Justin rolled over in his bed, goosebumps forming on his skin as he flailed around for the blankets. All he succeeded in doing, though, was knocking over the bedside clock and triggering the alarm, which started blaring. The lad shot up in the bed, his fuzzy blond hair making him look like a newly hatched chick, and fumbled for the button to turn off the alarm. "Fuck you," he grumbled at Captain Astro, who - in his new, sideways position - appeared to be giving him the finger.

As he righted the clock, Justin read the time in dismay. Five oh fucking eight. He'd been asleep for barely two-and-a-half hours; it wasn't even light out yet, for Pete's sake. Shutting off the alarm, he grabbed the covers from the floor and flopped back down on the bed, certain he'd immediately fall back to sleep.

No such luck. He shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position, but it felt like he was sleeping on rocks. Wait... could BOB have somehow gotten under the mattress cover, maybe when Debbie was changing the bed linens? An early morning session with the toy would be just the trick to help him fall back asleep, he thought excitedly.

He stumbled out of bed, his legs tangling in the blankets he'd just tugged back up. Once he'd freed his legs, he dumped everything on the floor, reached down to unhook the mattress pad from the foot up the bed, and eagerly pushed it up toward the headboard. He expected to discover BOB at any moment, pouting in disappointment when the only thing he found was a Bounce dryer sheet.

Where the fuck else could the dildo be hiding? the perplexed lad wondered. As he stared at the headboard, it dawned on him that the toy might've slipped between the mattress and the wall. In fact, that used to be one of his favourite places to hide his porn stash, and his lips curling in amusement, he wondered if Jennifer had ever discovered the mags. 

Justin grabbed hold of the mattress and attempted to pull it away from the wall. The lumpy, old thing was fucking heavy, he thought, panting from his exertions. There wasn't any kind of thudding sound, indicating the dildo had landed on the floor, but it could still be stuck between the box springs and the wall. Snatching a ruler from the desk, he ran it along the head of the bed, but didn't meet any kind of obstruction. Dammit. He peered under the bed for good measure, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

The lad stared at the mess he'd made, completely lacking the energy to wrestle the mattress back into place and remake the bed. He might be up, but he hardly felt awake - he'd actually been planning to sleep in since he had a rare day off from the diner. Maybe he could study now and squeeze in a nap later? A nap sounded really tempting; he couldn't remember the last time he'd indulged in that kind of luxury.

In desperate need of caffeine, he headed to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, his eyes sliding closed as it dripped into the carafe. He needed to empty his bladder, but couldn't summon the energy to stagger over to the downstairs loo, barely making it as far as the table.

He must've fallen asleep there, because the next thing he knew, a hand was on his shoulder, shaking him awake. 

"Sunshine," Debbie murmured in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

"Huh?" Justin's head shot up. "Wha?"

"What are you doing down here so early?" his mum asked, running a hand through his uncombed hair.

"Um," Justin hesitated, looking around blearily as he waited for his brain to turn on properly. "I couldn't sleep," he finally said.

Debs chuckled. "I can see that, Sunshine," she commented, before yawning widely. "Ah, excuse me."

The blond just yawned back, mouth pressed open against his hand, eyes watering.

Vic, who had slowly descended the stairs, shook his head at them amusedly. "You two look ridiculous. Sit down, Debs, before you fall over. I'll get you the coffee."

Justin eyed Vic in concern as he puttered around the kitchen, collecting coffee mugs, spoons, and cream from the fridge. The older man looked peaked and was moving rather gingerly. "Did you have trouble sleeping too?" he inquired of the siblings, not wanting to single Vic out. 

"I have an early shift." Debbie's jaw cracked as she yawned again. "I woke Vic as I was banging about, looking for something clean to wear."

"What're you making us for breakfast?" Vic teased as he joined them at the table, placing the carafe of hot coffee on the rooster trivet. "I thought I smelled bacon and eggs; that's what actually lured me downstairs."

"Lemme inhale some caffeine and I'll get right on it," Justin offered as he poured himself a cup, adding cream so it'd cool down faster.

"That's not necessary," Debbie protested. "I can always grab something at the diner."

"I've got it," Justin insisted, gulping down some of the coffee and standing up. "I could do with a bite to eat." His stomach rumbled, emphasising his claim, as he took the eggs and bacon from the fridge.

"You're never gonna grow," Debbie kidded, "if you don't feed the beast."

Blushing, the lad reflected ruefully that if all that was necessary for growth was feeding the ‘beast,' he should be at least a foot taller by now. Logically, he was aware that he could still grow over the next three years, but it sure as fuck didn't seem likely; he hadn't gained so much as a quarter of an inch in height since he was sixteen. He consoled himself for the bazillionth time, however, that the inches had gone somewhere even more important as he bustled around the kitchen. 

With a skillet heating on the cooker, he quickly whisked together the eggs and milk. He didn't want to pour the mixture into the pan, though, until he'd started the bacon. He frowned as he looked in one cupboard and then another - where the heck had he seen the blasted thing?

"You going blind, Kiddo?" Debbie quipped. "The larger frying pan was right underneath the one you're using for the eggs."

"We'd better feed him more carrots," Vic opined solemnly.

"Aha!" Justin exclaimed, stretching a hand to the back of the cabinet and holding aloft a box that looked like it had never been opened.

"Oh, that's one of those ‘As seen on TV' thingamajigs," Debbie said dismissively. "Why Michael thought I'd want that when I have a perfectly good frying pan, I have no idea. I told him he should just take it back to the Big Q."

"These bacon cookers for the microwave are, like, really cool," Justin enthused, a little surprised that Michael would've gotten such a nifty item for Debbie. He removed the ‘bacon wave' from the box, washed it off, and patted it dry, explaining, "You just arrange as many slices of bacon as you want on the rack and allow one minute per slice. The fat drains to the bottom of the dish, so it's much healthier, you know?"

"You used one of those at the loft?" Vic asked, eyeing the item with interest.

The blond lad started giggling. "As if Brian would allow bacon grease to contaminate his kitchen. My, uh, mum" - he paused for a moment, considering how strange it felt to refer to Jennifer that way - "she has one of these."

"Huh," Debbie commented a little later, crunching down on her last piece of bacon, "this really doesn't taste bad. Cleaning that thing's gonna be a bitch, though," she added, gesturing at the ‘bacon wave.'

"Not really," Justin disagreed. "I'll just wipe the fat off the tray - it can also be drained into, like, an empty milk carton once it cools a little - rinse it, and stick it in the dishwasher. The only problem is that the plastic's kinda flimsy. My mum was on her third one when-" Flustered, he stopped speaking. It really didn't bother him anymore that his parents had kicked him out, but it was bloody awkward to talk about it.

Vic patted him on the arm, probably thinking he needed consoling. "What with Michael's store discount, we can replace it when we need to. I vote for using the bacon gizmo from now on."

Grinning at the way the word ‘gizmo' peppered their conversations ever since he'd told them about the Canadian with the assembly line gadget - if he ever met the bloke again, he'd have to be careful not to call him Mr Gizmo - Justin questioned, "Hey, are there any of those white chocolate cookies left?" He could use something sweet to help jump-start his brain, and Debbie's new addition to her Christmas biscuits was already one of his favourites.

"Nah, sorry," Debs replied. "Michael ate the last of them yesterday when he stopped by. I can whip up another batch this afternoon, if you'd like."

Although he was disappointed, the teenager tried to hide it. He could hardly blame Michael for liking the same cookies, and he definitely didn't want to put his mum to any trouble. "Oh, no thank you. You don't have to do that," he mumbled.

"Don't be silly, Sunshine." Debbie whacked him lightly on the back of his head. "I'm gonna be baking up a storm all through the holidays."

"Well, then," Vic interjected, eyes twinkling, "I'll take-"

"The molasses crinkles and some gingerbread wands," the redhead finished for him, smiling fondly at her brother. "I'll make at least one of those and the white chocolate ones today. You lads need fattening up."

"Don't mention ‘fat' around Brian," Justin giggled as he stood up and collected the dishes, "or he'll run out the door and we won't see him for weeks."

Rising from the table, Debbie claimed, "That ragazzo is too skinny, but I know exactly how to deal with him."

"Yeah," Vic inserted, chuckling, "just make sure Brian sits next to Sunshine, so he can eat off his plate."

Justin grinned to himself as he rinsed off the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. "Whose plate did he eat off before?" he wondered aloud.

"Oh, he'd occasionally make a big production out of stealing a couple fries off Michael's plate," Deb replied, taking a last swig of her coffee and setting the cup down in the sink. "That was all for show, though; it's nothing like the way he eats a good third of whatever you help yourself to, Sunshine." She fondly ruffled Justin's hair, adding, "You're good for him, Kiddo. I've never seen him so at ease with someone else."

"Really?" Justin looked at her in surprise. "Not even-"

"Michael," Vic jumped in, finishing Justin's question. "Sure, they've been best friends since they were fourteen, but Brian relates to you differently. You're smar- uh," he ground to a halt.

A stern expression on her face, Deb shook her index finger at her brother before bursting out laughing. "Michael might not be the sharpest pencil in the drawer," she allowed. "But he's got the biggest heart ever."

His brain instantly substituted ‘hard-on for Brian' for the last couple of words his mum had uttered, and Justin had to quickly swallow the snicker that threatened to escape. Remembering how Michael had been supportive during the confrontation with Hobbs, he conceded that the brunet did sometimes show his ‘heart' towards him, although he was still convinced that he was the man's least favourite person. "Hmm," Justin murmured while smiling at Debbie.

The redhead smiled back, apparently taking that for assent, before glancing at her watch and yelling, "Shit! I was supposed to be at the diner three minutes ago."

"Go on," the blond lad urged, wiping his damp hands off on a dish towel and following his mum into the entryway. "I'll get the door behind you."

"Don't let it hit me on the way out," Debbie cackled, shrugging on her coat as she rushed through the door Justin was holding open.

The teenager was grinning as he grabbed the Post-Gazette from the stoop, closed the door, and returned to the kitchen.

"Don't you look like the cat that caught the canary," Vic observed as Justin handed him the newspaper and topped up their coffee before starting a new pot percolating.

"It's weird, you know?" the lad mused as he finished cleaning up from their breakfast. "Before everything went down with me being gay and getting kicked out, I had it pretty good. I mean, I always knew I was loved, even if my dad was sort of distant and disapproving. But" - he gestured vaguely around the kitchen - "I never had as much fun as I've had with you and Debs. Heck, I didn't know a family could be like this."

"Rude and crude but socially acceptable?" Vic joked.

Justin shook his arse and deliberately punned, "Mine certainly is."

Leering wickedly, Vic recommended, "You'd better take that very fine butt of yours upstairs, Kiddo, plonk it down at your desk, and study. I won't be held responsible for getting social if you stay here."

The teen simply laughed and waggled his behind again. "You want any of these?" he asked, scrounging in the biscuit tin for the last of the cookies and putting them on a plate. He really hoped not since there were barely enough for a snack, by his standards anyway.

Vic must've read his mind because he declined, "Nope, there's hardly enough there to keep your stomach from growling for the next hour."

His face red, Justin muttered, "I'm still willing to share."

"Go on with you," Vic ordered. "I'm going to refill my coffee and settle in the living room with the newspaper."

The teenager made sure to give his arse an extra swish as he headed for the stairs, his own topped-up mug and the plate of cookies in hand. Behind him, Vic let out an appreciative wolf whistle, making Justin grin.

At his desk, Justin looked at the SAT preparatory materials in distaste; the sample tests he'd completed were so easy that he'd bet a fifth-grader like Molly could correctly answer at least half of the questions. The most useful thing about the aptitude exam, in his opinion, was the guidelines for the optional essay; even then, however, it wasn't like he hadn't already learned how to construct a persuasive, logical argument.

Would it be worth taking a few of the SAT II subject tests? he wondered. Good scores on those were supposedly useful for gaining entrance to the more prestigious - and selective - universities. The subject test examples in the preparatory manuals, however, didn't seem any more challenging than the parts of the regular SAT. Sure, there was a subject exam focused on literature, but it was still all about comprehension and analysis. Pretty basic. 

The teenager rolled his eyes in regard to the two math subject tests, Math I and II. The Math II exam - purportedly more advanced - barely touched on precalculus, for fuck's sake. Even for the students in his calc class who'd been sent back to eleventh grade maths, it should be a walk in the park.

He suspected he could also ace most of the other subject tests that were offered - Latin, Physics, Biology, US History - without even bothering to study much. Sure, the results might impress an admissions committee at a school like Dartmouth, his dad's alma mater, but he doubted the subject tests would make much difference to an art institute. His portfolio was what would count.

Even so, he wanted to have an impressive application to submit. Wait, maybe he could take some CLEP exams and earn credit for general education in advance of starting at PIFA. A frisson of excitement traveled through Justin. He'd check whether PIFA granted credit for CLEP exams, and he'd also find out if he could CLEP while still in high school. Frau Rose was bound to know. He wouldn't have the exam results before he applied, but it was bound to make an impact if he indicated he'd already scheduled a couple tests.

Irritably brushing his long hair out of his eyes, the lad reminded himself that he needed to finish his SAT preparations first. He made himself pull out his creative writing notebook and skim over his revised paper, on which he'd used the SAT guidelines. Although creative writing didn't necessarily involve building and analysing an argument, he had still wanted to come up with an essay that others would want to read, one that wasn't full of flaws in reasoning. His paper was more compelling now, he believed.

He'd had every intention of working on his American Government essay next, but he was distracted by a doodle of himself and Daphne that he'd scribbled during one of their creative writing classes. The doodle reminded him of the sketch of the two of them that he'd started on the bus ride home, following the mandatory calculus session the previous Saturday, with his bestie dozing on his shoulder. Grabbing his sketchbook, he leafed through the pages. Yeah, just like he'd thought, it was a great basis for a Christmas present. He just needed to add himself to the drawing - always a challenge - and then recreate the picture on a larger sheet of paper, maybe changing the setting so that they were both looking at the ‘viewer.'

Sketchbook in hand, he headed to the bathroom. After washing his face and hands, brushing his teeth, and slicking his hair back - he'd take a shower later - he alternated between looking at himself in the mirror and down at the sketch pad, doing his best to recreate his image. Ugh, he thought, unusually self-conscious about his appearance, he looked so scrawny and washed-out. At least he could eliminate some of the defects, like the bags under his eyes and the zit on his jaw, in the drawing.

Finally satisfied with his initial rendering, he trotted back to his room and began working on the final sketch. His pencil flew across the page as he roughed out the picture of the two of them, only reluctantly setting the drawing aside when he realised it was already half eight.

Groaning a little - he'd far rather draw than study - he nevertheless turned back to his test prep. He could hardly take a guilt-free nap later on, he reminded himself, if he had homework hanging over his head. He'd make one last effort at applying the SAT principles to an essay on his American Government paper. After extracting the draft essay and his research notes from his backpack, he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear and went to work.

An hour and a half later, the high school student sat back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head, his fingers laced together. Lowering his arms, he then rubbed at his numb buttocks - the old wooden chair, a leftover from Michael's childhood, had no padding - and reviewed what he'd written. He scratched out a couple of words and moved one sentence to another location, but overall, he was pleased with his reasoning. He'd clearly presented his argument that while all students were supposed to be treated equally - according not only to the St James handbook but also the laws of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and the US Constitution - the reality often fell far short of that.

"Flaming heck," he grumbled when a shock of blond hair fell forward, obscuring his vision. Justin briefly considered whacking at it with a pair of scissors, but then he remembered Vic's offer to cut it for him. Maybe the older man would be willing to cut it right now?

Brian bounced Gus on his hip, watching the little boy's face light up with happiness. "Hello, Sonnyboy," he murmured, letting the baby pat his face with a chubby palm.

"Dada, ma buh!" Gus babbled, eyes glittering.

Lindsay smiled at the two of them, unbuttoning her cream-coloured winter coat after taking off the baby carrier in which Gus had been secured against her chest. "Thank you again, Brian. Gussy has really been looking forward to spending time with you."

The brunet didn't give her the satisfaction of seeing how glad he was to hear that, instead poking his little tyke in his round tummy. "Of course he was," he noted. "He needs some male bonding time, right, Sonnyboy?"

Gus grinned. "Way!" he agreed in what Brian assumed to be a very pathetic attempt at the word ‘right.'

Melanie, who was putting Gus' bags down by the couch - and how many things did a little ten-month-old really need? - snorted, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure a baby is concerned about the gender of the person feeding him mashed banana for the afternoon, while his mothers go shopping."

Brian shot her a look. "He feels the testosterone coming off of me," he told her. "Of course he wants to spend time with me. It's like pheromones."

Lindsay tilted her head. "Is that really a thing?" she asked.

Brian hadn't the foggiest idea. "Yeah," he assured her confidently.

"Bullshit," Mel sniped. Then, looking over at Lindsay, she frowned. "Why are you getting undressed? We're not staying."

Pausing in the middle of unwinding her scarf, Lindsay explained, "I thought we might at least have a coffee or something? We can't just dump Gus on Brian and be on our way, Melanie."

Yeah, because dumping Gus on him and then drinking his coffee on top of that was so much more polite, thought Brian. Aloud, though, he said, "Don't worry about me. You just go and have fun shopping or whateverthefuck you plan on doing-"

"Language," Lindsay chided.

Brian paid her no mind. "And I'll happily take Gus off your hands for a bit. In fact, why don't you make a day of it and I'll bring Gus to Debbie's for dinner, where you can pick him up?"

Linds looked like she was about to complain, but Mel jumped right in with an enthusiastic, "What a good idea! We can have a lunch date, Linds."

The blonde smiled, eyes wide as she looked at Brian. "You're right. It's so nice you want to spend more time with Gussy, Brian."

Melanie snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure that's his motivation," she muttered. "Why exactly are you taking him to Debbie's?"

"I don't know," Brian sniped in as annoying a voice as he could manage. "Maybe to see his grandmother?"

The lawyer gave him an unimpressed look. "Right," she deadpanned skeptically. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain blond boy, would it?"

Brian bounced his son on his hip again, prompting a happy gurgle from the child. "Do you really think I'm desperate enough to chase after anyone?"

"No, not anyone," Mel grinned. "I think you're desperate enough to chase after Justin, though."

The stud suppressed a dramatic eye roll and instead focused back on his kid. "What do you think, Sonnyboy? Is Daddy really so pathetic or is Mummy talking out of her arse ag-"

"Language!" Lindsay interrupted, looking utterly appalled.

Brian rolled his eyes. Only a lesbian would get more excited about an utterance of ‘ass' than by ‘whateverthefuck.' ‘Bullshit' seemed not to be on her radar at all.

Gus, the traitor, immediately supported Lindsay's point by loudly exclaiming, "Ass!" To be fair, it sounded a bit more like ‘ash' than ‘ass', but the intent was clear.

"Fuckin' great," Mel snarked. 

"Fuh gah," Gus promptly aped his mother.

Brian started laughing, and Gus blew a spit bubble, waving his arms around in glee. The child clapped a hand over his mouth, gumming at his fingers and spreading the drool.

"Melanie!" Lindsay turned wide, betrayed, brown eyes on the bulldyke.

"Uh," was all that came out of her mouth, the attorney looking unusually flustered.

"C'mon, Linds," Brian urged, carrying Gus over to the counter and dampening a cloth to clean off his son's face and hands. "He's gonna hear worse at Debbie's. You might as well just let him get used to a few curse words. If you make a big deal out of it, he'll want to say them all the time."

Melanie gaped at Brian for a moment, obviously shocked by his backup, before nodding in agreement. "What he said." 

"Are you two ganging up on me?" the blonde woman accused.

"Of course not, Honey," Melanie attempted to soothe her partner's hurt feelings. "But you've gotta admit that Brian's right-"

"No, I don't." Lindsay glared at Mel, looking like she was about to stamp her foot.

Brian snorted, amused by the blonde's behaviour. Linds was a little too used to serving as the ‘peacemaker' between him and Melanie; therefore, she was always thrown off her stride on the rare occasions when he and the bulldyke were the ones in sync.

"I don't want Gussy sounding like a guttersnipe," Lindsay insisted.

"A guttersnipe?" Mel inquired, her eyes narrowing. "What are you insinuat-"

Gus interrupted, averting an argument. The tot had been squirming in Brian's arms while his dad wiped off his face, banging his hands down on the counter, and succeeded in knocking over the sugar bowl. White granules skittered across the counter and onto the floor. "Gah! Dada, gah!" the boy shrieked in delight, bringing one hand up to his mouth and licking at the sugar that had stuck to his palms.

"You have to keep your eye on him all the time," Lindsay reproached Brian. "I'm not sure it's such a good idea for us to leave Gus-"

Before Brian could utter the scathing comment that was on the tip of his tongue, Melanie stepped in. "You know Brian would never let anything happen to Gus. It's just a little mess, easily cleaned up, right?"

"I suppose," Linds granted reluctantly.

"A little time to ourselves will do the trick," the brunette continued persuasively, taking hold of Lindsay's hand. "Why don't you let me ease that stress you're feeling, Sweetie?"

"Okay," the blonde woman acquiesced, allowing Melanie to tow her through the still open door.

"Bottles, snacks, toys, diapers, and a couple changes of clothes are in the bags," the bulldyke informed Brian, smiling at him as she started to slide shut the door. "We'll see you at Debbie's."

Raising Gus' hand, Brian waved at the girls. "Say ‘bye-bye,' Sonnyboy."

"Buh-buh," the tyke imitated his father, bestowing a gummy grin on his mothers.

"Now let's finish cleaning you up," Brian said, smiling down at his son.

"Gah, gah." Gus patted his dad on one cheek, transferring some of the sticky substance, before outstretching his hands toward the spilled sugar.

"No," Brian stated firmly, "too much sugar isn't good for you. I only use it in the tiniest of amounts in my coffee."

"Gah!" the nipper persisted, turning his face away as Brian tried to wipe it off and whining loudly. Gus' lower lip stuck out and his father could tell his son was on the verge of a full-fledged tantrum.

Thinking quickly, he grinned at the tyke. "I'm sticky too," he pointed at the sugar that Gus had put on his face. "You want to help me wash off?"

The wee lad tilted his chin at Brian as if considering the matter.

Seating his son on the counter and making sure he was safely secured by his body, Brian rinsed out the cloth, took Gus' hands, and clapped them together, before clapping one against his sticky cheek. "Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man," he chanted, alternately clapping his hands and Gus' and wiping them clean in between.

Entranced, Gus did his best to join in, clapping his hands together and against his father's, giggling when he missed entirely. "Pah, pah, Dada!"

Brian laughed along with his son, pleased to have warded off the sulks in his offspring. He continued with the rhyme, altering it just a little.

    "Bake me a cake as fast as you can
     Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with ‘G'
     And put it in the oven for Gus and me!"

"Gah!" the boy announced, beaming at his dad.

"Is that your all-purpose word?" Brian chuckled as he carried Gus over to the sofa. "We'll have to work on expanding your vocabulary - even beyond curse words, contrary to what your muncher mummies will expect."

"Gah, Dada," the boy voiced what might've been agreement before reaching over to clap his hands against Brian's.

Brian ran through the verse again before announcing, "If we want a cake, we'll have to get Justin to do the baking. That's not my thing."

"Jushun!" the boy crowed. "Gah!"

"Yep, we're gonna see him later on," Brian confirmed as he pulled out a couple of Gus' toys. "Don't tell your Mama Mel, but she might have been half right about me chasing after the brat."

Fed up with his hair hanging in his eyes - he didn't want to contend with it during his SAT - Justin tromped down the stairs to the living room. He found Vic sitting in his recliner, his attention on the TV screen. When Harley chirped, "Come, Jushun. Hellooo, Briaaan. Blowjob." from his cage on the credenza, the older man jumped and shot a furtive glance at the teen.

Huh, why was Vic acting so secretive? Justin wondered.

Fumbling for the remote, Vic muted the sound. "Save that line, Harley. Brian isn't here."

"He will be later," Justin blurted while Vic was still speaking, blushing when he realised the other man might take that as confirmation that he'd be giving Brian a blowjob.

"Since Brian's not here yet," Vic quipped, "I can make myself available."

"Blowjob. Hellooo, Briaaan," Harley chirped.

Blushing harder, Justin chose not to respond to Vic's offer; instead, he reproved the budgie, "Don't distract me. I'm on a mission." Until he could give a blowjob without chewing on his own hair in the process, he wouldn't be sucking anyone off. He was about to ask Vic about cutting his hair when the flickering of the TV drew his attention. On the screen, a colourfully dressed man who looked kind of like Emmett flounced out of a house to the veranda and flung himself onto a chaise longue. Intrigued, Justin inquired, "What are you watching?"

"Ehm, just some show that was on when I turned on the telly," Vic tried to pass it off as being of no consequence, but just then a message flashed across the screen, ‘Days of Our Lives' will resume after a commercial break.

"A soap?" Justin quirked an interrogative eyebrow at the older man.

It was Vic's turn to blush. "It's silly, I know," he admitted, "but I got hooked on Days while I was stuck in the house, trying to adjust to my meds."

"Lots of people watch soaps," Justin interjected, shrugging. "My mum's been watching All My Children for as long as I can remember."

"Yeah, but women - housewives - are the target audience," Vic objected. "Not men, even queers."

"Hmm, I bet Em has a favourite soap opera," the teen conjectured.

"Well..." Vic drawled, lips twitching as he eyed the screen, where Emmett's clone was now waving his hands about dramatically.

"Do you think they're related?" Justin giggled as he asked the question. In his opinion, the part could have been written for his southern friend. 

"Dunno. But Ryan Scott - that's the actor - is the reason I'm addicted to the show," Vic confessed. "It's not so much that he's cute, which he is, but that he's actually playing an out and proud gay man - the first queer character on Days of Our Lives. He even has a fairly major role."

