Justin twirled a pencil in between his fingers, heaving a long-suffering sigh. He was supposed to be preparing for his SAT, but just like the week before, he was bored with the material, so he'd spent the last half an hour just doodling in the margins of his notebook, sipping coffee, and munching cookies. 

He again cast his eyes over the maths problems and clucked his tongue in disbelief. Had he really believed the algebra, geometry, and trigonometry questions would present more of a challenge than the English part of the aptitude test? The problems he had skipped ahead to solve in his calculus textbook were way more advanced than these; in fact, he couldn't find a question as complex as the ones Dixon had covered in the first week of class, back in August. 

Since the preliminary SAT he'd tried indicated he would earn a perfect score in each category, Justin didn't see much sense in worrying about it. He decided he'd time himself on a couple more of the sample tests tomorrow morning - he'd have to go with simpler ones since he'd already completed the supposedly more difficult practice tests - and then consider himself ready.

Christ, even the wannabe beautician, her butcher boyfriend, and the bladder-challenged girl should be able to solve these maths problems with ease. As he thought that, he wondered whether he should give Daphne a heads-up - tell her to run through the SAT practice problems he'd written up for her and call it good. The blond lad debated about it for a few minutes, even going so far as to stand up, but then he remembered that his bestie and the cheerleader had made plans for some kind of phone study session, and that they were going to ring him if they got stumped. 

"Nuh-uh," he mumbled to himself, sinking back down in his chair. If he called, Sydney would probably use it as an excuse to skive off and pepper him with more embarrassing questions about his sex life. He sure as fuck didn't want Debbie or Vic to overhear; they'd rag him mercilessly. Besides, he mused, his lips quirking in amusement, the blonde cheerleader really could use some more practice, and it wouldn't hurt Daphne either.

Finishing up a rough sketch of a battle scene between even and odd numbers, Justin again twirled his pencil distractedly. He should do something that at least resembled studying, he determined, eyeing his textbooks. He couldn't exactly chide Sydney for slack habits if he was no better, even if she never found out about it. With his luck, the girls would quiz him on Wednesday night about his test preparations, and he'd end up blabbing that all he'd done was doodle and give himself a sugar high.

Hmm, maybe he could continue with the work he had begun last Sunday and write another practice essay based on the guidelines in the SAT preparatory manuals. Or better yet, as he'd previously considered doing, he'd analyse and revise his paper for Creative Writing using the principles for the SAT essays. That would at least be a worthwhile use of his time.

He'd just pulled out the last draft of his creative writing project when the house phone started to ring. Listening carefully to see if either Debbie or Vic would pick it up, he heard his mum's fast footsteps in the hallway as she went to answer the old-fashioned telephone.

"Novotny," he heard her muffled voice coming from downstairs. "Yeah. Of course, I'll tell him." And then a loud, "Sunshine!"

Justin poked his head out of his room. "Yeah?"

"It's Lindsay!" Debbie yelled. "She wants to talk to you!"

Excited, because Lindsay calling him could mean only one thing - spending some time with Gus - the blond ran down the stairs quickly.

Pecking Debs on the cheek in thanks, he picked up the receiver. "Hey, Linds," he greeted the blonde woman. "What's up?"

"Hello, Justin," the lesbian's calm and polished voice answered him. "How are you?"

Immediately falling back on his country club upbringing, the teen said, "I'm quite well, thank you. And you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you for asking," Lindsay returned. "How are you faring at school? Last I heard, you were quite busy."

A little tired of the WASP back and forth - it would take another ten minutes for Lindsay to get to what she was actually calling about if this went on - Justin changed the pace of the conversation. "I'm not too busy to look after Gus every once in a while," he told her in a cheeky tone. "You need me to do some babysitting?"

The blonde woman let out a controlled laugh. "Brian must have rubbed off on you," she observed. "You always get straight to the point."

The teenager smiled, rather pleased by the comparison to his ex. They did both possess the trait of being direct.

"I was actually wondering if you'd be free to look after Gus one afternoon," Lindsay continued speaking.

"Sure," Justin hastily agreed. "I'm always happy to see the little tyke. What day did you have in mind?"

Lindsay paused as if she didn't already have a specific date in mind, before answering, "How about the eighteenth? Would that work for you?"

As that was the day his Christmas break officially started, Justin knew he'd be free. "Yeah, I can do the eighteenth," he confirmed. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Thank you, Justin," Lindsay said, sounding genuinely grateful. "It would be a real help, and I'm sure the little lamb will be pleased to see his ‘Jushun' again."

The blond's smile widened.

At the same time Justin was chatting with Lindsay, Brian was working up a sweat in the gym. After the sexual frustration of the night before - he'd spent most of his time at Babylon watching Justin gyrate his gyps to the rhythms of YMCA and Dancing Queen - he needed to let off some steam.

He was currently keeping a fast pace on the treadmill, breathing heavily but steadily as he neared the five kilometre mark. He was feeling a lot better, now that the cold-flu crud had been vanquished, and his performance improved accordingly. Sadly, Emmett had been leaving the gym just as Brian arrived, so he hadn't yet had the opportunity to go head to head with the queen, but he had the feeling he could outperform him with how well he was feeling today.

When his treadmill display finally informed him he had reached his set goal, he slowed down to a walk to let his muscles gradually cool down as endorphins flooded his body. 

"Don't you look happy with yourself," a dry voice commented from behind him.

"Theodore," Brian greeted the man unenthusiastically without turning around. "What a joy to see you here."

The accountant chuckled, patting Brian's sweaty back. "I see you're back in your usual form," Ted noted, looking at the display in front of the younger brunet. "Five K in twenty-one minutes? That's good."

"Take a picture of it," Brian snarked. "This is the only way you'll ever see that."

Theodore shrugged. "I'm happy if I make it in under half an hour," he admitted. "I freely confess I'm not as fit as the two of you."

It was only at Ted's words that Brian noticed the tall man standing behind his friend. "Hello, professor," he greeted Ben. "I'm sorry; I didn't see you over the glare of my success."

Ted rolled his eyes. "You're back to normal all right," he muttered. "Are you gonna laugh too much if I try my hand at five kilometres as well?"

Noticing the concerned frown on Ben's face at the accountant's words, Brian decided to dial back his attitude slightly. "Not too much, no," he said. "I don't know if you want to have the exact same setup I did, though; I had a two percent incline."

Ben stepped closer, an interested expression on his face. "Is that a lot?" he asked.

Hesitating slightly - was the man joking him? - Brian replied, "No, not really. But it is noticeable. You never ran on an incline?"

The professor shook his head. "I'm not really one for cardio," he explained. "Except for my morning jog, I only run to warm up, so I don't hurt myself when lifting."

"Everyone has different strengths," Ted claimed, laying a comforting hand on his boyfriend's shoulder.

"Really? What are yours?" Brian mocked. At Ben's frown, he rolled his eyes. "Lighten up, Professor; it's all in jest."

Ben was getting a little annoying, he thought. Sure, it was nice to see the professor was taking care of Theodore and that he was willing to defend him, but when it interfered with Brian's way of conversing, he started to have a problem. Ted and he were used to their usual back and forth, and neither of them needed Ben messing with it.

Ted seemed to be of the same opinion. "Don't worry about it, babe. I give as good as I get; I promise."

Brian grinned, grabbing his towel and drying the sweat off his forehead. "That's debatable," he countered.

The accountant smirked. "Everything is debatable; that's the principle of free speech," he replied. "Now get your flat arse off that treadmill, so I can use it."

With a short but genuine laugh, Brian moved on to some simple stretches, while Ben and Ted began their cardio.

The adman kept an eye on the two men as he stretched, snickering a little at the contrast between them. The heavily muscled professor lumbered along at a slow pace, while Theodore looked like a fleet gazelle next to him.

Brian had already switched to some light weightlifting when the other men finally finished their runs, and the brunet stud was happy to find out it had taken Ben just under fifteen minutes to complete a measly two kilometres.

"You weren't kidding when you said you weren't much of a runner," he commented. "I think Debbie could outrun you."

Ben chuckled, self-deprecating, muscles rippling under his T-shirt and sweats. "Yeah, I think I'm too heavy for running," he theorised. "All this brawn isn't very practical for cardio."

Ted, still panting from his five K, squeezed his biceps in appreciation. "Sure look good, though," he flirted.

The professor gave him a toothy smile, leaning down to peck Theodore's lips. Brian averted his eyes. Couples in love were disgusting.

Ten minutes later, Brian's high from his success on the treadmill was replaced by a feeling of frustration as he watched the hunky professor put the whole gym to shame with the barbells. It was annoying how many people managed to outperform him in weightlifting, the adman thought miserably. First it had been Dr Dave, then DC, and now it was the boring and unassuming Ben.

Then again, he realised, applying his logical mind to the situation, since he hadn't focused his gym time much on weight lifting, it was no wonder he wasn't as good as the men who basically did nothing but lift. Along the same vein, he was clearly outperforming them in cardio as they in turn hadn't focused their training on that.

And he was still better than Ted at both cardio and weights, so there was that.

"Well, I'm beat," the accountant announced, sweaty and panting in exertion. "I can't do any more."

Brian put away his weights. "I'm gonna finish up as well," he joined in. "I'll just do some light stretches again and then walk it off to wind down."

Ted let out a weak huff. "Yeah, you do that," he said. "Meanwhile, I'll just plop down here and breathe."

Ben, who was still going strong with his barbells, looked up in concern. "You didn't overdo it, did you?" he asked.

The accountant waved him off. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, he always looks like he's going to die when he's done exercising," Brian commented. "Unfortunately, he never does."

The professor gave him a judging look, but Ted merely chuckled from where he'd collapsed on the floor. "You'd be lost without me, Bri," he pointed out.

