering after you now," Emmett husked, "I bet they'd be lined up around the block waiting to service you if you had the balls to experiment with colours and patterns, even just a little bit."

Huh, Brian mused. It might be worth trying, if it would work on the blond brat. His speculations were interrupted by Cynthia, who picked up the tumbler of bourbon he'd poured, and knocked it back. "Ah, I needed that," she sighed. "It's exhausting dealing with insurance agents; they're so anal about every little detail."

"You should've had Teddy go; I bet they would've got on like accountants on fire," Emmett commented half-seriously, half-jokingly.

"Ted had to stay here and deal with the crew at the bath- uh," Cynthia stumbled to a stop.

"Pish, honey. Brian spilled the beans yesterday at the gym." Emmett cast a meaningful glance at the adman, boasting, "Like I said, I can keep a secret. I haven't told a soul."

"Whatever." Brian shrugged, mocking, "You can let your inner gossip queen loose and satisfy all the curious queers, Honeycutt." There really was no need to keep his purchase of the bathhouse secret any longer, now that it belonged to him. It took all of his forbearance, however, not to direct a scowl at Emmett - that would make it difficult to pry information about Bob out of the gossipy southerner - but he was determined that he would pay the man back for his nonsensical comment at Ript about Brian's perfectly toned arse getting rounder. Earlier this morning, on his way back from breakfast at the diner, his nose had started running, which he put down to the cold weather - but now he felt a tickle in his throat. At least he had a rational explanation for how the swishy man had gotten the better of him the day before, he thought - his body must've been gearing up to fight off a cold, or maybe the flu. As he thought that, the tickling sensation grew stronger, and he turned his face to cough into the inside of his elbow.

Emmett leaned back. "You're not getting sick, are you?" he inquired suspiciously.

Brian rolled his eyes. "It's nothing," he claimed, even as a stronger cough welled up.

"Riiight," Em drawled, scooting his stool away from the older man. "Some kind of crud is making the rounds of Liberty Avenue." Slashing the edge of one hand dramatically across his throat, the willowy man professed, "And I can't afford to quit Torso till I get my party planning business going. I swear, if one more flat-arsed fag walks into the store and asks me where the booty enhancing, padded briefs are, I'm going to quit on the spot. I'm fed up with explaining that Torso doesn't carry padded underwear, butt pads, or butt extensions of any shape or colour - that they need to toddle on down to the sex shop, which has products to meet every need. So," he waved a hand at Brian, "you'd better keep your germs to yourself, Bri."

"For fuck's sake," cough, "I'm not sick," the adman expostulated, doing his utmost to suppress yet another cough.

"You will be, if we don't put a stop to that coughing," Cynthia stated, her concern evident. "Ted and I can pick up the slack with some things, but we can't meet with potential clients or dream up ad copy. Have you taken anything - aspirin, Tylenol-"

"Justin's allergic," Brian interposed before clamping his mouth shut. Shit, this incipient head cold was really interfering with his brain-to-mouth filter.

Cynthia looked at him in astonishment. "To both of those?"

"Just the Tylenol," Brian muttered reluctantly. With Justin freelancing for Kinnetik, it might be good for his assistant to have that information. "It's irrelevant, though; I haven't restocked since the burglary."

Apparently taking pity on him, Emmett hopped off his stool and bustled over to the fridge. "I'll just warm up some milk and stir in a tablespoon of honey," he offered. "That'll help you feel better in no time."

"There's just one problem with that," Cynthia advised before Brian could speak.

Em raised his eyebrows in question.

"No honey," the blonde clarified.

"I could just nip down to the corner market," the southerner offered. "It really is the best cure-all."

"Sit down, Honeycutt," Brian ordered. "I'm hardly at death's door. The honey-milk thing can wait." Privately, he thought a shot of Beam or a doobie - maybe both - would be more effective.

"I'll go buy some honey as soon as we finish our meeting," his secretary intervened.

Emmett shot a dubious glance at Brian before turning back to Cynthia. "You'll see that he drinks it, right?"

"Of course," she promised. "Otherwise, he'll probably try to drown his cold in bourbon."

Bloody woman knew him too well.

"Take a look at these, boss." Cynthia redirected his attention, gesturing toward the photos and colour swatches Emmett had spread across the counter. "If you go with these ideas for the opening do, the attendees will be abuzz about your new agency for months."

Brian arched an eyebrow as he picked up one of the glossy pictures and studied it.

"You want something avant garde, but elegant, right?" the younger man babbled nervously when the adman didn't say anything. "A waitstaff of leather daddies, twinks, dykes, and drag queens dressed in their everyday attire may not seem very sophisticated, but I really think it would work. Most of these people are professional caterers; they know what they're doing."

Brian still didn't utter a word.

"Teddy said how you want your business to exude sex," Emmett rattled on, beginning to sound desperate. "What would suit a bathhouse better than the very people who frequented it in the past? Well, okay, not the dykes," he amended, "but-"

"Not bad," Brian finally commented, a slight smile on his lips. It was sheer genius, but he refused to tell his friend that - he deserved a little payback for the gym incident.

The flamboyant man, however, knew exactly what that Kinney-speak meant. Bouncing up and down, he crowed, "You like it!"

"Calm the fuck down," the brunet remonstrated. "Your idea needs refining."

Nudging the stool closer to Brian, evidently no longer worried about the danger posed by stray germs, Emmett resumed his perch next to the advertising exec. For the next hour and a half, based on a guesstimated number of attendees, the three of them discussed refreshments, music, and decorations.

"Plan for enough hors d'oeuvres and drinks to feed half again as many guests," Brian ordered. "You never know who might show up at the last minute, and I'd rather we end up with an excess of food - we can send it home with the waitstaff, if need be - than run short."

"What about any extra drinks?" Em queried.

"The nonalcoholic stuff can go with the food," Brian decided. "We'll store any unopened alcohol - this is top shelf stuff, after all - for the next occasion."

"If the event's a success, there won't be much left anyway," Cynthia remarked.

"That's the goal," the adman agreed. "Let's keep our guests well lubricated and drum up plenty of business."

"You've calculated for each of the invitees to bring one or two guests?" Emmett requested confirmation.

"Yes, they're included in the ‘half again as many,'" Brian verified, growing a bit impatient. They'd already covered this, hadn't they?

"Staff too?" the southerner inquired, his blue-green eyes glinting with devilment.

"No limit." Brian shrugged. He planned to personally ask Debbie, Michael, and Vic - he wasn't sure he would've survived his teen years, never mind reached the point of opening his own company, without them. He'd also be issuing in-person invites to Lindsay and Melanie, even though the bulldyke lawyer, and her partners at JKL, would receive invitations through the mail. "You're welcome to invite friends too, Honeycutt."

"Oh, I wasn't asking for myself" - Emmett flapped a hand at him - "I'm sure everyone from our little ‘family' will be there."

Brian narrowed his eyes, which were growing more heavy-lidded by the moment - fucking cold - at the younger man.

"I was just thinking of Baby, and how, you know, he might want to ask someone besides Daphne."

"He's welcome to ask that Asian kid he works with." Brian purposely misunderstood - this wasn't how he'd intended to bring up Bobby Boy. "In fact, you should check whether the Asian and Kiki would like to earn some extra money as part of your crew. They're experienced waiters; well, Kiks is," he amended, recalling how the lad hadn't had a clue about making an Americano, just this morning.

"Hmm, I was thinking more of the ‘blue' fellow," Em mused.

Brian stared at the queen in bemusement. What the fuck did that mean?

Cynthia, whose head had been swivelling between the two men, questioned, "Baby? That's Justin?"

At Emmett's nod, she probed, "Blue? Is Justin's friend depressed?"

"Oh! No, I meant he wears blue a lot," the southerner clarified, his eyes widening in feigned innocence.

The brunet snorted. Emmett was about as ‘innocent' as those tricky opossums that proliferated down south.

 "He says it brings out the blue in Baby's eyes," the queen continued.

Although he knew it would be better to overlook Em's mischief-making, the adman couldn't refrain from taunting, "Who does that kind of shit - deciding what to wear based on someone else's eye colour? Tween girls?" As he spoke, he was already contemplating what he could wear to compete with fucking Bob - blue was not his best colour.

"Bo- that is, the guy is apparently very stimulating in blue," Emmett commented. "Or so Baby says. I've haven't gotten to watch them in action... yet."

Brian's nose chose that moment to start dripping, so he hastily rose from the table to get a box of Kleenex. He had to grab a roll of toilet paper instead, since facial tissues were another thing he'd forgotten to restock. Fuck, he groused to himself as he returned to the kitchen area, there was no way he'd succeed in tantalising the blond boy if he had a bright red nose and sounded like a foghorn.