"There've been some queers on All My Children. I can remember my mum rattling on about how some character - I think he was a high school teacher - got what he deserved when he was sacked for being gay. She was all freaked out about him polluting ‘impressionable young minds.'"

"Maybe it's because she suspected-" Vic began in a gentle voice, but Justin cut him off. He was suddenly more interested in checking out the flash of blue he'd seen on the bottom of Harley's cage than in hearing theories about why his mother couldn't accept him as he was.

"Did Vic get you a new toy, buddy?" he asked.

"I've been thinking of taping some vocabulary lessons for the little guy, so he could listen to them as he settles in to sleep," Vic joked, "but I haven't followed through yet. Sis did buy him that rainbow-hued, openwork bauble, though. Harley loves to roll around his cage on that, hopping up and down as he propels it forward. That's probably what you caught a glimpse of."

"Yeah, probably," the blond agreed, chuckling as Harley flew from his perch to the aforementioned toy, the bell inside jangling when he landed, and the ball rolling forward a couple of inches. The blue parakeet cheerily commanded, "Jushun. Come. Fuck."

Justin, who'd been squatting down to say hello to the budgie, landed on the floor with a thud, laughing helplessly.

"Debbie's gonna be ticked that she missed out on Harley finally dropping the F-bomb," Vic chortled. "She spent a good hour coaching him the other night, but she couldn't get Harley to repeat it."

"You know who'll learn to say it next, right?" the teenager gasped.

Vic winced before shrugging philosophically. "The lesbians will get over it. Gus would've picked it up from Melanie soon enough anyroad."

"True. She's got one heckuva foul mouth," the teenager noted admiringly, poking a finger through the bars of Harley's cage for the budgie to rub against. "What've you got there, buddy?" he inquired, finally taking a good look inside.

When he realised what the object was, he started, staring at the object with a perplexed look on his face. How could BOB be in Harley's cage? 

It hadn't occurred to him to search outside of his bedroom for the dildo. Even if he'd somehow scooped the toy up with the other bed linens on laundry day and carried it downstairs, someone would've found it - in the laundry basket, on the floor by the washer, or even inside the washing machine. Neither Debbie nor Vic had razzed him about laundering his ‘dirty' Battery Operated Brian, so he was sure that hadn't happened.

There was no way BOB could have been in Harley's cage for very long, certainly not for the entire week since it had gone missing, or Vic would have discovered the toy. The older man was meticulous with his care of the budgie - feeding it, replacing the paper that lined the bottom, and socialising with the little guy. Since it was still pretty early in the morning, Justin reckoned that Vic probably hadn't done much more than remove the cover from Harley's cage, planning to feed the parakeet after his soap ended.

Someone must've taken BOB, held onto the toy for a while, and then planted it inside the cage, he realised. But who would actually swipe someone else's dildo? he wondered, shuddering. It was such a personal item, and it would be really gross to touch a dildo that belonged to someone else - unless you were intimate with that other person and shared sex toys. 

It was at that moment that Justin remembered Debbie mentioning that Michael had been by yesterday and consumed the last of the white chocolate cookies. And the previous Sunday - when the toy went missing - Michael had been in and out of the house all day, putting up the Christmas decorations with him and Vic... 

He, of course, couldn't prove Michael had removed BOB from his nightstand, but Justin couldn't imagine who else would've taken the toy. Did Michael really dislike him that much? he brooded, fighting a sudden urge to cry. Sure, the man was super jealous of him in regard to Brian, but this had nothing to do with the brunet stud. It was just a mean, shitty thing to do.

"What's so fascinating?" Vic asked, laying a hand on his shoulder and interrupting his dark thoughts. It was Justin's turn to jump - he was so rattled by finding the dildo in Harley's cage that he'd forgotten all about Vic.

"Is Harley shitting gold dookie or something?" the older man quipped.

Mutely, the teen motioned toward where BOB, splattered with white droppings, rested on the bottom of the cage.

"What the fuck?" Vic asked. "Is that BOB?"

"Yeah," came the response in a defeated voice.

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Vic gave him a one-armed hug. "Spill, Kiddo."

Justin felt kind of bad about unloading on Vic, but he needed to talk to someone. Not only was he totally squicked out by what had happened, he was also starting to get pissed off. There was no way he'd ever use the toy again, not even if it was disinfected. Michael had found the perfect way to hurt him - he'd invaded his privacy and nicked an expensive item that really meant something to the teenager. He didn't have the funds to replace the toy, and the excitement of owning his first dildo had been ruined anyhow.

"I've been looking for BOB for, like, a week," he disclosed. "At first, I figured it must've rolled under the bed, or that I'd done something weird like, you know, putting it in the desk or something, but I couldn't find it no matter where I looked. Then this morning, I remembered how I used to keep some of my porn stashed between the mattress and the wall, so-"

"That's what all the early morning thumping was?" Vic interjected, chuckling. "Damn. So much for vicariously enjoying an early morning wank." Raising one eyebrow, he noted, "I could swear I heard some porn-worthy moans and groans, though."

"Uh, that was just me wrestling with the mattress," Justin explained, blushing a fiery red. "I, uh, guess that I've gotten kind of out of shape now that I'm not playing footy anymore."

"Nah, that old thing's heavier than sin," Vic assured him with a rueful laugh. "I almost threw out my back helping Michael manoeuvre it into ‘just the right place' back when he was eleven years old. The kid couldn't make up his mind where he wanted his new Captain Astro bed - which was really Uncle Carlo's old bed."

Momentarily diverted, Justin reflected that if the mattress had been around for so many generations, it was no wonder that it was so lumpy.

"BOB?" Vic prompted.

"That's the whole story." Justin shrugged. "I didn't find it this morning either. And since I've never taken it out of my bedroom..." he trailed off, leaving Vic to draw his own conclusions.

The older man's face tightened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Why don't you have some one-on-one time with Harley while I clean out the cage?" he suggested.

"No, I'll take care of it," Justin protested. Shit. He should have remembered Vic wasn't feeling that great and kept his mouth shut.

"No," Vic countered, his voice steely. "I've got it." He opened the cage and coaxed Harley out onto his index finger before transferring the budgie to Justin. At the worried frown on the teenager's face, he added, "I'll be fine, Sunshine. A little physical activity won't kill me."

"B- but," the lad spluttered, his mind racing for a reason for him to take over the onerous task. "Uh, I was gonna ask you to cut my hair - it's driving me crazy - so maybe you could set up for that while I uh, take-" Unable to say BOB again, his voice dwindled away, and he turned aside, avoided Vic's knowing gaze.

"But nothing," Vic insisted. "Cutting your hair is no big deal. I'll do that after I've spruced up Harley's cage. In the meantime, why don't you give the little guy a treat - and fix both of us some more joe."

"Yeah, okay," Justin conceded, relieved not to have to deal with throwing the dildo into the trash. "C'mon, Harley," he said, carrying the parakeet into the kitchen, "let's get you a yummy millet sprig."

"Blowjob. Jushun," Harley chirped, making the teenager laugh and lifting his mood as he set the budgie on top of a piece of paper towel on the counter, stroking his bright plumage.

"High protein, low fat," he observed, placing Harley's treat down next to him.

"Blowjob," Harley agreed.

"Are you conspiring with Brian?" the lad giggled. While the blue bird nibbled on his millet spray, he set about making coffee, trying to puzzle out Michael's thinking as the liquid dripped through the filter into the carafe. Why had Michael taken the dildo in the first place? Most of all, why had he returned it, implicating himself? 

Putting the best possible spin on the theft, maybe Michael had been disturbed at the idea of Justin masturbating in his childhood bed, on his Captain Astro sheets, so he swiped it, intending to toss it in the garbage. Then, after the run-in with Hobbs, he could've felt bad for Justin and retrieved the toy from the trash, deciding to return it. In that case, his dilemma would have been to stick it somewhere the teenager hadn't looked already - make it seem as if Justin had just misplaced it.

The lad snorted - that scenario would fit. Michael could've just put the dildo back in the nightstand or placed it under the bed or rolled it under the dresser or something similar, letting Justin assume he'd missed it when he searched for the toy. Instead, the man was dumb enough to put it in the birdcage, not realising someone was bound to discover it soon, when they went to clean the cage or give Harley water and food.

Perhaps Michael panicked - he'd intended to return the toy to his old room, but then he heard Vic or Debbie coming into the living room while he was holding the dildo in his hand. To get it out of sight, he shoved it into Harley's cage. If he hadn't had a chance to recover the toy later and return it to his former bedroom, he might've just left it in the cage, hoping for the best - whatever ‘the best' might be for a pea-brain like Michael.

Or maybe Michael took the dildo, planning to return it all along. He'd just wanted Justin to go crazy searching first. He couldn't have had any idea that the dildo was BOB, or he'd have been mocking Justin endlessly about his ‘boyfriend,' as in, "There's no way you could pull a ‘real' guy now that Brian's dumped you."

Christ, the stroppy, little brunet should get tested for bipolar disorder, Justin mused, shaking his head. When they'd put up the Christmas decorations last Sunday, Michael alternately ignored him, was nice for a couple of hours, and then invaded his personal space, copping off with BOB. After that, Michael again blew hot and cold - acting dismissive toward Justin at the diner, but then being supportive during the confrontation with Hobbs.

"All done," Vic announced as he entered the kitchen, putting a halt to Justin's thoughts. The teenager was grateful since his head hurt from attempting to winkle out Michael's motives.

Vic had some kind of floral garment and a towel over one shoulder, the newly lined birdcage in one hand and a small case with clippers and shears plus a spray bottle in the other. After setting the other items down on the kitchen table, he placed the cage on the sideboard, added fresh water and pellets to the budgie's dishes, and motioned at Harley, "Your palazzo awaits, Signore."

"Blowjob," the parakeet cheeped agreeably, climbing onto Vic's finger and allowing himself to be transported to the cage.

"He's got a one-track mind," Justin giggled.

"Kind of like us," Vic commented wryly, closing the cage door behind Harley.

"Always thinking about sex?"

"Yep," the older man confirmed, accepting a freshly brewed mug of coffee from Justin, and stirring in a bit of sugar and cream. "Do you want to wash your hair before I cut it?" he inquired. "I can just dampen it, if you prefer."

Justin suddenly felt self-conscious. "Erm," he mumbled, "it might be kind of greasy. I haven't showered yet, and I sweated like crazy, dancing at Babylon last night."

"Don't worry about it. I'd sometimes cut my mates' hair after they'd been doing food prep in a hot kitchen for a full day, without them shampooing first. Talk about greasy," he chuckled.

"If you're sure." Justin gave him an abashed smile.

"It won't affect the cut," the older man reassured him. Whipping the floral garment off of his shoulder, he handed it to Justin, ordering, "Put this on, do up the snaps at the top, and have a seat." He patted the back of the chair he'd just pulled out from the table.

The teenager complied, scrunching up his nose at the wild print. "What is this?" he asked.

"One of Deb's old dusters," Vic informed him, laughing at the way the housecoat swam on Justin. "Along with a towel," Vic tucked the cloth around Justin's neck as he spoke, "it'll keep the hair from sliding down your back and chest."

"Oh, God, that itchy feeling is the worst." The teenager squirmed around in his seat. "One time, my mum took me to the barber during lunch, and then I had to go straight to class afterward. I thought I was gonna die before the school day was over, and I could go home and take a shower."

"No need to queen out about that today," Vic chuckled again. "You can have a shower as soon as we're done. Now, how much do you want me to cut off?"

"A couple of inches?" Justin responded a little uncertainly. "I mean, I don't want a buzz cut, but I hate when it flops in my eyes."

"A standard haircut is simple enough," Vic said easily, using the spray bottle, which he'd filled with water, to wet Justin's hair.

Shortly, the teenager could feel himself falling asleep - there was something lulling about the sound of the clippers as Vic moved them from the nape of his neck toward the parietal ridge, first at the back and then on the sides - when the older man observed, "Michael really is a good lad, you know."

Justin had no idea how to respond to that statement, but fortunately, he didn't need to say anything as Vic kept talking. "He's just got a real blind spot where Brian is concerned. Michael always thought that once Brian finished sowing his oats, he'd settle down with him."

The blond couldn't quite suppress a snicker. He couldn't imagine Brian settling down that much. And if he wanted that kind of relationship with Michael, it would've happened already, for fuck's sake.

Vic huffed out a laugh of his own. "Like I said, ‘willfully blind' and completely stubborn about it. Then you came along, and snapped up Brian without even trying - so, naturally enough, he's eaten up with jealousy."

The teenager didn't even try to prevent a laugh from escaping this time. "There was a lot of trying," he contradicted Vic. "I turned up everywhere Brian went."

"Considering Michael attached himself to Brian at the hip at the age of fourteen - and never let go - it didn't seem like much effort to my nephew," Vic elaborated. "He complained endlessly about how Brian thought it was ‘sweet' that you were stalking him."

Justin beamed to himself. He hadn't heard that one before.

"Brian's not blameless since he encouraged the hero worship for a long time," Vic noted, "which has made it even harder for Michael to accept that they'll never have more than a platonic friendship."

"Do you think he'll ever adjust?" Justin asked quietly. Life would be a lot more pleasant if he and Michael weren't so often at loggerheads.

"Yeah. It may take a while, though, so you need to be patient with him. I suspect that not only is he jealous of the way you've caught - and held - Brian's attention, he's also envious that you grew up in a two-parent household, probably even that you have a sibling," Vic remarked as he set down the clippers, picked up the shears, and started to snip at the hair on the top of Justin's head. "As a youngster, Michael was always asking Sis about his father as well as pestering her to give him a brother. That eased some after he met Brian, but then he developed sexual longings instead of thinking of him as a sibling. You, though-" 

"Me, what?" Justin asked, curious as to where Vic was going with this.

"Michael's treating you like the little brother he never had," Vic hypothesised.

What the heck? Justin mused, frowning. 

"I bet the whole thing with BOB was a prank. Michael was just messing with you, like he would with a kid brother."

Geesh, the teenager thought, if all of Michael's shit got passed off as pranks, it was no wonder the short brunet had never grown up - he was never held accountable.

"Anyroad," Vic requested, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to Sis. It would only upset her." His tone a bit wistful, he added, "I'd really like Debbie to enjoy a happy Christmas this year, especially after last year's dismal holidays, when I was in and out of the hospital, with it touch and go the whole time."

Vic must be in much better health this year, Justin realised, even if he did tire easily because his antiviral meds didn't always agree with him. "I wouldn't hurt Debbie for the world," he assured the older man, meaning every word. As he spoke, he had a sudden insight into why Brian confronted Michael so rarely; they were all part of the same family, and Justin no more wanted to upset Debbie and Vic than Brian did.

"You're a good ragazzo," Vic said, affectionately clapping Justin on the shoulder as he moved around in front of the blond to trim his fringe.

He should probably drop the subject, but... "Uh, you don't think Michael would've, you know," Justin gestured vaguely with his left hand, unable to voice his concern after all.

"Used BOB on himself?" Vic guessed, stepping back and looking the teen in the eye.

Justin nodded, blushing furiously.

"No," Vic declared adamantly.

When the older man didn't elucidate, Justin filled in the reasons for himself. Michael was jealous of him, didn't find him attractive, and was repulsed by the idea of touching intimately an item that Justin had used. Well, he and Michael were in complete agreement in that regard, Justin thought, laughing a little - he'd puke if he so much as looked at one of the numbnuts' sex toys.

"Go take a look in the bathroom mirror," Vic commanded, whisking stray hairs away from Justin's neck with a barber brush, "and tell me what you think."

The teenager stood up, almost tripping over the bottom of Debbie's duster, which sagged downward, falling off his slender frame. "Can I get rid of this?" he begged.

"It's not doing much good," Vic allowed. "Just let me remove the towel fir- Too late," he sighed as the towel slid off Justin's shoulders.

"Fuck," the lad groused, fine pieces of hair cascading down his back beneath his T-shirt as he trotted toward the downstairs loo. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge some of the hair, all to no avail. Reaching back with his hand, he scratched at the nape of his neck while he looked into the mirror. "Fuck," he reiterated, this time in appreciation. Vic had done a bang-up job with the haircut, his do looking far smarter than it ever had before.

"Gosh, this is awesome," he praised Vic's efforts, returning to the kitchen. "You would've made a killing as a hairdresser."

"I would've needed some of Emmett's flame to properly fit the stereotype," Vic kidded.

Justin chuckled - it was ridiculous the way straights tried to pigeonhole gays into certain professions - as he fruitlessly rubbed his back against the door frame in an effort to relieve the irritation caused by all the slivers of hair on his skin. "Um, I think I'm gonna take a shower now, kay?"

"You'd better - before you rub yourself raw," Vic punned, his eyes twinkling. 

"Hmm," the lad covered his groin, purposely dropped his voice, and purred throatily, "I wouldn't mind rubbing one out... scratch two itches at the same time."

"You little imp!" Vic chided, laughing and snapping the hair towel at Justin. "Go on. Get!"

A few minutes later, Justin was still giggling at having bested Vic as he stepped into the shower. It was good practise for the coming work session with Brian, he figured, expecting that there'd be a lot more sexual innuendo and teasing touches while they brainstormed ad campaigns. 

Letting out a sigh of relief as he sloughed off the itchy hair with soap and water, the lad continued to wash off, his right hand drifting lower, until he slid the soaped-up palm down his half-hard member. "Mhmm," he groaned, his erection growing as he moved his hand back toward his body. 

He really should rub one out, Justin reckoned - he was bound to rest better if he got off before his nap, and taking the edge off now might make it a teensy bit easier to resist a horny, flirtatious Brian later on. He'd take any advantage he could get since it was getting harder and harder to withstand the brunet's seduction.

With that in mind, the teen lazily slipped his left hand along his torso, until he encountered one hard nub. Pausing, he pinched it, while his right hand glided a little faster along his cock. His hand then skimmed across his chest to his other nipple, tweaking it in turn, before drifting down to his belly button. He circled the small opening with two fingers, pressing in just a little with his index finger. At the same time, he brushed the thumb of his other hand over the head of his cock, pushing lightly against the slit.

Fuck but that felt good, he thought, surprised by how quickly he was becoming aroused, purposely slowing down a bit so he wouldn't come yet. "Oh!" he exclaimed, realising it had been days since he'd gotten off - not since Thursday when, while working on Kinnetik accounts, he and Brian also ‘worked' each other up to a fever pitch. The dream he had that night must've been hot; after all, he'd woken up with fluid crusted on his belly and chest. He couldn't clearly recall the details, though, other than a wish that Brian was still in his arms. Really, it hardly counted as a proper wank.

His hand speeding up again, he reflected that if he wanted to win the unspoken ‘contest' with Brian to see who'd give in first, it would be best to be sated when the brunet came over. His once - and future - lover would doubtless jerk off multiple times in advance of this afternoon, so it would behove him to do the same. He'd toss himself off again after his nap, Justin decided as he spurted come all over the bottom of the porcelain bathtub, the substance soon vanishing down the drain.

While Justin was finishing his shower and anticipating the luxury of a nap, Brian was trying to coax his son to sit still so he could slip a clean, dry pair of socks onto his feet. There'd been a bit of an incident with the tyke's banana mash - some of it had ended up on the floor and Gus managed to crawl right through it before Brian could clean it up. This resulted in a necessary change of clothes. It all went without a hitch until Brian tried to slip on the kid's new socks. Gus had apparently liked the feeling of his bare feet slapping against the loft's cold floor and refused to stay still. Brian empathised - he liked the feeling of the wood against his bare feet as well - but Gus was sniffling a little. Despite knowing that babies don't get cold that easily, together with the cool air in the loft, it nevertheless seemed like a recipe for disaster. 

"Come on, Sonnyboy, you need to wear these," he repeated, trying to catch his son's flailing legs.

Gus let out a protesting whine and wriggled away.

Glancing at the socks, Brian wrinkled his nose in distaste. He wouldn't want to wear socks with smiley faces on them either, but at least they were better than the other two options - a pair of frou-frou purple socks which were obviously meant for a girl; and another pair with what looked like tarantulas - were the lesbians trying to give his son arachnophobia?

The toddler whined again, kicking out with his feet as he rolled back onto his front and attempted to crawl away. Brian reached out and tugged him back, plopping him onto his bottom again.

"Gus, I'm serious," he said sternly. "You need to wear these hideous things whether you want them or not."

Gus screeched, small tears of frustration appearing in the corners of his big eyes. "Nah! Nanana, Dada!" he complained loudly.

"What do you want then? You want the spider ones instead?" Brian offered, plucking the other pair from the lesbians' go-bag and showing them to his son. 

The kid's lower lip wobbled as he snuffled pitifully.

Shit. Brian felt like a heel, but he remained steadfast. It wasn't good for his son to be barefoot in the chilly loft. There was no way some tears would make him change his mind.

He tried to slip one of the spider socks onto Gus' left foot, going slowly and carefully, but the little brat kicked out again, leaving the sock hanging from his toes. "Nah! Dada! Sosh, nah!"

"Socks, yes," Brian growled, losing his patience. "If you don't stop whining right now, I will stop playing nicely and put these fucking things on by force," he threatened.

Gus started wailing, waving his arms and legs around violently in frustration. He looked like this was the first time in his short life that he hadn't gotten what he wanted, and he didn't know how to deal with the situation.

Brian sighed, grabbed one flailing ankle in his left hand and slipped the sock on with the other. He then quickly repeated the process on the other foot.

"There," he said resolutely, eyeing his son's crying face with what felt like lead in his stomach. "It's over. Was that really so bad?"

"Na-ah, Dada-a," Gus whimpered, eyes scrunched closed. "Sosh, nah," he then hiccuped weakly.

Brian felt like he had just tortured the poor thing. He pulled his kid closer in order to wrap his arms around the shuddering little body in a tight hug. "There, there, come to Daddy, Sonnyboy," he whispered into a small ear. "It's all over. You're okay."

The tyke snuggled closer, crying his heart out into Brian's shirt.

At least his son didn't seem to be harbouring any hard feelings towards him in regard to what had just happened, Brian thought. He didn't want Gus to think of him as the ‘mean' parent, though, so he was going to have to talk to the lesbians about what had happened. He needed to find out if they were giving in to whatever Gus wanted, just because the nipper threw a tantrum if he didn't get his way.

If the girls weren't standing their ground with Gus, they needed to change their behaviour pronto. Otherwise, their son would become the boss and have no respect for his mothers. Gus might still be a little young to learn this, but Brian felt that the sooner he - and the lesbians - started, the better. This way, they wouldn't be reinforcing negative behaviour, and Gus would be a happier, more well-adjusted child.

Christ, Brian mused, smiling wryly. He sounded exactly like Justin when the teenager was giving one of his public service announcements.

His son's body was no longer shaking with sobs, so he glanced down at the boy and placed a kiss on the crown of his head, the downy hair tickling Brian's nose. "Gus?" he murmured when the boy didn't move.

When there was no answer from the tyke, he realised Gus must have worn himself out and fallen sound asleep. His knees popped as he stood up carefully, the boy cradled in his arms. Brian moved toward the bed and laid his son down in the centre, intending to surround the small body with pillows so that Gus wouldn't roll off. His Sonnyboy didn't let go, however, whimpering and clutching on to his dad's shirt, so Brian decided he'd lie down with him for a few minutes, until he could ease away without awakening him.

The brunet stud didn't factor in how much filling the role of the stern parent had worn him out, though, and before he knew it, he was sound asleep on the bed, his son curled up next to him. Soon, the only sound in the loft was Brian's soft, wheezing snore.

"Whatcha doing, Sunshine?" Debbie inquired, her surprise evident as she looked around the kitchen.

Justin glanced up from where he was placing an index card labelled ‘molasses crinkles' in front of a bowl covered with plastic wrap. Flushing a little, he started to explain, "Erm, I felt really refreshed after taking a nap-"

The redhead interrupted, chuckling, "Is ‘nap' one of those euphemisms, Kiddo?"

"Um, no?" the lad denied.

Debbie gave him a knowing look. "You're not sure?"

"I really did take a nap!" Justin claimed, feigning outrage.

"I'm sure you did," his mum's red curls bounced as she laughed heartily, "but I doubt that's all that happened."

The teenager elected not to answer - it wasn't like Deb hadn't sussed it out already - gesturing at the grouping of eggs, butter, and dry ingredients in front of him as well as the others on the counter and table. "When I came downstairs, Vic was sawing wood in his recliner-"

"Just one tree or the whole forest?" Debbie interjected humorously. 

"Going by the volume, at least a few trees," Justin answered, giggling. "Anyhow, I wanted to thank him for cutting my hair" - he shook his head, beaming when no blond strands flopped over his forehead, obscuring his sight - "so I thought maybe I'd make those molasses crinkles he likes."

"Five batches?" the redhead asked incredulously, looking around the kitchen. "No," she immediately corrected herself as she counted. "Seven?"

"I've never made cookies from scratch before," Justin admitted, scuffing one sneaker against the lino. "Even though I had your recipe" - he motioned toward the open recipe box on the counter - "I was afraid I'd mess up if I prepared them on my own. So I thought I'd just combine the flour and spices, measure the other ingredients, and you know, get out the butter and eggs."

"B- but seven batches?" Deb spluttered.

Justin reddened, hastening to explain, "Each cluster of ingredients is for, like, a different kind of cookie - molasses, white chocolate, amaretti, tea cakes, zeppole, pizzelles, and fig. I marked each set with an index card so I wouldn't get mixed up."

"Sunshine." His mum stared at him in disbelief. "I can't possibly bake that many types of biscuits and prepare dinner too."