The brunet stud just snorted, knowing it was true.

In the midafternoon, Brian made his way to the diner. Just as he was congratulating himself on navigating the icy sidewalk without mishap, his left foot slid out from underneath him, and he had to execute an awkward hop-skip to correct his balance. At least he hadn't landed on his keister again, he thought, shortening his stride and proceeding more carefully. The other plus was that no one had noticed him, the only other pedestrians in sight hastening to get into a warm shop or café.

After leaving Ript this morning, invigorated by his workout; his weigh-in - which had showed he was only a single ounce above his optimum weight; and the covetous glances cast his way by the other gym-goers - he was pretty sure he'd even caught the professor eyeing his lean physique admiringly - he'd returned to the loft, showered, and then powered up his computer. He'd then spent a fair amount of time exploring Mr Gizmo's website - Christ, was there anything as boring as watching an automotive assembly line in action? - and scribbling some uninspired ad copy. Frustrated by his inability to make the gadget seem sexy, he'd dug into his stash, flopped down on the couch, and dreamed up some more new names for the Over the Rainbow bookshop under the haze of smoke. He'd laughed himself silly when ‘Leaves of Grass' popped into his head. He'd had to discard that moniker, though; it might be tailor-made for him but something more family-friendly was needed for a community bookstore.

He and the blond brat were sure to come up with a few different good names, Brian had reassured himself. Hmm, speaking of the blond brat... Brian had glanced at his wristwatch as he took the final toke of a second doobie, startled when he realized it was going on three o'clock. He'd held the thumb and index finger of his right hand a miniscule distance apart, staring at the small separation owlishly; yep, that was exactly how close Justin was to giving in and fucking him again. That had been enough to get him up and moving - the latest phase of Operation Twat Retrieval involved spending as much time around the teen as possible, so he needed to get his cellulite-free arse over to the diner. 

The brunet stud frowned as he pushed open the door, the jangle of the doorbell lost in the noise coming from the eatery. What the heck? It was the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, not lunchtime, dinner, or pre-clubbing hours - why the fuck were half the residents of the Pitts at the diner? He'd be lucky if Justin knew he was here, provided, of course, that he could even find a place to sit.

As he pushed his way through the crowd blocking the area by the door, he was assaulted by, "Yo, Bri! Over here!" The holler was followed by an arm encased in a purplish sleeve snaking up above everyone's heads, the fingers of the hand clasped together and swiveling to and fro like some kind of retarded duck puppet.

Resigning himself to his fate - he could hardly pretend he hadn't seen the flamboyant man - he made his way over to the booth where Emmett was sitting, directly across from the counter. Brian winced, almost blinded, as he got an eyeful of the man's outfit. The southerner had paired a basic, long-sleeved, crew-neck tee - well it would have been basic except for the godawful shade of purple and the fact that it exposed his midriff - with his favourite burnt orange pleather pants. "Mauve and orange do not go together, Honeycutt," he groused. "You trying to scare the tricks away?"

"Oh, pooh." Emmett flapped a hand at him. "These pieces do so match. I've-" He paused when a good-looking, raven-haired guy came up to the booth, trailing the fingers of one hand along Em's sternum before dipping lower and slipping a piece of paper into the waistband of his orange pants.

"Give me a call, cutie," he invited, tossing a saucy wink over his shoulder before disappearing toward the back of the diner.

"That's, like, the dozenth number I've gotten," the queen informed Brian smugly as the older man sat down. "And I've already had two fast and furious fucks in the loo. So, you have to admit you're wrong about my fabulous ensemble."

"They must be colour-blind," Brian snarked.

"Riiight," Em drawled, "all twelve of them."

Brian shrugged. There could just be a large number of fags with poor taste, he supposed. He eyed the cups, saucers, and spoons that were already on the table; they looked clean, so it didn't really matter to him how the dishware had gotten there as long as he got coffee soon. So far, he'd only had one latte that he'd picked up at Starbucks on his way home from Ript. He'd thought about battling with the so-called ‘simple' Braun coffee maker in his loft, but with every intention of heading to the diner sooner rather than later, he didn't bother. Now, he was desperate for a fix.

While the tall southerner nattered on about the latest line at Torso - leopard print was in - two more potential tricks dropped slips of paper with their phone numbers into Emmett's lap. Both were reasonably attractive, but neither one gave Brian more than a brief glance. The bottle-blond one chuntered on for a good five minutes about how he was going to bend Em over his sofa one time, then another, and another - and plough him like he'd never been ploughed before.

By the time the dude sloped off, even the confirmed nelly bottom looked a trifle taken aback as well as bored. "Lord have mercy," he exclaimed, "I've never met someone so set on repeatedly fucking me over their couch. Is that some kind of new cra-"

His question remained uncompleted, Justin bustling up to their booth at that moment, a full carafe of coffee in one hand. "Hey, guys," he greeted them a little breathlessly.

"Baby!" Em gave the teenager a gap-toothed smile as he stood up and hugged him.

Brian's eyes narrowed as the coffee sloshed around and almost spilled out. He wanted the caffeine in his cup, not down the front of his new Paul Smith pullover and Armani jeans. The way the swishy queen was clasping Justin to his chest didn't bother him. Really.

"I've been waiting for you to shake that cute tush of yours in my direction," Emmett gushed.

"For fuck's sake, Honeycutt, let the lad breathe," Brian growled when the southerner showed no sign of letting go of the teenager. "You saw the brat just yesterday."

Emmett sniffed disdainfully. "I wasn't the one who monopolised his time. We barely exchanged a word."

"Whatever," Brian dismissed the protest. "It's still no reason to act like a lezzie, hugging the boy and slobbering all over him."

"Slobbering, huh?" the flamboyant queen inquired archly as he finally released Justin.

Fucking tease, Brian mused sourly, although it wasn't clear to him which of the two men he meant, what with Justin grinning impishly at him. He shifted in his seat, attempting to ease the sudden constriction in his jeans. "I'd like my coffee sometime this century," he grunted.

"Caffeine deprivation is a serious condition," the blond drolled as he held the glass container of brown liquid over Brian's cup but didn't pour it.

Brian glared at the boy. Now what?

"I think Baby's waiting for you to add some of this, Bri," came Emmett's voice, the sugar dispenser nudging against his hand.

"For fuck's sake," the brunet grumbled. Since he wanted his coffee, he nevertheless shook the usual small amount of sugar into his cup, nearly sighing in relief as he watched the hot beverage land on the white granules.

"You guys want anything else?" Justin asked. "It's a madhouse in here today, so I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"I'm good." Emmett smiled brightly at the teen as he stirred a miniature tub of half-and-half into his coffee.

"Just stop by again when you've made a fresh pot," Brian requested.

"Sure. I'll make sure to refill the sugar container then too. You need sweetening up," Justin giggled.

Before Brian could wisecrack that he was plenty sweet - the blond should have a taste - the teenager moved on to the next table, politely inquiring, "Coffee anyone?"

Deprived of a kiss, Brian grouched, "That stuff will clog your arteries," gesturing at the second tub of half-and-half Em was peeling open.

"It's no worse for me than all that sugar is for you," the queen replied airily before launching into a critique of the fashion-challenged and out-of-shape queers who'd visited Torso over the past couple of days.

The adman tuned his friend out as he talked about an overweight bloke whose hairy belly had protruded over the waistband of the floral board shorts he was trying on - talk about gross - instead observing Justin as he flitted to and fro across the diner, serving the afternoon horde. It was really fucking annoying the way people were constantly flirting with the blond and touching him.

Jesus, Brian thought, his scowl growing as he watched a skinny carrot-top surreptitiously reach out and pinch Justin's behind, he'd never realised how handsy the fags were at the diner. It was bad enough that the Bobby Boys - he still wasn't sure how many of them there were - kept salivating over his blond; he didn't need to worry about every single diner customer on top of that. Not that the carrot-top stood a chance; he was pasty-faced and had a grating, hee-haw laugh, but Justin still shouldn't have to put up with wandering hands at the diner. For fuck's sake, it was a diner, not a bar like Woody's or a club like Babylon.

"Bri," the flamboyant queen sitting across from him chided, "that shade of green isn't attractive on you."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Honeycutt?" Brian asked, transferring his scowl to the tall southerner.

"Oh, please." Emmett flapped a hand at him. "Your eyeballs look like they're gonna pop out of your face, the way they're fixed on Baby."

"I just want another cup of coffee," Brian claimed, draining the last of his brew.

Most of the eatery's customers seemed to have finally found their seats, with new arrivals slowing to a trickle, so the brunet had a clear view of the door when it opened again. A bundled-up individual entered, only the tip of a red nose initially to be seen until the person unwrapped a long, knitted scarf in vibrant green hues and then removed a matching hat. Brian's eyes narrowed when the lad's features were revealed - it was that fucking Boy Bob who'd been kissing Justin the other day. As far as Brian was concerned, the brown-haired boy with the bland features and more than a touch of baby fat was responsible for the spill he'd taken in front of the diner. If he hadn't put his hands and his fucking lips where they didn't belong, the adman wouldn't have been so distracted that he'd stepped right onto a patch of iced-over cement.

"Gee, Bri, maybe you should order something to eat," Emmett suggested. "That was a really weird sound you just made. It was like some kind of bizarre cross between your stomach gurgling and erupting."

"Don't be ridiculous." Brian brushed off the other man's faux concern, certain he hadn't made any kind of noise, ‘weird' or otherwise. He didn't take his eyes off Bobbit for even a second as the boy made his way toward Justin, who was delivering meals to a neighbouring booth, where two dykes were sitting with four children, ranging from an infant to a maybe six-year-old. The oldest rugrat had been incessantly banging his silverware against the tabletop for the last ten minutes, giving Brian a headache. He'd considered deserting Emmett and moving when a stool became vacant at the counter, but now he was glad he'd stayed put since he should be able to earwig the conversation between Bobby and the blond.