He blinked in confusion as he overheard Cynthia and the gossipy queen chattering about modeling women's shoes. How had they gotten onto that topic in the short time he'd been in the bathroom? "Unless you have any other relevant questions about the gala," he barked at Emmett, "we're done here."

"Such a tetchy old bear," the flamboyant man teased as he gathered his things together and put on his fluffy coat - which had, naturally, shed violet fuzz all over Brian's peacoat. "You'll feel loads better as soon as you try the honey and milk concoction, Bri."

"I'll go buy that honey right now," Cynthia declared, donning her coat and preceding Emmett out the door. "I'll be right back, boss."

As the colourful queen slid the door shut behind him, Brian overheard him saying something about ‘teaching the lads to walk in heels.'

What lads? Brian wondered as he sauntered over to the drinks cabinet, convinced that a shot - or two - of whiskey was what he really needed to combat this head cold. His mind flashing back to Debbie's garage sale, he remembered how fucking hot Justin had looked in a corset and low heels. Christ, he had to seduce the boy soon or his balls were gonna wither and fall off, they were so damned blue.

 

Anxious to get to Debbie's and work with Brian on the boards for Ted's firm, Justin had been keeping one eye on the clock ever since he'd started his shift. This would be his first official job for Kinnetik, well, excepting the logo, but the teenager considered that more fun than actual work. Plus, he was eager to see Brian, and not only to find out what - if anything - had happened with Ted.

Still irked about Harry being a no-show the previous evening, Justin wanted to talk to him before he left and find out what was up. He was just approaching the counter, where Harry was brewing a fresh pot in the newly arrived coffee machine, when Kiki pre-empted him, stomping out of the break room in her high heels, an irate expression on her face. "You're in a heap of trouble," she declared, planting herself next to Harry. "Where the fuck were you last night? Not only did you leave me in the lurch, you also took unfair advantage of Sunshine. The kid ended up working an extra half hour to help me out."

A sheepish look on his face, Harry confessed, "I fell asleep when I got home from college yesterday and slept for twelve hours straight. I called Deb this morning and apologised. She said I could make up for it by working a double shift today, what with the flu decimating the waitstaff. I was here this morning."

"You don't know how to set the alarm on Mr Carmine?" Justin asked in amusement. The bloke took every opportunity to show off the new cell phone he'd acquired on Black Friday.

"I accidentally left my phone in the garage, in màu d'ỏ to's saddlebags. I thought I wouldn't conk out for more than a couple hours," Harry protested as he turned away from the coffee machine, which was now percolating away. "Honest!"

Carefully repeating in his head the way Harry'd pronounced the name of his beloved moped - it had to be something embarrassing given how reticent he was about it - Justin asked with a sly grin, "Have you checked your messages?" 

"I forgot to turn Mr Carmine off. The battery was dead this morning, so I left him charging at home."

"Him? Are we talking about your mobile or something else?" the blond lad joked.

"My cell, of course," Harry replied with a mischievous grin. "The other item's battery-operated."

A guffaw escaped Kiki, the tranny shaking her head ruefully. "It's impossible to stay mad at you, you cheeky rascal."

Giggling, Justin reminded himself to take another look-see for his lost BOB later on, although not while Brian was around. "You're not going to feel so smug when you find out who was at the diner last night," he informed Harry.

His eyebrows drawing together in consternation, his co-worker almost whined, "That was last night?"

"Yeah, you know," Justin teased some more, "Wednesday, which comes before Thursday."

"Shit," Harry moaned, "Syd's gonna think I'm a total doofus. I had it in my head that your study session was tonight and that my favourite pom-pom girl would be showing up soon."

"You're wooing the princess?" Kiki cackled. "You don't stand a chance, boy."

Taking pity on the woebegone Harry, Justin suggested, "Give her a ring on the diner's landline. Otherwise, the longer you wait, the more ticked off she'll get - Syd practically gave herself whiplash last night, craning her head around looking for you."

"Crap." Harry trudged over to the wall phone, muttering excuses. "My mobile fell into the toilet. Fuck, no, she won't believe that. My-"

Kiki leaned against the counter, making no bones that she'd be listening in to Harry's side of the conversation. "Get a move on," she encouraged Justin. "I'll fill you in on whether the princess reads Hazza-Bear the riot act."

The blond giggled, knowing how that pet name got to Harry. Apparently, the bloke's mum had called one time and asked for Hazza-Bear; when Kiks had turned around and blared, "Hazza-Bear, your mummy needs to speak to you!" the Asian looked absolutely horrified. Delighting in his reaction, Kiki liked to rag him with that moniker at every opportunity.

Less than a minute later, Justin had his coat on, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and was out the door. He paused briefly, a bit disappointed when he didn't see Brian's jeep idling nearby; he'd half expected the man to be waiting to give him a lift, and to again try to lure him over to the loft for a night-long fuck. Justin was already weakening on that front, both because he was constantly horny and because there was no one else as tempting as the sexy brunet.

The lad set off down the sidewalk at a fast walk; he would've preferred to jog, but the slick surface was too treacherous to accommodate that kind of speed, and the illumination from the lamp posts became more sparse as he cut away from Liberty Avenue towards Debbie's more residential street. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up on his keister, like that poor fellow Carl had mentioned a couple days before, the one who apparently resembled Brian. Justin snickered as he imagined it actually having been his former lover - he could picture perfectly the look of affront on the man's face.

He still had a smile on his face as he reached the cleared sidewalk in front of Deb's house. He frowned a little as he worried that Vic might have been the one to shovel the snow; the older man still tired easily after his debilitating bout of diarrhea earlier in the week. Maybe Michael had stopped by? For all that the guy had been an assistant manager at the Big Q for years, he seemed to have very little control over his own schedule, and as a consequence, Justin never knew when he might pop up at his mum's house. If it wasn't Michael, it must've been Debbie - according to Harry, she'd left the diner at two o'clock because of a last-minute request for help with baked goods for some shindig at Our Lady of Fatima church. Besides, he reassured himself as he trotted up the walkway and unlatched the front door, she'd have scolded Vic unmercifully if she'd caught him outside working up a sweat in the icy, windy weather.

The teen stumbled a little, the toe of the trainer on his right foot catching on the doorsill as he entered the house. When he looked down, he realised that the sole of the shoe was coming loose from the upper. "Fucking great," he fumed as he stared at his sneakers - he now had a growing hole at the toe of his left shoe and a flappy right shoe. He briefly considered borrowing someone else's trainers, but he was stumped as to who would have them in the right size. Not only was he height challenged - he heaved a despairing sigh - he also had a smaller than average foot. He'd have to hope that either some Krazy Glue or duct tape would hold the flappy one together until he and Em went shopping on Saturday. He didn't care if the sneaker looked odd while he danced on Friday night - the shoes were already so ratty that it wouldn't make much difference, and by Saturday night he'd have acquired another pair. 

"Sunshine, is that you?" Debbie shouted from the kitchen, breaking Justin out of his morose thoughts about footwear.

"I'll be right there!" he yelled back, hanging up his damp jacket at one end of the coat rack so it would dry out better. Hefting his backpack off the floor, where he'd placed it while pondering his shoe dilemma, he headed to the kitchen.

The moment the blond stepped into the kitchen, Debbie enveloped him in a big hug. "I haven't seen you in ages, Kiddo," she boisterously greeted the teen.

"Mmpfh," Justin protested, his face again buried in the redhead's bosom.

"Christ, Deb, you're smothering the lad," he heard Brian object. "For fuck's sake, you see him every day."

If anything, the motherly woman cradled him closer. "Not since yesterday afternoon," she dissented. "I'm supposed to be that loco parent thing - fine job I'm doing."

A tabloid headline flashed into Justin's mind: Crazy surrogate mother asphyxiates teen by clasping him to her chest! Under investigation by the police!

"Sis!" Vic intervened, "The boy's going to pass out."

"Well, shit, why didn't you say so?" Debbie loosened her hold at last, leaving the teenager bent forward, hands braced against his knees as he gasped for breath.

"Christ, you've got a grip like an anaconda," Vic observed wryly.

"You just have to know how to dodge," Brian quipped.

Debbie evidently took that as a dare, embracing the tall brunet right where he was sitting - chair and all.

Vic chuckled, looking over the rim of his reading glasses. "That was foolish, ragazzo," he teased when Debbie pulled back a trifle, Brian's hair now disheveled.

"Fuck, Deb-" the brunet stud objected.

"Not a word out of you, buster," the redhead cut him off. "You're as much my son as Michael and Sunshine, and I don't see nearly enough of you. You're too skinny," she added, reaching out to pinch the skin of one cheek, jiggling it with her fingers.

Justin's shortness of breath was now caused by a fit of the giggles. It was absolutely hilarious to watch Debbie manhandle Brian. "Hey, Bri," he greeted his former lover a little shyly. Where had that sudden shyness come from? he puzzled - he'd never been the least bit reticent around the older man.