What had he been thinking? the teenager wondered, facepalming in embarrassment. "Uh, I may've gotten a little carried away?" he squeaked, peering at his mum from between his fingers.

"Christ, Kiddo," Debbie chuckled, "I bet you got away with murder growing up, what with that cute blond schtick going for you."

"Well, yeah," Justin agreed, his face now so hot that he thought it might spontaneously combust. "But I wasn't actually trying to get away with anything. I meant to help out, and erm," he motioned toward the groupings of ingredients that littered the counter and table, "this happened." Fuck, he was such a dolt.

"There's no need to look so woebegone," Deb assured him, patting him on the cheek and then running a hand over his freshly shorn hair. "Vic did a great job with the haircut," she commented, teasingly adding, "although it makes you look all of twelve."

"Really?" Justin inquired, appalled.

"That's how old you generally look," Deb confirmed, which was no consolation to Justin.

The teen groaned. A boyish, beardless face with a button nose was the bane of his existence. At this rate, he'd probably be carded until he was forty.

"We'll make up the dough for the cookies and put most of them in the fridge - or the freezer - to bake up later. Did you pre-sift-"

"Yeah," Justin interrupted, glad that he'd done something right. "I remembered what you and Vic said about sifting flour being important for baking."

"Consider this your baking SAT," Debbie announced. "Tell me why, when the recipe calls for it, it's important to sift."

Crap. He hadn't expected to get tested on this. Fortunately, he had an excellent memory, especially when something interested him. "One," the lad ticked off on his fingers, "it aerates the flour, creating lighter, fluffier baked goods. Two, it breaks up clumps of flour. Three, it helps level out the measurements, if the flour has gotten packed densely - uh, like, it weighs more than it should."

Debbie nodded approvingly but didn't say anything, instead crooking her fingers in a ‘gimme' gesture.

His brow furrowing, Justin tried to remember what other reasons there were for sifting. Aha! That was it. "Four, it removes anything that shouldn't be in there - debris or whatever. Plus, once the flour has been pre-sifted, it's a great way to evenly mix together the dry ingredients - just sift the measured flour and the other stuff together."

"Anything besides flour that should be pre-sifted?"

There had to be something, or Debbie wouldn't have asked the question. Stumped, the lad looked around the kitchen, hoping the item would jump out at him. Nothing. He ran through the pies and cookies he'd made with Vic and Deb and was about to concede defeat, when he remembered the doughnut-like, cheesy zeppole. They'd been dusted with some kind of sugary substance, much finer than regular sugar. Dammit, he'd just looked at the recipe for those biscuits. What was the stuff called? "Powdered sugar!" he blurted, hoping his guess was correct.

"One hundred and twenty-five percent," the motherly woman declared, smiling. 

Justin beamed back at Deb, proud of himself for acing the ‘exam.'

"You get an extra ten percent for the bit about ensuring everything is well-mixed. And fifteen percent for sussing out the answer about the confectioners' sugar. The primary use for it is icing. A strainer works better than a sifter for sugar; since I've already sifted plenty of sugar to coat the zeppole, I'll show you the next time I make a cake."

Intrigued - he was having a blast learning to cook and bake under Debbie and Vic's tutelage - Justin replied, "I'd like that."

"For your eighteenth birthday if the right occasion doesn't come up before that," the redhead promised. "A chocolate cake with penuche icing - brown sugar, powdered sugar, milk, butter."

"I think I'm in love," Justin said dreamily.

"More than with a certain Mr Kinney?" Debbie teased.

"Hmm," Justin murmured absentmindedly, envisioning himself licking the icing off of Brian's torso. His tongue protruded from his mouth and he swiped it across his lips, momentarily losing himself in the daydream.

"Want to share? Debbie inquired slyly, interrupting his imaginings just as he was about to dip his tongue into Brian's belly button.

Jolted back to the present, the lad quickly shook his head no.

"Dangit," Deb laughed. "I wouldn't mind knowing what put that expression on your face - you looked like you were watching the hottest porn ever."

Shrugging, Justin gave Debbie a sheepish glance. He kind of had been, even if it was all in his imagination.

"It's a good thing I planned on a dinner that can be prepared on the stovetop," the redhead noted "since we'll be using the oven for baking. You wanna get the pot roast ready to go while I start on the cookies?"

"Uh, okay?" Justin responded uncertainly.

"Don't worry, Kiddo, I'll coach you through it. Anyhow, you won't have any trouble with the first part of the prep," she assured him, her eyes twinkling. "You've had lots of practice."

"Not onions?" the teenager despaired. Fuck, his eyes were tearing up even though he hadn't cut into an onion yet.

"Onions," Debbie confirmed. "Might as well take care of that, the garlic, and the other veggies - carrots and potatoes - first. You'll need to cut up five of the large, yellow onions - two-and-a-half for each chuck roast."

Justin groaned. Five onions? His eyes were going to be so red and swollen, and his hands would smell for days.

"Don't be such a drama princess," his mum teased, making the boy laugh. He didn't think he could count the number of times Brian had said that to him, although the older man was far more prone to dramatics, in Justin's opinion.

"This will go much more quickly than dicing onions," Debbie assured him. "You just need to peel the onions and then slice thickly from root to tip."

Following her instructions, Justin took care of the onions and the cloves of garlic. He automatically reached up to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes as he finished peeling the last clove, laughing at himself when he remembered his new haircut.

"Careful, Kiddo," Debbie cautioned, looking up from the KitchenAid mixer, in which she was combining eggs, molasses, and butter. "You don't want to get the onion or garlic juice in your eyes. Then you would have something to cry about."

"Ugh." Justin shuddered, hastily lowering his hand. "I don't want any syn-propanethial-S-oxide or allicin near my eyes."

"Say what?"

"Uh," the blond teen flushed in embarrassment, realising he sounded like he was reading from a chemistry textbook, "those are the chemical compounds in onions and garlic that can irritate the eyes."

"It doesn't even sound like we're speaking the same language," Debbie laughed. "‘Juice' works for me."

"Me too," Justin mumbled, tackling the Yukon Gold potatoes, which he peeled and cut into wedges, and the carrots, which he pared and cut lengthwise.

"Now look in the bottom left cabinet," Debbie directed, once he was done. "That's where I keep the Dutch ovens."

"What's a Dutch oven?" the teenager asked as he opened the indicated cupboard.

"It's a large, heavy-duty pot with a lid," Deb explained. "You can use it on top of the cooker - that's what you're gonna do - or inside the oven."

"Why's it called an ‘oven'?" Justin wondered, curious. "If, like, the Dutch invented it, shouldn't it be a ‘Dutch pot'?"

Debbie shrugged. "All I know is that it's called a Dutch oven. I inherited two of them from my Nonna."

The blond lad frowned a little; it always vexed him when he didn't have the answer to a question. If only he had that laptop now, he could search the Internet.

The redhead laughed fondly, correctly reading his frustrated expression. "Why don't you see what you can find out?" she suggested, "and fill me in, okay?"

Justin smiled and nodded, already planning to do a quick bit of research at the school library the next day. Pointing at the blue pot on the lowest shelf, he raised his eyebrows in question.

"That's it," Debbie responded. "There should be a red one right behind it."

As he went to lift the pot, Justin staggered, surprised by its weight, and almost dropped it on the floor. "Damn, this thing's heavy," he gasped.

"Careful," Debbie chided, taking the ‘oven' from him, "that would put quite a dent in the floor, or break bones in your foot."

Justin nodded in thanks for the timely rescue.

What's with you youngsters nowadays?" Debbie chaffed as she carried the Dutch oven over to where Justin had been chopping the veggies. The lad stared at her in consternation; she acted like the pot wasn't any heavier than one of Harley's feathers.

As he knelt back down to get the other Dutch oven, Deb continued, "There was Harry at the diner today, walking around like a zombie just because he worked a double shift yesterday and then had to work again today. I can't tell you the number of times I've pulled double shifts three, four, five days in a row. Heck, I still do that, never mind when I was Harry's age. The kid has no stamina."

Even though he was braced for the weight of the pot this time, Justin still grunted as he heaved up the pan and carried it over to the other counter.

"And you, Sunshine," Debbie chuckled. "You might want to work on your arm muscles or something. Cast iron pans may be kinda heavy,"

Heavy as fuck, Justin thought querulously.

"but they're perfect for cooking meat evenly. They're also great for soups and stews. I'm gonna use these puppies" - she patted the side of the blue pot fondly - "when I show Fahad how a bean soup should be made."

The blond lad grinned, amused by Debbie's competitive streak.

"Wait, where was I going with this?" she inquired, as Justin set the red pot next to the blue one.

The teenager shrugged, hoping she'd forgotten about his wimpy performance with the unwieldy pots. Fat chance, he mused, sighing, when she reached out and squeezed his left biceps. 

"Oh, right," she nodded, "I meant to say that a cast iron pot doesn't weigh nearly as much as a toddler - and it doesn't bloody squirm around while you're holding it either."

Yeah, but you could brace a toddler on your hip, Justin wanted to contend. He kept his mouth shut, though, knowing it was a pretty feeble argument. Between this and his earlier fight with the mattress, it was apparent that he really did need to hit the gym. Go-go dancing at Babylon on Fridays and Saturdays wasn't enough to keep him fit, unlike his soccer training routine. The problem was when and where to exercise; he was already way short on time, and he didn't dare use the gym at St James, where he'd likely be confronted by Hobbs and his cronies. Maybe he could figure out some kind of exercise routine over the winter break, possibly even ask the professor for some tips on the best exercises to improve his core strength and rebuild his muscle mass. He was tempted to ask Brian - he knew the brunet stud visited Ript regularly - but he suspected they'd end up practising a different kind of exercise. Therefore, Ben was the better bet for a workout, er... He started to laugh as he realised he couldn't think about either ‘exercise' or a ‘workout' without giving the words a sexual connotation, especially not in conjunction with Brian.

He snapped out his reverie when he realised Debbie was still talking, and hastily tuned back in to what she was saying. "...not like you stop toting them around when they get older. Christ, I sometimes had to carry Michael around when he was nine and he'd suddenly run out of gas, you know? I'd put him on my hip and carry him all around the Big Q, or along Liberty Avenue for blocks and blocks."

Wasn't that awfully old? Justin wondered. He'd have pitched a fit if either his mum or his dad had wanted to tote him around at that age. No surprise, really, that Michael still clutched onto Deb's apron strings. She must've been awfully strong and hardy, he reflected, to carry a nine-year-old for a long distance. "You really are tough," he declared, looking at the redhead in awe.

"Pshaw, Sunshine," Debbie dismissed his admiration, "that's what a mother does. I'm sure Jennifer did the same with you."

Biting back a ‘Thank fuck she didn't,' he clumsily changed the subject, gesturing at the Dutch ovens and the cut vegetables. "Uh, what should I do next?"

"Get the roasts out of the refrigerator," Deb instructed. "They're on plates on the middle shelf."

Justin quickly retrieved the meat. "Now we need to pat them dry with paper towels," Debbie explained, getting out a couple of clean plates. "You take one, and I'll do the other. After you've patted it dry, place it on the clean plate and put the one with the bit of bloody run-off in the sink."

The lad followed his mum's example, setting the roast on the clean plate when he was done. His brow furrowing as he looked at the meat, which was striated with fatty deposits, he worried, "Shouldn't we cut some of the fat away, so Brian will eat it?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Debbie chuckled. "That boy's eaten plenty of pot roasts at my house without having a clue about the fat in the meat. The marbling in a chuck roast is necessary for producing tender, flavourful meat that flakes apart easily."

Justin exchanged a conspiratorial glance with the motherly woman, who clearly knew how to get around Brian's issues with ‘fat.'

"Now we season to taste with salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning," Deb elaborated, demonstrating how to rub the spices into meat. Once that was done, she directed, "Put the Dutch ovens on the two large burners, turn them on to medium-high, and heat two tablespoons of olive oil in each one. Then brown the meat on each side. It'll take several minutes to brown each side; don't move the roast while it's browning, or it won't brown well, okay?"

Justin nodded seriously. "This sure seems like a lot of meat," he observed as Debbie moved back to the KitchenAid mixer to prepare another batch of cookie dough. 

"Even if the girls are on one of their vegetarian kicks, there wouldn't be enough meat to go around for all you hungry men with just one roast," Debbie asserted.

"Maybe there'll be leftovers," Justin commented with a sly smile. "I wouldn't mind a roast beef sandwich for lunch tomorrow."

"You cheeky little sod," Debbie laughed affectionately. "Don't worry; there should be plenty of meat for sarnies, to spare you and Daphne from the horrors of the school cafeteria."

"Three of them?" Justin inquired hopefully. When Deb lifted an eyebrow at him, he admitted, "Syd, like, usually eats with us now."

"You're that sure she's trustworthy."

"Yeah," Justin averred, realising as he said it that it was true, even if it was still strange to claim the cheerleader as his friend. "She, like, took down Hobbs on Friday night, outside of Babylon."

"This I've gotta hear," Debbie said.

While the meat finished browning, Justin regaled her with the story of what had happened.

"Hobbs' puny dick turned the pom-pom girl, huh?" the redhead cackled with glee over Sydney's verbal insult to the jock. "That girl may be a bit of an all right, after all. I still want to meet her and judge for myself, though."

"Sure," Justin replied. He had a feeling that the two women would either get along famously - maybe they'd bond over their common experience as cheerleaders - or they'd fight like two wet hens. 

Under Debbie's tutelage, Justin removed the roasts once they were browned, placing the meat back on the plates with the remnants of the seasoning sticking to them, and then lightly browned the veggies. 

"Almost done," she announced. "All that's left is to put the roasts on top of the vegetables, add a half cup of red wine and a bay leaf to each pan - there's some in a Ziploc baggie in the fridge - bring it all to a simmer, cover the pots, and then turn the heat down to low."

"How long should I set the timer for?" the lad wondered once he'd completed the final tasks.

"There's no need for a timer. It'll take about four hours for the roasts to cook. It's easy to tell whether the meat's done; it'll practically flake apart at the touch of-"

At that moment, the doorbell rang, interrupting Debbie's explanation.

"I bet that's Brian," the blond informed her, smiling broadly as he removed the apron he'd donned before sifting the dry ingredients for the various cookies. He was glad he'd thought to protect his clothes; otherwise, he'd have flour smudges all over himself, as well as bloody fingerprints from where he'd apparently wiped off his hands after seasoning one of the roasts. "Uh, I forgot to tell you Brian was coming over so we could work on ad campaigns. Do you mind if we use the kitchen table?"

"You never have to ask, Sunshine. It's your house, too, and Brian is always welcome. You lads will have to put up with the noise from me using the electric mixer and banging around in here, but the table is yours."

Justin beamed at Debbie. Fuck, but he was lucky to have this warm-hearted woman as his mum.

"By the way," she questioned, laughter evident in her voice, "how do you move in that T-shirt? It looks like it was painted onto your body."

Justin gave her a saucy wink but didn't otherwise respond, before trotting eagerly toward the door. He'd intentionally worn a tee that was too small. As he placed a hand on the knob and went to swing open the door, he hoped his skintight T-shirt and form-fitting cargo pants would have the desired effect on Brian. 

On the other side of the door, Brian was feeling frazzled. He was far less put together than usual after napping - for nearly two hours, for fuck's sake! - with Gus. The brunet hadn't been able to style his hair properly while also keeping an eye on his son, who was chock full of energy after sleeping for that long, so he'd flattened down the bedhead as best he could, donned a clean shirt, and called it good.

He'd nixed his plan to stop at the Cork and Bottle to pick up a couple bottles of wine on the way to Debbie's. Getting the tot out of his car seat, putting him in his stroller, wheeling him around the shop, and then reversing the process after leaving the store wouldn't make either of them happy, he suspected. He'd really turned the air blue when he realised the munchers hadn't even left the stroller with him; that meant he'd be forced to wear the fucking stupid baby carrier that Lindsay had on when they'd arrived at the loft. 

"Fucking munchers," he'd groused, staring at the thing in dismay. He - the stud of Liberty Avenue - was going to have to wear that fugly contraption, so he could safely transport his son from his loft to the jeep, and then from the vehicle to Deb's house.

"Fuh gah!" Gus burbled excitedly.

"Your mummies have no taste," Brian had stated seriously. "It wouldn't be quite so bad" - his lip curled as he fingered the material in distaste - "if this were a plain black or grey, instead of a floral vomit of fuchsia, orange, and green. It looks like part of your Aunty Em's Halloween costume."

"Fuh gah?"

"Yeah, it's fucking awful, Sonnyboy," Brian had confirmed. At least the girls spent the five hundred bucks he'd given them on a quality baby carrier, one that would keep Gus well protected, he thought begrudgingly. They must've been blind drunk when they selected this garish thing, however.

When the father and son exited the building at 6 Fuller, Brian had decided it was just as well that he didn't have the stroller - it would have been a pain to manoeuvre it along the icy, snow-dusted sidewalk - and his ire with the lesbians decreased a little. He was still pissed off, though, that he had to carry not only his son and his briefcase, but that he was also burdened with two of the four bags that the girls had brought to the loft with Gus. Since he knew the blonde never went anywhere without it, he'd grabbed Lindsay's go-bag, putting the empty bottle of the milk she'd expressed inside along with the two full ones, and snagged one of the other bags as well. He'd figured it didn't much matter which one he took since - in addition to what was in the go-bag - all three seemed to be stuffed with clothes, diapers, toys, and more snacks for the tot. The lezzies apparently thought Gus would need at least six changes of clothes, a ton of diapers, half of his toy chest, and ten bottles of Gerber baby food along with a bunch of ripe bananas. He'd almost left all three extra bags at the loft - after all, Deb kept plenty of everything on hand at her house - but he decided that would just unnecessarily piss off the girls. He wanted them to leave Gus with him more often, not less, so he was currently encumbered with one of the extra bags and would offer to drop off the others tomorrow.

He'd had to park almost two blocks away from Deb's front door; having Gus with him didn't change his parking karma one whit, unfortunately. On the plus side, his clunky Timberland boots had come in handy, and the cold weather kept most everyone indoors, so no one he recognised saw him walking around looking like an odd version of a one-man band, and he didn't have to dodge around other pedestrians, either outside the loft or in Debbie's neighbourhood. Compared to him, his Sonnyboy had enjoyed himself thoroughly, merrily waving his arms, banging his boots against Brian's ribs, and chanting, "Gah, Dada! Gah!" He clearly wanted his ‘horsey' to take him for a longer ride. Brian might've even made a couple of neighing sounds, to his son's vast enjoyment, but he'd never admit it.

Where the fuck was everyone? he wondered irritably as he stood in front of Debbie's door. He was ready to free both Gus and himself from the damned baby backpack, and to get rid of the fucking heavy bags. Just as he reached out to press the doorbell a second time, the door swung open, and a yummy-looking blond beamed at him for a second, before focusing his attention on Gus.

Wait, what the fuck had happened to the brat's hair? Brian wondered. It had just gotten to the point where he could get a good grip on it. He didn't get a chance to ask about it, though, Justin greeting the tyke with a delighted, "Gus-ster!" and placing a kiss on one soft cheek.

"Jushun! Jushun!" Brian's son crowed, scrabbling ineffectually at the blond's T-shirt with one mittened hand and drooling some more on his dad's Vince Camuto peacoat.

"Don't I get a kiss?" the brunet stud snarked. He pursed his lips as he glanced up at the mistletoe, momentarily forgetting about all the baby paraphernalia he was holding.

"Sure," the brat responded with a sunny grin, leaning around Gus, going on his tiptoes, and pecking Brian on the cheek. "Like son, like father," he declared impudently.

"Brat," the brunet grouched, not quite hiding a smile at Justin's insolence. "Take some of this shit, would'ya?" He canted his chin at his briefcase and the bags of baby stuff. "The munchers must've thought they were dropping my son off for a week instead of half a day. There's more crap back at the loft."

Just as the blond lad reached out to relieve him of the bags, a bright light went off. "Had to immortalise the moment," Debbie cackled as Brian tried to blink away the spots that flickered in his vision. "Brian Kinney, stud extraordinaire, wearing a baby wrap."

"It's not a baby wrap," Brian grumbled. "It's a baby backpack - a fugly one, but still a backpack."

"Um, Deb, maybe we should let him come in?" Justin suggested. "It's awfully cold out for Gus."

"Fuck, yeah," Debbie agreed, backing up from where she was standing almost on top of Justin. "Lemme get my hands on that grandson of mine."

After transferring the bags and his briefcase to the teenager, Brian stepped inside, closed the door, freed Gus from the carrier, handed him to Debbie, and began unbuckling the infernal contraption. "Fucking thing," he kvetched when one of the straps got stuck.

"Here, let me," Justin offered, setting down the bags and attacking the jammed spot with his nimble fingers, quickly getting it to release.

Brian breathed a sigh of relief once he was able to remove the baby backpack from his body. Since there was no way he was ever going to wear the hideous thing again, he'd buy a plain black one he could keep at the loft, one that wouldn't make him look like a fashion disaster.

"Gah! Mama!" Gus bestowed a gummy smile and a spit bubble on his grandmother.

"C'mon, Gussy," Debbie cooed as she removed the nipper's jacket, handing it to Justin to hang up. "Let's go see your Uncle Vic and get away from your cranky dada."

"Jushun!" Gus held out an imploring, chubby hand toward the blond.

"Sunshine can come with us," Deb assured the tot.

Brian chuckled ruefully when the blond immediately deserted him, following after Deb. That told him where he ranked with the brat. He paused to take off his peacoat - it'd have to go to the cleaners before he could wear it again - and sauntered into the living room behind the others.

"Who do we have here?" Vic smiled sleepily at the little boy, obviously waking up from a nap. He reached out and poked Gus in his belly, making the tyke giggle.

"Sosh! Gah mama! Jushun! Sosh!" Gus announced, kicking out with his booted feet.

"Now you're proud of your ‘sosh,' huh, Sonnyboy?" Brian asked. He reached out and removed Gus' little boots, so the boy could show off his spider socks, setting the footwear on the floor under the coffee table.

Harley looked inquisitively at the black arachnids on a red background, before tilting his head at the tall brunet. "Jushun. Hellooo, Briaaan. Blowjob. Come." he chirped.

"Sure," Brian agreed, snaking an arm around Justin's waist and hauling the blond against him, so the teenager couldn't help but feel his rapidly hardening member. "Whaddaya say, Sunshine? Wanna give me a blowjob?"

The only sound the blond boy uttered was a strangled, "Mmpf."

"Ha-ee!" Gus cheered. "Gah, Dada, Ha-ee." 

"No," Brian demurred, his lanky frame shaking with laughter as he rested his pointy chin against Justin's head. "Justin gives better blowjobs than Harley."

Another, less decipherable noise came from the blond lad.

"You've made a comparison, then?" Vic quipped, beginning to sound more alert.

"As if I'd let that sharp beak anywhere near my manhood." The brunet shuddered at the notion, surreptitiously checking to make sure that Harley's cage was securely latched.

"Jushun!" Gus demanded, wriggling in Debbie's arms.

"You'd better take him for a minute," the redhead advised, placing the nipper in Justin's arms. "He wants some Sunshine time."

Like father, like son, indeed, Brian mused, opening his arms so he could wrap them around both of his boys.

After patting Justin's cheek with pudgy fingers, Gus rested his head in the crook of the blond's neck and gave a contented gurgle. 

Brian smiled softly at his son. What a weirdly nice moment. 

Gus' contentment vanished a few seconds later, however, his right hand making grabbing motions against the blond's neck but coming up empty. "Jushun!" he wailed in protest.

"What's wrong, Gussy?" the teenager asked, running a soothing hand along the tot's back.

The boy only wailed louder, sounding frantic as he again grasped at air.

"I think he misses your long hair, Sunshine," Brian whispered into Justin's ear. "So do I," he breathed out, the words barely audible.

"Yeah?" Justin turned his head, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Twat. Brian could almost hear the words whirling around in the blond's head - You sooo care about me. Brian Kinney cares about me!

Now that he wouldn't mind hearing those phrases spill from the brat's mouth, Justin didn't actually say them. Dammit. "Yeah," Brian responded belatedly, rubbing his chin across the freshly shorn hair on the teen's head. "This schoolboy look is really hot, but fuck-"

"Fuh!" Gus interrupted. His wailing abated as he tested his word of the day again. "Fuh! Jushun, fuh!"

"Fuck. Blowjob," Harley chimed in.

"So much for our budgie being the one to teach Gus the F-bomb," Vic laughed.

"Their first ‘fucks,'" Debbie chortled, wiping away a fake tear. Then, catching the bland looks on the men's faces, she must've become suspicious because she placed her hands on her hips and ordered, "Fess up, gents. When did Gus and Harley first drop the F-bomb?"

Brian grinned, not at all averse to throwing Melanie under the bus. Heck, the bulldyke was probably proud of her accomplishment. "Gus copied Mel's ‘fuckin' great' this morning," he revealed.

"Fuh gah," Gus interjected, nodding sagely.

"And Harley?" Debbie directed a hard stare at her brother. 

"This morning too," Vic admitted.

"I can't believe it - I spent a stupid amount of time yesterday trying to teach that blasted bird to say ‘fuck,'" the redhead commented, irritation evident in her tone.

"Come on, Sis," Vic tried to cajole her into a better mood, "it was only an hour. Plus, it's to your credit that Harley associates ‘fuck' with ‘come' and ‘blowjob.'"

"Yeah, I did kinda string all those together," Debbie conceded, her frown turning into a smug smile.

"Along with ‘Briaaan' and ‘Jushun,'" Vic noted, his blue-grey eyes twinkling.