"Thanks, Justin," the more butch lesbian said when the teenager served the little noisemaker first, the tot immediately cramming a handful of fries into his mouth. "Bobby's just hungry," the frazzled dyke explained; "he'll calm down now that his food's arrived."

Brian snorted. Of course, the little troublemaker was a Bob. They were coming out of the fucking woodwork.

"No problem." Justin smiled at both munchers as he placed the other plates in front of them so they could divvy out the food for the other tykes and themselves. "I get the same way when I'm hungry."

Close enough, Brian thought, nodding sagely.

"You start bashing your utensils against the table?" the other lesbian joked, already busy cutting up the next oldest child's food.

"Not anymore," the blond giggled, "but I used to be a champion at that, according to my m-" Justin stuttered briefly before getting out the word, "mum."

"Fucking parents," Emmett muttered.

"Yeah," Brian sighed.

"Let me know if you need anything else," Justin offered once his hands were empty.

"What do you say, Bobby?" the bulldyke asked.

"Thanks, Jus," little Bob said around a mouthful of half-masticated food.

Christ, his son already had better table manners, and he wasn't even a year old, Brian reflected.

The blond ruffled the obnoxious kid's hair and turned away from the table, bumping into the adult Bobby, who was now right behind him.

"Hiya, Justin," Bob greeted him, reaching out a hand to steady the boy.

His blond, Brian noted, looked rather nonplussed. Maybe Boy Bob's visit was unplanned.

Justin immediately confirmed Brian's supposition. "Erm, I didn't know you were coming by today."

"I just thought I'd drop by," Bob bestowed a sappy smile on the blond, "while I'm out shopping."

Yeah, right. Brian rolled his eyes. The kid wasn't carrying a single shopping bag.

"Uh, it was nice of you to think of me," Justin murmured, smiling at the other lad, "but I won't have much time to chat. It's been crazy around here. I don't know if it's because of the upcoming holidays or what."

Bobby shrugged, following Justin over to the counter, where the blond set about brewing another pot of coffee. "That's okay. I just wanted to see you, you know?"

"Aw, that's so sweet." Emmett clapped his hands in delight. "Baby's got a beau."

"There's no need for the trained seal act, Honeycutt," Brian gritted out. "Especially not for Boy Bob."

The nelly queen shot him an affronted look, immediately retorting. "I am not a trained-"

"Shush," Brian ordered, cutting the irate man off. He was already straining to hear the boys over the noise of the other diners. He didn't need the southerner yapping at him too.

Emmett glared at him but complied, obviously also keen to listen in.

"Heck, Jus," the brown-haired boy declared, claiming an empty green stool and bracing his elbows on the counter, "you even look good in a plain white apron."

"You admiring my assets?" the blond giggled, evidently wiggling his derriere if the wolf whistle from Bob was any indication.

Brian growled low in his throat. Why was Justin encouraging the loser?

"Darned tootin'," Boy Bob replied enthusiastically. 

Emmett evidently wasn't impressed. "That kid, er, Bob," he murmured, "sounds like an old fogey."

"No shit," Brian agreed. He glanced at the younger man, wondering why Em appeared to be choking back laughter.

"I mean, like," Eric flirted some more, "everyone in here's got their eyes on you, Jus."

Well, duh. That was a no-brainer, Brian reflected, confident that lame pickup lines like that wouldn't do Bobbit any good.

"Yeah, well," Justin observed pragmatically, grinning at his friend, "my looks help me rake in the tips."

The older lad eyed him assessingly. "Sure, Sunshine," he concurred, giving Justin a shy smile.

How dare that fucker call Justin ‘Sunshine'? Brian wondered, glowering at Bob. That was a nickname only the blond's adopted family and close friends used.

"But I think it's that million-watt smile of yours," Bob concluded, "that really does the trick."

"The trick to get a trick?" Justin giggled.

"Anytime. Anywhere." Boy Bob offered, striving to maintain a light tone, but failing miserably.

Justin was clearly startled by the serious turn to the conversation. He lowered his voice, so that Brian almost fell out of his seat, straining to hear what the blond would say next. "Uh," the blond teen reminded the other boy, "you haven't forgotten we're just friends, right?"

"Nooo," Bobby Boy acknowledged, drawing out the word. "But I think you should remember that you have other options. I mean, why pine away for some dude who's not even around?"

Justin looked over at Brian, who laughed, pretending to be amused by something Emmett had said.

The nelly queen raised his eyebrows. "Give the man an Academy Award," he joked. "That was some acting."

"Shut it," Brian hissed, watching the blond from the corner of his eye and listening avidly for the next comment.

"I'm not pining," Justin denied, though it wasn't very believable. Especially when he added quietly, "Um, he's here."

"Yeah?" Eric asked, immediately scanning the diner. "Where?"

"I'm not gonna tell you if you can't be cool about it," the blond hissed. "I don't want Br- uh, him, to know what we're talking about, okay?"

"Sorry." The older boy looked abashed. "I just wanna know who my competition is."

"There's no competition," Justin insisted.

Bobby shrugged in sort of half-hearted agreement, although he didn't look convinced.

It was evidently enough to satisfy Justin, who revealed, "He's the brunet sitting with the colourful queen, in the booth directly behind you."

Both Brian and Emmett started laughing when Bob waited barely two seconds before swivelling around on his stool and staring directly at them.

"Nooo," Justin moaned, "don't look right at him."

"Don't worry," Bob countered, "they're yacking about something or other. They have no clue I'm even here."

The blond boy appeared dubious. Rightly so, Brian thought, snickering.

"Uh, the dude dressed in boring black?" Bob asked for clarification.

Brian bristled. Black was never boring.

"Yeah," Justin confirmed, giggling at Boy Bob's remark.

"That's him?" Bob asked, surprise clear on his face.

Justin nodded in agreement, inspecting the other boy's sceptical frown. "Yeah, why? Something wrong?"

"Nothing!" the guy quickly disagreed, shaking his head vigorously. "Honestly! It's just, I mean... he's a bit-" he paused, clearly considering whether to continue with his statement or not. In the end, he found enough bottle to finish with a hesitant, "A bit skinny? And old?"

The blond student chuckled, seeming relieved. "You sound like Daphne," he commented in amusement. Then, as if in afterthought, he added, "And he's not that old."

Brian scowled unhappily, noticing Justin hadn't denied he was skinny. He was perfectly toned, thank you very much. Also, what the hell did ‘not that old' mean? He wasn't old at all!

Meanwhile the pipsqueak continued, "Well, I mean, he's a bit..." he made an elaborate but completely meaningless gesture with his hands. "You know?"

"He's Brian fucking Kinney," the blond teen told him, as if it explained everything.

"But what's so special about him?" Bob asked him, frustration evident in his voice. "I mean, you could have literally anyone else - what makes him different?"

Justin shrugged, trying to sound casual, "Let's just say he's the guy I've fucked more than once."

Brian winced. For the first time, he had an inkling as to how some of his offhand comments in the past might have hurt Justin, given the way he'd constantly reinforced that the blond wasn't anything more than a fuck. The day after Craig had beat him up - Justin bravely standing up to his father - he'd invited the lad to stay at his loft, but then spitefully told the teen he was sorry he was there. Finally, he'd driven home his point by staggering into the loft with Mr Hotlanta and referring to him as an ‘out-of-town guest.'

Small wonder, he thought, wincing again, that Justin hadn't been interested in experiencing his first threesome that night. He must've felt just about as unwelcome in Brian's bed as he did in the loft, given the way he'd stormed off to Mel and Lindsay's house. Still adamant about not offering the lad a place to stay, he'd then tried to return Justin to his parents. That look the kid had sent him... it seemed almost like he was giving up on Brian. Fortunately, Craig had opened his big mouth and spewed hate, offering Brian an easy way to rectify matters. Would Justin have stayed at the loft, though, if he'd had anywhere else to go? Or would he and his fugly duffel bag have simply disappeared one day, and... The stud's thoughts stuttered to a halt. Would the boy have come back to him? 

Christ, he mused, his life would be fucking boring without the blond brat. He wouldn't miss just the scorching sex, but also the way the lad challenged him, the way they laughed together; fuck, he'd even miss those random public service announcements, which he always pretended not to listen to while, in actuality, absorbing every damned word. The brunet sighed, finally admitting to himself that he wanted Justin for more than a fuck buddy.

On the heels of that revelation, Bob piped up again, "Well, I for one think you could do better." 

Heartily sick of the punk's grating voice and the way he was toadying up to Justin, Brian wished he could defenestrate Bob, right through the diner's plate-glass window. Enough of the farcical tête-à-tête, he decided, holding up his coffee cup and calling out in a saccharine tone, "Sunshine! I'm still waiting for that refill."

The blond jumped a little at the interruption and glanced over at Brian, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Lounging against the back of the banquette, Brian sent him his best innocent look in return.

"Well, there goes your Oscar," Emmett drolled. "Pity, your acting was stellar till now."

The teenager expressed his opinion of Brian's antics with a roll of his eyes, but he nevertheless promptly snagged the freshly brewed pot of coffee from the hotplate and trotted over to his booth.

Did the blond lad maybe look a little relieved to have his chinwag with Boy Bob disrupted? Brian speculated, pleased by the notion. He was less pleased to note that Bobbit was right behind Justin, shadowing him like a faithful lapdog.

"Another cup for you Em?" the waiter asked brightly, ignoring Brian.