"Jus," the brunet returned softly, rolling his lips in, the newly formed cowlick seeming to wave hello.

The blond grinned - adorkable Brian was hard to resist.

"Let's get started," the brunet requested, his demeanor becoming serious. He was probably worried about being mistaken for a lesbian, Justin thought fondly.

Naturally, Justin's stomach let out a loud rumble as he set his backpack down next to the table and bent to unzip it.

"Dinner first," Vic interposed, folding the newspaper he'd been reading and standing up.

"Nothing for me," Brian refused as Justin trotted over to the sink to wash his hands. "I've already eaten." Close enough anyway, he reflected. Moving the orange chicken takeaway around on his plate at lunchtime counted as far as he was concerned. And then there was that warm milk and honey mixture he'd swilled at Cynthia's urging. He felt much better since downing the gross-tasting milk, although he thought it was the shots of Beam beforehand that had done the trick. Since he couldn't be certain which had been more effective, he planned to drink more of each tonight, to stave off any lingering germs. This time, however, he'd chase the milk with bourbon and wash away the icky flavour.

"You'll eat," Vic insisted, heading over to the cooker. "Sis is right; you're too skinny."

Shutting his trap, Brian resigned himself to eating a little of whatever it was. Vic didn't put his foot down very often, but you'd better toe the line when he did. 

"Debbie's had both ovens tied up all afternoon, baking for the church's bingo night," Vic commented, "so I whipped up something simple in a skillet - Italian meatballs in a marinara sauce that we can eat on fresh sourdough rolls, along with a mixed salad."

Maybe Vic wouldn't notice, Brian mused hopefully, if he only ate the salad.

"You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble, Vic," Justin remonstrated. "I helped my mu-" He halted abruptly, disconcerted to realise that Debbie had become more of a mother to him than Jennifer.

"Are you okay, Sunshine?" the motherly woman immediately asked, concerned by the no doubt peculiar expression on his face.

"Uh, yeah. I just remembered something I need to do for class tomorrow," he lamely excused the weird pause. He really wasn't that bothered by the realisation about Jennifer, he mused; it had gotten to the point where he'd go for days without thinking about either of his biological parents. "Those meatballs smell really good," he got back on topic, "but you shouldn't have put yourself out like that. Even though the recipe may be simple, they're a pain timewise." 

"I had plenty of time on my hands," the older man shrugged. "Besides, Harley kept me company, and we worked on his language skills," Vic added, a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

He'd find out soon enough, Justin was certain - probably to his own mortification - just what new words the budgie had acquired. "What can I do to help?" he asked, his stomach growling again as Vic lifted the lid off the skillet to check that the meatballs were ready.

"Set the table, would'ya Kiddo?" Vic requested, "And grab the salad and beer from the fridge."

The aroma coming from the pan did smell appetising, Brian thought. Maybe he could eat half a meatball; that shouldn't wreak too much havoc with his waistline.

"Let me by," Debbie ordered when the timer went off, Vic nimbly stepping out of the way as she opened the large oven and removed two sheets of cookies, placing them on racks on the counter to cool.

Brian couldn't help smiling as he watched the well-rehearsed movements of the siblings, Justin dancing around Vic and Deb without jostling either of them. When Justin was setting the dishes and silverware on the table, though, he accidentally nudged his rucksack, causing it to tip toward Brian.

The brunet glanced down at the backpack, tilting his head in curiosity. What the heck was that pink thing he could see through the partially opened zipper? Christ, he hoped the brat wasn't joining the pink fad. After checking to make sure Justin was occupied with retrieving the salad, he opened the zip a little more, his jaw dropping in disbelief as he realised what he'd closed his fingers around. "Is there something you haven't told us, Sunshine?" he snarked, the lacy undergarment with the tag still attached dangling from his fingers.

Vic nearly dropped the frying pan he was carrying to the table as he eyed the lurid pink concoction. "That would almost wrap around you twice, Kiddo," he remarked, tongue-in-cheek.

"Oh!" Justin exclaimed, his face going an even brighter pink than the underwire brassiere, the cups of which were sticking out stiffly from the rest of the garment. "I got the most bizarre tips today, even crazier than on my first day at the diner. There was this queen who barely had enough cash to pay for her meal, so she stuffed that into my pinny as a tip. She said it was brand new and that she'd paid a pretty penny for it. She'd just tried to return it because it was a size too small, but she exceeded the return date by, like, a month. I thought I'd take it to-"

"Huh," Deb interjected, her tone contemplative, "that looks like it might fit me." She snatched the bra from Brian and checked the label. "44E!" she enthused. "It's like it was made for me. I look fucking hot in pink."

Brian hid a wince. Red hair and pink did not go together, regardless of what Molly Ringwald and her teenybopper buddies had thought in that Pretty in Pink movie. He'd been subjected to the damned film - and nearly scarred for life - when, a few years ago, there'd been a rerun of it right before Dirty Dancing. Mikey had insisted on watching both so they could compare McCarthy's hotness with Swayze's. Brian snorted all over again - as if that was some kind of contest.

"It's yours," Justin promptly said, smiling at his mum.

"Oh, Sunshine, I couldn't," the redhead said, even while staring longingly at the brassiere. "It's some kind of fancy-schmancy designer brand I've never heard of, Wacoal, and" - her eyes widened dramatically - "it has a price tag of ninety-eight dollars. That's fucking ridiculous! I bet you could sell it for at least half that - maybe on that ‘Bay' thingy Michael spends so much time on."

"I want you to have it," the blond insisted.

Debbie rose from the table and walked over to the sideboard, maintaining, "We'll discuss it later, Sunshine. I won't feel right about accepting if I don't pay you at least half of what it's worth." Placing the brassiere near Harley's cage on the sideboard, she instructed the budgie, who was eyeing the bright piece of lingerie inquisitively, "You keep your beak off it."

"You could wear it on your next date with Carl," Vic suggested slyly as Deb sat back down. "You'd be bound to get laid then."

"Christ," Brian scoffed as everyone sat down and served themselves, "don't heteros fuck on the first date?"

At that opportune moment, Harley chirped, "Hellooo, Briaaan. Come, Jushun. Blowjob."

Justin, whose face was just returning to its natural paleness, crimsoned again.

"Or that." Brian nodded approvingly at the budgie.

"Victor Grassi!" Debbie chided, a smile giving away that she wasn't truly upset. "What have you been teaching our Harley?"

Vic smirked at his sister. "I'd say that's self-evident."

"So what did happen on last night's big date?" Justin questioned.

"We had a lovely dinner," Debbie revealed, "and Carl was the perfect gentleman the whole evening, but just as he kissed me his phone rang. He got called into work because of some case he's working on, so he drove me home before continuing on to the station." She sighed, "That part was a little disappointing."

"You should've invited him to come over once he was free," Vic joked. "I've got earplugs, and Justin's always dead to the world after visiting with that BOB fellow."

Brian, who was leaning over to nab one of the meatballs Justin was piling onto a roll - and ‘accidentally' brushing against the boy's arm in the process, causing the fine blond hairs to stand up - jabbed his fork into the plate, missing the meatball entirely. His fork still bumped against the meaty object, however, flipping it off the plate and into the lad's lap.

Justin immediately scooted his chair back, Debbie and Vic craning their necks to see where the meatball had landed. His eyes zeroing in on the blond's crotch, Brian forgot all about the Bob fucker. Christ, the brunet thought, trying to stifle a groan, he wished he could devour the ground meat and then proceed to slurp up the tastiest balls he'd ever encountered. He finally tore his eyes away from the boy's groin, looking up to see Justin gazing at him in amusement, his lips twitching.

"Don't you worry none, Sunshine," he heard the redhead cackle, "that'll wash right out of your cargo pants. There'll be no clue that you were once a three-ball wonder."

Picking up the meatball between his thumb and index finger, the little shit stuck out his tongue and ran it slowly along his lips as he deposited it atop a lettuce leaf on Brian's plate. "You wanted this?" he husked, arching an eyebrow.

Hard as nails from the sexual byplay, Brian wondered if it was possible that his dick would burst the buttons on his Armani jeans. That certainly seemed imminent, especially since he'd stupidly worn a too-tight pair - fuckers at the dry cleaner's must have shrunk them. "What other tips did you get?" he clumsily redirected the conversation, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "You said that thing" - he gestured toward the bra - "was only one of your oddball gratuities this afternoon."

"I'm curious too," Vic agreed. "It'll be difficult to top that brassiere though."

Debbie cackled at the way her brother had stressed ‘top,' slapping him on the arm to show her approval. "You're the first waiter or busboy to ever get a bra for a tip, Sunshine, at least in the thirty-odd years I've worked at the joint."