"I don't know anyone else who fucks as much as these two," Deb cackled. "They're like the Energizer Bunny." She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Well, maybe, Em-"

"Don't you dare lump me in with that crazy queen," Brian cut her off. He didn't mind the comparison as far as sex - Emmett was almost as good at pulling tricks as he was - but the stud wouldn't be caught dead in the outfits the southerner wore.

Brian glanced down at the blond in his arms and was amused to note that the lad was hiding his beet-red face against Gus' belly, where he was pretending to blow a raspberry, making the tyke shriek in delight.

"Fuh, Jushun, fuh!" Gus squealed, kicking out with one sock-covered foot and almost bonking the blond in the nose. "Fuh sosh!"

"You sound just like your daddy," Debbie chortled, "way back when he was a teenager." 

Brian shot an offended look at his surrogate mother. It hadn't been that long since he was in his teens.

"Every other word out of his mouth was ‘fuck,'" she clarified, catching hold of Gus' foot and giving it a wiggle. "I don't recall him being fond of socks, though, not even back then. I didn't think you liked them either, Gussy, seeing how you ended up running around barefoot the last few Sundays. I've been meaning to have a word with the girls about that - too easy to pick up germs or catch a cold or something - but it looks like they've sorted it."

More like he had, Brian mused but forebore from saying anything. Both Lindsay and Melanie were bound to get their backs up if Debbie weighed in with her ideas of proper child rearing.

"It is a good idea to keep your feet covered, Gussy," Justin said solemnly, "unless you're nibbling on your toes, that is." 

The blond let out a delicious giggle that made Brian's manhood perk up more and strain against the denim placket of his pants. Just as well, really, that he was wearing an older, more comfortable pair of jeans than usual. Unlike the blond lad, he thought appreciatively, his eyes sliding down to where the fabric of Justin's cargo pants cupped his backside.

"Toes taste nummy, I know," the teenager commiserated, nuzzling Gus' nose with his own.

The camera flashed again, and Brian looked up in surprise to see that this time it was Vic who had taken a photo with the old Polaroid. He hadn't even realised Debbie was still holding the camera when she carried Gus into the living room. It was okay, he decided, if he was in the picture; he hadn't been doing anything cutesy - that was all on the blond boy. And even with bedhead, Brian Kinney was fucking photogenic.

The flash of light didn't seem to bother Justin, who continued, "But you can get all sorts of icky things on your toesies, crawling around barefoot. And once you start walking it'll get even worse. I supposedly," he confided, "sucked beet juice that my mum had spilled on the floor off of my feet after I walked through the stuff. I don't think that's what happened, though" - he widened his eyes comically at the nipper - "because that stuff tastes nasty. I'm pretty sure it was Mollusk, not me, who drank beet juice off her feet."

Debbie, Vic, and Brian all burst out laughing as Justin concluded, his tone serious, "I wouldn't want you to end up drinking beet juice, Gus-ster, so always be sure to wear your socks, okay?"

"Christ," Deb cackled, "I'm tempted to buy some beet juice and spill it on the floor in front of the wee one, just to see what happens."

"It's nasty," the blond reiterated, scrunching up his nose. 

"It's healthy," Brian countered, still laughing. "Of course, you wouldn't like it."

"Have you ever tried it?" Justin challenged. "It's worse than those weird-ass soy shakes you drink."

Not about to admit that he didn't like the taste of the soy shakes - that was one benefit to having his Vitamix blender stolen - Brian cast about for a change of topic. With a sweet smile at Debbie, he stretched the truth a little. "Gus was babbling about his ‘Gah Mama,' so we Kinney men decided to come over for a visit. Right, Sonnyboy?" he inquired, grinning at his son over Justin's shoulder. The boy had said ‘Gah' and ‘Mama' more than once this morning, so he could've been talking about Deb even if he didn't utter the two words in sequence.

"Gah! Mama!" Gus reiterated the greeting he'd given his grandmother a few minutes earlier and gave her another gummy smile.

"Gussy," Debbie cooed, reaching out to reclaim her grandson from Justin. "Come to grandma." She carried Gus toward the kitchen, muttering something about ‘good little boys and cookies.'

Christ, the kid was going to be on a sugar high, Brian mused ruefully. His lips quirked upward, however, at the thought of the lesbians having to deal with a hyper Gus, provided his Sonnyboy hadn't tuckered himself out before the girls arrived.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Justin protested, giggling. He slid out of Brian's arms and trotted after Debbie. "I'm a good little boy, too."

Brian's member hardened and pressed against his flies at the sound of that enticing giggle. Christ, his reaction was so bloody predictable, he thought ruefully.

Chuckling, Debbie threw over her shoulder, "Come check the cookies that are in the oven, Sunshine. Get a couple more batches ready to go, and then you and Gussy can nosh on milk and cookies." She tilted her head toward Vic, adding, "There should be enough molasses crinkles for the big boys too, if you're interested."

Vic immediately levered himself out of the recliner, swaying a little as he stood.

Brian felt a pang of concern at how weak the older man seemed. Rather than mention his frailty - he knew Vic would hate that - he mumbled irately about the cookies, "Like I'd ruin my rock-hard abs with an infusion of sugar."

"Gonna drink your coffee black then, huh?" Vic teased, looking better once he gained his balance.

What was it with everyone acting like he put more than, maybe, a teaspoon of the sweetener in a cup of coffee? the tall brunet wondered. If he consumed as much sugar as they assumed, he'd be a frigging butterball.

Brian's dick, which had started to soften, stiffened again as they entered the kitchen and were confronted with a view of Justin's backside, where he was bent over the oven, removing a sheet of cookies, his close-fitting T-shirt riding up above his cargos to display a sliver of pale skin. Brian swallowed hard as he stared at that tantalizing bit of skin, wondering how the blond managed to look more alluring, fully clothed, than he did dancing at Babylon, clad only in tighty whities and sneakers.

Crap. As his manhood sprang to full mast and pressed painfully against the placket of his jeans, the brunet really regretted not having had the opportunity to jack off before going to Debbie's. Maybe he could sneak away to the loo and rub one out? Or better yet, talk Justin into a quickie in his bedroom?

Debbie interrupted his speculations, when she cackled, "You've stopped traffic, Sunshine. Brian and Vic's eyes are about to pop out; they're staring at your perky behind so hard."

Brian didn't see any reason to deny it. What hot-blooded gay man wouldn't stop to admire that bubble butt? "It's a work of art," he drawled, giving Justin's ass a swat as he sauntered past to take a seat at the kitchen table.

"That it is," Vic agreed on a gusty sigh.

"Jushun, gah!" Gus apparently concurred, slapping the palms of his hands against the tray of his high chair and then stretching his arms out toward his blond friend.

From his seat at the kitchen table, Brian watched as Justin's face acquired a pink hue, and he considered whether the boy's derriere might be changing colour in an equally delectable way. Probably not, since the colouration didn't usually extend past his chest. Christ knew, he wouldn't mind helping it spread further down; the more of that shade of pink on the lad, the better. It was the only time ‘pink' was an acceptable colour, in Brian's opinion. 

He really hoped Justin never stopped blushing so easily - from embarrassment, arousal, anger, or some combination of emotions. Not only was it a good clue about the kid's state of mind, Brian also got a kick out of razzing Justin. Most important of all, just like right now, the way a flush would spread across Justin's body was a total turn-on for the stud, especially when the tips of his ears would redden - just like right now. 

He'd never tell the teenager about this minor kink, of course, or he'd never hear the end of claims like ‘You so love me,' and ‘Brian Kinney gives a shit.' Then again, he mused, maybe he should let Justin know, especially if it would help him lure the boy back to the loft - and Brian's bed - where he belonged. So fucking hot, he mused, his eyes riveted on Justin, squirming a little in his chair as his dick pressed uncomfortably against the confines of his underwear and jeans. 

Debbie guffawed at the way the two older men were ogling Justin, giving the teenager a second slap on the rear, and boasting, "Like I said before, Kiddo, I never forget a behind. It's how I recognised you that night at Woody's"

"Oh, c'mon, Sis," Vic bantered. "As if there's any challenge in identifying that bubble butt. It's one of a kind."

Justin's flush deepened as he carefully transferred the cookies to a rack to cool. While his face slowly paled back to its normal hue, he formed balls of the molasses dough, rolled them in sugar, dropped the bits of dough onto the cooled cookie sheet, slotted the tray into the oven, and set the timer. "Nyah, nyah, nyah," he taunted, wiggling his derriere. "You're just jelly. You want one of your own, but it's mine, all mine," he concluded, impishly sticking out his tongue.

Brian chuckled. He wanted one, all right, exactly where it was - on Justin, where he could sink...

"Don't you go getting too big for your britches," the redhead teased, this time flicking at Justin's arse with the dishcloth.

"But this part's supposed to be well-rounded," Justin objected, dancing out of reach.

"Whyn't you bring those cookies over here, Debs?" Vic requested, his eyes twinkling. "We can discuss Sunshine's attributes while we eat."

"Good idea, little bro," Debbie commended him, heaping a plate high with cookies and bustling over to the table, where she plunked it down in the center. Next she divvied out four small plates. "Now we just need some milk, and we'll be all set."

"I'll heat up a bottle for Gus," Justin offered, smiling at his mum, "and start the coffee, if you'll pour my milk."

"You betcha," the motherly redhead agreed, grabbing the milk carton from the fridge, filling four glasses, and setting one down in front of Brian.

The brunet stared at her in disbelief. "Where's the coffee? I didn't drink milk when I was a teenager for fuck's sake."

"That's what you're going with, buster?" Deb challenged, arms akimbo, her eyebrows almost meeting her hairline. "I know it wasn't my Michael who slugged back a gallon of milk all on his lonesome every day."

Brian rolled his eyes. "I only drank the milk because you kept saying how it would make me hard."

"I said, it would give you strong, hard bones," Debbie stressed as she moved over to the counter and started a pot of coffee.

"It gave me a very hard bone-r." Brian smirked, gesturing toward his crotch. He grinned in satisfaction when his sexy repartee caused the blond teen to let out a naughty giggle.

"I'll drink both glasses of milk," Justin promised through his laughter, putting his glass in the fridge and sliding Brian's across the table so it was in front of his own chair. "Nothing goes as well with cookies as cow juice." Lowing an elongated, "Moo," he asked, "Right, Gus-ster?

"Muh-uh," Gus attempted to ape the teenager.

"It's Moooo," Debbie encouraged her grandson.

"Muh-uh gah," Gus tried.

"Good job!" Justin praised the tyke's effort.

Vic and Brian exchanged mirror-image, arched-eyebrow looks as the other three practiced mooing. Christ, Brian thought, at this rate there'd be a whole table of sick cows mooing for their dinner after everyone else arrived. He bit his tongue to keep from making a caustic remark, fairly certain that would only drive Debbie and his boys to greater heights.

Justin, however, must've caught sight of their silent exchange because, while Debbie and Gus mooed at each other, he stuck out his tongue at Brian and mouthed, "Old man."

Hoping he'd have the opportunity to show the youngster how old he wasn't later tonight, Brian feigned indifference to the insult.

Justin giggled again, and Vic had the temerity to join in the hilarity, causing Brian to glare at him. 

"I am getting old" - Vic shrugged as Justin carried over the warmed up bottle for Gus - "no two ways about it."

Brian felt a frown forming at that comment. Vic wasn't that old, for fuck's sake. It was true, however, that even though he was only forty-three, he looked like he could be in his sixties. Hastily smoothing out his brow so that Vic wouldn't take note of his worry, he mentally snarled, Fucking HIV.

Fortunately, Vic didn't notice anything amiss in Brian's behaviour, since he was watching Justin. "You knew just how to test that baby bottle, Kiddo," he observed, smiling at teen. "How'd you learn to do that?"

"Molly's, like, ten years younger than I am," Justin answered as he handed Gus his bottle and made sure the tyke had a good grip on it. "My mum showed me what to do so I could help out. I got a charge out of feeding her. It was only when she started to talk that she turned into a total brat," he kidded. "Anyway, it meant I knew exactly what to do when I started babysitting for the girls."

It was more than he'd known, Brian thought with wry amusement. Linds had had to show him what to do the first time he gave his Sonnyboy a bottle. He couldn't remember ever being around an infant before Gus was born.

"Really," Justin noted, "Gus could drink his milk from a sippy cup now that he's over nine months old, but I figured none of us want spilled breast milk landing on us. He's still getting the hang of using a cup, so he tends to make a mess."

Both Brian and Vic shot appalled looks at the teenager.

"Men," Debbie humphed. "You'd think you never guzzled from your mama's tit."

"Christ, Sis," Vic argued. "It's not like I can remember, and there's no way I'd go near a mammary gland nowadays."

"Ditto," Brian mumbled, a disgusted expression on his face. He couldn't imagine that his mother had ever breastfed him.

"For fuck's sake, a tit's a tit," the redhead expostulated, pointing at Brian. "I bet you don't have any problem sucking on Sunshine."

The blond boy, who was breaking apart one of the chewy molasses cookies and placing it in a plastic bowl for Gus, made a high-pitched, squeaky noise, almost like a tea kettle whistling.

Since Justin appeared to be at a rare loss for words, Brian spoke up. "That's entirely different," he deadpanned. "No floppy bits."

The teenager giggled, and Brian smiled at having provoked that reaction.

"Right," Debbie rolled her eyes, "your floppy bit is lower down."

"I don't have any floppy bits," the offended stud demurred. He was never floppy; relaxed sometimes, but not floppy. And right now, he was hard as a rock, just like any other time he was near Justin. Heck, he didn't even have to be near the lad; just thinking about him was enough.

"Jushun, gah," Gus intervened, letting the nipple of his bottle slip from between his lips, before it clunked onto the tray of his highchair. He reached toward the dish with the cookie bits with one chubby fist, demanding, "Cuh-ee."

"‘Cookie' is a great word to add to your vocabulary," Justin praised the tyke, grinning broadly at him. 

"It's a carb word," Brian instantly protested. "It doesn't get any worse than that."

"Ignore your dada," Justin recommended, setting the bowl with the crumbled bits of cookie, which he'd softened in milk, in front of Gus. "He ingests plenty of sugar - he just dumps it in his coffee and pooh-poohs the good stuff." With that, he took a small piece from Gus' bowl, smiling at the nipper as he popped it into his mouth.

Gus copied Justin, sticking his hand inside the dish, bringing his fist up to his mouth, and gumming at the bit of soft cookie.

"Cuh-ee!" The nipper bestowed a toothless grin on the adults, crumbs dotting his lips and chin.

Huh. The blond blinked in surprise as Brian snitched a cookie from his plate, gulped it down in two big bites, and then swigged some of the milk from Justin's glass. Had the adman succumbed to the ‘if you can't fight 'em, join 'em' school of thought, or had he knocked back one of the sugary treats completely unaware of what he was doing? 

His curiosity was soon relieved, Brian assessing, "Not bad," sneaking another cookie, and swallowing it whole.

Aha. Brian must be going with ‘The calories don't count if I eat from someone else's plate.' Justin reasoned. 

A beat later, the brunet again took a gulp from Justin's glass - at the exact same time that Gus lifted his bottle and guzzled from it. The tyke didn't swallow all the milk before pausing to smile at the adults, so both ‘boys' ended up with milk mustaches, although Brian's was barely visible. 

He realised he wasn't the only one who thought the father and son moment was worth memorialising - he was already sketching it out in his head - when Debbie cooed, "Aww," and the flash on the Polaroid camera went off.

Gus was clearly used to being photographed because he gave his grandma a sweet smile. "Gah mama! Cuh-ee!"

"I see that!" Debbie grinned back at the little imp. "You and your daddy," she noted with a sly smile.

"Where's the coffee?" Brian asked, pretending he had no idea what the redhead was on about.

"Right here, your majesty." Deb set the carafe down on the rooster trivet so firmly that some of the liquid sloshed over the side.

"About time you realised I'm royalty," Brian snarked, while Deb pinned the new photo to the fridge with a pride heart magnet. "Now how about a mug for my coffee?"

"That's enough lip from you, Buster Brown!" Debbie chided, collecting cups, saucers, and spoons for everyone and placing them on the table

"As if I'd ever demonstrate such a godawful sense of style," Brian objected as he ladled sugar into his mug. "Adopting ‘Buster' as their mascot was bloody clever advertising on the part of the Brown Shoe Company, though."

"Ugh," Justin interjected, screwing up his mouth, "the way my hair was growing, I might've ended up imitating Buster's pageboy hairstyle. That would've been truly godawful."

The other adults burst out laughing. "How do you know who Buster is?" Vic inquired. "Even Sis and I are too ‘young' to have worn the big, clunky shoes that were popular for decades. Parents loved them; they lasted for-fucking-ever."

"Uh, the barber I used to go to had a drawing of Buster Brown on the wall of the shop, right next to the cash register. You know, the long, not-quite-tamed golden locks," Justin explained, grabbing the sketchpad he'd left on the sideboard, sitting down, and quickly recreating the drawing.

"Christ. I'm surprised he's still in business," Brian opined, shuddering. "In a shoe store, okay, with a better rendering of the original shoes, but that looks like a pudgy girl dressed in her Sunday best."

"At least he's not with that scary-looking dog that I've seen on a couple of old posters," Debbie commented. "Tige must've given the kiddies nightmares, the way the mutt looked like it had gotten loose from The Shining."

Justin suppressed a horrified shiver. He imagined the standee of Captain Astro morphing into a nightmarish amalgamation of Johnny and Buster Brown, with a hideous clown-dog by their side. He didn't want Deb and Vic to come running into his room because he was screaming his head off tonight. Maybe he should go to the loft if Brian invited him again. He'd be bound to sleep soundly after the ensuing sex marathon.

Vic changed the topic, nodding at Justin's T-shirt and inquiring drily, "What's up with being Too busy to FCUK, Kiddo? Are you sure you're gay?"

Justin giggled. He'd been expecting the smart remarks to fly long before this.

"Surely I've taught you better than that," an appalled Brian observed, evidently reading the print on the tee for the first time. "You're never too busy or too tired or-"

"Uh-huh," the blond cut him off. "How about the time you fell asleep on me while I was rimming you?

"That doesn't count," Brian instantly protested. "I had been keeping Michael company until some godawful hour of the morning because he was down in the dumps about the good doctor, all worried that David didn't ‘get' him."

"Uh-huh," Justin reiterated, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Maybe you'd better look up the definition of never."

Justin watched in fascination as Brian's face turned a dull red. Who knew that blushes were contagious?

The siblings cackled in glee, Vic opining, "I'd shut my gob, if I were you, ragazzo. You've already lost the battle." 

"You have a crumb... right here," Justin murmured, diverting everyone's attention and sparing Brian from more raillery. He lifted his thumb as if to brush the crumb away from the brunet's chin, but instead leaned in and licked it off with the tip of his tongue. 

How bold should he be? Justin wondered as he trailed his tongue lightly along Brian's jawline and up to his ear. He couldn't keep his hands off his former lover, who really seemed to be making an effort to be his friend; perhaps he was even trying to establish a relationship. Whether Brian had yet recognised what he wanted was doubtful, but it wasn't only up to him - Justin needed to do his part too. Maybe he could even go to the loft with Brian for the night? he thought again, considering it more seriously this time. Probably not the best idea, but it was so very tempting. He really, really missed the feel of Brian's skin against his...

Justin's cock throbbed painfully, and he decided that even if it was too soon for them to become lovers again, he shouldn't be the only one in agony. He therefore breathed out into Brian's ear, "Play your cards right and maybe I'll give that rimming another go."

As he sat back in his chair, Brian gave him an intense look, his body twitching toward Justin's.

Before Brian could say or do anything, though, Vic moaned, "Fuck. You two are way hotter than anything on the telly. I thought you were about to go at it, right here and now."

Justin jumped a little and blushed again. He'd forgotten, just for a second, that anyone besides Brian was there.

Debbie sighed, fanning herself. "Yeah. You hardly did anything, but the temperature must've risen a good twenty degrees. I sure hope Carl and I have half your chemistry."

Eww, Justin thought, wrinkling up his nose and exchanging a dismayed glance with Brian.

Fortunately, before Deb could delve deeper into the topic of hetero attraction, Brian jumped in. "Ready to get to work?" he asked Justin, rising from his chair. "I just need my briefcase-"

"It's right over there," Deb told him, motioning at the sideboard. "Sunshine grabbed it on the way into the kitchen."

The brunet stifled a sigh as he snagged his satchel, extracted his laptop, set it on the table, and booted up. So much for taking a moment to relieve his hard-on in the downstairs loo. All he would've had to do was tug on his aching member once or twice, and that would've been enough. He'd just have to pull out all the stops, he resolved, and get the kid over to the loft tonight. Christ, he soon wouldn't be able to think if he didn't ease the problem, and Justin had to be in a similar state. Really, he'd be doing the blond a favor; if Brian didn't do something to ease the tension, Justin wouldn't be able to concentrate on his finals.

"Uh, I haven't really worked on the revised boards for the Wertshafter account yet," Justin half apologised. 

Brian quickly changed gears; he'd been about to mention the bookstore account but now decided to explain about Wertshafter. "I need to sell Wertshafter on our idea" - Brian stifled a grin at the way the kid's face lit up when he said ‘our' - "before we proceed with the boards. I can use the rough drafts for my Tuesday afternoon meeting."

A horrified look on his face, the blond spluttered, "Why didn't you tell me you're meeting with Mr Wertshafter so soon? The drafts are awful, not polished at all." Justin riffled through the pages of his sketchbook, searching for the drafts. "Maybe I can fix these now-"

The adman tried to cut off the frantic flow of words, "Whoa! The prelims are-"

The blond artist spoke right over him, "I don't want to put you in a foul mood like those twins - are they really twins? - you were always bitching about at Ryder. It could make Kinne-" He was obviously even more rattled by almost divulging the name of Brian's new agency, stumbling as he continued, "Uh, that is, make you look bad in front of your first cli-" 

"Justin," Brian said firmly, managing to halt the lad by using his full first name, "your rough drafts are works of art compared to the crap I got from the morons at Ryder." Christ was he ever glad to have left the indistinguishable Brad and Bob behind, to say nothing of the incompetent font guy. The other so-called artists at Ryder might've been better than the nitwit trio, but Justin could still run rings around them. He doubted the kid would need someone else to select fonts for him either. 

Justin beamed at the compliment, but the brunet could tell that - despite knowing that Brian never handed out unwarranted praise - the youngster still didn't believe that his skills were on a par with those of experienced graphic artists.

"In any case," he attempted to allay Justin's concern, "I won't be pitching the final product at the first meeting. No matter how small an account may be, I negotiate with the customer, and the boards for the campaign are revised accordingly - sometimes just a couple of times and sometimes again and again - until both the client and I are satisfied."

"Erm, right." Good thing the SAT didn't cover the principles of marketing, the embarrassed teen mused, or he'd be going down the pan in a couple of days. 

"What's Kinney-?" Vic inquired, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"Yeah, I wanna know too," Debbie inserted.

Fuck, he'd really blown it, Justin worried, taking a moment to wipe off Gus' chin and sticky fingers with a damp cloth.

"That's need to know," Brian replied nonchalantly.

"Are you saying we can't keep a secret?" Debbie asked indignantly.

Brian lifted an eyebrow at her but didn't say anything.

"Uh, Sis, you know you'd probably spill to Michael without thinking about it," Vic commented. "Either tonight at dinner or at the diner tomorrow. And pretty soon everyone on Liberty Avenue would know."

Rather than getting angry, Debbie let out a belly laugh. "That's true," she acknowledged as she stood up and turned toward the oven to check on the cookies. "I can't keep anything from Michael."

To Justin's surprise, Vic shot a disapproving look at his sister, although he had no idea what it was about. 

Brian was also curious about the peculiar expression on Vic's face, but he ignored it, asking Justin, "How about we brainstorm ideas for another potential client?"

The blond lad beamed at him as if Brian had given him the best gift ever. 

Christ, all it took to earn one of those sunshine smiles was to indicate vaguely that Brian valued the boy's opinion. Why the fuck had he been so resistant to doing that in any kind of ‘public' setting before? Brian wondered. He was especially irritated that it hadn't occurred to him to make use of Justin's artistic talents before the whole mangy dog incident. Even then, he didn't really utilise the boy's skills. 

"Did Ted bring in this client as well?" Justin's voice broke into his musings.

Brian focused back on the teenager, whose grin was now more of the shit-eating variety. "As if," the adman quibbled, not entirely truthfully. After all, if Shane McFarland, the owner of Over the Rainbow, hadn't gotten to talking with Ted and Ben - during that clichéd meeting in a bookstore, for fuck's sake - he probably wouldn't have heard about Brian Kinney, advertising executive extraordinaire. That was well before things went south at Ryder, though, so Theodore mentioning his name hardly entitled the accountant to bragging rights.

"You gonna clue us in on who the client is?" Vic questioned

"Shane McFarland." They'd never guess who that was, Brian thought with a smug grin.

"Who?" Vic, Justin, and Debbie asked at the same time.

"He's a bookstore owner," the adman dropped a couple additional titbits. "A local one."

"Big help that is," Deb huffed. "There's lots of bookstores in the Pitts."

"Over the Rainbow?" Vic guessed correctly. "I saw an ad in the newspaper not long ago, something about them being under new management."

"The ‘bookworm' is all yours," Brian joshed.

"The name of that place is so tacky," Justin commented, his face screwing up in distaste.

Unsurprisingly, he and the little twat were again on the same wavelength, Brian reflected.

"Yeah," Vic nodded, "it is awfully corny, like it's a place for kiddies only, not teenagers or adults."

"I don't know," Debbie dissented as she prepared another batch of cookies to go in the oven. "A ‘rainbow' is indicative of the LGBT community, and it's geared toward people of all ages. It's a family place. My kid still likes to go there; he's told me lots of times that it's his favorite bookstore, after Buzzy's comic shop."