Little shit, the brunet thought fondly.

"Why, yes, Baby, thank you kindly," the willowy man replied, his southern manners on display. As Justin refilled his cup, he inquired, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Huh?" Justin asked in puzzlement.

"To your admirer," Emmett explained, waving a hand at a spot behind the blond teenager.

Justin looked over his shoulder, a frown marring his face when he realised Bob was standing right behind him.

"Yeah, Sunshine," Brian seconded, his tone mocking, "why don't you introduce us to your little friend?"

Bobby didn't wait for Justin to perform the introductions. His chin jutting out pugnaciously, he stepped up next to the blond and announced, "I'm Eric. Who're you?"

What the hell? This doofus wasn't named Bob? The confused stud stared blankly at the boy. Who the fuck were the Boy Bobs then? After a few seconds, Brian dismissed the matter as inconsequential, having discovered an easy solution to the plague of Bobs - he'd just keep his blond too busy to see anyone else except him.

"I'm Emmett. Emmett Honeycutt," came a voice from the other side of the table. "Any friend of Baby's is a friend of mine."

"Eric," the not-quite-Bob repeated, turning his head toward Emmett, his tone considerably friendlier. "Uh, Baby?"

"Eric," the blond boy forestalled the gossip queen's response, "it's really not any of your business."

A hurt expression descended over Bob-not-Bob's countenance.

Before Justin could rephrase and make the dingleberry feel better, Brian intervened. "Why don't you run along home and play with your Tinker Toys, Edrick?" he sneered. "And let Justin get back to work."

"Brian," Justin chastised him, the word emerging oddly strangled.

The brunet gave himself a mental pat on the back when he realised the blond was struggling not to laugh.

"Look," Justin said, placing a consoling hand on Edrick's arm - or maybe it was Podrick? - and guiding him back to the counter, "I'd like to be friends-"

"You forgot something, Sunshine," the brunet interjected.

When the blond threw an irritated glance over his shoulder, Brian again lifted his cup off the table.

Justin stormed back, a muscle in his cheek jumping, and without uttering a word, filled Brian's cup up to the brim. He then turned on his heel and rejoined Podrick, speaking to the boy so quietly that the brunet couldn't eavesdrop.

"Well, fuck," Brian muttered. Not only had he pissed off the blond boy, but there was also no room for him to add even a teaspoon of sugar to his cup of coffee. He really despised the taste of unsweetened coffee - it was like drinking motor oil - but he supposed he could force down a swallow or two. Better yet... "How about I top yours up?" he offered, pushing his overfull cup closer to the flashy man and leaning forward to spoon some of the liquid into Emmett's cup.

"No thanks," he refused Brian's generous offer, drawing his cup and saucer closer to his side of the table.

Brian raised a questioning eyebrow. What the fuck was the younger man's problem?

"You shouldn't have been so mean to Eric," Em blurted, his lower lip sticking out a little.

"What? Are we in kindergarten, Honeycutt?" the brunet mocked his friend.

"Pish." The nelly bottom flapped a hand at Brian. "He's a nice boy."

"That's the problem in a nutshell. Derrick is a nice boy," Brian claimed, emphasising the final words. "He's dull as dishwater. Justin would get bored with him in less than a week and throw him over, so I did Podrick a favour, letting him know he doesn't stand a chance."

The tall queen shook his head at him, chuckling, "You're such a jealous dog in the manger, Bri. If you can't have Justin, no one-"

"Don't be absurd." Brian rubbed at his chest as he cut the other man off. Fucking acid reflux was getting worse, he thought in annoyance. "I'm just looking out for the lad's best interests. I don't do jealousy."

"Liar, liar, Prada on fire!" Emmett retorted, voice rising.

Six-year-old Bobby clambered around in the next booth, standing up on the seat and staring accusingly at Brian. "Liar!" he shouted.

"Bobby!" the bulldyke hissed, tugging her son back down. "Don't go calling a stranger a liar."

"But, Mama," the child protested, "the other guy called him a liar, and he sweared on pravda. And since Oma tolded me how pravda is truth, he gots to be a liar."

By that point, Emmett was laughing so hard that tears were coming out of his eyes.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," Brian complained in disgust, "it's a conspiracy of Bobs." 

Five minutes later, the door to the diner opened again, the bell above it jingling happily. Justin, who was just serving a table right by the door, had to move out of the way to let the newcomers pass.

"Hello, Justin," a deep but pleasant voice greeted him, Detective Horvath smiling at the blond as he held the door for his Chinese partner. "I thought you might be working today."

The teen returned the smile, genuinely happy to see the copper. "Hi, Carl. Hello, Detective Wen," he replied. Then, looking around the busy diner, he added, "I'm afraid you'll have to wait for a bit if you want to sit down; it's ridiculously packed in here."

"We're not here to stay," the bulky man assured him, moving with Justin to the counter. "We just came to get some fuel for our stakeout this evening."

The blond grinned. "An actual stakeout? What's that like?" he wondered, having only heard about such things from TV cop shows.

Horvath smiled conspiratorially, leaning closer as if to share some big secret. "Boring as hell," he divulged, eyes brightening when Justin laughed. "Probably wouldn't be so bad," he continued, "if my partner wasn't-" he cut himself off, turning to check where Wen was. The woman was standing a couple paces behind Carl, face impassive as usual and dark eyes scanning her surroundings casually. She didn't look more threatening than normal, but to Justin's amusement, there seemed to be a constant perimeter of a couple metres around her as no one dared to place a foot any closer. This was a particularly impressive feat in the crowded diner.

"Ming," Horvath called out. "Stop scaring the good people of Pittsburgh and come order what you want to eat."

The Asian woman gave her partner an unimpressed look, not moving an inch from where she stood. Justin even watched one of the butch dykes in a biker leather jacket carefully inch around the detective on her way to the toilets.

Carl rolled his eyes. "She'll have a coffee and some kind of salad," he told Justin. "She's not picky."

The blond hmmed in acknowledgment, jotting the order down on his pad. "We have bulgur with shrimp; that all right?"

"Sure," Horvath agreed. "And make the coffee as strong as possible - to the point of it being undrinkable, no sugar or milk. She basically drinks battery acid. I once took a sip by accident and thought my stomach would dissolve."

Justin glanced at Wen in suspicion, trying to see if she showed any signs of her stomach dissolving. It didn't look like it, as far as he could tell.

"And for you?" he asked, eyes back on the bulky detective.

"I'll have normal coffee, one sugar, and one of those hamburgers with fries," the cop ordered. "I really shouldn't, because I'm trying to lose some weight, but stakeouts are special circumstances."

The blond chuckled. "I bet. Must be hard to be sitting holed up somewhere for long stretches of time with nothing to do."

"Tell me about it," Horvath sighed, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to where Wen was standing. "And that one is no help," he complained. "She's all ‘You talk too much' and ‘I can kill you with a coffee cup' anytime I try to strike up a conversation."

Justin winced, face sympathetic. "She really that bad?" he asked worriedly, glancing at the woman in question as he set up a new, stronger, pot of coffee. She was still standing in the middle of the diner, seemingly completely unaware of the way people avoided her like the plague.

Carl chuckled. "Nah, she's all right," he dismissed the teen's worry. "I just like to complain. I wouldn't actually trade her for anyone else - she's saved my arse more times than I can count."

"Good," the blond said with feeling. "I would hate for anything-"

"Justin?" Eric interrupted him, looking hesitant. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but uh, the Asian server is asking for you? There are tables waiting?"

Feeling chastened, Justin blushed. "Sorry, I forgot myself a bit." Waving at Harry to show him he'd be right there, he smiled apologetically at Carl. "Sorry, I gotta go. I'll bring you your food as soon as it's ready."

The copper patted his shoulder warmly. "Sure, no problem. I'll try and move Wen a bit to the side, so she doesn't drive away all of your customers," he replied, glancing pointedly at the pair of queens that had walked in only to abruptly leave again. Justin figured they might have got discouraged by the way the diner was packed, rather than by the Asian detective, but was grateful for the offer nonetheless. It was better to be safe than sorry.

He made his way quickly to where Harry was busy serving two tables of demanding queens, stopping only to slap the detectives' order onto the sill of the kitchen pass-through and shout to bring it to the cook's attention.

"I'm so sorry, Hazza-Bear," he apologised. "I forgot myself."

The Asian grinned at him, wiping the slight sheen of sweat off his forehead. "No problem, it was just starting to get a bit too much."

The blond bit his lip, feeling bad. "What do you need me to do?"

"You could take table three? They look a bit, uh, difficult."

Glancing briefly at the couple of posh-looking women sitting at the corner table near the window, Justin internally winced. They looked difficult, all right. They weren't exactly the picture of typical diner goers - their expensive clothes, manicured nails, and styled hair clearly shouting money. Then again, Brian was also minted, and he had no problem with the diner, so perhaps they wouldn't be too bad.

He headed for the table, but before he had taken two steps, Harry stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. "Wait," he whispered secretively. "One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Who's that hot, deadly-looking chick?" the Vietnamese waiter asked with a lewd grin, fluttering his eyelashes at Wen, who was now standing off to the side at her colleague's urging.

Justin snorted with barely suppressed laughter. "Forget about it, mate. First of all, she could be your mother," he told the cheeky twenty-year-old. "And second, she would eat you for breakfast."

Harry just smiled dreamily. "But what a way to go," he joked.

Rolling his eyes at his friend's outrageous behaviour, Justin turned abruptly and went to serve his table.

Difficult was an understatement when it came to the occupants of table number three. The women were demanding, uptight, and pretentious - they could have given Tannis a run for her money - and Justin had to reach deep into his WASP reserves in order to keep smiling all throughout their order. He was therefore happy when the bell in the kitchen window rang, followed by the words, "Number fifteen to go, order up."