"Mmph." The blond lad emitted a strangled noise as he struggled not to laugh and spew food all over, à la Michael. He'd just taken a giant bite of his meatball sandwich and was now aware he'd crammed a little too much onto the roll. As he chewed and then swallowed, he reached down into his backpack and pulled out a long, colourful strip of condoms. "I know," he joked, seeing the puzzled looks cast his way, "condoms are an alternative form of currency on Liberty Avenue. But these are flavoured - and not just with the common berry tang. There's avocado, coffee, mint chocolate, bacon, cannabis, and even" - Justin scrunched up his nose as he pointed at one of the condoms - "garlic."

"Gross! Who the fuck would put a garlic condom on their cock?" Debbie screeched. "They'd never find anyone to suck it."

"Cannabis is almost as bad," Vic averred. "I once made the mistake of sucking off a guy who smoked weed every single day. "He had the funkiest spunk I've ever tasted."

"Must've been poor quality chronic," Brian alleged. "But even that would be better than imitation pot from sucking on a condom."

"The coffee one might do," Debbie said, a speculative gleam in her eyes. She reached out and tapped the ManForce one that showed a bloke nibbling on a woman's neck.

"Erm," Justin tentatively interceded, "I don't think Carl would be too impressed if you wanted him to wear a coffee-flavoured condom." Fuck, the last thing he wanted to do was again think about parental units having sex, but he had to divert Debbie before she became fixed on such an insane idea.

"What?" Brian mocked, "No PSA about practicing safe sex, Twat?"

"Quit picking on Sunshine," Debbie defended the teen. "He knows Carl and I haven't been out fucking everything that moves - and that we'll be safe."

Justin suppressed a giggle at the expression on Brian's face; the brunet stud appeared torn between pride at his own exploits, and horror at imagining either Carl or Debbie imitating him. Then, figuring that both he and his ex needed a break from all the allusions to hetero sex, he stuck his hand into the front pocket of his cargos and withdrew a crumpled banknote, which he tossed on the table. "This was my other unusual gratuity," he announced.

Stretching out a hand, Vic snatched up the banknote and smoothed out the paper currency. "Is the diner accepting Canadian dollars now?" he joshed once the front of the twenty-dollar note was displayed.

"Hardly," Deb snorted. "The Pitts is nowhere near the border with the Great White North, not like Erie, and even that city doesn't border Canada, just the Great Lake."

"Did you get confused because their twenty is also green?" Brian wisecracked. "You couldn't differentiate between Queen Elizabeth and Andrew Jackson?"

"Sunshine, I'm disappointed in you," Vic joined in the good-natured raillery. "Andy's hair is much more stylish, and the Canucks obviously haven't updated the queen's photo in a while." He tapped a forefinger against the monarch's image. "Her hair barely shows a few strands of white."

Brow furrowed, Justin lifted the twenty-dollar loonie, brought it closer to his face, and examined it thoroughly. "I thought it was Jackson in drag," he deadpanned.

"Touché," Brian acknowledged, chuckling along with the siblings.

"Granted," Debbie gasped, another guffaw escaping, "most of the diner's customers tip with U.S. dollars, but we do get plenty of Canadian visitors, and their currency, especially the smaller coins, does sometimes get mixed in with ours in the till." She shook her head, red curls bouncing. "When you also take into consideration that a loonie is only worth about two thirds of a U.S. dollar, I'm afraid this tip places a distant third compared to the brassiere and the flavoured condoms, Kiddo."

"Hmm, that depends on how you look at it," the blond averred, turning his gaze to Brian.

The adman quirked an eyebrow doubtingly.

"The Canadian who tipped me was this older guy," Justin elaborated. "He looked kinda like a rough-hewn silver fox."

Brian scowled. He already had to contend with that damned Bob; he didn't need some old dude poaching on his Sunshine.

"and he had this husky voice that just sent tingles down my spine, you know?"

"Sounds like me," Vic quipped, smiling flirtatiously.

"You old reprobate," Debbie chided fondly, placing a lipsticky kiss on her brother's cheek.

"Anyroad," Justin recommenced, "it was no hardship to listen to the bloke rattle on about how he'd created some gizmo to speed up automobile assembly lines."

"Christ," Brian complained, yawning ostentatiously. "Are you trying to put us to sleep? Who wants to hear about assembly lines that mass-produce cars?"

"Like your jeep wasn't manufactured that way?" Debbie challenged.

"Of course it was." The adman waved a dismissive hand. "But I don't want to hear about how the pieces were screwed together."

"No, you just want to screw in it." Justin aimed a saucy grin at Brian, causing him to smile salaciously in return. The brunet stud then bit back a moan as he recalled the last blowjob he'd given the teen in his jeep, and how the boy had bounced up and down on his cock afterward.

"That's the purpose of a fuckmobile," Brian declared, surreptitiously reaching down to adjust his hard-on, which was again straining against the denim of his jeans. His problem was compounded when he felt a sock-covered foot pushing up the hem of his jeans and caressing his ankle, just above the edge of his Timberland boots. His breath shortening, the adman momentarily lost track of the conversation.

He snapped back to attention, however, when Justin sighed, "I guess I'll have to give Mr Gizmo a call and tell him that the advertising genius I mentioned isn't interested in marketing his prosaic gadget in the States after all."

"Wait, wait, wait," Brian raised a hand in a halting gesture. "Rewind a bit?" he asked the blond.

Justin pressed his lips together and swallowed the giggle that threatened to bubble up. Once he had his amusement under control, he shrugged and rephrased, "I may have told the guy that I was acquainted with the best adman on the eastern seaboard, that he didn't need to look any further."

While preening at the compliment to his advertising prowess - really the lad had understated his competence, if anything - Brian was also affronted by the casual way Justin had referred to their rela-

"You're a bit more than acquainted," Debbie cackled, rescuing the brunet from thinking that dreaded r-word. Brian wasn't sure what he and Justin were, but they sure as fuck weren't silly lesbians who had to put a label on every damned thing.

"The Canuck believed you?" Brian queried a bit incredulously. He was the best adman he'd ever met, but... "I doubt I'd take the word of some blond kid who looked all of fifteen while eating at a greasy spoon."

"Why wouldn't he?" Justin shrugged. "The staff and patrons at places like the diner know who's who in the community, who does their jobs right."

"What Sunshine said," Debbie seconded, glowering at Brian.

Rather than get into a debate about it, the ad exec assumed, "It doesn't really matter since it didn't pan out."

"Hmm," the teenager murmured, somehow conveying his amusement with that brief sound. As he hmmed, he shifted a little in his chair and reached around to remove his wallet from the back pocket of his cargos. He then removed a business card and slid it across the table to Brian. "Mr Gizmo wants you to give him a call," he disclosed with another cheeky grin.

"I can hardly call him cold-" Brian started to protest since he didn't know the first thing about the guy's automotive whatsit.

"His website's on the card," Justin clarified, his pinkie grazing the side of Brian's hand, making the brunet hiss in a breath, as he used it to point to the web address listed at the bottom of the card. "He said it's really basic, but it explains, like, how he developed the gadget and what it does."

Brian, whose brain had short circuited at the simple touch, was only able to breathe freely when the lad removed his little finger, before reaching into his rucksack and extracting a glossy pamphlet.

"The bloke had this great laugh," Justin smiled at the memory as he handed the brochure to Brian, "when he talked about how most people would never be able to make heads or tails out of his gizmo if they didn't have pictures to look at."

The adman grunted, shunting aside a tingle of discomfort at the way the blond's eyes had lit up when he mentioned the Canadian's laugh. Must be a touch of indigestion from Vic's meatballs.

"I told him I was definitely one of those people," the blond finished, with a self-deprecating giggle.

That fucking giggle should be illegal, Brian mused, resigning himself to having a boner for the rest of the evening.

After snatching the pamphlet out of Brian's fingers and leafing through it, Debbie opined, "Christ, I'm pretty damned handy with my Vincent, but I don't get this thingamajig at all."

"That's because this gizmo didn't exist when your orange rust-bucket was assembled," Vic teased.

"Don't you go running down Vincent, Victor Grassi!" the redhead chastised. "It hauled your arse-"

"Got my arse hauled too," Vic interjected with a wicked leer.

Her tirade averted, Debbie grinned back at her brother. "Vincent's been good to both of us that way," she guffawed, slapping the palm of her right hand against her thigh.

Brian exchanged a pained look with Justin. Vic getting his ashes hauled in Vincent was one thing, but Debbie making the Pinto quake didn't bear thinking about. Wanting to eradicate that awful vision, the adman glanced down at the business card in front of him. His eyes almost crossed as he looked at the long Eastern European name - Polish? Czech? Hun-fucking-garian? - which actually began with the letter G but had far too many consonants adjacent to one another. Maybe Justin could help him practice the pronunciation - tickle the sensitive skin behind his ear as he enunciated it? Breathe it out against his mouth? Before his thoughts could wander too far in that direction, he needled, "Unless your thought process has suddenly speeded up, Twat, you must've scribbled my contact info on a sheet from your order pad. I bet the Gadget Man was impressed." 