It explained so much, Justin mused, that Michael thought Buzzy's was a bookstore. One could, he supposed, be generous and extrapolate ‘book' from ‘graphic novel,' and thus make Buzzy's shop into a bookstore. "Erm, there has to be another name that wouldn't be so juvenile and would still fit our community," Justin suggested diplomatically. "That's if the new owner is willing to change the name."

The adman hadn't intended to include Debbie and Vic in the brainstorming session, but with Deb making valid points, it was obviously a good idea to do so. He might even be tempted to continue the discussion over dinner, and get a wider range of input, depending on what they came up with now. "That's exactly what Shane's willing to do," Brian told the others, "if we can come up with a ‘label' that he likes. Ideally, I'll provide him with a few options and we'll discuss the pros and cons.

"What I'd like to do now is use the four of us as a focus group - come up with names and then consider whether or not they'd fit an LGBT bookstore." 

"You betcha," Debbie enthusiastically volunteered. "I can do that."

He'd jot down all the possibilities they came up with, Brian decided; it couldn't hurt to give McFarland a laugh or two. "I'll start, so you get an idea of how this works. Subtext is great and it could have sexual, well, subtext, but because of that, it's not very family-oriented."

"How about Leaves of Grass?" Vic offered. "That would be literary, and Walt would've been right at home on Liberty Avenue." 

Brian chuckled. "We're keeping it all in the family. That's the first name I thought of."

"It's a good one!" Debbie slapped the palm of one hand against the counter in approval. "It would subtly encourage children to leaf through books, maybe outdoors in the park. It's perfect for the frazzled parents too; fuck knows, there were plenty of times when Michael was being a little shit that I could've done with a joint."

"They could have a smoking room in the back of the bookstore," Vic deadpanned. "The kids reading out front, and the adults toking in the back."

"Exactly!" the redhead unthinkingly corroborated, closing the oven door. When laughter greeted her as she turned around, the men could practically see the gears turning as she replayed what Vic had just said. "Well, shit," she deflated, "I guess that's out because of the connection with weed."

"I wouldn't want to be accused of corrupting the youth of the city," Brian stated piously.

The siblings looked at each other, then at Justin, and finally at Brian.

Ignoring the amused glances from Vic and Deb - and the indignant one from Justin; the kid obviously didn't believe he'd been corrupted - Brian returned to his explanation, "Bound to Please, a name similar to Subtext, popped into my mind later on. Like Subtext, It has a sexual subtext, but unlike Subtext, it could be explained away very innocently."

"Sha sha sha," Gus carrolled, bouncing in his high chair.

"What's that, Honeybun?" Debbie inquired.

Brian barely hid a wince; the bulldyke was going to have a shit fit if she heard Deb using nauseating pet names just as she was training Lindsay out of doing so. No wonder Michael used that particular endearment for the good doctor, although he had no idea why David in turn applied it to Michael.

"I think that's Gussy's attempt at another new word," Justin giggled. "You know, ‘shit.'"

"Oh, fuck. The girls are gonna have a hissy fit." Debbie threw an anxious glance at the tyke. "Maybe he won't repeat it."

"Sha! Fuh! Gah mama!" Gus waved his arms around, smiling at his grandmother, more cookie crumbs dotting his lips and chin.

"Too late, Sis," Vic observed.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Justin gasped between giggles. "It's not like any of us are good at watching our language around Gus." He frowned, mulling it over, before tacking on, "Except for Lindsay, I guess." He'd never heard the blonde woman utter anything stronger than ‘damn' and that only once or twice.

"Don't let Linds' prim and proper demeanour fool you," Brian advised. "She cusses worse than a swabbie when she's truly pissed off."

Just then, a new song started playing on the radio, which Deb had set to a station that was playing holiday music round the clock. The redhead began humming along to the Beach Boys' rendition of (I Saw Santa) Rockin' around the Christmas Tree. After twirling around in time to the music, she whooped, "I've got it! How about Good Vibrations?"

"Nice one, Sis. ‘Good vibrations' from reading" - he waggled his eyebrows - "and other things."

"That's pretty good," Brian acknowledged, adding the name to the Excel spreadsheet he'd created, with pros and cons next to each suggestion. "The sexual allusion is subtle enough to be explained away. Plus, even though the song's pretty old, the Beach Boys are still popular, with that providing a subliminal inducement to patronise the bookshop. The only drawback is that there's not a direct connection to reading and books."

"Um," Justin spoke up diffidently, "is the emphasis purely on increasing business for the store?"

Brian eyed him assessingly but didn't respond so, hoping he wasn't making a fool of himself, as he had with the ‘draft' debacle, the lad continued to probe for more information. "What's more important - that the name is queer family oriented or queer adult oriented? Maybe the kind of services the bookstore provides and how it's perceived by the community are more valuable than an immediate uptick in sales," Justin surmised.

The ad exec nodded approvingly.

Growing in confidence, Justin posited, "Maybe we should consider the bookstore in the context of a safe place for Gus. I mean, the girls are already looking at schools, and-."

"He's not even a year old!" Debbie protested.

"Yeah, but Linds was moaning about how the really good ones, with strong anti-bullying safeguards, review applications and make admission decisions well in advance. Some of them offer preschool as well as kindergarten and elementary school."

It was Vic's turn to interrupt. "What's finding a school got to do with the name for a bookstore?"

"I'll get there," Justin promised, laughing, "if you give me a chance. Gussy's school," he cast a fond glance at the nipper, who was chewing on more of the molasses cookie, "should be a place where he won't be bullied. I bet, though, that even the best schools are just filling quotas, like, you know, one slot for a child with homosexual parents. Even if the school is really inclusive and the ‘no-bullying' policy is more than just lip service, it's still gonna be hard to enforce."

Taking a deep breath, he continued, unable to hide his bitterness, "I mean, c'mon, just look at St James. They have an anti-bullying policy on the books, which is a total joke when it comes to gay students."

"Fuckers," Vic growled. "Things haven't changed much since I was in school."

"Then, there's the brochures, which boast about how they recruit racial, ethnic, and religious minorities. But none of that means jack shit," Justin elaborated. "Daph is a rare coloured person at a white-bread school. She's, like, more acceptable because of her ‘lighter' skin tone, but she's still had to contend with slurs from other students. She's still different from, I'd estimate, the ninety-five percent WASP student body.

"What I'm getting at is that, no matter what school Gus goes to, he'll still be different because he has two mums. Kids need a place where they aren't perceived as different. The bookstore could provide a safe haven for reading, art, fun activities, maybe even study groups," Justin expounded, his voice passionate.

When Justin stopped speaking, there was silence in the kitchen for a few moments. The blond felt exhausted. He hadn't realised how strongly he felt about the subject until he began speaking. He sure as fuck never wanted Gus to have to endure school like he had - or like Brian had.

The brunet eyed his son and then Justin thoughtfully. "Making the bookstore into a haven for kids, and their parents, would require long-term planning, but the payoff would be a lot of goodwill and increased business for the bookstore. We could advertise it as being oriented to the whole family - from grandparents to young children."

"The place should have a café inside," Debbie proposed. "The adults could take a load off and enjoy a cappuccino and a pastry, or a sandwich, while their kids are occupied with group activities."

"That's not a bad idea, although it may require more of an investment than McFarland is prepared to make right now. I can run the idea past him, though. In the meantime, how about some more ideas for names?"

They tossed around names: Moby Dickens and Wild Rumpus - both clever but no real connection to the queer community; Gay's the Word - struck all of them as too bland; Outwords - good but a little lacking in pizzazz; and Eat My Words, which they all thought was pretty darned funny but had too much of a sexual overtone.

"Anything else?" Brian asked as he finished a second cup of coffee.

Justin, who'd been alternating between drawing images to match the proposed names and playing a word-association game between words about books and queer identity, suddenly saw what seemed like the perfect combo. "What about Printed with Pride?" he recommended.

"Fuck me!" Debbie declared, stunned. "That's bloody perfect."

"Fuh, Dada. Fuh!" Gus chimed in.

Brian shook his head at his son's new favourite word. Lindsay was going to have a conniption, but she need look no farther than her partner, he thought virtuously, disregarding the number of times he'd uttered the word in front of his Sonnyboy. "That may be the best one yet," the adman voiced his approbation. "It sounds very community-oriented, and well, prideful."

"There's a subtle sexual connotation as well," Vic pointed out, tongue in cheek. "It suggests that LGBT people do have sex - only in a positive, life-affirming way, of course."

The group broke out in laughter.

Tapping away at the computer keys, Brian added the comments - all pros - about Printed with Pride. "Now all I need is a couple of draft" - he couldn't resist teasing the blond by stressing ‘draft' - "layouts showing how the store could be rearranged. You up for that, Sunshine?"

"I can think of other things I'd rather be up for," the little twat teased right back.

Shit. That was all it took to make Brian's shaft harden again. 

Justin gave him a wicked, knowing smile, causing the brunet stud to wonder how his plans to seduce the boy had gotten twisted around. The teenager looked fucking hot in his too-tight clothes, while Brian had grabbed an old shirt by mistake - it was from last season, for fuck's sake - was wearing roomy jeans, and had unstyled hair. He didn't feel like his usual suave, studly self. 

Right as he was wondering how he was going to convince the lad to come home with him at the end of the evening, Debbie's voice intruded on his thoughts. "Practically the only reason I set foot in there is to get more magazines for Vic, and I feel proper skeevy, scanning the porn right next to the children's reading area."

"I think we're all agreed-" Brian started, but Deb barrelled right over him.

"I tried more than once to get the previous owner, that slimy perv Sapperstein" - she shuddered at mentioning the man - "to reorganise. I even offered to help him with it, but he brushed off all my suggestions."

"Thank fuck that bastard's gone," Vic declared, taking a swig of his coffee as if to wash away a foul taste.

"Christ, yes," Brian grunted. Sap was a sexual predator of the worst sort, one who liked to prey on young boys. Glancing over at the puzzled teen, he thanked his lucky stars that, just before the IRS came calling, Gary had departed for parts unknown. That had happened before Justin set foot on Liberty Avenue; otherwise, he had no doubt the creeper would've set his sights on the blond.

Debbie also must've noticed the blond's confusion, because she patted him on the shoulder on her way over to the oven, stating, "Believe me, you're better off never having met the man, Sunshine."

With no desire to dwell on the former bookstore manager, the adman said, "Let's include that caff Deb wants in one of the drawings. Okay?"

"Sure," Justin answered, already busily scratching away with his pencil.

"Just let me know when the grand unveiling of the remodeled, renamed bookstore will be, and I'll provide baked goodies," Debbie waxed enthusiastic as she transferred the latest batch of piping-hot cookies to the rack to cool. "In the meantime, unless you need my input on something else-"

Brian shook his head. "You were a big help," he thanked Deb and Vic. Truthfully, he was glad he wouldn't need to expand the focus group to include the entire family. He could just imagine the puerile names Michael would spout, the completely inappropriate ones from Em, and the boring choices from Linds, who could be a bit of a prude.

"Whenever you need an adman, just let me know," Vic jested. "I'm a jack of all trades. You name it - master chef, barber, odd-jobber - I'm your man."

Debbie moved around the table and gave Brian a sideways hug. "You're welcome, Kiddo," she told him, ruffling his hair and kissing him on the cheek.

Enduring the hug - his surrogate mum was the only one who could get away with this shit - Brian suppressed a sigh. His hair was in such a sad state, he was certain, that she could hardly make it worse.

"Now I'm gonna take my grandson to the living room and enjoy some playtime," the motherly woman announced.

Gus' eyes lit up as soon as Debs mentioned ‘play,' and he wiggled in his seat, eager to get down. "Puh, fuh, puh!" he insisted.

"You're a little young for the ‘fuh' part," Vic chuckled. "I'll supervise your playtime, Sis," he joked, getting up from his chair and carrying his dishes over to the sink before exiting the kitchen. "Make sure it's in your age range."

"You!" Debbie scolded, releasing Gus from his highchair, lifting him up, and following after her brother.

"Fuh! Ha-ee!" they heard the tot greet the budgie.

"Fuck. Blowjob," Harley amiably greeted his playmate.

Clicking to open the search engine a little later, Brian gave a low growl of frustration. He wanted to look on the Internet to see whether anyone else was using the bookshop names they'd come up with, but that was a no go. He'd completely forgotten that there was no Internet service at Deb and Vic's. Christ, if he wanted Justin's new laptop to be truly useful, he'd either need to arrange for a separate line for the Internet or buy a splitter so the telephone line could be switched between phone and Internet. 

The only telephone in the house was the wall one, he mused, eyeing the old-fashioned, corded phone. Splitter or not, it wouldn't make sense to plug in the phone cord there and run it over to the table. Someone was bound to trip over the thing and yank it out of the jack. They could be injured, and the fucking expensive laptop would probably go crashing to the floor. After looking around the kitchen, Brian concluded that the best - and safest - place for a jack that was on the wall next to the sideboard, right by the electrical outlet. That way the laptop could be plugged in, and the phone cord would be out of the way.

While he was at it, he should also have a phone jack installed in Justin's room, above the desk. It would be crazy for the kid to have to carry the laptop downstairs every time he wanted to connect to the Internet. In addition to that, if he was in the kitchen, Deb and Vic would want to know what he was doing, and the boy would have no privacy to, say, surf the Internet for porn. Yeah, Brian decided, definitely a separate phone jack in the kid's bedroom on a separate phone line - no having to disconnect when Debbie yelled that she needed the fucking phone. 

Might as well get Justin a telephone with a built-in answering machine too. Then he wouldn't have to trot down the stairs every time someone called, and Brian could leave him messages; most importantly Brian could reach him in his room for phone sex. None of this would be needed once Operation Twat Retrieval had been successfully completed and Justin was living at the loft again, but in the meantime...

"Quiet in here, huh?" Justin's voice impinged on the phone sex fantasy that was taking shape in Brian's head.

Brian coughed, a trifle embarrassed. What the fuck was he doing imagining phone sex when the kid was right here at the table with him? "Really? I hadn't noticed."

Right then there was a squeal of joy from Gus, followed by laughter from Vic and Debbie.

"I guess I spoke too soon."

"They're only one room away," the brunet observed, "and the ground floor has a fairly open floor plan - no inner doors except for the half bath and the pocket door for the laundry area."

"They sound like they're having fun," the blond said a trifle wistfully.

It really had been an excellent plan to come over early so his boys could spend some time together, Brian congratulated himself. "Let's finish this up," he suggested, "and we can join them."

That earned the brunet a brilliant smile.

"Show me what you've got," he requested, holding out a hand for Justin's sketch pad.

"I've only been in the bookshop once," Justin stated, "to check out a Game of Thrones display. It did seem like there was a lot of wasted space, so I think it would be easy enough to fit in a café, and even expand the children's reading area so there's room for them to, like, experiment with acting out the characters in the stories."

Brian chuckled when he read the thought bubbles that Justin had positioned above the heads of a few of the customers. At the front of the store, where the adult magazine section would be overseen by the clerks, a guy in a long coat, his legs bare underneath the hem, mused, "Now the mums won't think I'm gonna flash their kids."

In another spot on the drawing, the balloon above a young father, who had collapsed into a comfy chair just inside the children's area, read, "This is brill. I can take a load off while Susie participates in the special wizarding event for The Goblet of Fire.

"I'm gonna go grab something from upstairs," the blond informed him, pushing back his chair and getting up. "I'll be right back."

The adman nodded absently, continuing to peruse the layout. When Justin came back a couple minutes later, he requested, "Can you add some signs on the ends of the bookshelves to help patrons orient themselves? For instance, SciFi and Fantasy, A-F. And there should be signs hanging from the ceiling - such as ‘History' or ‘Romance' - so customers can more easily locate their interests. Just jot down a few for now to show the general idea; Shane will be the one to determine what subject area goes where."

"Oh, sure. I didn't even think about signage," the teenager replied, setting a large picture face down on the other side of the table.

"The signage in Over the Rainbow sucks," Brian commented. "I don't know how anyone finds anything."

"Uh, do you know where the restrooms are located?" the young artist asked. "I should pencil them in."

Brian pointed to a spot on the right-hand side.

"If there's gonna be a caff, it would be cool to have it right about here, then" Justin proposed. "Near the restrooms - which would make installing the plumbing for the kitchen area easier - and also close to the children's area. When little ones have to go, they're often in a big hurry."

"You'd know," Brian teased.

An aggrieved note crept into the blond's voice. "I'm not a two-year-old!"

The brunet chuckled. He'd known that would get the kid's dander up. Partly to pacify him, but mainly because it was a damned good idea, he noted, "It was a good idea to include comfortable chairs in various spots. What made you think of that?"

Justin shrugged. "It's just something I've always wanted in a bookstore, a place where I could leaf through a book at my leisure and decide if I wanted it or not."

"It's a good sales tactic," Brian praised the idea. "Customers are more likely to buy something that way."

"Maybe the customers could be allowed to look at potential purchases in the café as well?"

"Hmm," Brian pondered the notion. "That's a little more problematic since they could spill food or drink on the book or magazine before purchasing - and go back for a clean copy." 

The blond nodded in understanding.

"The gain in sales, however, should outweigh the loss of a few damaged books," the ad exec observed. "There's no harm in mentioning it to McFarland, although I don't know whether he'll be interested in investing in a café at all."

Justin nodded again.

"So what's with that?" Brian tilted his chin at the upside-down picture.

"Frau Rose, the librarian at St James, is a friend of mine," Justin related. "She's, like, the only faculty member who didn't give me the cold shoulder, not even for a little while, after I came out."

Brian wanted to kick himself. The way he'd outed Justin, driving up to St James, with ‘faggot' sprayed across the side of his jeep in bright pink paint, had been pretty fucking thoughtless and cruel. Naturally, the kid had accepted a ride from Brian - he hadn't wanted to lose face. 

What he was thinking must've shown on his face because Justin immediately reassured him, voice steady, "It's okay, Brian. I was already getting hassled by the bullies, who suspected I was gay. I'd rather be out and proud - no hiding."

Brian couldn't excuse himself that easily. He was the adult; he should've asked Justin if he was out or not, instead of just dropping him off like that. 

"Anyhow," Justin resumed, picking up the picture, which was in a simple wood frame, "I take an early bus so I won't be late for Dickhead's calculus class. I get to school nearly an hour early, so I've been hanging out in the library every morning before class. Frau Rose's just, like, really cool. She lets me use her computer if she doesn't need it, and we have fun chatting about all sorts of stuff. Plus, she knows Latin, so we can share ‘in' jokes."

Setting the framed picture face up in front of Brian, Justin told him, "This collage is a way for me to thank Frau Rose for all her help. I hope she'll get a kick out of it when I give it to her later this week." 

Brian studied the drawings. The librarian was nuts if she didn't fucking love this; he'd bet it was going to be worth a pretty penny one day.

The teenager pointed at the central sketch, which showed a woman shelving books, a bookworm emerging from one of the books on the cart she was wheeling around, and another worm part way out of an apple, spectacles on, reading a miniature book, Shakespeare's King Lear. "That's Frau Rose," Justin said unnecessarily.

Brian rolled his eyes. Who else would it be?

"Coulda been someone else," the teenager muttered.

In another sketch, Justin was holding a black tote bag with the motto ‘Omnia mea mecum porto.'

"I know that one," Brian claimed. "Back in my student days, that was literally as well as figuratively true."

"Not any more, what with all your designer duds and furnishings," the boy mocked.

Little brat. The brunet refused to respond to Justin's so-called wit. "I don't know this one, though," Brian confessed, studying a drawing of Frau Rose and two other people, all of them laughing, bearing the caption, ‘Aquila non capit muscas.'

"Probably ninety-eight percent of the St James student body and faculty wouldn't be able to translate it either," Justin estimated. "I mean, I get it with that one; it's pretty obscure unless you've studied the Latin language, literature, or history. Mind you, most of the students and teachers wouldn't fare much better with the other motto - bunch of ignoramuses."

"You're serious?" Brian asked, astounded.

"Dead."

"I guess it's not that surprising," the adman speculated. "My peers at university knew it, but I doubt more than a few of the pupils at my high school would've had a clue. It's too bad, though; it's the perfect saying for a student."

"I know, right?" Justin enthused. The teen's bravado disappeared, however, as he mumbled, voice rising so that it came out as a question, "Erm, I thought something similar might make a good poster to advertise the revamped bookstore?"

"We'd have to queer it and make it family-oriented," the adman reasoned, "but it would be different - and eye-catching."

Maybe ‘omnia mea mecum porto' could become, like, a motto for the gay community who patronise the bookstore," Justin quipped. "You know, a finger in the eye to the homophobes who wouldn't have a clue what we meant."

"Maybe," Brian allowed. "It's probably too tenuous a connection, though." Smiling in amusement as he studied the drawings, he asked, "Could I borrow your collage? I'll return it tomorrow, after I show it to McFarland."

"Sure." The lad was clearly chuffed that Brian had that good an opinion of his drawings.

"Too bad you'll be in class," the adman commented; "otherwise, I'd take you to the meeting with me. You'd wow Shane."

Justin's face suffused with pleasure at the praise.

It was time to have some fun, Brian thought, eyeing the brat, but where to start? He wanted to surprise, and of course, entice the teen. Ah, that was it - the tender skin of Justin's arms, which were bare underneath the plastered-on T-shirt. "There must be some way I can thank you, Jus," he husked, inching his chair closer to his ‘victim.'

"You, uh, you pay me," the boy stuttered.

 "It's going beyond the call of duty to give up your Sunday afternoon," Brian insisted, angling his chair so that he was almost perpendicular to Justin, his knee bumping against the blond's right leg.

Justin sighed as the brunet lifted his right arm and placed a soft kiss against his inner wrist, tongue flicking out to touch the pulse point. The teenager could almost hear the blood whooshing through his veins in response.

Next, Brian slowly feathered kisses up the inside of his arm. Justin was stunned at how arousing the barely-there touches were - his heart beating faster and his breathing becoming laboured - even though the other man's lips just grazed his skin, lightly stirring the fine blond hair.

When Brian reached his elbow, he glanced up, his hazel eyes glinting mischievously - right before he blew a raspberry against the sensitive spot.

"Bri-" Justin gasped, giggling when the older man compounded the sensation by puffing moist air against his skin. "That tickles!"

Brian smirked at him, before journeying further up Justin's arm, only stopping when he reached the cotton of his shirt.

The blond held his breath, waiting to see what Brian would do next.

While caressing the sensitised skin of Justin's arm with his fingers, Brian leaned in and began pressing butterfly kisses along the side of his neck.

Justin tilted his head toward the brunet, silently requesting firmer contact between lips and skin.

To his despair, Brian drew back. "Uh-uh. You've gotta behave if you want more, Sunshine. Head back up and sit still."

Shit. Reluctantly, the blond complied, returning his head to its original position.

"Good boy," Brian teased, starting over at the base of his neck and working his way - with agonising slowness - toward the ear. He nipped at the fleshy earlobe before soothing the bite with his tongue and blowing warm air across it.

"Nngh," Justin moaned. Fuck but that felt good. What wasn't so good was the way his package was being constricted. It might've been a mistake to choose the most figure-hugging pair of cargos he owned, he now realised.

Brian returned to the slow, feathery kisses, making his way along Justin's jawline. 

The dazed lad wasn't sure how much more of this torment he could take before he combusted.

Finally, Brian reached the center of his chin, where he stopped, his lips resting against Justin's skin.

Fucking do something, Justin wanted to scream.

The brunet raised his head with torturous slowness, his eyes locking on Justin's lips.

Please, please, please, ran through the lad's head.

Right as Brian's mouth began to descend onto his, Debbie breezed into the kitchen. "Don't mind me, boys. I've just gotta-"

"Cockblock me," Brian groaned, pulling away from Justin.

The blond boy flushed with embarrassment and frustration. He hardly wanted his mum to watch him snogging someone - what a mood killer. 

"I thought you liked an audience." The redhead grinned unrepentantly at the two men. "Besides, you're in my kitchen, in case you didn't notice."

"What happened to ‘La mia cucina è la tua cucina?' Brian snarked.

"Nothing's changed... I have a front-row seat," Deb sassed back at him.

Despite his embarrassment, Justin had to giggle. Debbie was one of the few people who could best Brian with any frequency.

"C'mon, Sunshine," Brian told the pink-faced teen, holding out a hand as he stood up. "Let's go see what my Sonnyboy is up to."

Justin accepted the proffered hand with a resigned sigh and a longing glance at Brian's lips.

As they ambled toward the living room, fingers entwined, Brian raised Justin's hand to his lips, tongued the joint between his middle and ring fingers, and whispered throatily into his ear, "I'll be picking up later where I left off."

Justin shivered in anticipation.

"J is for Jushun," the blond said a little later, setting the large wooden block with the letter J on all sides in front of Gus.

"Jushun!" the tyke crowed, the block toppling over as he tried to roll it toward his friend.

When Brian snorted in amusement, Justin sent him a reproving look and observed, "It's never too early to start learning."

"I was just thinking you might want to teach him that a round object rolls better than a square one," Brian remarked, his face the picture of innocence as he relaxed on the sofa, long legs propped up on the coffee table.

Debbie would normally have berated him for that - and knocked his legs away from the table - but she was dozing in her recliner, while a soft snore emanated from Vic's. Even Harley was napping, one leg up, eyes closed, and his head tucked into his wing feathers.

The blond kid rolled his eyes at Brian but didn't call him on his falsehood, instead returning to the educational game. Grabbing the block and then Gus' hand, he traced the raised letter with the tot's fingers. "D is for Dada."

A loud cry of "Briaaan!" disturbed the domestic scene as Michael raced into the room and flung himself down next to Brian, wrapping his arms around his friend.