Hurrying over to pick up the order, he grabbed the shrimp salad and the styrofoam box with the burger and fries, carefully shoving them into a plastic bag.

"Here it is," he announced, placing the bag in front of Detective Horvath. "I'll just pour the coffees, shall I?"

Carl smiled. "Don't worry, son; take your time. We're not supposed to be there till half five; we've still got over fifteen minutes."

Pouring one cup from the usual carafe for the male detective, he added the requested one sugar and capped it off, before moving to the newly brewed pot. Eyeing nervously the deep black liquid inside, he raised an eyebrow at Carl, one hand hovering over an empty paper cup with the carafe. 

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I'd hate for Debbie to get sued over Detective Wen having a heart attack."

The bulky man chuckled. "Just pour it in, boy; she'll be fine," he assured him. "Just be sure not to give that swill to anyone else in here, or you might just get that lawsuit," he added humorously.

"I won't," Justin promised, filling up Wen's cup.

"Justin," Eric appeared again, coming to stand right next to the blond. "I'm gonna go, okay? It's pretty busy in here and I still have to study anyway."

Justin smiled at him. "Sure, sorry I couldn't be better company." After his thoughtless remark in front of Brian and Emmett, it had taken him a while to reassure the other teenager that he did want to be friends, but he was glad he'd made the effort. He loved Daph - and Syd was becoming a good friend - but this was the first time he'd had a guy friend close to his own age.

The older student waved him off. "Nonsense, you're always good company," he told him with a private twinkle in his eye. "I look forward to seeing you again."

Giving Eric a one-armed hug - the other hand still holding the deadly coffee carafe - Justin noticed Carl looking at him curiously.

"What?" he asked, cheeks pinkening in self-consciousness.

"Your boyfriend?" the detective wondered, pointing at Eric with his chin.

"What? No!" he denied quickly, stepping away from the other boy. "No, Eric is just a friend."

Carl hmmed thoughtfully, though he didn't press the issue.

"Um, so," Eric stuttered, looking awkward. "I'll see you around," he said, and with that he quickly took his leave.  

The detective chuckled. "Well, didn't he look disappointed," he remarked. "You sure you're just friends?"

"Yes," Justin stated resolutely. Grabbing the bag with the food, he handed it to the detective along with both coffees. "Here you go."

Getting rid of the dangerous coffee cup by immediately handing it to Wen who conveniently appeared at his shoulder, Carl squeezed the blond's shoulder. "All right, I won't pry any more. How much do I owe you?"

Glancing at the till, the teen read, "Fourteen seventy-five."

The detective handed him a twenty and with a genially uttered, "Keep the change," he and Wen finally left the diner. 

It amused Justin immensely that as soon as the door closed behind the coppers, a general sense of relief exuded from the other diner patrons. One could almost literally see everyone relax into their chairs, tension easing up.

Noticing that table three was starting to look a little antsy, he carefully set down the deadly carafe and went to ask if he could be of any help. The women demanded he bring them something to snack on while they waited for their food.

"I am on a very strict schedule with my medication," one of them, a blonde with a sharp face, informed him. "And I require to eat something with it."

Justin hurriedly thought about what he could whip up himself behind the counter. A bowl of crisps? Or nuts? That probably wasn't what the two women had in mind. Remembering the jar of olives Debbie kept for her non-alcoholic martinis, the teen had a stroke of genius.

"I can offer you a cheese platter with olives," he told them, watching intently for their reactions. 

The blonde tilted her head slightly in consideration but her brunette friend, whose face could use some of her companion's sharp lines with how round and lacking in definition it was, brightened. "That sounds wonderful, Charity!" she exclaimed, giving her companion's hand a pat.

Charity nodded, briefly curling her hand around the other woman's. "Very well, we'll have the cheese platter," she allowed in a cool voice, pulling a bottle of pills out of her designer handbag. "And some water to wash it down," she added.

Justin nodded professionally before rushing to put together the order. Leaning into the kitchen window, he asked the cook, "You have any of that garlic and herb cheese left from yesterday?"

Fahad looked up from the stove, where he was whipping up someone's order of spicy omelette. "Yeah, in the fridge. Why?"

"Could you hand it to me?" the blond asked.

The cook shrugged, setting the pan aside so as not to burn the eggs and walking over the fridge. He was pulling out a block of the herb cheese, when Justin noticed an unopened package of feta right next to it. "Hand me that feta too?" he asked. "I won't use all of it, I promise."

The Iranian grabbed both blocks of cheese wordlessly, plopping them down in front of Justin. "Here. Now can I go back to my omelette? Any longer and it will end up all rubbery and I'll have to throw it out."

The blond grinned. "Sure, sorry," he apologised for the interruption and quickly left the cook to his craft.

It didn't take him long after that to cut up both the cheese and the olives, spreading the food on a clean plate and drizzling a little bit of olive oil over the whole thing. He then grabbed a wicker bowl with fresh bread and carried both to table number three.

The women didn't even thank him for his efforts when he set the food in between them, just tucking into the cheese platter with manicured hands, but they did seem pleased, so Justin still counted it as a win.

"Yoo-hoo! Sunshine!" Emmett called out, getting his attention.

Justin hurried over to his friends' booth. "Yes?"

The flamboyant queen flapped his hand at an annoyed looking Brian. "The bear needs some coffee before he takes my head off," he said. "God knows why he's in such a bad mood," he added with a pointed look at the brunet.

Brian scowled even more. "I'm not in a bad mood," he grunted.

"Right," Emmett snarked, "and I'm the Queen of Sheba."

The blond grinned. "Well..." he trailed off jokingly.

Brian rolled his eyes at their antics, lip twitching slightly in suppressed amusement. "Just pour me some coffee, brat," he ordered, though his voice was fond.

Smiling, Justin grabbed a pot off the counter and topped off the brunet's cup. "Anything else I can do you for, Mr Kinney?" he flirted, leaning on the edge of the table with his hip cocked.

Brian gave him a playful smile, eyes promising various dirty things Justin could do for him as he poured in sugar and took a sip of his beverage. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the adman screwed up his face comically, eyes watering. He swallowed his mouthful painfully, coughing when he was no longer in danger of spewing the liquid out. "What the hell, Justin? Are you trying to kill me?" he rasped.

The blond belatedly realised what had happened. "Oh my God, Brian, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, hurriedly taking the offending cup from the brunet's hands. "That was special coffee for Detective Wen; I should've poured it out."

Brian looked like he had swallowed a frog. "That was coffee? Fuck," he swore. 

"I'm sorry," Justin apologised again, feeling genuinely bad. "I'm gonna go pour it out, and I'll bring you a new cup," he promised.

Brian stopped him with a tug on his apron. "Wait, Justin. Don't pour it all out; that would be a waste. Just add some water to make it weaker," he told him, face still looking pained. Then, clearing his throat, he added, "A lot of water."

Feeling completely stupid, the teen bit his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. "I'm sorry," he whispered, apologising yet again.

"Hey," Brian tugged him closer, pulling the smaller man into his lap and chucking him under the chin. "No harm done."

Justin heaved a shuddering sigh, leaning into the brunet. "I feel like an idiot. Carl even told me to be careful and not give the coffee to anyone else, and what do I do?"

Emmett patted his hand from across the table. "It could've happened to anyone, Baby," he assured him. "The diner's real busy; no wonder your head is all over the place."

Watching Harry set a plate of chilli cheese fries in front of a hungover looking queen - and how could someone already have a hangover at half past five in the afternoon? - Justin couldn't help but feel envious. The Asian looked put together, flirting whenever he went, the barely visible sheen of perspiration on his forehead the only sign of stress. Was it possible that things were starting to get a bit much for Justin?

Sinking into Brian's warm embrace a little more, Justin rubbed at his tired eyes. "I might be a little worn out," he admitted. "I didn't sleep much."  

"Table number three, order up!" came a shout from the kitchen window, accompanied by a ring of the bell. 

"And I'm off again," Justin huffed, heaving himself up from Brian's lap clumsily. Picking up the deadly carafe, he smiled at his ex - future? - lover. "Thanks, Bri, I feel a lot better."

The brunet shrugged. "Whatever. Just don't try to kill me again," he joked.

When the clock finally chimed six, Justin was ready to pack it in. The diner was no longer as crowded as it had been half an hour before, but the blond was beat. 

Sliding into the booth next to Brian, the blond dropped his head to the table surface with a groan. "I can't," he complained. "I don't want to see another customer ever again."

Brian ran a hand up and down Justin's spine, blunt nails scratching through his shirt. "Not even me?" he teased.

Justin grumbled something unintelligible. The hand on his back was making him sleepy, the ruckus of the diner becoming a comforting white noise. If he could just nap for a couple seconds-

"Jus," Brian's voice in his ear brought him back out of his half slumber. "I think the two wenches over by the window are ready to pay."

Looking up blearily, the blond could see the two swanky ladies pulling out their undoubtedly very expensive wallets, looking around for a waiter to bring them their bill.

Heaving himself up as fast as he could - he wasn't about to lose out on the money if the two women decided to just walk - he nodded at them with a smile to let them know he was on it, and walked over to the till.

The bill made thirty dollars and fifteen cents, including the improvised cheese platter. Justin carried it over, slapping a professional smile on his face and straightening his spine like a good, little, country club kid.

Sliding the check onto the table, he announced the total.

The sharp-faced blonde - Charity, if Justin remembered correctly - pulled a crisp fifty out of her Louis Vuitton wallet, handing it to the teen. "Here," she told him with a snobby half-smile. "I don't have anything smaller; you can keep the change."