Somehow managing to look down his nose despite their height difference, the blond boy sassed back, "My thought process is operating just fine, ta. You're the one who asked for a variety of options and said I should keep everything hush-hush."

"Whoa!" Vic inserted, his eyes flaring with interest. "What's the big secret?"

"Is this about the name for your agency?" Debbie chimed in. "My Michael told me how he'd given you a great suggestion, although he wouldn't say what it was."

The blond brat coughed into his hand as Brian scrambled for a diplomatic response. "Mikey was kind enough to drop an idea into the hat," he allowed in a bland tone.

"Not the one you're going with, though?" Vic inquired.

"No. Someone else came up with a bet-" 

Justin hacked harder, cluing Brian in that he should put that differently, if he didn't want an irate Debbie censuring him for overlooking Michael's proposal. "A name better suited to the agency," he amended. 

"Sunshine!" Deb squealed. "It musta been you! You're the only one that could top Michael!"

Vic suddenly seemed to have caught Justin's coughing fit, the older man doubling over and wheezing into a clenched fist.

Brian simply stared at his surrogate mother for a few beats, trying to parse what she'd just said.

"Huh?" the nonplussed teenager finally replied, a horrified expression flitting across his countenance.

"Oh, for the love of Mike!" Debbie punned, cackling loudly. "Not like that, Kiddo. That's Dr Dave's job!"

Justin sagged back in his chair, hoping his relief wasn't too palpable. He had to smile a little, however, when he mused that he and Michael had something in common after all - the short brunet would've been equally aghast at the idea of that ever happening.

"I meant you must be the one that came up with the name for Brian's new firm," Debbie concluded, turning her laser-like gaze on the adman. "So what're you calling it, ragazzo?"

"We won't tell another soul," Vic promised. "Not even Michael. Right, Sis?" he pressed, placing his hand over the redhead's.

"I have a hard time resisting when he turns those gorgeous brown eyes on me," Debbie argued.

That was Michael's secret weapon, Brian silently concurred; his friend had been using it effectively from the day they met.

"How's Michael gonna find out that we know?" Vic countered. "It's not like we have to keep it to ourselves forever anyhow - just till Brian announces it."

"Oh, all right," Debbie folded.

"Go on," Brian urged Justin, feeling a surge of pride. The lad was bloody brilliant sometimes.

 

"Kinnetik," Debbie repeated for the third or fourth time, shaking her head in amazement as she finished devouring a second meatball sarnie. "That's bloody brilliant, Sunshine," she unknowingly echoed Brian's earlier thought. "It's such a clever play on Kinney, never mind that ‘kinetic' thing I'd never heard of before."

"Based on the name alone, Kinnetik will leave that numbnuts Ryder in the dust," Brian vouched.

"I know, right?" Justin commented excitedly. "Like, how could an adman come up with such a boring eponym for their firm?"

"A what?" Debbie asked.

"An eponym just means something has been named after a person, real or fictional," Justin explained, shrugging. "‘Kinnetik' uses the same principle, but it's got a hook to draw in customers. Ryder didn't jazz up the name of his firm at all."

Brian almost said that even Justin would have difficulty embellishing Marty's name in a way that would appeal to clients, but he stopped himself at the last moment. The lad was too smart for his own good, and Brian wouldn't want whatever Justin came up with to somehow make its way to Ryder. Even that talentless hack might recognise a good idea if it slapped him in the face.

The blond lad burbled on, "Another example of an eponym is Einstein's theory of relativity, which we've been studying in physics. It's way cool; I know Daph and Sydney will agree once they wrap their minds around it a little better." 

"Who's Sydney?" Vic wondered, his brow creasing in confusion.

"That's some cheerleader-" Debbie started to inform her brother, when Brian cut her off.

"Yeah, Sunshine," he drawled sarcastically, shooting a dark look at the teenager, "why don't you tell everyone exactly who that blonde pom-pom girl is."

Shit. Shit. Triple shit. Justin castigated himself. He should have suspected that his ex was earwigging his conversation last night, especially since he'd seemingly been paying such close attention to Michael's passionate defense of some comic book hero. Justin should have known better than to fall for that ploy, since Brian had more than once affectionately derided his friend's ‘pathetic obsession.'

"What's going on, Sunshine?" Debbie's shrill voice put a halt to his frantically racing thoughts. "Is that cheerleader bullying you into helping her? If she is," the redhead threatened, pushing up her sleeves and making a twisting motion with her hands, "I'll tie her tits in a knot so tight that she'll forevermore be a one-tit wonder."

"Christ, Sis," Vic chuckled, "I can hear you issuing that same threat to Lizzie Gordon, back in the day."

"Couldn't have her picking on my little brother," Deb asserted firmly before she, too, started laughing. "Besides, it got her to back down, even though she didn't have anything to worry about - she was flatter than a pancake. That doesn't mean I wouldn't have walloped her but good, though."

"I'd say ‘bullying' is the keyword," Brian stressed as the siblings' merriment wound down. "Wouldn't you agree, Justin?"

The teenager blanched. Brian rarely called him by his first name - he was always twat, Jus, little shit, Picasso, brat - unless he wanted to drive home a point, hard. Accepting that the brunet wasn't going to allow him any wiggle room, he bit the bullet and confessed in a rush, "SydneythecheerleaderisHobbs'girlfriend."

"Slow down, Kiddo," Vic requested. "I barely caught the first syllable of that."

"I didn't get it either," Deb agreed, encouraging, "We're on your side, Sunshine. Just tell us what the problem is."

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, the lad looked his mum directly in the eye and enunciated precisely, "Sydney. The cheerleader. Is Hobbs' girlfriend."

Debbie didn't react as Justin expected; he'd thought she would let out one of her blood-curdling shrieks, slap him upside the head, berate him, and then gradually calm down. Instead, a hurt expression on her face, she asked in a soft voice, "Why couldn't you trust me with that information, Sunshine?"

The blond boy couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so small. He'd far rather be given a thorough bollocking. Blinking back tears, he murmured, "I didn't think you'd approve-"

"Damn right," Vic growled, slamming a hand down on the table, and providing the reaction Justin had expected from Debs. "That Hobbs' fucker has made your life a living hell. Why would you help his girlfriend? She must support his behaviour - or she damned well wouldn't be with him!"

Catching the dark look on Brian's countenance from the corner of his eye, the blond boy gazed at a spot between the two siblings so he wouldn't have to read their disappointment in him in their faces. He found himself looking directly at Harley, the budgie immediately ducking his head beneath one wing as if he was also ashamed of Justin. "Erm," he mumbled, "it started out as a lark, when Sydney overheard Daph and me setting up a tutoring session. The pom-pom girl butted into our conversation and went on a tear about how I'd be tutoring her, if anyone. So I told her to show up at the diner - where all the fags, dykes, and trannies hang out - that same evening, figuring she'd never show up. I mean, she was, like, pretty freaked out by the idea of visiting Liberty Avenue and encountering more cocksuckers, you know?"

When Debbie and Vic nodded, the man even letting out a wry chuckle, the tension eased a little.

"Plus, we had the first real snowstorm of the season that day," Justin continued, "so the chances of her turning up at the diner were pretty much nil."

"She showed up despite all the obstacles?" Brian inquired, his tone holding a begrudging admiration. "She looked pretty darned familiar with the diner yesterday."

"Uh-uh," the teenager contradicted his ex. "Like I expected, she was a no-show." He waited a beat before adding, "That evening. She showed up the next day instead, acting like that was when we'd agreed to meet."

"You should've told her to bugger off," Debbie inserted, still sounding sad rather than angry.

Wishing he could slide under the table and escape everyone's scrutiny, Justin nevertheless persevered with his explanation. "I probably would've, if I hadn't been so taken aback. I didn't even recognise her at first; she was so out of place. And then, well, I kinda admired her balls. I doubt I would've had the guts to turn up at, like, a straight sports bar, if the shoe had been on the other foot."

"If you were that fucking stupid - and the wannabe jocks sussed out that you were a fag - you'd probably be assaulted and left for dead," Vic commented gravely.

"Whereas, I'll bet all that cheerleader suffered was some ribbing from the diner patrons, and maybe a bit of unwanted attention from the biker chicks," Debbie conjectured.

"I could tell she was uncomfortable, but really, that only made her sassier," Justin revealed. "She ended up giving an overly rouged queen makeup tips."

"That does take cojones," Debbie claimed, red curls swaying as she laughed a little.

The blond lad was relieved that his mum was beginning to sound more like her usual, feisty self, although he doubted the inquisition was over yet.