"What the fuck, Mikey?" Brian struggled to disentangle himself from the shorter man, who was clinging to him like a limpet.

"I didn't know you were here, or I would've come over sooner," Michael proclaimed, his voice increasing in volume. "Then you wouldn't have been bored, stuck with only these for company."

Thank fuck Michael hadn't known his whereabouts, Brian thought, or he wouldn't have gotten a damned thing done this afternoon. As it was, he'd made more than satisfactory progress on the MacFarland account, and he hoped, with Justin as well.

Brian wasn't particularly surprised that his childhood friend had discounted Debbie and Vic. For all that he loved his mother and uncle, they were ‘old folks,' not Michael's peers; he undoubtedly assumed Brian felt the same. As far as Gus, well, Mikey just didn't get that Brian wanted to be involved in his son's life, that his laissez-faire attitude had changed the moment he first held his Sonnyboy.

Michael immediately corroborated that line of reasoning. "I mean," he waved a dismissive hand in Justin's direction, "I get why you'd want a babysitter. But-"

"Jesus, Michael, pipe down, would'ya?" Debbie grumbled, roused from her catnap. "Vic needs all the rest he can get."

Michael glanced guiltily at his uncle, who was starting to stir. "But, Brian," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Briaaan. Blowjob. Jushun." Harley chirped, also having been awakened by Michael's noisy arrival.

The short brunet's eyes darted toward the birdcage and then away, his face adopting a sour cast. Lips pressed together, he didn't utter any nasty remarks about ‘that dirty bird' or the ‘ludicrous' correlation the budgie had just made. Michael was obviously feeling guilty about something, although Brian couldn't imagine what.

Pointing a finger at Gus and Justin, Michael professed, "They're the ones making all the noise. Not me." The doorbell rang on the ‘me,' and he offhandedly informed everyone, "That must be David. He dropped me off and went looking for a place to park."

"Are you gonna let him in?" Debbie inquired when her son didn't move.

"Oh, I thought you were getting up," Michael claimed, his reluctance to leave Brian's side obvious. "To, like, check on dinner or something."

Frowning, Deb inhaled deeply and glanced at the clock before sinking back into the recliner. "Doesn't smell like anything's burning. I've got a good four minutes before the timer goes off."

Michael still didn't move.

"For fuck's sake, Michael, answer the damned door!" Vic demanded querulously.

Christ, Brian worried, looking over at Vic, the man's face was paler and more drawn than it had been that afternoon. 

"I can get it," Justin offered, glancing at Vic in concern as he stood up.

"It's my boyfriend!" Michael instantly shot off the couch and trotted over to the door.

The blond snickered, a Cheshire Cat-like grin on his face.

A beat later, Debbie started laughing. "Sunshine, you did that on purpose!"

The little shit, Brian mused admiringly.

Justin was saved from having to respond when more people spilled into the living room - Dr Dave with Michael clutching his arm, Ted and Ben right behind them.

David's chin jutted out pugnaciously as he fumed at Ted about something. "Dammit. That was- er, darnit," he stumbled to halt.

Brian rolled his eyes at the ridiculous lengths the man was going to to clean up his language, eradicating even a mild curse like ‘dammit.' Linds would probably jump on the bandwagon, though, if she heard about it. Thank fuck the munchers hadn't arrived yet; he'd have to keep his blonde friend away from the good doctor when they did.

"That was my spot!" David challenged, the cause of his ire rapidly becoming clear.

"You were nowhere in sight," Ted defended himself, "and the space was open."

"Yeah, okay, I was a few houses back," Dr Dave grudgingly acknowledged. "But I'd circled the block three times already."

"You would've had trouble fitting your Jaguar in there," Ben told David before turning to Ted, shaking his head in amazement. "I don't know how you slotted your Benz into that space in one go, Theodore; it would've taken me three or four tries - if I managed to squeeze in there at all."

"My stud muffin's a master at conquering small spaces," Michael simpered.

Gag me with a spoon, Brian thought, wincing both at the endearment and the blatant flattery.

"That I am, Babycakes," David agreed, hauling his boyfriend against his body and giving him a wet, lingering smooch.

Had he just thrown up a little in his mouth? Brian wondered, swishing his tongue around to check. Other than the sugary-sweet pet name - which was hardly new from the two ‘lovebirds' - the studly brunet couldn't exactly pinpoint why he was so turned off. For an old guy, the chiropractor wasn't in bad shape, buff even, and Michael had that whole puppy-dog eyes, boy next door shtick going. Although their technique was sloppy, two halfway decent looking guys going at it should still be arousing, not off-putting, right?

When he looked up, Brian realised he wasn't the only one disgusted by the scene. Ted's face bore an expression that was part revolted, part relieved, while Ben had his back turned to the kissing couple, his shoulders shaking. Was the professor laughing at the amorous twosome?

He only had a glimpse of blond hair as Justin vanished out of the room, declaring, "I'll just check on the roasts."

With a loud, popping sound, David and Michael's lips parted a few seconds later.

"So fucking adorable," Debbie cooed, watching Michael with his boyfriend.

It made sense, of course, that Debs was out of sync with the rest of them. She was equal parts thrilled that Michael had nabbed a doctor for his beau, and of course, that he was no longer solely fixated on Brian.

"You've got slobber, uh, saliva on your chin," Vic noted drily, holding out a handkerchief for his nephew to use.

"I'm good," Michael refused the handkerchief, wiping his face on his sleeve.

David looked absolutely appalled, which made Brian chuckle. Good luck with refining Mikey's manners, he mentally wished the doctor.

The chiropractor took the handkerchief from Vic and dabbed at the corners of Michael's lips. "I wouldn't want you to ruin your T-shirt," he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh! You're right!" Eyes wide, Michael gazed back at his lover adoringly. "I should be more careful. I might've gotten a stain on Captain Astro. And I only have two more of this tee in this shade of navy."

Heaving herself out of her chair when the doorbell rang again, Debbie ruffled her son's hair, gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek, and then rubbed absentmindedly with her thumb at the trace of lipstick she'd left behind. "That must be the girls," she assumed. "One of you gents wanna let them in while I help Sunshine with the food?"

"I've got it, Ma," Michael said, heading for the door, David following him.

Vic got up, muttered, "I'll be right back," and hurried out of the living room.

"Thank fuck," Ben gasped, completely losing control of his Zen and letting out a guffaw. 

"That was like some sort of bizarre Miss Manners comedy show," Ted japed, laughing hard as he leaned against his boyfriend.

Brian, who'd been keeping an eye on Gus, shrugged. Miss Manners, Michael was not.

"Fuh gah?" Gus inquired, looking up at the laughing hyenas.

"Sh- I mean, sorry," Ben apologised, his laughter petering away as he glanced down at Gus. "I didn't mean to teach your son a bad word."

"No worries. He didn't learn it from you," Brian assured him. Much better to place the blame, or credit, depending on how you looked at it, on the bulldyke.

"The girls and Emmett are here," Michael unnecessarily informed them as he preceded the newcomers into the living room.

"Like you said, the girls are here," Brian snarked.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Em declared, sashaying over to the sofa, "from the biggest fairy of them all."

Well, that was a fucking brilliant riposte, Brian acknowledged, at a rare loss for the right comeback. Fortunately, Lindsay's effusive, "Mummy's missed you, Lambskin. Did you miss me too?" as she squatted down next to Gus and began kissing him all over his face provided a good reason for him to ignore the tall queen and focus his attention on the mother of his son.

"For fuck's sake, Linds, it's only been half a day," Melanie remonstrated, her face twisting into a moue of distaste at the cutesy endearment. "We've left Gus longer than that before, when we went out at night."

"Yeah, but then he's been asleep part of the time," Lindsay replied. "Our Lambskin," - she repeated the pet name - "could've taken his first steps while we were gone!"

"Linds, honey," the bulldyke tried to reason with her partner, "it's more than likely that at least one of us won't be around when Gus does take his first step."

"It's just as probable no one will be watching at the right moment," the blond public service announcer chimed in from the doorway. "What you'll think is his first step will probably be his second or third attempt at walking, like, you know, when he's trying to reach his favourite toy or something."

Not the brightest move, Sunshine, Brian thought, waiting for the fallout.

Lindsay's eyes narrowed. "Those will only be attempts," she sniffed, "not the real thing."

"Let it go," Mel wearily advised Justin, unfortunately not quietly enough that her partner didn't hear.

"What does that mean?" the blonde wanted to know, her voice going cold.

Gus, squirming away from the onslaught of kisses, held his arms out toward his other mother. "Fuh gah! Mama!" he greeted Melanie.

The bulldyke burst out laughing, while flags of colour appeared in Lindsay's cheeks.

"Did he just-" David started, frowning.

Debbie's, "Dinner's ready! Come and get it!" interrupted him.

The chiropractor, who had just taken a step toward Lindsay, stood his ground for a moment, but he had to turn around and exit the room perforce since he was in the way of almost everyone else.

Although he normally would've assisted Lindsay, who was trying to pick up a wriggling Gus, Brian instead meandered toward Melanie. He paused next to the brunette, murmuring, "The good doctor and Michael are on a tear about cleaning up their language. You might want to-"

"Keep Linds away from them," Melanie finished for him.

Brian shot her an irritated glance. He hated it when other people finished his sentences. The only one who occasionally got away with that was the blond brat.

"Crap," the bulldyke grimaced as she realised what she'd done. "That was rude."

Christ. It was scary how alike they sometimes were, Brian thought, both of them adept at apologising without actually saying ‘sorry.'

"Thanks for the heads-up." Mel nodded at him before joining Lindsay in corralling their squirming offspring.

The table had already been set, Brian discovered as he moseyed into the dining area, with steam rising from a large, blue, covered pot at the foot of the table. Mikey and his doctor had claimed their ‘usual' spots, but Ted and Ben were hanging back as Michael railed at them.

"Did you have to drag that hulk along again?" the short brunet lashed out.

Instead of getting angry at Michael, Theodore smiled contentedly and vouched, "He is incredible."

Ben grinned at his paramour, flexing his muscles under a form-fitting, camel-coloured jumper.

"Ding, ding, ding," Brian announced. "That round goes to the professor and the accountant."

"You'd make a good Bruce Banner," Dr Dave acknowledged, also eyeing Ben's built physique, while Michael spluttered incoherently at his side.

Christ, Ben still had ‘it,' Brian reflected, HIV positive or not. He remembered how hot all those muscles had looked when he tied Ben up at that White Party years ago. He'd be tempted to take the professor for another ride, if the man hadn't hooked up with Ted.

Then, a flash of blond hair from the kitchen caught Brian's gaze, which still lingered on the hunky professor. Shrugging, he reckoned Ben wasn't all that hot after all. 

He automatically gravitated to the end of the table closest to the kitchen, where he slid into the chair two down on the right-hand side, opposite David and Michael. He'd rather not be subjected to Mikey and the doctor swapping spit - there were occasions when enough was enough. His options were limited, however, since he was pretty sure his blond would once more occupy the seat next to Debbie. Brian wasn't going to forgo the opportunity to tantalise the boy with some lingering touches. Some light foreplay throughout dinner, and Justin would be putty in his hands; he wouldn't quibble about heading to the loft at the end of the evening.

"Brian, come over here!" Michael invited his friend. "We'll scooch down one" - he pushed fruitlessly at David's right biceps - "and you can sit next to Ma. Then I'll be between my two favourite guys!" 

Ted, who'd been about to sit down next to the chiropractor, hesitated, obviously unsure if he should claim that place or not.

Dr Dave looked less than thrilled by the proposed seating arrangement, but he was spared from having to say anything by Emmett. "Oh, no, sweetie," the tall queen pooh-poohed Michael's proposal, sashaying over to the empty chair next to Brian, "we've got to stick to the seating chart."

"What seating chart?" Michael interjected, frowning.

"The one that makes the most sense, of course," the southerner replied airily. 

Brian, who wanted to sit next to Justin, not his childhood friend, decided he'd better jump in and apply a little logic to the ‘seating chart.' "Right where you are; that's your seat, Mikey, with Dr Dave next to you."

The chiropractor gave Brian a slight smile and relaxed back into his chair.

"Next to the doctor is Ben and then Ted, or if they want to be adventurous," Brian joked, "they can switch places." 

Ted and the professor, both chuckling, sat down.

"Vic's either next to ‘Bented" - Brian smirked at the name he'd just coined - "or at the end of table."

Ben whispered something in Ted's ear, which made the accountant smile slyly at Brian. Crap, Theodore would probably retaliate with a zinger, sooner or later.

The brunet stud glanced at the girls, who had emerged from the living room and were waiting next to the table, Gus in Lindsay's arms. "And our assigned seating is where?" the blonde inquired, her flat tone indicating she was still out of sorts. 

"Gus' highchair goes at the end of the table," Brian clarified, "either at the foot or pulled around next to one of you. Like ‘Bented,' you might want to switch it up occasionally." He knew it was chancy to needle Ted with that name a second time, but he simply couldn't resist.

"I hope you come up with better advertising slogans than ‘Bented,'" Lindsay jeered. "That's juvenile."

Brian blinked at Linds in surprise. That kind of barbed remark would normally come from the bulldyke, and even then, wouldn't have been delivered so cuttingly. His blonde friend shouldn't be in such a piss-poor mood just because of a "fuh" or two.

Melanie pulled out a chair for Lindsay, but the blonde turned her back to the other woman, fiddled with getting Gus into the highchair, and took the chair next to her son instead.

Christ, hadn't the munchers taken the opportunity to munch? Brian wondered.

Thankfully, Emmett distracted him before he could further consider the grazing habits of lesbians. "And little old moi?" the southerner asked, placing the flat of one hand against his chest and fluttering his eyelashes at Brian.

"The queen in the purple suede pants and vomit-green shirt sits here." Brian patted the back of the chair to his left. 

"Right next to my favourite, fashion unforward, fairy," Emmett retorted. 

Brian pretended he hadn't heard anything, concluding, "Justin's to my right, and Debs has the head of the table."

Michael immediately objected shrilly, "The blond muppet-"

Before her son had gotten out more than a few words, however, Debbie overrode him. "We were discussing ‘rearrangements' this afternoon, and this one seemed the most logical," she explained, setting a large, red pot on the table. "The cooks need to be near the kitchen."

Grateful that the fiery redhead was backing him up, and amused by her juxtaposition of the bookstore ‘remodel' onto the dinner table seating, Brian grinned. 

"Yeah, but he can sit-"

Brow lowering, hands on hips, Debbie enumerated, "Sunshine has helped with the Thanksgiving preparations, every Sunday meal since he moved in - including this one - and plenty of other meals." 

When Michael opened his gob again, his mother quelled him with a firm, "Finito!"

As Michael subsided, his mouth set in a sullen pout, Justin appeared at Debbie's side, acting as if he hadn't heard Michael's strident protestations. "What's everyone want to drink?" he asked cheerfully. "We've got a couple of bottles of red - Chianti and Merlot - which should complement the roast nicely."

"Sacrilege!" Vic called out as he came down the stairs. "French wine in an Italian household."

Smiling, David held up his hands, as if to shield himself from a blow. "My faux pas," he confessed.

"As long as we're well lubricated, it's all good," Debbie laughed. 

"If you prefer white, we also have Frascati," Justin resumed his litany of available ‘lubricants,' ticking the drinks off on his fingers. "Roundabout beer. Apple and orange juice. Oh, and filtered tap water," he added as an afterthought.

Michael spoke up first, only getting out "Round-" before David leaned closer to him and whispered something in his ear. "Uh, no, the Merlot," he changed his mind.

A bottle in each hand, with the necks neatly wrapped in folded napkins to catch any drips, Justin started around the table. "I'm afraid the Merlot hasn't been breathing very long," he apologised as he moved from Michael to David, deftly pouring some of the French wine into the chiropractor's glass without spilling a drop.

"The Merlot shouldn't need to breathe," the chiropractor commented, frowning.

"Erm, it's only a couple years old," Justin countered a little uneasily. "Ideally, a red that's less than eight years old should aerate for at least an hour."

"Fat lot you know," Michael sneered. "David knows more about wine than you ever will."

"Could I see the bottle?" Dr Dave requested politely.

"Sure."

After examining the label for a moment, David owned up, "Justin's absolutely right, Honeybun. I'm afraid I grabbed a bottle of the '98 Merlot, not the '88, by mistake."

Sometimes it was really evident that Justin came from a well-off, WASP family, Brian reflected as he watched the teen. He was perfectly comfortable serving the wine, and he apparently knew about letting red wine breathe - probably down to how many hours a bottle should be open, depending on its age. Nothing like the household he'd grown up in, Brian couldn't help thinking a trifle bitterly. Sherry, wine, beer, bourbon, whatever - it rarely aged for an entire day. And it was all cheap rotgut.

"I wish I'd discovered my mistake sooner," David professed. "This wine's really not fit to drink after breathing for such a short time."

"I can get clean goblets for you and Michael, and pour some of the Chi-"

"Oh, pish," Emmett jumped in. "I'll be happy to drink the Merlot as is. It's already in a whole other category from the Boone's Farm we drank in Hazlehurst. It was either bottom shelf or the stuff my daddy cooked up in his still. My brothers, uncles, and cousins would get all liquored up, and then" - the southerner's normally cheerful countenance darkened, before he waved a hand in dismissal - "well, it no longer matters."

Brian blinked in surprise. The gang all knew that the rampant homophobia in the Deep South, and in his family, had been hard on Emmett - there was no hiding his flame - but the tall queen seldom talked about it. He found himself squeezing Em's shoulder in a gesture of sympathy, something he rarely did.

The southern belle bestowed a watery smile on him and then on the others, all of whom were looking at him in concern. "I'm good. In fact, I'm fabulous," he insisted, his smile becoming more genuine. "A wee drop of that top shelf vino, and I'll be even better."

Justin had just reached Lindsay, who looked down her nose at the wine.

"Don't you have any Perrier?"

"Uh, there's no sparkling water," Justin hesitantly replied.

"I knew there was something I forgot to put on the grocery list!" Debbie exclaimed.

"That doesn't do me any good right now!" the blonde snapped.

Justin's, "How about some apple juice?" overlapped with Melanie's hissed, "Don't be a bitch!"

"Shoot, I'm sorry," Lindsay apologised. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

His equilibrium restored, Emmett flapped a hand at her. "Honey, I'm sure it's nothing a good shag wouldn't fix."

Face reddening, Linds muttered despondently, "We tried."

Yep, Brian mused, he was right. No nooky, which made for miserable lezzies.

"Recently?" Ted wanted to know.

"All afternoon," the bulldyke replied.

Rapping his knuckles against the table, Vic opined, "Must be the dreaded LBD."

"The what?" David asked.

"Fucking Lesbian Bed Death," Melanie supplied.

"Mel tried everything," Lindsay wailed, "and I just couldn't get off. Heck, I wasn't even interested."

"Drink some fucking alcohol," Brian recommended. "It'll loosen you up."

Her countenance brightened for a moment, but then fell again. "I'm still breastfeeding."

"Sweetheart," Melanie ran a soothing hand along Lindsay's arm, "you've expressed enough breast milk to last Gus a few days. If you have a little wine, or even a shot of bourbon, it'll be gone from your system well before you need to nurse Gus again."

"But what if Gussy needs me in the middle of the night, and I'm too inebriated to hear him?" Lindsay worried.

"I'll be there, too," Mel reminded her lover. "I'll take care of him."

"Okay," Linds agreed, smiling and giving Melanie a peck on the lips.

"Eww!" Michael groaned. "No lezzie sex at the dinner table!"

"Hear! Hear!" other voices chimed in.

"If you think that was sex, you're doing something wrong," the bulldyke chuckled.

"Considering there's no such thing as Gay Bed Death," Ben lectured, his blue-green eyes twinkling, "you'd be wrong."

The legal eagle looked like she was ready to argue the point, and concerned that he might be regaled with details of muncher sex, Justin quickly interceded. "Merlot or Chianti?" he asked both girls, joking, "The Merlot may've breathed long enough by now."

"Then I'll take a chance on the Merlot," Linds answered, smiling at him for the first time that afternoon.

"You're really good at that," Michael commented, watching in awe as Justin served Emmett, Brian, and Deb, before decanting some Chianti into his own glass. "I don't think you spilled a drop, whether you were pouring with your right hand or your left."

He really might get whiplash, Justin reckoned, given the way Michael vacillated between insulting him and complimenting him. "Thanks," he responded, "I used to practice at family dinners." 

"Maybe you could teach me?" Michael asked. "I can't pour wine without a few drops running down the side of the bottle. That two-bottle thing would make a neat trick to impress David's friends."

Justin was plenty pissed at Michael about BOB, but he could hardly give the man the cold shoulder in front of Debbie, especially after what he'd said to Vic this morning. If he had to, he could probably teach Michael how to pour without spilling, but alternating between hands? He'd have to dissuade the short brunet from the notion. "Uh, it's not exactly a parlour trick."

"The way you decant the wine with either hand is impressive," Ben noted, giving the teen a friendly smile. "Are you by chance ambidextrous?" 

"Erm, yeah," Justin stuttered, his face pinkening as he glanced at Brian. The brunet smirked at him, obviously also remembering the night they'd met.

"Who cares if you're ambi whatever? I just want to be able to serve wine with both hands," Michael insisted.

Perplexed, Justin stared at Michael. Did he seriously not know-

Before he was reduced to explaining ‘ambidextrous' in words that a two-year-old could understand, Dr Dave stepped in, waggling his eyebrows at his boyfriend. "Love Nugget, why don't you stick to your right hand? You're really skilled with it."

Was the doc a closeted reader of romance novels or something? Justin speculated. He couldn't imagine any other source for such mawkish names. David's flattery of Michael had a positive effect, though, the short brunet conceding, "Okay, Boy Wonder, I'll settle for doing your trick right-handed."

"You bring the trick, Sunshine," Vic leered at the blond, "and I'll help Michael practice his technique."

"I didn't mean it like that!" Michael protested, before a smile stole across his face. "It was pretty good, though, huh?"

When the laughter died away, Justin heard Harley chirp, "Jushun. Blowjob. Briaaan."

"I'll be right back," the blond said, hastening to the living room. "Hey, little buddy," he addressed the budgie. "I bet you're lonely in here all by yourself." He picked up the birdcage and carried it into the dining area and set it on the hutch, directly in Michael's line of vision but a little above eye level.

Michael's gaze skittered from Harley to Justin then back to the parakeet. 

The teenager gave him a friendly smile as he sat down. He hoped the little wanker would drive himself nuts, trying to figure out what had happened to the dildo. He might even be dumb enough to think it was still in the cage.

"Dig in!" Debbie ordered. "There's plenty of pot roast, veggies, salad, and fresh bread to go around. "And there's ‘buon vino' to wash it down."

Justin watched as Brian dished up a healthy serving of the roast for himself - the largest portion of food he'd ever seen the brunet put on his plate. The boy suppressed a giggle when no bitchy remark about fat content was forthcoming; Debs did know exactly how to get around the man's weird dietary rules.

After dipping his spoon into the mixture of meat and veggies, Brian slowly raised the utensil to his mouth.

Get on with it, Justin silently entreated, swallowing hard. He had no idea how Brian was making such a simple action so mesmerising, but his eyes were riveted to the brunet's lips.

Brian's tongue flicked out to catch a droplet of the juice that was about to overflow the utensil. 

Justin couldn't quite muffle a groan. His cargos, skintight to start with, were now biting into swollen flesh.

"Wanna eat my meat, little boy?" the brunet rasped invitingly, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

The teenager was barely able to stave off the urge to come in his pants. "Fucker," he panted, breathing hard as if he'd just run a race. "You did that on purpose."

Smirking, Brian sucked the spoon into his mouth and swallowed the contents. "That's-"

Michael's voice penetrated the sexual haze surrounding the two men. "Uh, shouldn't the dirty, uh, that is, the bird, get some dinner too?" 

Justin's boner immediately wilted. Bloody Mikey, he thought irritably.

"Tell me where the food is," Michael half rose from his chair, "and I'll take care of it."

"First of all," Vic informed his nephew, "Harley is not dirty; in fact, he grooms himself all the time. And his cage gets cleaned regularly."

Justin could see the wheels spinning as Michael tried to pin down ‘regularly.'

"That's true," Ted corroborated. "Birds are pretty sanitary. You just need to wash your hands thoroughly after cleaning the cage or playing with your feathered friend."

"Secondly," Vic resumed, "we feed Harley regularly. He had a veggie snack shortly before you arrived."

"Oh." Michael was obviously frustrated not to have an excuse to peer inside the birdcage. "Maybe I can feed it the next snack?"

It was all Justin could do not to laugh out loud. At least he was getting a bit of revenge on the moron, with Vic aiding and abetting him.

"Budgies eat vegetables?" Lindsay asked. "I would've thought their diet consisted of birdseed and pellets."

"That's what I used to think, too," Justin said, launching into a recital of the ideal diet for a parakeet. He wound up with, "Harley even gets, like, a bit of hard-boiled egg or grated cheese. It's only a half teaspoon at a time, but either one is a great source of protein, and it provides variety, which is important."

"It sounds as if budgies are a lot like humans," Ben observed, "that they get bored with the same old thing."

"Exactly!" Justin smiled at the professor. "We hafta be careful with Harley, though; too much fresh food can cause the same problem Vic's been having."

Dammit. The lad wanted to kick himself as soon as the words left his mouth, especially since everyone's attention immediately shifted toward Vic.

Lindsay asked politely, "Are you having trouble with diarrhea?

Much less politely, Emmett advised, "Vic, sweetie, you probably shouldn't be drinking alcohol if you have the shits."

"You seem awfully tired, Uncle Vic. Maybe you should go lay down," Michael suggested.