Startled by the sudden generosity, he gaped at her. "Um, this is a lot. Are you sure, madam?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied primly. "You've done a perfectly adequate job of serving us today, so you deserve some compensation."

Huh. Rich people were ridiculous, he thought to himself. "Thank you very much, madam," he said. Then, nodding politely first at Charity and then at Round Face, he told them cheerfully, "We'll be happy to have you back."

"I'm sure you will," Round Face replied equally as enthusiastically, gathering her things. She was probably just happy she hadn't had to pay, Justin reckoned.

When he returned to where Brian and Emmett were still sitting, he showed them the note with President Grant's face. "They just tipped me almost twenty bucks," he told them in amazement.

Brian snorted. "Stuck-up show-offs," he commented.

The blond shrugged. "I don't even care, because this," he waved the money in front of Brian's face pointedly, "was worth all the effort I put into serving those two." 

Emmett clapped his hands excitedly. "At least now you have some cash to go shopping with me. We'll get you some new shoes!" he exclaimed.

Justin rubbed at the back of his neck self-consciously. "Yeah," he mumbled, scuffing the duct-taped toe of his left shoe against the floor. "I guess my trainers have seen better days."

Brian snorted. "That's an understatement," he commented a little snidely. "What did you do, run them through a wood chipper?"

Glaring at his ex, the blond retorted, "Not everyone can afford a new pair of Prada, or whatever those are, every other week." He motioned towards Brian's pair of brown winter loafers.

"Pravda," Emmett sniggered.

"Gucci," the brunet corrected him, glaring at both of them.

Was there actually a Pravda line of shoes? Justin shrugged, a trifle embarrassed that he didn't know. "Whatever," he mumbled, feeling defensive. "Not all of us are label queens."

"Clearly," the brunet muttered, eyeing Justin's taped-up shoes. "Those are a disgrace."

"Just ignore the Big Bad," Emmett recommended. "His eyes aren't really focused on your feet, Sweetie."

Brian went to argue some more, when he noticed the pinkening of Justin's cheeks. The boy was embarrassed, he realised. "True," he agreed with Emmett, instead of needling the teen again. "You have other assets that easily overshadow your horrible footwear."

Justin rolled his eyes, cocking his hip. "Let me guess - my ass?"

Going for the kill, Brian leaned closer, looking Justin dead in the eye. "Your smile, I meant," he disclosed, ignoring the stifled "Aww" coming from Emmett at his words.

The blond blushed furiously, a bright smile tugging at his lips. "Really?"

Brian rolled his lips in between his teeth, giving Justin a raised eyebrow. Score one for Kinney, he thought victoriously.

"We may not be able to improve on that glorious smile of yours, Baby," the tall queen declared, "but we can certainly find some sexy briefs to properly showcase your second-best feature. When is it, again, that your shift ends?"

"Um," Justin consulted his cheap Timex, blinking in surprise when he realised it was past six o'clock. "Eighteen minutes ago?"

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Emmett asked. "Go get rid of your apron and we'll be on our merry way."

"Harry," the blond called as the Asian waiter returned from the back of the eatery, "have you seen Kiks?"

"No," Harry groaned, setting a tub of dirty dishes on the table between Brian and Emmett, before placing his hands on his hips and leaning from side to side to stretch out his back. 

Brian reared back from the dirty dishes, wondering what the congealed green stuff could be that was crusted on a number of plates. It looked suspiciously like regurgitated spinach.

With a cheeky grin, the Vietnamese waiter continued, "But I'm looking forward to giving the tranny a taste of her own medicine. I'll razz her all night about showing up late and leaving it to me to pick up the slack."

"Well, if you really want to pour it on thick, you won't mind if I leave now, right?" Justin asked, grinning at Harry.

The Asian boy heaved a gusty sigh as a large group of customers trooped into the diner. "I must have been insane to pick up an extra shift on a Saturday," he griped. "But yeah, you can go, Jus. You've covered for me more times than I can count."

"I'm outta here then," the blond announced, removing his apron and handing it to Harry. He then turned to his flamboyant friend, inquiring, "How are you at speed shopping, Em?"

"What?" Emmett squawked. "One should never shop in haste."

Brian snorted. "You tell him," he cheered on the flashy queen. "The one time I took Justin with me, he complained the whole time about how long it was all taking. He behaved like a complete straight guy."

"Please," Justin demurred. "No one but you would take an hour to decide between three sleeveless shirts in identical shades of black."

"Oh, I bet the fabric was different, right?" Emmett questioned excitedly. "That can have a big impact on how the fabric feels, how the light reflects off the material, whether it clings to your skin."

Brian had to laugh at the way the blond brat's eyes had glazed over, clearly bored to death even by the short discussion. "Good luck with getting Justin to wear clothes from anyplace other than the Gap," he told Emmett.

"At least it's a step up from the Big Q," the southerner commented, shrugging philosophically as he slid out of the booth.

"Some step up," Brian mumbled under his breath, catching Justin's hand as the blond turned to move away from the table. "Hey, no kiss goodbye?" he complained, shifting around so that he was sitting sideways on the bench.

The blond looked around, as if checking whether anyone was watching, before moving into the V of Brian's legs. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" the teenager teased, eyes dipping to watch the brunet's lips.

Tugging his boy closer still, Brian hmmed in agreement. "I would. Now gimme, Sunshine."

Justin chuckled, shaking his head slowly in amusement, as he leaned down to peck Brian's mouth. "Like that?"

With a hand on the back of the lad's neck, Brian brought his head down some more, so he could kiss him properly. Justin propped his hands high on the brunet's thighs for balance, and they both moaned into the kiss as their tongues slid together. 

They only separated when Emmett cleared his throat. "As much as I am loving the show," the queen deliberated, "I think you said something about not having much time?"

Pulling away from Brian, Justin licked his lips. "Yeah, sorry, Em," he apologised, eyes not leaving Brian's face.

The queen cleared his throat again. "Guys!"

Emmett clasped a hand to the front of his neck, rasping, "Cripes, Baby," as he and Justin finally exited the diner. "I have a sore throat from how many times I had to clear it before you two lovebirds finally separated."

"Those are too expensive, Em," Justin complained, eyeing the skimpy, cobalt blue briefs his tall friend was dangling in front of him.

"You get what you pay for," his tall friend opined, waving the sexy briefs to and fro.

Justin giggled. "Next to nothing?"

Glancing down at the scanty undergarment, the queen burst out laughing. "In this case," he asserted, "less is more."

The teenager cast a skeptical look at Emmett.

"It's true," the flamboyant man insisted. "The more of your luscious tush that's exposed, the better."

Maybe his baggy tighty-whities weren't so bad Justin thought, suddenly unsure about displaying even more skin. "Erm, will those even cover my package?" the boy asked, eyeing askance the insubstantial garment.

"They expand," Emmett declared, winking at the blond as he stretched the blue briefs between his hands. "Come on," he encouraged the indecisive teen, "this colour will really set off that porcelain skin of yours, Baby."

"What if I buy these instead?" Justin suggested, picking up a plastic-wrapped packet with three briefs inside, each a different colour. "They cost only a buck more than the ones you're holding; there's three of them; and this shade of blue isn't bad."

"Please, honey, how can you say that?" Emmett objected, flapping one hand agitatedly. "You're an artist, for fuck's sake. That pale shade of blue would be horrible against your skin. It'd make you look like you're anaemic or something."

"But I really can't afford them," Justin spluttered. "And I need more than one pair; I can hardly wear the same pair two days in a row."

The sales clerk, probably scenting a sale, sidled over to Justin and Emmett at that moment. He looked the blond up and down, his eyes lingering on the boy's behind. "I know you from somewhere," he said, his brow furrowing; "I could never forget a shapely derriere like yours."

Justin giggled at the more polite version of Debbie's "I never forget a butt," remembering turning around in Woody's so that the redhead could examine his behind.

"That's undoubtedly because you're used to seeing the lad unclothed," Emmett remarked.

"No," the man mused, rubbing his chin, "I definitely haven't seen that delectable rear end at my favourite strip club. I'd have no trouble recognising it, naked or not."

"Wrong type of club," Em informed the salesman.

"Aha! You're the newest go-go boy at Babylon," the bloke finally identified Justin. "If I'd seen you before Smythe got his hands on you, I'd have sent you over to Dick's Cabaret. It's not too late, you know; a luscious boy like you would be swimming in Benjamins."

Despite his embarrassment, Justin giggled some more as his mind came up with a picture of himself surrounded by clones of Professor Ben, instead of hundred dollar bills.

"Baby's just fine where he is," Emmett declared, interposing his body between the oily clerk and Justin when the man tried to cop a feel of the blond's arse. "What we could do for you, however," he proposed, "is tell all the fags in Babylon exactly where he purchases his briefs - and give them your name so you get the sales commissions."

"In return for?" the man inquired warily.

"Nothing much," Emmett replied. "Just, say, three pairs of these briefs for the price of one."

"But they're our most expensive underpants!" the clerk squawked.

"They'll be selling like hotcakes," the southerner wheedled. "And none of the fags we tell about your shop will quibble at the asking price, not if they think the briefs will make their tushes look like Baby's."

"Geesh, Em, that clerk was putty in your hands," Justin stated admiringly as they hoofed it over to Second Hand Job a few minutes later. "You really know how to strike a bargain."

"Pfft. That was nothing, especially since I was being honest about that obsequious little toad experiencing an influx of new customers," the nelly queen pronounced. "He's not fool enough to believe that no one else will dicker over the cost of the briefs; they're adorable but vastly overpriced. Even with me making a deal for you, he'll still have earned a ten to fifteen percent profit. Marking items way up is just a trick of the trade."