Sure enough, she quizzed, "How'd you go from being impressed by the cheerleader's chutzpah to tutoring her? Was the pom-pom girl ever nice to you before she latched onto you for help?"

"Uh, no," Justin admitted. "That study session was pretty rough. She kept getting all high and mighty, so I told her to shove off a few different times, but then she'd make more of an effort..." he trailed off.

"Some faggot you are," Vic quipped, a trace of amusement in his voice. "You aren't supposed to fall for the damsel in distress routine."

"You'd better not let her turn you straight, Sunshine," his former lover mocked. "I can help prevent that, you know," Brian teased suggestively, reaching out and running a thumb across Justin's lips and leaning in as if he was going to kiss him.

Justin forgot to breathe for a moment. But then the bastard slouched back in his chair and smirked at him. Aroused and unsatisfied, the lad scrambled to pick up the thread of the conversation. "I didn't!" he belatedly defended himself. "I seesawed between kinda liking Sydney and wanting to kick her in the butt. In the end, though, I decided to give her one more chance - tutor her together with Daph and see how it went, especially since I knew my bestie wouldn't put up with any shit from Syd."

"You're too nice, Sunshine," Debbie sighed, "just like my Michael. Always trying to help everyone."

The boy essayed a weak smile, forbearing from rebutting that nonsensical comparison. "Um, anyway, Sydney's really grown on me since then," he returned the discussion to the cheerleader. "She has Dickhead Dixon frothing at the mouth, has been snubbing Hobbs, and has been pretty friendly to me and Daph. If both Daphne and Harry like her, she can't be all bad, right?"

Who the fuck was Harry? Brian wondered, before dismissing the matter as being of no consequence.

"Our cheeky Harry?" Deb screeched. "He'll just be after getting in the girl's pants."

"At least someone knows what's important," Brian snarked, "although why anyone would go after pussy when there's so much prime cock around, I don't know."

"I'm partial to it myself," Debbie chortled, "but my bloke has to like the other which, thankfully, Carl does."

"Fuck, Sis, don't give me nightmares," Vic begged as he stood up. "Hetero sex is a complete mood killer."

Justin's brow furrowed in worry when Vic staggered a little, the older man abruptly looking completely exhausted. He glanced over at Brian, wondering if his former lover had noticed, and saw his concern mirrored in hazel eyes. Rising from the table, he offered, "Why don't you let us clean up? You did all the time-consuming work of preparing the meatballs; you deserve to veg in front of the telly."

Vic cast a glance at the wall clock, groaning, "Christ, I'm getting old. It's not quite half nine, and I'm ready to hit the hay. I think I'll just turn in for the night." With a brief wave at the others, he lumbered toward the stairs, bracing himself on the railing as he climbed the steps.

"Vic's meds giving him trouble?" Brian inquired quietly, while Justin cleared the table.

"Fucking disease," Debbie cursed, wiping surreptitiously at the moisture that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. "You'd think the National Institutes of Health would put more effort into discovering a cure for Aids, but the jackasses in charge refuse to waste their time on ‘a gay man's problem,'" she concluded bitterly.

Justin moved from the sink over to Debbie, enfolding the caring woman in his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. "Is Vic worse?" he asked, his voice trembling a little despite his effort to control it. "Has the diarrhea returned?"

"No," his mum reassured him. "Vic really is doing much better. I just hate to see him so worn out. Sometimes it seems like it's two steps backward for every step forward."

"If you need money or something," Brian threw out from across the table, "you know where I am."

The blond lad shot an irritated glance at his ex. Was that supposed to sound compassionate or something? He was stunned when it had a positive effect on Debbie, the redhead emitting a watery laugh, smiling at Brian, and acknowledging, "I do know, ragazzo."

 

A little later, the kitchen again spic and span - Debbie had insisted on helping before retiring to the living room - Justin carried a steaming carafe of coffee and a plate of cookies over to the kitchen table, where he'd already placed mugs, spoons, the creamer, and the sugar bowl. "Here," he joked, trying to lighten the sombre mood that had descended on them in their concern about Vic, "use this for your sugar." Instead of a teaspoon, he handed Brian a bright yellow, quarter-cup measuring scoop.

"Trying to sweeten me up?" came the unexpected response, following the obligatory eye-roll. "I can assure you, Sunshine," he leered at the teen, "my cream is plenty sweet. Wouldn't you rather have that than half-and-half?" He stood up and proceeded to pop open the buttons on his jeans, as if intending to spurt his ‘cream' directly into Justin's cup.

"Uh, I... I," the blond stuttered, tearing his eyes away from the tantalising glimpse of Brian's treasure trail, "I'll, uh, stick with the dairy product." He sat down carefully, his burgeoning erection pressing painfully against the zipper of his cargos. How could he have forgotten the blatant sexuality that his former lover exuded? the boy wondered. It was fucking potent, and almost irresistible, as Brian well knew. 

"Let me know if you change your mind," the brunet advised as he sat back down. "I can produce as much as you want." No sense in confining his manhood again, Brian decided, allowing the tip of his hard-on to peek through the opening of his unbuttoned jeans. He'd been doubting the wisdom of going commando, with even the expensive Armani denim rasping against his sensitive skin, but he was now certain it had been the right choice, given the way the blond brat kept sneaking glances at this crotch. He planned to drive the twat wild - and into his bed - before the night was out.

As he endeavoured to keep his gaze at table level or higher, Justin reminded himself that two could play this game. He slowly stirred a dollop of the half-and-half into his coffee and then licked off his spoon, hazel eyes tracking every swipe of his tongue. Next he dunked one of the pizzelles into his coffee, raised it to his mouth, and took a bite, before holding the waffle cookie out to Brian, silently inviting, ‘Want some?'

Little tease, Brian growled to himself. No way was he letting him get away with that. Scooching closer to the blond, he wrapped a hand around the back of Justin's neck and tugged until their mouths met, the lad's lips parting in surprise at his precipitous action. The brunet immediately took advantage, probing with his tongue and swirling it around in the warm cavern. Justin reacted by exploring his mouth in return, their tongues dancing together. Just who was being driven mad with desire? Brian wondered, moaning as he reluctantly retreated.

The lad stared at his ex through glazed blue eyes as Brian sat back, sticking out his tongue and revealing the piece of cookie he'd retrieved. The older man then made a production out of savouring the treat, before assessing, "Not bad." 

Justin pouted a little at having been outmanoeuvred so easily. "I, erm," he cleared his throat. "I thought we were supposed to be working?"

Brian raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Is that not what we were doing?" he asked the blond. "After all, you seem to have worked up a sweat."

The lad had to check, reaching up to touch his brow, but didn't discover any beads of perspiration. He scowled at Brian, which only made the adman chuckle. As he searched for a way to change the subject, he remembered the idea that had hit him on the bus ride home from school. "Have you figured out how to make taxes sexy?" he challenged.

"I have a few ideas," Brian answered, though Justin couldn't decide if he was telling the truth or just boasting. "You?"

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine," Justin quipped, tilting his chin at the laptop Brian had just powered up, and removing his sketchpad from his rucksack.

"You're the one vibrating with excitement," he taunted, deliberately provoking the boy.

Justin deflated a little, suddenly unsure about his idea.

"C'mon," Brian prompted. "Let's hear it." He didn't expect much; the lad was a neophyte in the advertising world, after all.

The blond hesitantly opened his sketchpad, turning it to the page with his latest doodle - a couple standing in the lobby of a building, ‘Wertshafter' emblazoned above the door. "I, uh, thought maybe a young, attractive couple is leaving Wertshafter's after getting their taxes done? They're chuffed about all the money they've saved? Maybe planning a romantic getaway?" His uncertainty - and Brian's impassive expression - leading him to turn every sentence into a question, Justin stopped talking and waited for the adman to tear apart what now seemed like a ridiculous concept.

Great minds think alike, Brian mused wryly. The idea needed refining, of course, but that was the purpose of this brainstorming session. Clicking on the touchpad, he opened a file and turned his laptop toward Justin.

"Subtle sex appeal," Justin read out loud. "An attractive couple leaving Wertshafter's with satisfied smiles. Maybe pan to their bedroom, where they're planning to use their tax refunds for a delayed honeymoon."

Brian gave the boy an approving nod when he looked up at him.

His eyes lighting up, clearly gaining confidence from the similarity of their ideas, Justin proposed, "Would it be more exciting, maybe, if the couple is meeting each other for the first time?"

"The bloke, in a three-piece Armani suit, could be entering the firm as the woman exits," Brian pondered. "She's also young, a successful professional, tastefully attired in Dolce & Gabbana business couture. The woman greets him with a friendly smile, claiming, ‘You've come to the right place. I just saved a bundle by using Wertshafter.'"

From that, Justin extrapolated, "Then she says, ‘Now I have the money for a beach vacation in Aruba.'"