Lie down, Justin mentally corrected. He'd have to warn Daph and Syd to watch out for that on the English part of the SAT. It must trip up lots of people since ‘lie v. lay' had figured into all the practice tests.

"Christ." Vic rolled his eyes at his overly concerned family. "Can't a guy be a little tired and take a stinky dump without everyone being up his ass about it?"

"Just leave the man be," Debbie ordered, cackling, "You know I'd be the first one up his ass if something really was wrong."

Reassured that the patriarch of their makeshift family was going to be okay, everyone set to eating and sharing the latest goss.

"The guy wanted to bone me in a coffin," Emmett regaled them with the tale of his latest trick. 

"You let that stop you?" Ted raised a disbelieving eyebrow at his friend.

"Pfft. I could've handled that - he was hung - but the box was draped in a Confederate flag."

"Why would that bother you?" Michael asked, meat juice dribbling down his chin. "You could, like, stick it to the good old boys, right?"

When the doorbell rang, Justin volunteered, "I'll get it," springing up and almost sprinting for the door. He missed Em's response, but he didn't care; the tall southerner would doubtless fill him in later. 

If he didn't get away from Brian, he was afraid he might beg his former lover to fuck him on the table, right then and there. He wasn't sure how Brian had gained the upper hand in their little ‘contest,' but the brunet had been driving him crazy - he encroached on Justin's space so that their arms and thighs rubbed; he requested that the blond pass the wine, the salad, even the fucking pepper mill, his hand touching the teen's as he accepted the items; heck, he even ‘accidentally' dropped his napkin and tickled the boy's ankle as he retrieved it.

Justin swung the door open, taking a deep breath of the cold, snow-laden air, which helped him bring his raging libido under control. Unfortunately, he also inhaled pollen from the bouquet of flowers Carl was holding and promptly sneezed. "Achoo!"

Mortified, the lad stared at the detective - and the flecks dotting the cellophane around the flowers as well as Carl's coat. "S- sorry," he stuttered.

"No worries, son. I've been splattered with far worse," the kindly copper replied.

Justin frowned. He didn't like imagining what those other substances might have been. Before he could speak up, however, his slender frame was wracked by another sneeze. 

"You're allergic, I take it?"
Waving the policeman into the house, the blond lad didn't dare do more than nod, just in case another sneeze sneaked up on him.

"You should've told me at Thanksgiving," Carl gently chastised. "I could have gotten something else for Deb this time around."

"Nah." Justin smiled, standing well back from the posies and holding a finger under his nose. "Debbie loves flowers, and I'll be okay as long as I don't get too close."

Carl gave him a sceptical glance.

"Can I take your coat?" Justin inquired. "Debs will be thrilled that you could make it for Sunday dinner. She thought you were working."

"I am. Wen's waiting in the car," the detective explained. "I'd better give these to Deb and get back to her, or she'll give me a proper tongue-lashing."

"What, five words instead of two?" the teenager joshed.

"Reverse that, and you'd be correct," came Carl's rejoinder. "She can pack more into one word than anyone else."

Following Justin to the dining table, the detective handed Debbie the bouquet and gave her a quick kiss. "I can't stay," he said, to the redhead's obvious disappointment. "I'll try and stop by the diner tomorrow, though."

"You do that, honey." Debbie buried her face in the flowers, inhaling deeply.

Justin held his breath - that was almost enough to induce another achoo.

Smiling warmly at her beau, Deb patted him on the cheek.

Michael gave the detective a sullen look and pointedly turned his face away.

"Do you want me to put those in a vase for you?" Justin asked. He might be about to discover how long he could go without breathing...

"Thanks, Sunshine." Debbie smiled at the teenager as she felt the stems of the flowers. "It's not necessary, though. Carl musta got these at a fancy place; it's got one of those water bubble thingamabobs at the bottom. Why don't you just put them on the sideboard for now?"

"Sure," Justin agreed, taking the bouquet from Deb. His voice was nasally as he held his breath and rushed to the other end of the hutch. "I'll just put them down here so everyone can see them and they're out of Harley's reach."

"There's another storm moving in," Carl reported, looking around the table. "If you need to go out tomorrow, be sure to rug up, allow extra time to reach your destination, and drive carefully."

Expressions of dismay greeted this news.

"The WPXI weatherman said we should brace ourselves for record snowfall this season," Emmett disclosed. "For once, I'm glad I don't have a car; I'd spend all my time digging it out of snowdrifts."

"We need to have the winter tires put on our car," Melanie murmured to Linds. "The traction with the regular tires is terrible."

"I thought bulldykes were born knowing how to change tires," Brian joked.

"Of course, we know how. We also know how to make appointments with the local mechanic," the petite brunette drolled.

Carl barked out a laugh and turned around, heading for the front door. When Justin would've accompanied him, the detective waved him off. "Sit down and eat your food while it's hot. I can see myself out."

Before sliding back into his chair, Justin edged it away from Brian, which earned him a smirk from the bunet stud. "That won't work, little boy," the man rasped.

Sure enough, in under a minute - Justin was sure he could've timed it - Brian's thigh was rubbing against his again. In an attempting to divert himself from the stimulating touch, the lad looked across the table; if Michael and Dr Dave were again lip-locked, that would turn him right off.

Instead of catching him exchanging a sloppy kiss with his paramour, he saw Michael surreptitiously glance at Harley's cage, as he'd been doing throughout the meal. 

"That bird has to be hungry," Michael justified his interest in the budgie. Pushing back his chair, he got up and approached the birdcage. 

Harley cocked his head at the short brunet and spit bird seed in his face.

Michael squawked indignantly, "You dirty bird!" and pawed at his mug.

"That's just what Harley the First used to do when you were a wee nipper!" Debbie cackled. "You used to press your cute, little, button nose right up against the bars of his cage, and he'd spit a wad of seeds right into your mouth." 

"Yeah, and you'd chew the seeds with your mouth wide open," Vic expounded.

"His eating habits haven't changed," someone at the end of the table snickered.

"No shit," and "That's God's honest truth." came more verifications amid gusts of merriment.

Justin giggled madly. Served the BOB-napping nimrod right.

Emmett applauded, "Aw, Mikey-boy. That's such a sweet story."

"I never expected you to be just as fascinated by Harley the Second," Debbie smiled at her son, "especially after the unkind remarks you made about our feathered friend."

"You sure did love the first Harley, Vic affirmed." Now you've got a new playmate."

Justin grinned to himself at the bite in Vic's words.

"Uh, I," Michael stuttered, backing away from the birdcage, face crimson with embarrassment, "guess he's got plenty of food." He quickly sat back down and shoveled more food into his trap.

A short while later, as he took a second helping of the roast, Dr Dave stated, "You were quite the fetching sight in those blue briefs last night, Justin."

The professor hummed in agreement. "Total eye candy."

The blond cursed his fair complexion yet again, blushing furiously. David's opinion didn't matter; the doctor might be fit but he was also old, and the way he panted after Michael was just gross. Ben, on the other hand, was hot, educated, and really fucking nice. He was a little too bulked up for Justin's taste, but...

When Brian's fingers dug into his thigh, reminding Justin of his presence, he gave the brunet a cheeky grin. He was sooo jealous, the lad crowed to himself.

"All eyes were on my Baby," Emmett vouched. "There wasn't a smidgen of free space to tuck another bill under the band of those briefs."

Really, it was kind of a twofer, Justin decided, looking around the table. Brian's face revealed nothing, but the tight grip of his fingers on the teen's thigh betrayed his reaction. The fierce glower that Michael alternately directed at Dr Dave, the budgie, and Justin made it obvious how he felt. Of the men, only Ted appeared untroubled, smiling easily at Ben as if certain of his place in his boyfriend's affections.

When his gaze landed on Vic, however, his jubilation over Brian's jealousy dissipated. The older man leered at Justin, but it was a halfhearted effort. "Wish I'd been there to see you shake your booty," he said.

Before Justin could assure him that there'd be other opportunities - heck he'd pull on the blue undies and dance on the dinner table if it would perk him up - Vic stood up, declaring, "Great job with the roast, Sunshine, but I'm too tuckered out to eat more." With that, he trudged toward the stairs.

Conversation stuttered to a halt, and an uneasy silence fell over the table.

Justin stared at the full plate in front of the now empty chair, realising Vic had eaten only a few bites. He turned his gaze toward Debbie, hoping she would reassure him again, only to find that her brow was furrowed as she watched her brother wearily mount the stairs.

"Linds," Mel's voice broke the quiet, "maybe we should get going before the snow really starts coming down."

"Um, yes, that's a good idea," the blonde agreed. "Just let me collect Gus' things."

"Teddy, could you give me a ride?" Emmett inquired, pushing his chair back from the table. "That way I won't have to call a taxi."

Before Ted could respond, Debbie's head whipped around and she protested, "Wait! We're still eating! I haven't even put the pecan pie in the oven yet."

"It probably is a good idea for everyone to get underway," David placated her. "Maybe we could take home some of the roast? It is delicious."

"Takeaway boxes coming up," Debbie replied. "Just like at the diner."

"Except that the quality of the food is much better," Emmett averred.

"Help me, would'ya Sunshine?" Debbie requested, hefting one of the Dutch ovens over to the counter.

Justin grabbed the other one and then went back for the French bread and salad.

As they finished parceling out the food, Deb set a box to one side, telling the teenager, "Put this one in Brian's fridge. That boy's too skinny."

"Huh?" 

"I'm not blind, Kiddo," Deb chuckled. "You two have been all touchy-feely since Brian arrived this afternoon. And I damned well know where Brian's right hand wandered to while he was eating with his left. If you don't work off some of that sexual tension, you're both gonna combust."

"Yeah, but Vic-"

"Honey, he's going to be fine," she insisted. "I bet he just needs to get his ‘cocktail' adjusted."

Justin looked at her doubtfully. He really didn't want to go anywhere, not when Vic or his mum might need him.

"I promise I'll badger him into calling the doctor tomorrow, if he doesn't have the good sense to do it on his own."

"I could keep you-"

"Don't you dare stay on my account," Debbie cut him off. "Or Vic's for that matter. I'll be here if he needs me, although I don't expect him to do anything but sleep." She smiled at the concerned teen, took his face in her hands, and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"I'm gonna wash up" - she started in as she was talking, setting one of the Dutch ovens in the sink to soak - "bake the pecan pie, and then I'm going to park myself in front of the telly. You say goodbye to everybody for me, and then go have some fun, okay? Tomorrow you can have some pie with Vic."

Somewhat reassured, Justin gave her a slightly watery smile and carried the takeout containers to the entryway. He had to grin, despite his lingering anxiety about Vic, when he saw the expressions of disgust on Brian and Melanie's faces, both of them eyeing askance the flowery baby carrier Lindsay had buckled into place, Gus drooling at them from his perch.

"Christ," Mel sneered, "I'd never wear that hideous thing."

Brian glared at the dyke but didn't say anything.

"Oho!" Melanie started laughing, realisation dawning. "You got stuck with-"

"Lindsay," Brian said in an unusually sweet tone, drifting over to stand next to the blonde, "Mel would like-"

"To get going," the lawyer inserted hastily, accepting one of the food containers from Justin. "Say bye-bye," she instructed Gus, lifting one of the tyke's hands and waving it.

"Dada! Fuh! Jushun!" the boy burbled.

"That's so cute!" Emmett clapped his mittened hands together.

Frowning disapprovingly, David reprimanded, "That's terrible lang-"

"Gotta go!" Mel bundled Lindsay out the door, Gus calling out "Fuh!" one more time.

"I was just going to share ways to nip that in the bud," Dr Dave huffed as Michael preceded him out, takeaway in hand.

"Let's go ‘fuh,'" Ben suggested, his blue eyes dancing as he looked down at his boyfriend.

"Watch your ‘fuhing' language, Professor," Brian joked.

"Toodles!" Emmett said farewell a couple minutes later, pushing Ben and Ted all the way out the door when they got stuck under the mistletoe. 

Once they were alone in the entryway, Brian smirked at Justin and asked, "Wanna ‘fuh,' Sunshine?" He didn't really expect the kid to say yes, although Brian wished he would. Jesus, his balls were so blue, they were going to wither and fall off if he didn't get some action - from something other than his own hand and toy collection.

"Okay." Justin shrugged, grabbing his jacket and slipping his arms into the sleeves.

"Okay?" Brian was so stunned by the flat, one-word reply that he merely stared at the lad as he wrapped a vibrant blue scarf around his neck and pulled on a pair of dark brown leather gloves. Distantly, Brian wondered why, if the boy had finally coughed up the cash for expensive gloves and a warm scarf, he was still wearing the same old threadbare coat. Come to think of it, Justin was wearing new trainers too. And then there were the blue briefs Dr Dave had mentioned. A low growl rumbled out of his larynx at the idea that other men had ogled his boy in sexy new underwear that Brian had yet to lay eyes on.

"Yeah." Justin put a halt to Brian's racing thoughts when he opened the door, stepped out into the icy air, and started down the walkway, snowflakes landing on his short blond hair. "Which way's your car?"

Brian snagged his peacoat and flung it on, letting it hang open, taking one more second to snatch his briefcase before rushing after the teenager. He'd figure out the clothing thing later, but in the meantime, he didn't want to miss this opportunity. Justin didn't seem all that excited, but he could change that...

The brunet stud wondered if he'd been too optimistic as he stepped out of the lift. Justin normally talked a mile a minute, but he hadn't uttered a single word in the jeep. With the pavement already turning slick, Brian hadn't been able to employ his usual tactics for drawing the brat's attention and getting him to make some kind of noise. He would normally squeeze the back of the boy's neck, grip his thigh, or palm his dick - that was a favourite - but he had to keep both hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road.

He still hadn't touched Justin while the old freight elevator creaked its way up to the top floor, unsure what to do with the pale, mute teenager. Now, though, he decided, setting down his briefcase, his eyes landing on the faint streak on the wall next to his door - the one that had sent Cynthia and Ted into hysterics - it was time to act.

Brian reached back and tugged Justin closer, until he was tucked against the taller man's side. "How about we refresh the decorations?" he husked into the boy's ear, swiping his tongue around the cartilage and earning a shiver.

Worked every time, he thought in satisfaction. Justin had the most sensitive ears he'd ever encountered - he was a total slut for having his ears tongued, bitten, or just fucking breathed on. Brian swept his tongue along the lad's jawbone, heading for his lips, only halting as something salty rolled onto his tongue.

What the heck? He drew back slightly and watched as another tear followed the first one down Justin's cheekbone. "Jus?" he inquired softly.

"I- I'm- Vic-" the blond stammered, dashing one hand across his face as a couple more tears fell from swimming blue eyes.

Shit. He'd been trying not to think about Vic, but he was worried too. In his estimation, a hot fuck - or three - would not only serve to take the edge off of this ridiculous fucking yearning for Justin, it would also provide a distraction from a situation that he could do dick-all to change.

Now, as he looked at the teary-eyed teenager, he found himself wanting to do more than gratify a sexual urge. He wanted to console Justin. Fuck, Brian wished someone would console him; Vic was a mentor to him all through his teenage years up till now. He could hardly promise, though, that Vic would be alright.

"Hey." He tugged Justin closer, until his face was pressed against Brian's chest, and held him there, wrapped in his arms.

His shoulders heaving, Justin clasped him tightly around the waist beneath his peacoat, the Ziploc container Deb had given him held awkwardly in one hand.

Thank fuck the lad would never know that he was giving as much comfort as he was getting, Brian thought, biting hard at his lower lip to get himself under control.

Once the boy's sobs had lessened, Brian tilted his head down and pressed his forehead against Justin's. "You okay now?"

Blue eyes peered at him through clumped blond lashes, and Justin nodded. "Yeah, thanks. I'm sorry for being such a drama queen," he scoffed, sniffling a little.

The brunet stud pressed his lips to Justin's forehead, not really in a kiss. "'s alright," he rasped. "Shows you care." Showed he, himself, cared too, Brian supposed - for Justin as well as for Vic - but that wasn't quite a state secret.

"Yeah," Justin sighed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He felt his emotions slowly settle, the sour bubble of anger and worry lifting off his chest.

Brian inserted one hand under the hem of Justin's thin, worn-out jacket and slowly ran it up and down his spine, trying to give him some comfort. If the twat didn't buy himself a decent coat before Christmas, he thought absently, there was gonna be one under Debbie's tree for him. "I can," he paused, cleared his throat, and then spoke again, "I can try and make you feel better?"

Looking up, Justin considered him. "You still want to have sex? Even after I blubbered all over your doubtlessly expensive shirt?" he asked, clumsy fingers tugging at the wrinkled and wet material.

The brunet shrugged. "Always makes me feel better," he said with a suggestive rise to his eyebrows. Besides, he mused, Gus had drooled on the shirt earlier, so the damage couldn't get much worse. The shirt was passé anyhow, something the fashion-challenged kid would never notice. Brian had been planning to discard the garment, but given the way Justin was rubbing his hands over the silky material, he liked the feel of it. It might be worth keeping the shirt, after all...

While Brian was mulling over what to do with his outmoded shirt, Justin hesitated; it probably wasn't a good idea for them to be using each other for comfort their first time back together. Then again, this wasn't supposed to be anything serious, right? If it was just two friends having casual sex together, it should be okay.

"Jus?" Brian whispered, eyes questioning.

The teenager took another deep breath before letting it slowly out, making a decision. "Yeah, okay," Justin agreed, bracing his wrists on Brian's shoulders, the fingers of his free hand fluttering against the exposed skin of the brunet's neck. "Okay."

Brian grinned, immediately bending down to claim the blond's lips in a firm kiss. 

Hmming appreciatively against his lover's mouth, Justin ran his hand upwards and into Brian's hair, mussing it up

The brunet pushed his tongue in between Justin's lips, sliding it along the bottom row of the boy's pearl-white teeth. 

Justin groaned, pressing himself against Brian's firm body. He'd really missed this, he realised, more than he would've thought he could.

Brian felt a familiar tingle as he moaned into his young lover's mouth. When Justin shuddered, he figured the teen was becoming equally aroused. "Come on," he mumbled, hissing as Justin bit his lower lip. "Bedroom."

"Maybe we should go inside then?" Justin questioned, another tremor shaking his body.

"Huh?" Dazed, the brunet looked around, realising they were still in the hallway. And Justin had shivered because he was cold, for fuck's sake, not because he was turned on.

Fucking miserly super must be pinching pennies again by leaving the interior of the building unheated, Brian mused irritably. He jammed the key into the lock and turned it, before sliding the door open, nearly slamming it off the metal rails.

"Fuck, that feels good," the boy gasped as he stepped into the warmth of the loft.

In case he was able to convince Justin to come with him, Brian had nudged up the thermostat prior to leaving for Debbie's house. The twat liked it warmer than Brian - except in the shower, of course, where the hot water tended to scald his delicate skin. 

The delicious purring sound Justin made as he soaked in the heat rewarded Brian for his forethought. It also had an instant effect on his manhood, the flesh hardening even more. He needed to get the blond naked, stat. Shared body heat would warm Justin up properly. 

A little liquid warmth couldn't hurt either, Brian decided, shrugging off his peacoat and tossing it toward the couch, uncaring when the garment slithered to the floor - it needed cleaning anyroad. He tore at the laces of his Timberland boots and kicked them aside, glad to get rid of the fugly footwear, before striding over to the liquor cart and snatching up the Beam Black label. He shook the bottle - not much in there, so he forwent a glass.

He carried the bourbon over to Justin, who still hadn't removed his shabby jacket, scarf, or gloves. 

The lad's eyes were half-slitted, a smile of pleasure on his face, as he basked in the heat coming through the vents. Christ, that expression should be illegal. Brian shifted uncomfortably, his roomy jeans abruptly too tight.

"What the fuck's that?" he asked, finally noticing the container Justin was holding between his gloved hands.

"Huh? Oh," Justin looked down, "that's some of the roast beef. Deb wanted you to have it."

Brian snatched the box out of Justin's hand, carelessly tossing it on the counter. 

When the boy protested, "That should go-" Brian cut in.

"That's not the protein I want right now," he rasped, shooting a predatory look at Justin and raising the Beam to his lips.

The teenager reached for the bottle as soon as Brian took a swig, but the older man shook his head. He swirled the liquid around before leaning down to share with the younger man. His lips pressed against Justin's, the blond's mouth opening to allow the bourbon to trickle inside.

Justin hmmed in approval.

Fuck, they both had too much clothing on, especially Justin, Brian thought. As if reading his mind, the blond slid one hand between their bodies and began fumbling to open the buttons on Brian's shirt.

"That'd be easier if you took off your gloves," Brian grunted, smirking.

Justin, who was already tugging at the fingers of his gloves, rolled his eyes at his lover and muttered, "Duh."

The older man's smirk disappeared when nimble fingers opened his shirt and began teasing one of his nipples, thinking again that he needed to move things along if he didn't want to fuck in the middle of the living room. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but Brian didn't want their first time back together happening on a hardwood floor.

After sharing a final slug of the Beam, Brian dropped the empty bottle to the floor, where it rolled under the sofa, and helped Justin divest himself of his coat and scarf, the items landing in a heap near the boy's leather gloves. He started pushing the blond backwards in the direction of the bed, before Justin could finish toeing off his sneakers.

They stumbled up the steps, Justin's movement clumsy until he got rid of his other shoe, which teetered precariously half on and half off the top step - not that either man noticed. Their lips barely separated as they furiously made out, giggling whenever one of them lost their balance. When they hit the bottom of the bed, they quickly climbed atop it, kneeling in the middle of the midnight blue duvet, hands and mouths roving over each other.

Running a hand from Justin's butt up his back and into his short hair, Brian moved his mouth to the brat's jaw, sucking at the tender skin there. "I'm gonna fuck you through this mattress," he growled in promise.

Justin chuckled breathlessly. "Promises, promises," he teased, sliding a hand down Brian's torso and squeezing his impressive bulge lightly.

The brunet thrust his hips against Justin's, pressing their covered erections together. "You feel that, brat?" he asked, using his tongue to paint a wet stripe up to Justin's ear. "I'm going to shove that in your hot, tight-"

Justin shut him up with a violent kiss, fingers searching for Brian's belt buckle. "Yeah, come on, Bri," he gasped into his mouth. "Fuck me." The thought flitted through Justin's mind that he'd been right to refuse to be more than friends with Eric; the guy was really nice in a wholesome way, but it was Brian's touch that he craved. That must be why the sex had seemed a little tepid, at least in comparison to what he was sharing with Brian. They'd barely gotten started, and Justin already felt like he was burning up.

Brian didn't need to be told twice. He quickly pulled his lover's tight T-shirt off and threw it over his shoulder to land somewhere near the bedroom stairs. Justin's cargo pants followed soon after, the blond using the toes of one foot to help shove his trousers down, leaving him only in his underwear. Brian vaguely noted that the briefs seemed scantier and slicker than his usual tighty-whities, but with Justin kissing a wet trail down his exposed chest, he was too distracted to examine them more closely.

Soon, the handsy blond had divested him of his own clothes, and Brian found himself clad only in the unbuttoned shirt that was hanging loosely off his shoulders.

Pushing Justin so he lay on his back, Brian braced himself above the blond with one hand, while the other busied itself with tugging his lover's underpants down his legs and shoving them out of the way. Not in the mood for a long foreplay, he wrapped his hand loosely around Justin's straining erection.

Justin threw his head back, letting out a wanton moan and thrusting his hips up in search of some more friction.

"Patience, brat," Brian smirked.

Justin stopped moving, biting his bottom lip in concentration.

Brian squeezed his partner's throbbing manhood as a reward, watching his lover's dilated pupils appreciatively. About to demand that Justin describe what he wanted, Brian remembered his earlier vow to resume his torment of the boy. Justin had managed to escape his attentions at the dinner table, but now...

"Briii," the blond drew out his name, sounding desperate.

Brian quirked an eyebrow and gave him an evil little smile.

"Shit." Justin closed his eyes, guessing what that expression portented.

The experienced stud sat back on his knees, Justin's legs forming a vee on either side of him, the lad's hole appearing to wink at him in welcome, mere centimetres from where he knelt. Brian hesitated for a second, wondering whether he really wanted to wait, nevertheless lifting Justin's left foot, cradling it against his stomach, and lightly running his fingernails along the underside.

The blond twitched and giggled.

Yeah, it was worth the wait, Brian decided, grin widening. Why Justin's giggle was so arousing, he couldn't say, but his dick definitely took notice, bobbing in the air.

The experienced stud turned the motion of his fingers into a foot massage, working from the toes to the inner arch and up to the heel.

"Nngh," Justin groaned. "Feels good."

Eventually, Brian switched feet, repeating the process.

Justin suspected he was going to melt into the mattress if this continued much longer.

Casting a sly look at the brat, Brian bent over and swiped his tongue between the big toe and second toe.

"Christ!" Justin shouted, almost levitating off the bed. Brian had never done that before. "Erm," he mumbled, both turned on and embarrassed, "aren't my feet kind of stinky?"

Brian shrugged. "You showered today, right?"

Justin nodded.

"You haven't been running around barefoot?" Brian teased.

"Nope. That'd be you," the brat giggled. 

Rolling his eyes, Brian asserted, "Then we're good. I like the way you smell."

"How'd you even know to do that?" Justin asked, gesturing at the foot Brian was still holding and thinking that he might like to try it out on his lover. "And um, that I'd like it?" His brow wrinkling, he couldn't help wondering how many other men Brian had used the technique on. 

Another shrug. "Back in college, I fucked a guy who had a foot fetish. He rubbed and licked my feet, and it felt damned good. But I've never wanted to do it to anyone else before," the stud admitted, swiping his tongue between Justin's second and middle toes.