"Are you giving away salesgirl secrets?" someone inquired coyly before emitting a husky laugh.

Glancing to his left, Justin exclaimed in delight, "Marvella!" He was so busy chatting with Em that he hadn't realised they were already at the consignment shop.

"Doll," the drag queen greeted him, placing air kisses on either side of his face. "And I remember you from the garage sale," she addressed Emmett, eyeing him appreciatively. "You have a wonderful sense of style, hon."

Em preened, twirling around to show off his outfit. "I'm Emmett Honeycutt," he introduced himself. "I've been dying to check out your little boutique. It's ever so much nicer than Torso, where I'm stuck whiling away my days until I get my party planning business off the ground."

"Huh." Marvella tapped an orange-polished fingernail against her chin. "I've been planning to have a grand opening shindig for Second Hand Job. If I give you the deets, maybe you can come up with some suggestions?"

"Grand openings are my specialty," Emmett claimed.

The blond hastily stifled a laugh since, as far as he knew, the first opening gala that his friend would handle was the one for Kinnetik.

"What's in the bag, doll?" Marvella inquired as she finished hanging up a couple of garments on the outdoor bargain rack and led the way into the shop.

"Just the most darling briefs ever," Emmett answered for Justin. "Baby's going to drive the fags at Babylon mad with lust when he wiggles around on the bar while wearing them tonight."

"There's really only one fag I want lusting after me," Justin confessed as he pulled out the briefs.

"Oh, honey, Big Bad's tongue will be hanging down to his knees when he gets an eyeful of you in these underpants," Emmett assured him.

"Big Bad?" Marvella arched her eyebrows in inquiry.

"He's just a wannabe bad boy, like James Dean," Emmett cavalierly dismissed Brian with a wave of his hand.

"Or Patrick Swayze," Justin giggled.

"Swayze was fucking hot in Dirty Dancing," Marvella commented, a dreamy look on her face.

"Speaking of dancing, do you have any tips for teaching someone to dance in heels?" Emmett asked. 

Justin groaned. 

"Are the lessons for this cutie pie?" Marvella inquired, reaching out to pinch the blond's cheek.

"Baby's a natural at dancing, so I don't think it'll take too long for him to get the hang of it, as long as he practices walking around in high heels. It's another friend of ours that really needs the help; he's not the smoothest mover to start with, ya know?"

"You should have him wear pumps then instead of trying to master high heels," Marvella recommended. "Nothing looks worse on the dance floor than some dork tripping over their own feet. I've entered many a ballroom dance competition, and you wouldn't believe the fools I've seen staggering around - some of them couldn't even stand up in heels."

"That sounds just like Teddy," Emmett lamented. "He barely made it through the first rendition of In the Gay-rage while wearing men's loafers."

"Oh!" Marvella stamped one stiletto-shod foot against the floor. "I was so miffed when I heard about your impromptu performance - I would've joined you lads if I'd still been at the garage sale."

"Why don't you join us this time?" Justin proposed, a bright smile on his face. "We're going to have our reprise at the diner as part of the Christmas Day celebrations."

"My bloke would love that." The drag queen smiled back at Justin. "He's never seen me perform."

"It's a deal!" Emmett squealed, clapping his hands and jumping up and down. "Liberty Avenue will never have seen the like."

And never would again, Justin thought, if he had anything to say about it. How in the heck had he gotten roped into this anyway? "Um, Marvella, do you have any size nine-and-a-half trainers in stock?" he asked, wishing he didn't have to reveal what a small foot he had. "A nine would be even better."

"I don't have any men's sneakers in that size, but I have two pairs for women, one of which might fit you," Marvella responded after consulting a chart at her counter.

"Uh, do they look girly? I don't want to end up wearing hot pink trainers."

"Baby," Emmett intervened, "they'd still look better than the raggedy pair you have on. I don't think that purple duct tape will keep the sole of your right shoe connected to the upper for much longer."

Glancing down at Justin's feet, Marvella concurred, "Those need to go directly into the dustbin. If the women's trainers don't fit, or if you don't like the colours - one pair is pink, although it's more of a pale pink - there's a pair of children's high-tops that might do. They're plain white, so they'd go with anything."

Justin crossed his fingers that the child-sized shoes would fit. He didn't want to wear girl's shoes; he'd never hear the end of it if Em spilled the beans in front of the gang. Not that pink wouldn't be a dead giveaway, but an inoffensive white should pass inspection.

Marvella must've guessed what he was thinking because she chuckled and led him toward the children's section at the back of the store. "You do realise that you're gonna end up wearing the girliest of shoes on Christmas Day, right, doll?"

"Yeah, but that's just a one-off," Justin explained. "It's not like I have to live with them on a daily basis."

"Here they are," Marvella declared, grabbing the pair of aforementioned high-tops. "You might want to take these over to the adult section and sit on the bench there; your tushie isn't child-sized, doll."

"Uh, yeah," Justin agreed, his cheeks flaming. He hoped there'd be no reason for Marvella to mention his other ‘oversized' bit of anatomy. All in all, he mused, he'd far rather have small feet than be shortchanged in more important areas.

"Wow! These are a perfect fit," the blond exclaimed, his feet sliding right into the sports shoes. After lacing them up, he stood, reached down to make sure he had a bit of wiggle room at the toe, and then walked around the store, browsing through the items Marvella had on sale. He stopped when he came to a pair of dark brown, cashmere-lined, leather gloves that looked brand new. He probably couldn't afford them, but he couldn't resist trying them on. A sigh of pleasure escaped his lips as the material caressed his skin, warmth encasing his fingers. Naturally, the darned things fit perfectly.

Justin winced when he looked at the price tag; like he'd expected, they were expensive, even if the price was much reduced from what he'd pay in a department store. Maybe he could still swing the purchase if the high-tops didn't cost too much? Rather than take the shoes off to check the price, Justin trotted over to the counter, where Emmett and Marvella had their heads bent over a catalogue of what appeared to be women's wigs.

Both queens looked up as he approached, Emmett slyly teasing, "Those shoes look great, Baby. No one would ever guess they're children's shoes."

Ignoring the mischievous southerner's remark, Justin queried, "How much are you asking for the high-tops?"

"Five dollars," Marvella responded.

"What?" The teenager gaped at the drag queen. "They look like they've barely been worn."

Marvella shrugged. "I've had them in stock since the store opened. Really, I don't do that much business in children's clothes and shoes; that's why I keep the inventory to a minimum. You're actually doing me a favour buying them for five dollars; the next stop for them would otherwise be the Goodwill."

"In that case, I'll take these too," Justin decided, placing the toasty warm gloves on the counter.

While Marvella rang up the items, he extracted his wallet from the pocket of his cargos and laid three twenties on the counter.

The drag queen promptly slid one of the twenties back over to him. "That's too much, doll." After opening the till, she dropped six dollars and some change on top of the twenty.

Justin narrowed his eyes at Marvella. "Are you giving me some kind of preferential treatment?" he accused her.

Marvella boomed out a laugh. "Nope. I just run different specials every day of the week. It's ‘Leather Saturday' so all leather goods are half off. There's a sign on the front door," she added when Justin stared at her doubtfully.

"Crap!" the lad blurted out when the bells from the Our Lady of Fatima church started chiming the hour. "It's already eight o'clock. I can't believe I'm gonna be late for the second day in a row." He snagged his change from the counter, crammed it into his pocket along with his wallet and dashed toward the door.

"Calm down, Baby," Emmett tried to ease the teen's worry, his long-legged stride allowing him to easily keep pace with Justin. "There's not much happening at Babylon this early, and even allowing time for you to change, you won't be more than twenty minutes late."

"I'm having a hard time staying on top of everything," the teen admitted as they hotfooted it toward the club. "Between school, three jobs, and tutoring the girls, it seems like I'm always running late for something. And I'm so fucking tired all the time."

"Maybe you should drop the job that's wearing you out the most. I'm guessing that it's either the diner or dance gig that's the problem," Em commented diplomatically.

"It's the dancing that really gets to me," Justin acknowledged. "My legs feel like wet noodles after six hours, and I'm just generally wiped out. Plus, I only get a few hours of sleep before I have to get up and study, or be at the diner for an early shift."

"I don't like to see you running yourself ragged like this," his tall friend said, the concern evident in his voice. "I wouldn't mind, you know," he joked, "if you stopped dancing on the bar. I'd still get to watch you shake your tail feathers on the dance floor; in fact, we could dance together - just like old times."

Justin smiled at the southerner. "I miss dancing with you too, Em. I really hate to lose the income, though, so I'm going to give it a go" - he giggled at the unintended pun - "until the end of the year and then reassess after that. I don't want to leave Arthur in the lurch over the holidays since that's such a busy time at the club."

"Don't you worry about Mr Smythe. He already has plenty of lads lined up to be go-go boys. That kind of job is a revolving door; no one sticks with it for long. And no amount of money is worth continuing a job that's detrimental to your health," he insisted as they reached the steps leading into the club.

"You're right." Justin sighed. Maybe he should just quit now, so he could be sure to do justice to his freelance work for Brian? No, he determined, his chin jutting out stubbornly, he could keep going for at least a couple more weeks, especially since, after next Friday, he'd be free of school for the holiday break.

"Here," Em said, breaking into his thoughts as he pulled a bright blue scarf out of the bag he was carrying, and looped it around the teen's neck. "This is for you, Baby."

"What? Why?" Justin sputtered.

"It matches your eyes," came Emmett's response. "Now shoo. You don't want to be even later than you already are."

Justin smiled as he jogged up the stairs to the club, turning to wave at his friend just before he disappeared through the door. Five minutes later as he jumped onto the bar, wearing his new briefs, he was still smiling.