"‘Funny thing,' Brian replied for the young man. ‘I was just about to book my trip there.'"

"Maybe they're right outside a travel agency in the final scene?" Justin suggested. 

"Sketch the prelims for me?" Brian requested.

"Sure." Pencil scritching against the paper of his sketchpad, the teen began rendering the first drawing, the tip of his tongue caught between his lips as he concentrated.

Christ, Brian reflected, shifting restlessly in his chair, the kid had the most tantalising tongue. Maybe the woman in the advert could have her tongue poking out like that, he mused absently. No, better if it was the man; that would appeal to the broadest spectrum - straight men, who'd picture themselves as the sexy professional in the ad, straight women, anyone who was bi, and gay men. 

Justin broke into his musings, commenting, "It's weird, you know?"

"What is?"

"I've never paid my own taxes; yet, here I am, helping design an advertisement for an accounting firm."

Brian merely grunted, distracted by that pink tongue protruding a little further as the lad added some shading to the first drawing.

The blond boy grinned to himself - he knew the effect his tongue had on his former lover - and yammered on about taxes. Ever since he'd talked to Emmett yesterday, it really had been bugging him that he was so dependent on his dad. He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Craig is claiming me on his taxes, so that means I'll be ineligible for any kind of financial aid from the universities I'm applying to."

What? Brian thought, feeling oddly disconcerted. He was so used to having the boy around that he'd never speculated that he might be sending off applications to different universities, some of which probably weren't in Pittsburgh, much less the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. He'd have to find out which universities Justin was considering and steer him toward those which were conveniently located with the Pitts - it wouldn't do to groom the lad to work with him only to have him leave the city.

"It doesn't seem fair, since I have to earn the money to pay my own tuition," the teenager groused.

Not for the first time, Brian was puzzled by the boy's fixation on making money. While it made sense to him that Justin wanted to secure funding for his higher education, he didn't recall him even mentioning his finances until recently - and now it was constant. What had changed? "Don't be in such a hurry to join the ranks of taxpayers," he drolled, waiting to see how the boy would react; "Uncle Sam will skin you alive."

"Will I be earning enough freelancing for you for Uncle Sam to fleece me?" Justin countered. "How much are you paying me anyway?"

Brian performed some swift calculations in his head. Since one of his goals was to get the kid to drop the go-go gig, he had to live up to his promise that the lad would fare better working for him. He wasn't sure what hourly wage Smythe was paying, but it couldn't be more than twenty dollars; a dancer's real earnings came from the tips. A popular dancer like Justin was probably pulling in three to four hundred dollars a night, easily, which meant he was getting eighty to ninety dollars per hour. That was too high a rate for a new, untried artist; plus, the adman was sure the boy would think he was being patronised, as if he were a charity case, and might refuse to work for him. There were other benefits he could provide, however, which would make working for him the better option. He chuckled when his little head twitched in interest - he hadn't been thinking about those benefits, but now that he was...

The brunet rose from his chair, the head of his dick seeming to scent the air as it peeked through his flies. Too bad his Armani jeans were so form-fitting, he mused; otherwise, they'd slide down his hips, letting his manhood swing free - no way would the lad be able to resist him then. With a regretful sigh, he moved behind Justin and leaned over the blond, his hard-on finding a convenient gap in the chair slats and nudging the boy's spine through the thin cotton fabric of his T-shirt. He took the pencil from the teen's suddenly motionless fingers, and jotted down a number at the bottom of the pad. "At that hourly rate," he whispered teasingly into Justin's ear, "I'll expect you to bedazzle me with your thought process."

Justin's breathing hitched, the way Brian was draped over him making it difficult to think clearly. The amount the man was offering was generous, but he wasn't so far gone that he didn't realise it was less than he was making per hour at Babylon. Then again, he only worked at the nightclub on Fridays and Saturdays, and he wasn't planning to give up that job as long as he could juggle everything. And since the money was all going into the account to pay Brian back...

His thoughts scattered when Brian nuzzled his ear, husking, "That doesn't include the side bennies, of course."

"Like I don't know what those are," he somehow got out, his pulse racing. Being an employee with benefits was becoming more enticing by the moment.

"You must be psychic," Brian murmured, stroking Justin's arm with his hand, "to guess that you're getting a computer loaded with the best graphic design programs."

"I... You what?" Justin stuttered in shock, his senses overloaded by Brian's nearness, by the fucking smell of the man. He tried to swivel around to look at Brian, but the brunet's arms held him firmly in place. "You mean, you'll have it available for me to use at Kinnetik, right?"

"Sure," Brian agreed, pausing for a moment to suck at Justin's neck, "you'll have office space, and a state-of-the-art desktop computer, at the agency. I'm talking about a laptop, however, one you can use wherever. I'll have Cynthia order it tomorrow," he finished nonchalantly. 

He finally released Justin and sat back down, legs splayed so the blond's eyes were drawn to the glistening head of his cock which, moments ago, had been digging into his spine. His thoughts clouded with lust, the dazed lad couldn't find the words to thank Brian for his generosity. Christ, a laptop with that kind of software was going to cost thousands, Justin mused. He should know; he'd been drooling over them for the last three years, fruitlessly trying to get his parents to buy one for a combined Christmas and birthday present. Maybe if he visited the downstairs loo and splashed some water on his face, he'd be able to think more clearly. "Uh, I'll be right back," he mumbled, standing up on shaky legs and stumbling toward the downstairs washroom. 

He also needed to pee, rather desperately in fact, Justin realised when he reached the loo, so he lifted the toilet seat and took aim, impatiently waiting for his erection to subside. Right as the yellowish fluid started to gush into the bowl, the door opened behind him and Brian sauntered over to stand next to him, blocking him in so that he couldn't move when he finished urinating. 

Naturally, Justin thought, both amused and irritated by the brunet's antics, the man took his time peeing, hampered by his hard-on, enticingly waggling his cock to and fro. Feigning disinterest, the teen commented drily, "I've seen it before, Brian. There's no need to wave it in my face."

The brunet smirked. "Then why are you looking?" he teased, watching as Justin had trouble tearing his eyes away from his thick member. It seemed his efforts weren't in vain after all, he thought.

"I'm not," the teenager denied uselessly, eyes still fixed on Brian's crotch.

Brian finished his business but dawdled with buttoning up his trousers. "Let's move this upstairs," he rumbled seductively, "and I'll show you the most impressive employee benefit."

Throat dry, barely able to swallow, eyes still fixed on Brian's package, which was swelling again to full mast, Justin was on the verge of giving in. He cast about for something to help him resist - he didn't want to succumb so easily - abruptly blurting, "Bob."

Brian started, frowning. "No, it's Brian," he joked half-heartedly, hating the name that had spilled from Justin's lips.

Even though it was gratifying to be chased instead of doing the chasing, the younger man felt bad about mentioning BOB when he caught the fleeting look of hurt on Brian's face. How would his former lover react, he wondered, when he ‘met' Battery Operated Brian? Justin quickly suppressed an urge to laugh; he didn't want to Brian to think he was laughing at him. He kinda was, just not in the way the brunet would interpret it.

Brian shrugged, pretending indifference when the lad didn't respond to his quip, and rapidly did up the top two buttons. That Bob fucker was good for something after all, he mused sourly; merely hearing his name had killed Brian's erection, and eased the constriction of his jeans. They fit fine now, unfortunately.

The teen was startled out of his Bob-induced trance by the sound of the bathroom door shutting. He flushed, realising he was still standing in front of the toilet, penis in hand, Brian nowhere in sight, the brunet's question unanswered. Justin had vaguely registered it when the brunet turned around and rinsed his hands, but he'd been so busy convincing himself that he could make do with BOB in lieu of Brian that he left the man hanging. Fuck. 

He quickly zipped up his cargo pants, washed his hands, and returned to the kitchen, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that Brian was sitting at the table, tapping away at the keys on his laptop, acting as if nothing had happened. "I'll have Cynthia print out an employment contract for you," the brunet said briskly.

"Uh, that's good," Justin acknowledged.

"You'll keep working on the prelims?" the adman inquired, his demeanor completely professional.

"Of course, yeah." Fuck, he hated that Brian was being so... cold. "I'll keep working on my thought process, too," he sallied weakly.

"If you can't come up with something better than that lopsided K," the brunet deadpanned, "I'll have to rescind your contract before you sign it."

The blond smiled, reassured by the way Brian's tongue wandered over to his left cheek, poking against it as he finished speaking - that virtual tongue-in-cheek manoeuvre was a sure sign that he wasn't too out of sorts.

Brian felt the usual tingling in his nether regions in response to the boy's smile. He'd been kind of steamed up - not in a good way - when he left Justin in the loo, but that quickly dissipated when he thought about the longing way the teenager had looked at him. He'd just have to use a little patience in wooing his Sunshine back into his bed, where he'd soon ensure that the lad forgot all about Boy Bob. "How about we continue with this on Saturday afternoon?" he asked casually, intentionally nonspecific about what this entailed.