Justin wriggled in pleasure, both at his lover's action and the titbit he'd let slip.

Christ, that was a lesbianic thing to say, Brian reflected, wincing a little. He didn't mind all that much, given Justin's reaction; however, he judged it might be best to move away from the lad's feet before any more lezzie-isms spilled out.

"Hold still," he commanded when Justin squirmed again. There, that sounded properly manly, like the bull- Oh, fuck, no. There was no way a woman, even a butch one, was intruding into his bed. 

His attention back on the blond, where it belonged, Brian lifted Justin's leg higher and began planting kisses along the underside.

Justin let out a delicious moan, encouraging him to continue.

When Brian reached the back of the boy's knee, he ran his tongue across the spot before biting him gently at the center point.

"Do that again?" Justin begged, clutching at the duvet.

Brian paused to admire the way the blond's pale skin glowed against the dark quilt before nipping the sensitive skin again. 

That elicited another wordless moan from Justin, Brian's shaft throbbing in counterpoint.

The brunet wanted to groan too, becoming desperate for some relief. Whose bright idea had this slow torment been anyway? Lowering Justin's foot, until it rested on the bed, he speculated it might be more of a torture for him than for his ‘captive,' a notion which was lent credence when a naughty giggle issued from his companion.

His gaze travelled up Justin's body, from his distended, purplish-red manhood to the tiny, hard peaks of his nipples to the full, pouty lips, finally stopping when he encountered blown eyes, with only a thin circle of blue visible. "What's so funny, Sunshine?" he asked mildly.

"N- nothing."

The older man quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Um, it's just that you've got that look on your face." Justin wiggled his hips in an attempt to distract Brian from his interrogation.

It didn't work. "That look?" 

"You know," the words emerged reluctantly, "the one that says you maybe aren't so sure about your latest brainstorm. You, uh, had it a while ago, too, before you started the foot massage."

The little shit was way too fucking perceptive, Brian mused, halting Justin's wriggling by placing his free hand on the boy's hip. It was definitely time to speed matters up, then, and make sure Justin couldn't think at all.

"Less moving, more talking, Jus. What do you want?" he asked forcefully, wanting to hear the words. It was too long since he'd had Justin in his bed, spread out like this, so sue him for wanting to hear the blond say that he wanted him.

Justin groaned. "I want you," he whined, before clarifying choppily, "Right now, in me, like this, on my back."

Brian nodded and leaned over to reach his bedside table, grabbing a bottle of lube and the packet of condoms he hadn't had the opportunity to use in an unbearably long time.

"Spread them," he said, patting Justin's thigh as he opened the lube and poured some of the clear liquid on his fingers. "Come on."

Justin did as he was told, eyes shining in the dim light of the bedroom, and rested his feet on the bed covers, relaxing his muscles.

Brian almost groaned out loud at the sexy sight. Fuck, there was no way he was going to last long. He waited for his lover to make eye contact before pouring some of the lube down Justin's crack, working it carefully into his tight hole with one finger.

Justin sighed, hooking his right leg over Brian's shoulder in an impressive show of flexibility. Those nights of dancing at Babylon might have their positives after all. 

"Come on, Bri," the blond moaned, twisting his hips in order to drive Brian's finger deeper into himself. "I haven't got all day."

Brian chuckled, leaning down and mouthing at the tender skin of Justin's hip, right where it met his thigh, the boy's heel drumming against his back. "You've got all night," he countered, moving his slick finger in and out, twisting and stretching, and soon he felt comfortable adding another digit. He nibbled at Justin's skin as the blond hmmed contentedly at the stretch, making sure to leave a mark.

It took a few minutes of merciless teasing, Brian purposefully avoiding his lover's prostate, for Justin to become desperate enough to beg for more.

"Come on, Bri. Give it to me," he demanded, thrusting his hip against Brian's hand.

The brunet smirked, not stopping his teasing movements - thrusting and scissoring but never grazing that sweet spot. "What do you mean?"

"Brian, please. Do I need to spell it out for you? You know what I want; it's not that hard to find my-"

Justin let out a raspy moan when the older man finally brushed against his prostate.

"Oh, God, yes. Brian, yes."

Brian picked up the lube again, adding a dollop to where his fingers disappeared into Justin's body, before pushing a third finger inside. He waited a beat for Justin to relax, then started moving his hand with more force, fucking into the boy and making Justin moan louder and louder.

After another minute, he pulled himself up a bit, kissing his lover's panting mouth, and asked him breathlessly, "Another one?"

Justin shook his head. "No, I'm ready. God, come on. I'm ready."

Thank God, Brian thought. He was more than ready himself - his dick was throbbing with arousal, swollen and weeping pre-come. Nodding, he pulled his fingers out and watched with interest as the younger man's hole spasmed. Fuck, Justin was hot. 

He quickly slipped on a condom, then reached for the lube for the third time, spreading a generous amount over his erection. "Ready?" he asked as he lined himself up.

"Yeah, come on," Justin urged, now stretching his left leg over Brian's right shoulder and twining his ankles together.

Brian took hold of Justin's hips, grabbing firmly, before carefully pushing in. It was a wonderful feeling to have the other man's body welcome him so readily, muscles clenching around him tightly, over and over again, as Brian kept his tempo steady, his movements never faltering.

Soon, though, Justin found himself needing more, so he began meeting Brian's hips on each forward thrust. It made things infinitely better, as the added stimulation forced the brunet to increase his tempo. 

It was a wild ride after that, and it didn't take long for Brian to feel a familiar tingling sensation spread from his toes, all the way up to his belly.

"Fuck, I'm close," he informed his lover, mouth against the blond's collar bone, voice raspy with need. "Justin."

"Let go then," came the whispered response as Justin clenched around him. Brian shuddered, closing his eyes at the almost unbearable sensation, his insides tingling with the nearing orgasm.

"You first," he panted, barely holding on. His arms were trembling as he held himself braced over Justin, and he wasn't sure if he could free a hand to help his lover along. 

There was no need, though, as Justin took matters into his own hands, quite literally, and tugged at his cock. A couple seconds later, he painted his belly with four large spurts of come, his inner muscles squeezing around Brian almost painfully. Two thrusts later, the brunet came as well, grunting loudly, his arms giving out under his weight.

"Oof," Justin complained as the breath was knocked out of him.

"S'rry," Brian slurred, arms twitching.

They stayed like that for a few moments longer, catching their breath and trying to find the strength to separate, before Brian had to pull out. He watched Justin wince and concluded the boy would undoubtedly have trouble sitting comfortably for the next couple of days, but he couldn't bring himself to care - other, that was, than the satisfaction that stole over him at having serviced his lover so thoroughly.

Sapped of energy, it was all Brian could manage to tie off the condom and throw it somewhere in the vicinity of the trashcan before flopping down next to Justin. He draped an arm possessively across the blond, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment.

When a warm mouth enveloped the tip of his hardness later that night, Brian figured he must be dreaming, especially since he never let a trick stay over, unless he was drunk or stoned. He didn't remember hitting the Beam or ingesting any drugs before going to bed, but something had happened, although what it was eluded him, distracted as he was by the illusory trick.

Geez, the dream was awfully realistic, the stud thought muzzily, the musk of sex permeating his bedroom and the trick breathing hot air onto his cock. The man wasn't actually creating enough suction to get him off, just mouthing at his erection lightly, but it was enough to keep him interested. More than interested, in fact, since Brian had to swallow back a moan.

A humming noise as the trick nuzzled his cock, lips tightening almost imperceptibly, made Brian's brow furrow. What the heck? Was someone really in his bed?

He blinked hard in an effort to open his eyelids and was rewarded by a vision of Justin licking at his shaft. The events from earlier on came flooding back to him as the blond's agile tongue made its way down his length, tracing the veins on the underside, before going back to dip lightly into his slit. This time Brian couldn't hold back the sound clawing its way out of his mouth. He didn't even try, lost in an ecstasy that only Justin could provide.

"Fuck," he groaned.

Justin just chuckled around his mouthful, causing Brian to inhale a sharp breath at the vibration that went through him. 

It all became almost too much when, after a few minutes of teasing, Justin began working him in earnest. He completely enveloped him with his mouth and went as far down as he could, before slowly pulling back and then repeating the movement all over again. Brian was nearly hypnotized by the rhythmical bobbing of his lover's head, when the teenager suddenly went further than before and deep-throated Brian's cock, his throat convulsing around the tip. It was all the dark-haired man could do not to come right there and then.

Christ, he craved Justin like a drug, and he wanted - no, needed - more than to be sucked off quickly, especially after such a long time without the boy in his bed. "Jus," he breathed out.

While fondling his balls, rolling them around one hand, Justin again hummed around his erection, causing Brian to jerk.

He tried again, "Justin, unless you want this to," he swallowed heavily, "uh, end too soon, you better back off."

The blond, who'd pulled off as soon as Brian started speaking, gave him a smug grin before sitting up. "On all fours then," he told him as he stretched across the bed to reach the previously discarded lube and a new condom.

Brian did as he was told, grumbling under his breath as if he was doing Justin some kind of favour, his sweaty hands slipping on the duvet. He froze for a second, mind flashing back to what had happened the last time he was in Babylon's backroom. This wasn't the same at all, he tried to convince his uncooperative body, but he still couldn't move. 

"Bri? Are you okay?" Justin's worried voice reached him as nimble fingers kneaded the tight muscles in his shoulders.

"Yeah," Brian choked out, voice wavering.

"Maybe I should-"

Fuck, no way was he going to let the trick who'd assaulted him steal the pleasure of bottoming for Justin. Willing his eyes to remain dry and taking a deep breath, he interrupted, "Just go slow, okay?" 

"Like the first time I topped you?"

Brian smiled - that was a good memory - and focused his attention on Justin. He turned his head, watching over his shoulder as Justin kneeled behind him, tugging his narrow hips closer to himself and biting lightly at one arse cheek, prompting a soft gasp from Brian.

"Ready?" Justin asked him, gently teasing, recognising that the older man was still on edge.

"I'm ready, Jus. Just get on with it."

Brian dropped his head, resting his forehead on his pillow, his arms gripping the headboard as he felt Justin circle a lube-covered finger around his hole. He tensed up a bit as the finger dipped inside a fraction and internally scolded himself. He was behaving like a fucking virgin.

Justin, however, just ran a calming hand across his back to relax him, seemingly unbothered by his body's stupid behaviour. Somehow, despite knowing nothing about what that damned trick had attempted, Justin was doing exactly the right thing to relieve him of his anxiety. 

The blond pulled his finger back out, before slipping it in again and slowly establishing a gentle thrusting rhythm. Brian had done the same thing to Justin an hour or so before, and yet it was completely different - it felt good to be cared for like this. His tension vanished, assuaged by slow, languid movements and deep breaths.

Soon, Brian was ready for another finger, which Justin slowly slid in after he added a bit more lube. He felt the digits spread inside of him in a scissoring motion, one of them brushing against his prostate.

Brian whined as an honest to God shiver ran down his back, and a wonderful heat pooled in his stomach. "Fuck."

Justin shushed him softly, running his hand over the expanse of his back again. "It's okay; I've got you," he whispered, and Brian didn't bristle at the words. Until now, he hadn't realised how much he needed Justin's touch in order to recover from the backroom nightmare.

A short time later, he was pushing back on Justin's fingers, trying to communicate that it was no longer enough, that he wanted more, now.

"Okay," the younger man said agreeably, sliding another two fingers inside of him at once.

The heat in Brian's stomach increased twofold, and a bead of sweat rolled down his neck and into his hair. The stretch was almost too much, but it didn't really hurt. The fingers pistoned in and out of him, bumping against the bundle of nerves on almost every other pass.

When, a few minutes later, Justin finally rested his dick against Brian's hole, he could've cried. He didn't, obviously, but it was with tremendous relief that his body welcomed Justin's large cock inside.

"Breathe, Bri," Justin whispered, himself sounding breathless. He had to be holding onto the last scraps of his patience, going without any sort of stimulus for so long.

Justin didn't stop to let him adjust until he was all the way in, his thighs resting against Brian's, his hips snug against his ass cheeks. Brian felt his ass pulsing around his lover's length.

"Fuck."

Justin laughed softly, the vibration going all the way through his cock, making Brian swear louder. He turned his head to look at Justin over his shoulder.

"Move, dammit, Justin. Come on."

And Justin did, starting painfully slow - pulling his cock almost all the way out before gradually pushing back in. They both moaned breathlessly at the sensations, Brian involuntarily clenching around the girth of Justin's cock.

"That's it," Justin whispered, soothingly running his hands up and down Brian's back in time with his slow thrusts. It was almost hypnotic, the drag of skin against skin, the rhythmic breathing, the quiet squelching of the lube.

"Oh, oh." Brian's eyes slipped closed and his fingers curled tighter around the duvet as he gave himself over to the sensation, feeling Justin throbbing inside of him.

The blond snapped his hips forwards a little more forcefully and Brian groaned, hips rotating slowly in an instinctual response. Fuck, that felt good. His breath hitched as Justin jabbed his prostate on his next forceful stroke, causing the brunet to start leaking, pre-come tickling at his sensitive skin as it slid slowly down his shaft. He rubbed his cheek against the soft material of his pillow, doing his best to stay collected. However, the way Justin was moving - sharp but controlled thrusts - made the older man just want to fall apart.

The measured fucking didn't stop as Justin pressed closer to Brian, his slim form moulding itself against the brunet's back. His breath tickled at Brian's ear as he spoke, voice low and husky with arousal. "Feel good?"

The brunet groaned in answer, eyes still screwed shut as he tried to match Justin's pace, shoving his hips back faster.

"You want me to go harder?" Justin whispered, jabbing his prostate again.

Mind emptied of everything except his need for Justin, Brian arched his whole body, forehead pressed against his pillow and fists clenched in frustration. His lover waited him out, avoiding his sensitive bundle of nerves on the next couple of thrusts. After a few shuddering breaths and thick swallows, Brian finally managed to force out, "Come on, Jus, please."

To the brunet's unbearable frustration, Justin suddenly pulled out of him completely, prompting a loud whine to escape Brian's throat.

"Fuck, Justin!" Brian complained as his whole body shuddered at the unexpected emptiness.

Justin ran a calming hand across Brian's back, pressing wet kisses to the older man's cheek, chasing away the stray tears Brian would forever deny shedding. "Shh, it's okay. Turn around; I wanna see your face."

It took the brunet several long moments to get all of his muscles working enough to roll over and lie on his back. His arms flopped down on either side of his head; his body went jelly-loose; and his thighs fell apart.

Justin situated himself between his legs, hands trailing across the tender skin of his inner thighs, and leaned forward in order to kiss Brian.

He hummed against the blond's mouth, wiggling his hips against Justin's in an attempt to get his lover to enter him again.

The blond grinned at him, eyes shining with uncontained mirth. He patted the side of Brian's thigh. "Legs up, come on."

Brian grunted, glaring at his lover halfheartedly. His muscles were shot; there was no way he could manoeuvre his legs all the way up onto Justin's shoulders. "I'm not as young-" he bit his lip, amending that to, "I'm not a fucking go-go dancer, Jus."

Justin giggled, his eyes sparkling.

The older man started laughing too. As if he'd ever be hired to dance on a bar. His arrhythmic two-step wouldn't cut it.

"This you can do, Bri," the blond encouraged him, patting his leg again. "Up."

To his credit, Brian did attempt to heave his limbs up at Justin's prompting, but his legs just twitched pathetically. 

Seeing his struggle, Justin grabbed his right calf and helped him lift it up - all the while running a soothing palm down Brian's chest, brushing against his nipples on the way. Since his pelvis was now tilted upward, it was easier to raise the second leg and settle it on the blond's other shoulder. 

Pressing a kiss to his left ankle, Justin leaned forward slowly - folding Brian practically in half. "You ready?"

Not bad for a twenty-nine-year-old, Brian thought smugly. He might even be more limber than when he was seventeen - not that he'd ever been in this position with anyone other than Justin.

"Bri?" the blond prompted.

Brian nodded eagerly, his empty ass clenching hungrily around nothing.

Justin bent even further down, pressing his lips to Brian's, abdomen trapping the brunet's erection between their bodies.

They kissed passionately, panting into each other's mouths when they parted to drag in much needed air.

The teenager dove in again, mashing his lips against Brian's, his tongue exploring the brunet's mouth.

Brian responded with equal fervour, chasing after those puffy, reddened lips when Justin drew back. Mesmerised, he watched as the strand of spittle that connected their lips broke, the blond sucking it into his mouth and swiping his tongue across his lower lip to make sure he'd gotten it all. Christ, everything his lover did was fucking erotic.

The brunet stud was so entranced by Justin's mouth - and the way his pearly teeth were now biting at his bottom lip - that he didn't tense up at all when his lover slid back inside Brian. "Ah, fuuuck," he merely breathed out, his neurons firing off messages of ecstasy to his brain.

"Good?" Justin asked, smiling down at him.

"Yeah. Now move."

"Tsk-tsk. What's the magic word?" the brat jested.

This must be revenge for the earlier torment he'd inflicted on the lad, Brian surmised, narrowing his eyes at Justin. Damned if he'd capitulate; although it was a close call, he wasn't quite that desperate. Surely he could coerce the blond into fucking him...

Brian titled his pelvis up, seeking more friction. That got him nowhere, though, Justin withdrawing until only an inch of his cock remained inside the brunet.

"Twat."

Justin giggled. "Nope. Try again."

Brian gave a wordless growl of frustration. "Okay, Goddammit. Please."

He couldn't believe it when the blond shook his head.

"Fuck!"

"There you go," Justin replied, gliding all the way in.

The kid really was a tease, Brian thought, unable to suppress a chuckle.

Justin waggled his eyebrows mischievously before once more pulling most of the way out. To Brian's relief, he soon established a steady stroking motion - in, out, back in again.

Pleasure coursed through Brian. Christ, he'd missed this. His favourite glass dildo was a paltry substitute for Justin, his lover stimulating his prostate on every pass.

There was nothing like the way Brian gripped his cock, Justin thought, his balls slapping against the brunet's ass cheeks. He looked down at Brian, whose eyes were half-closed, mouth open as he gulped air. 

"I'm close, Jus," Brian panted, his mouth open.

"Hold on." Bottoming out inside the brunet, Justin halted. There was one more thing they could do to make it even better.

Not this again. "Why?" Brian mewled.

"Help me out a little," the blond urged, carefully lifting one of Brian's legs and then the other off his shoulders.

"Wha?"

Justin rolled his eyes at him fondly. "You may be skinny, but you're no lightweight," he gasped, manoeuvring Brian's legs to one side and pressing them together.

His legs like limp noodles, Brian did nothing to assist the younger man.

When Brian's thighs started to separate, Justin pushed them back into place. "Come on," he demanded, "stretch your legs out and keep them tightly together."

Finally getting the hang of what Justin was doing, Brian complied.

"Fuck, yeah," the blond sighed. They wouldn't be able to hold the awkward position for long, but it made Brian's hole clench even more tightly around his cock. "That feels amazing."

Justin braced himself with one hand flat on the bed, his other hand gripping Brian's hip, and pushed back in.

"Nngh," Brian whined. He'd never been stuffed so full. 

"Okay?" the blond asked, suddenly worried after his lover's earlier behaviour.

His concern dissipated when Brian demanded, "Harder," his eyes incredibly dark as he stared at Justin.

They rocked together, Justin thrusting into Brian, the brunet pushing back against him.

"I need-" Brian gasped. He was almost there - he doubted he'd even have to touch his rock-hard erection.

"Now," Justin commanded, slamming into Brian again and hitting his prostate just right.

Brian's cock erupted, spraying fluid across his stomach.

With Brian's ass clamping down on him, Justin couldn't hold out any longer. He thrust into Brian once more, and buried deep inside his lover, he let go.

Justin narrowly avoided collapsing on Brian, like the brunet had done to him earlier. The muscles in his left arm shook as he balanced on it, using his right hand to reach down and assist him in easing out of Brian as gently as possible.

His lover whimpered, and Justin patted his hip commiseratingly once he was all the way out. He tied off the rubber and tossed it aside, before allowing himself to sag down next to Brian. Despite the strong temptation to stay the night, Justin didn't think it would be a good idea. He still wasn't sure that he should've fucked his ex. Well, Brian wasn't his ex any longer, he supposed...

Brian's arm nudged his, and Justin glanced to the side, to find the brunet holding out a lit cigarette.

Accepting the Lucky Strike, Justin took a puff and blew the smoke out as he handed it back. 

They traded the cigarette back and forth until only the butt remained, Brian stubbing it out in the ashtray on the bedside table. 

Brian was trying to figure out how to coax the lad into spending the rest of the night with him, without being obvious. "I wouldn't mind another round," he essayed, "if you'd-"

"Please," Justin scoffed, gesturing at Brian's flaccid member. "You won't be getting it up anytime soon."

Brian shot him an offended look but bit back the childish retort that rose to his lips - he really wasn't ready for more action. "I didn't mean now, twat," he grumbled, "but you could wake me up later with a Taylor Special." 

He immediately castigated himself; he hadn't meant to reveal how he privately thought of Justin's blow jobs. The brat was beaming at him, though, so maybe his slip of the tongue would convince him to stay.

Unfortunately, Justin scooted away from him, stood up, and began searching around the bed for his clothes. He tugged the FCUK tee over his head, grinning impudently at Brian as he smoothed the fabric over his torso.

The brunet smiled back, but it wasn't his best effort - he was disappointed that Justin was getting ready to leave.

Justin could tell Brian wasn't exactly thrilled that he was leaving, and for one mean-spirited moment, he was tempted not to provide an excuse for his hasty departure. The older man had certainly walked out on him more than once. He didn't want to end the night with a stupid tit for tat, though, or hurt Brian for no reason.

Might as well fall back on his standard pretext, especially since he wasn't stretching the truth all that much. "I need to get up super early tomorrow - er, that is, later this morning," he amended, glancing at the alarm clock beside the bed, "to review for the SAT. The test's on Tuesday, so there's not much time left to prepare. I'm gonna be studying, like, all day and night."

Brian was appeased by the explanation - he wanted the lad to do well in school - but his brow furrowed when he realised he might not see Justin at all the next day. "Aren't you working at the diner?"

"Not tomorrow. Debbie reduced my schedule this week because of the SAT and finals. I tried to tell her I could still work," Justin flung out a hand in irritation, "but-"

His eyes pinned to the blond's penis, which was jiggling enticingly as Justin paced around the bed, Brian chuckled. He could imagine how well that had gone over.

"I gave in when she said I'd be swapping jobs with the Finnish bloke if she caught sight of my tush anywhere near the diner." 

"You're being tested at St James?"

"Yeah. The administration made arrangements with the Educational Testing Service, I dunno, six or seven years ago. It's factored into the tuition and is part of the whole college-bound culture that St James fosters."

"I could pick you up after school," Brian offered nonchalantly.

Justin smiled at the brunet, thinking it would be great to regale him with how the SAT had gone. But then his face fell. "Um, I'll be getting out a couple hours early with the way the testing is scheduled. You'll probably be in a meeting or something."

"Nah, my Tuesday afternoon is free, except for more planning with Theodore and Cynthia. I'll need to get away," Brian claimed, pulling a long face as if disturbed by the notion of spending so much time with his employees.

"Do you mind giving Daph a lift too?" Justin asked a trifle hesitantly. "We, like, wanted to celebrate making it through the SAT. You know, eat greasy food at the diner."

Christ, couldn't the two best friends come up with a better way than that to celebrate? Brian wondered. Justin was at the diner every fucking day; you'd think he would need a break.

When he realised Justin was waiting for an answer, he readily acquiesced even though he'd had a different kind of celebration in mind. "Sure, I'll take you there for another artery-clogging experience." He got a kick out of the way Justin's girlfriend crushed on him - reminiscent of the way the blond used to act - so it wouldn't be that much of a hardship.

Now clad in his socks as well as his T-shirt, cargo pants in one hand, Justin ignored the slur on his eating habits. He frowned, his gaze sweeping the bedroom area. "Have you seen my underwear?"

Brian shrugged. They'd been in such a frenzy to get undressed, tearing off each other's clothes and tossing them aside willy-nilly, that he had no idea where the boy's briefs had ended up. He hated to have the floor show come to an end - Justin looked awfully sexy wandering around in just a tee and socks - but nevertheless suggested, "Go commando."

"Yeah, okay," Justin agreed. He grinned when he saw how Brian's eyes were glued to his nether regions, giving his ass a sassy wiggle as he bent over to step into his cargos. A giggle escaped as he thought how much his lover looked like Vic just then - Brian must've picked up some of his mannerisms from Vic. 

Even though it wasn't logical, he suddenly felt much more optimistic that Vic would recover from the downturn in his health as he looked around for his trainers. He espied the Ziploc container that was on the counter as he was retying the laces on the shoe that had been abandoned near the couch. 

Reckoning the food should still be okay, Justin grinned mischievously as he wrote, "Eat the meat," on a yellow Post-it, slapped the note on the container, and placed it inside the fridge. Almost ready to go, he put on his coat, wound his scarf around his neck, and encased his hands in the toasty warm gloves, before heading back to the bedroom area.

He paused on the top step, admiring Brian's freshly fucked look as he sprawled across the bed. Should he give his lover a kiss? he debated, deciding he'd better not. If Brian got his lips or hands on him, it was bound to lead to more. 

With a soft smile and a simple, "Later," he turned around and headed for the door, making sure to slide it firmly shut behind him.

Mouth open, Brian blinked in shock when he realised Justin was gone. He didn't expect such an abrupt departure; he'd thought he would have at least one more chance to seduce the kid back into his bed. It wasn't how this phase of Operation Twat Retrieval was supposed to end.