Brian powered down his computer, rubbing at his tired eyes. The right advert for Mr Gizmo's business still evaded him, but he had at least done most of his research - checking out competition, figuring out what worked and what didn't.

He'd opted not to go to Babylon tonight and watch his boy dance; the blond brat was becoming too accustomed to Brian chasing after him, and a short absence should ratchet up the lad's lust before he implemented the next phase in his plan of seduction.

Now, however, he was wound tight and in need of some relaxation. His whole body felt a little restless, and his dick was throbbing in unsatiated arousal. It was only now that he realised he hadn't had sex in a remarkably long time.

Perhaps he had been hasty in turning off his computer, he thought, debating whether he should go and order himself a companion for the night through one of his bookmarked websites. Then again, a highly sought after stud like him shouldn't really have to pay for sex; he could find a trick within five minutes of stepping outside his loft.

Heaving himself up off the bed, where he had been working on his laptop, Brian went to pick out an appropriate outfit. If he was going on the pull, he had to look his best, and the faded jeans he had donned after coming home weren't going to cut it.

Reaching for a midnight blue Gucci shirt that he hadn't worn yet, Brian came to a halt as he noticed something behind it in the far corner of the closet. He leaned down and picked up the crumpled material, unravelling it, only to recognise one of Justin's paint-splattered T-shirts.

"Fuck," he whispered, heaving a disappointed sigh. He couldn't go out tricking, not now when he was so close to getting Justin where he wanted him - safe and sound back in his bed. Operation Twat Retrieval was nearing its successful conclusion, and Brian wasn't going to jeopardise it. Especially as him not being able to keep it in his pants was what had blown up in his face the last time - the hustler escapade was still fresh in his mind - so there was no need to repeat his mistakes.

Still in desperate need of getting off and with no way to relieve himself, Brian flopped down on the bed in frustration.

Maybe he could just jerk off again to memories of Justin, he thought with a full-body shiver. Plus, his glass dildo was in his bedside drawer, just waiting to be used.

His gaze falling on the closed laptop he had left on the covers beside him, he got another idea. Or, he grinned, he could watch some porn and jerk off to that. He was always up for fresh material, and he had saved up some videos he hadn't had the time to watch yet.

Powering up the computer again, he quickly navigated his folders before clicking on the one named, "Accounting - June 1999." He then proceeded to scroll through the videos, reading the names as he went.

He paused at one called "A blond twink riding a muscled stud" but in the end decided it hit a bit too close to home and scrolled past.

Dismissing "Two muscled studs in a steam room" and "A hung black bottom drilled by a white stud," he finally settled on "A locker room gang bang."

Grabbing a bottle of lube, his glass dildo, and some tissues to clean up with, he moved the party over to the sofa. He undressed completely before spreading himself comfortably across his Italian Moda couch.

Hitting the play button on the video, he assessed the actors. There were five of them - one twink with light brown hair and four hunky tops. He promptly skipped the boring part - avoiding the bad acting and the scene setup.

Then, pouring a small amount of lube on his half-hard cock, he began watching.

The twink was sitting astride a bench, his face right at waist height as the hunks moved in on him. Brian watched the lithe man wrap his mouth around the first cock that got shoved into his face, and slid a loose fist along his own shaft.

"That's it," the guy on the screen urged the boy on. "Mmm, yeah, suck that big cock."

Brian enjoyed the slow slip and slide of his lubricated hand as he watched the blowjob scene unfold, soft moans and snuffling sounds filling his living room.

Soon, another cock was slapping the side of the twink's head, prompting him to move over and start sucking the new treat, a tanned hand guiding his mouth up and down the shaft.

Brian sped up his movement, eyeing the spit-slick lips of the enthusiastic cocksucker. He ran a thumb right across the head of his cock, spreading the pre-come around, his breath hitching slightly. He did it again, gripping his erection tighter, and didn't bother to stop the moan that escaped him at the increased sensations. It didn't take long before his loud moans and groans joined the cacophony of sounds coming from his laptop.

"I wanna get a taste of that ass," said a Latino guy, who had the biggest dick of all the actors. "On your stomach," he commanded. 

The twink did as he was told and lay face down on the bench, revealing his pale, tight ass to the camera. "Oh, yeah," one of the hunks moaned, as the Latino grabbed hold of the twink's cheeks and spread them apart.

Brian watched as the man licked up and down the tempting hole in front of him for a couple of minutes, before finally sticking his tongue inside.

Feeling a pleasant tingle run through his abdomen, Brian slowed down the movements of his hand. He glanced at the glass dildo he had set on the couch cushion next to his hip and decided to move things along. Slicking up a couple of his fingers, he spread himself open and began to lightly tease his hole.

Meanwhile, the scene on the laptop screen also progressed. The Latino guy had spread a small amount of lube along his wide cock and was now slowly pushing into the slender bottom. The twink whined loudly, fingers clenching and unclenching as the big shaft impaled him.

Pressing the tip of his forefinger inside his hole, Brian watched as another cock filled the twink's mouth, causing the lad's cheeks to bulge with the enormous mouthful as he eagerly started sucking. The guy behind him started to slowly move in and out of his ass, hips thrusting in regular movements.

Brian pushed his finger deeper into himself, pelvis rising off the cushion to get a better angle and ease the way. He brushed against his prostate at the same exact moment a splash of come painted the twink's face on-screen.

Watching as the Latino hunk pulled his cock back out of the bottom and stepped away to make room for another top, Brian pressed in a second finger. The twink was forcibly rolled onto his back, ending up staring innocently at the four guys.

Brian scissored his fingers, stretching himself as best as he could, sensing the video would soon reach the best part and wanting to be ready for it. On-screen, two cocks were shoved into the lad's face, prompting him to open wide and take the heads of both of them into his wet heat.

"Ah!" Brian cried out as his fingers pressed against the bundle of nerves inside of him a little too harshly, jolting his whole body. His yelp was joined by a loud whine from the twink, whose legs had been spread wide by another guy as he plunged inside of his willing body.

"Fuck, he loves this," the guy commented. "He's so tight."

Saliva began to dribble down the bottom's chin, and Brian braved a third finger. He was going to be ready soon, he thought as his hole stretched to accommodate the new addition.

Brian was now fucking his fingers in and out of himself, ragged breaths escaping him involuntarily as he watched the screen intently. The bottom was writhing under the ministrations of the four guys - one cock inside of his ass, two in his mouth, and the remaining one being jerked off right above his perky nipples.

Losing his patience, Brian deemed himself ready enough for the next step and grabbed for his dildo. He lubed it up thoroughly before lightly pressing it against his opening.

He teased himself with the smooth shaft, eyes focused on the video. The current top let out a guttural growl as his balls drew closer to his body, before a full body shudder ran through him as he came.

"Fuck, yeah!" he yelled, emptying inside of the twink. He pulled out to let the camera see his shiny come dripping out of the loosened asshole.

"Lift him up," said the guy who had been jerking his dick above the boy's torso. The bottom was immediately pulled up to his feet, weak knees barely supporting his weight.

Brian pressed just the tip of his dildo inside, enjoying the fullness, before retreating again. Sweat was beading on his chest, tanned skin now glistening in the weak evening light. He must make a really nice picture, he thought to himself, with how wantonly he was spread across the couch - cock hard and hole stuffed.

Arousal tingled insistently in his belly. He watched as the top lay down on the vacated bench, shaft standing erect. "Now come and ride me," he demanded of the twink.

The boy stood astride the hunk and slowly lowered his ass onto the dick, whining loudly. Brian filled his own ass with the dildo at the same pace, using the visual to stoke his simmering arousal. The big glass head slid against his prostate firmly, which caused his legs to jerk.

"Fuck!" he yelped. He was a little more sensitive than usual, he noticed absentmindedly, pressing against the bundle of nerves again and again, enjoying the strong reaction of his body.

The hunk on the screen began to bounce the twink on his cock, increasing his speed in small increments until the boy squealed, before he wrapped his arms around the lithe man's back and brought him to his chest firmly.
"All right, let's get another dick in that ass," the Latino guy suggested, stepping forward.

And Brian's eyes widened along with the twink's, as the generously endowed man pushed his large member against his already full hole.

"Come on, relax," the guy instructed, and Brian unconsciously held his breath as he watched the twink's ass stretch in order to allow the intrusion.

"Fuuuck!" Brian moaned, voice intermingled with the bottom's high-pitched whine.

The second the guy buried himself inside the tight ass, he started thrusting.

Brian sped up his own thrusts with the dildo, nudging his prostate on every pass. He could already feel the heat coiling in his groin, his orgasm imminent.

"Oh my God, yes! Yes!" the bottom pleaded, eyes closed and mouth open.

Brian fucked himself even harder. The muscles in his legs began to spasm, his hole clenching rhythmically, and his dick was so engorged, it looked like it would burst.

"Oh fuck, yes!" the guy lying underneath the twink yelled, groaning through his orgasm as he shot his load. The Latino, however, kept going - his dick squelching in and out.

Brian was teetering on the brink, body wound tight, one hand working fast between his legs as the glass dildo drilled his prostate, the other sliding along his length once again.

"Yeah," he husked. "Come on."

The sounds in his living room were slowly reaching a crescendo, the tension rising as the actors on his screen also neared their release. Then, the top's balls tightened; the twink arched his back; and - after a second of complete silence - the guys on the screen groaned out their climax.

Brian shuddered and squirmed violently as his own orgasm overwhelmed his body, a loud whine escaping his throat. His vision whited out as warm come splattered all across his abdomen.

When he came to a while later, he was all sticky with both sweat and his rapidly cooling semen; the glass dildo was still hanging out of his abused hole; and the laptop screen was dark.