"Erm, I can't. I'm working and then I've got plans..."

Goddammit, was Bobby Boy fucking with him again? Brian wondered, his facial muscles going rigid.

"...with Emmett."

The brunet relaxed a little. Far better the nelly queen than Bobbit.

"I'm free Sunday afternoon, though, if that works for you," Justin offered. "Here again?"

Sunday, Brian determined, as he powered down his laptop and stored it in his briefcase, was going to be a red-letter day. First, he'd spend time with his Sonnyboy, and then he'd concentrate on his other boy. Heck, if the munchers hadn't finished munch- er, doing whatever, by the afternoon, he'd just take the nipper along to Debbie's house. In fact, he mused, a sure-fire plan of seduction beginning to coalesce in his brain, he'd offer to watch the tyke until the lezzies arrived for Sunday dinner. He and the blond boy could play with Gus for a while, with Brian's son working his usual magic on Justin. Brian would even allow the sentimental blond to rave about what a great dad he was. Then they'd pass the tot off to Debbie and Vic for some grandparental attention and a nap, while they worked on advertising campaigns. Simultaneously, Brian would drive Justin into a frenzy of lust - touching him constantly - so that the teenager would be incapable of refusing when the brunet invited him to the loft at the end of the evening.

"That'll do," was all he said to the teenager as he headed for the door, stopping to shrug into his peacoat.

Justin followed right behind Brian, a lascivious smile crossing his face as the brunet turned on the threshold to say, "Lat-"

The blond lad pre-empted him before he could complete the word, rising on his tiptoes, winding his arms around Brian's neck, and pressing his lips against the taller man's. Long moments later, after a thorough round of tonsil hockey, Justin dropped back down onto the soles of his feet, breathing hard - but not as hard, he noted in satisfaction, as the brunet. 

"Later," Justin giggled, pointing up at the mistletoe and giving Brian a gentle shove before shutting the door in his face.

 

Justin spent twenty minutes searching for his Battery Operated Brian after the brunet had departed, desperate to relieve the arousal that had built up over the course of the evening. Left empty-handed and frustrated, the lad resigned himself to making do without BOB. It was already half eleven, and he needed to hit the hay if he was going to get any shuteye before the start of another school day.

As Justin settled under his covers, his hand gliding up and down his turgid flesh, his eyes drifted shut. Damn, he wished querulously, on the verge of falling asleep, he needed something tighter to encase his shaft. His hand stroked upward once more and then dropped to his belly, his hard-on bobbing up and down forlornly, liquid pearling at the tip. If only he'd taken Brian up on his invitation, he'd be sprawled out on the bed in the loft, the most alluring man he'd ever met ready and willing...

The boy moaned in pleasure long minutes later, a warm weight coming to rest atop his thigh and nudging against his balls. Something warm and wet licked a stripe up the column of his neck and then along his jawline before halting beneath his ear.

"Jus," a voice breathed out between nibbles at the sensitive flesh, goose pimples rippling across the blond's body in response.

"Hmm?" he murmured, tilting his head, encouraging his companion to explore some more.

The man obligingly nipped and sucked at the newly exposed skin, before removing his mouth and repeating, louder and more insistently, "Jus."

Annoyed - he hadn't been nearly ready for the delicious sensations to end - Justin slitted his eyes open and glanced down. His irritation lessened somewhat as he admired the wash of blue light across his lover's tanned skin and his own paler colouring. Brian was draped half over him, one lightly furred leg tantalising him as it rubbed with agonising slowness against his scrotum. "What?" he grunted.

With a final nip at the sensitive skin behind Justin's ear, the brunet lifted his head and turned toward Justin. A wicked smile on his face, he rubbed more firmly against Justin's balls. "Don't you want to do something about this?" he husked. "Before they explode?"

Justin sighed, feeling lethargic and not wanting to make the effort to get both of them off. "Have at it," he invited his lover, gesturing toward his straining manhood.

The brunet, head propped up in the palm of his hand, his elbow resting on the bed, rolled his eyes as he stared down at Justin. "Why should I? You're the perpetually horny seventeen-year-old. You could come from rubbing up against a tree - or just from a stray breeze," he mocked. You have at it," he demanded, rolling off Justin and onto his back, spreading his legs invitingly.

"No way," Justin protested. "I've been doing all the work lately, either fucking or riding you."

"Since when?"

"For, like, the entire last week," the exasperated lad retorted. "Besides, you're the one who's always bragging about his stamina to the gang. Prove it," he challenged. "Climb aboard."

"Please," Brian scoffed, "there's nothing to it."

Justin merely arched one blond eyebrow and settled back against the mound of pillows.

The brunet licked his lips, his hazel eyes locked on blue ones as he reached over to the nightstand and pumped lube from the dispenser onto the fingers of one hand and then knelt astride Justin. "Want to help?" he asked, massaging his opening with the lube and slowly inserting his index finger.

"You're doing fine," the younger man teased, enjoying the show.

Brian winced a little as he added a second finger and then a third. "Easy," Justin soothed him, caressing his thighs. "There's no rush."

The pain soon vanished, and a jolt of pleasure coursed through the brunet when he brushed against his prostate. More than ready to ‘climb aboard,' he snagged a condom from the nightstand, tore the packet open, and unrolled it onto the boy's thickness. He took his time about it, wanting to drive the lad wild, but Justin merely smiled sweetly at him, appearing unruffled. There was time yet, he reminded himself as he positioned himself above the lad's cock, to make him squirm. 

He grunted, feeling another twinge of pain as he started to lower himself. No matter how often they fucked, it always took a moment to adjust to the width of Justin's cock as it breached him.

The blond caressed his lover again, wordlessly encouraging him.

Long seconds later, fully seated, Brian grinned at Justin in triumph. It wouldn't take him long to show the lad how easy this was.

Justin's eyes glinted with amusement, accurately guessing what his lover was thinking. "Well?" he prompted when Brian didn't move.

"I thought there was no rush," the brunet teased as he inched away from Justin's body.

"There's not," the boy agreed, although he was starting to have trouble holding still. He removed his hands from the brunet's thighs, letting them drop onto the midnight blue sheets.

Brian grinned again. Piece of cake. The boy would give in any moment and begin thrusting into him. He tightened his arse muscles as he plunged back down, drawing a gasp from the lad.

Justin narrowed his eyes, digging his fingers into the bed linens, endeavouring to keep his muscles relaxed.

The brunet tantalised his young lover as he moved up and down, up and down, swiveling his hips, relaxing and then clenching his muscles, varying the speed, pinching his own nipples and then Justin's.

The teenager made Brian work for it, occasionally rewarding him with a hard upward thrust, punching a moan out of the brunet every single time, but otherwise leaving it up to him to move.

Christ, Brian thought, throwing his head back and groaning as he relished one of those infrequent thrusts, he didn't think he could keep up this pace. The muscles in his thighs were burning now that he'd been riding Justin for what must've been an hour. "Jus," he whined the boy's name.

"You're doing so good," the lad praised him. "You can last a little longer."

A shiver ran down Brian's spine at the words. Had he been in possession of any of his faculties, he might've complained about his lover patronising him but in the heat of the moment, the encouragement was fucking hot. "Okay," he panted, lifting up again.

That deserved another reward, Justin decided, pistoning into his lover as the man came back down, jabbing that bundle of nerves and making Brian moan again. "Fuck, Jus," he pled, barely able to move.

"Again," the lad insisted, remorseless.

Sweat was pouring off Brian as he struggled to rise up again. Fuck, he hated to concede, but he couldn't do it. His thighs were burning, muscles barely twitching as he tried to lift his weight up. "Nngh," he whined in defeat.

"Okay," Justin rasped. He sat up, wrapping his arms around his lover and drilling into Brian, the man emitting a continuous, high-pitched sound as Justin hit his prostate, again and again.

"Fuuuck," Brian screamed, his whole body trembling and clenching with the effort as he came. 

He clamped down hard on Justin, causing the boy to cry out, "Bri!" as he came too. 

Brian collapsed against Justin, making the lad fall backward, although he kept his arms wrapped tightly around his lover, running his hands up and down the man's sweat-covered back. "That's definitely in the top ten," the boy panted into Brian's neck.

Too spent to say anything, the brunet just nodded.

When Justin's cock finally softened and slipped out, Brian barely noticed, only twitching and moaning a little in protest.

"I've got you," Justin whispered, still holding his lover as they fell asleep.

 

In the morning, Justin would wake up in the twin bed in Michael's old room, dried come crusted on his chest, and feel bereft that Brian wasn't actually in his arms.

 

Chapter End Notes:

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